Page 10 of Coronation
The king does.
“I would love to speak more to Miss Flowers, actually. It’s not every day one meets a movie star,” he informs James blandly, lifting a dark eyebrow in a silent challenge.
The hand on my waist falls back to James’ side. He looks between us, his expression flat, and finally lets out a heavy sigh. With a muttered “typical,” he’s on his way, strolling back toward the group we just left, and leaving me alone with the most powerful man in the country.
People are watching us. Pretending to be subtle about it, but definitely watching.
“You’ll have to forgive the duke,” offers King Benedict calmly. “We went to school together, and he once licked every pastry on a platter to prevent anyone else from taking one. I’m afraid you very nearly fell prey to the same tactic.”
A giggle bubbles from my lips, and I find myself looking directly into his eyes as I respond, tummy fluttering with nerves as I do. “Someone should have taken one for the team and eaten one. Think of all the trouble it would have saved women everywhere if that strategy had proven ineffective early on.”
The man before me doesn’t laugh, exactly, but he lets out a quiet chuckle, his lips pulling into a small smile behind his beard. I realize I’m grinning, too, as the sight of it manages to dissipate some of my nerves. In the countless images I’ve seen of King Benedict in the media, I can’t recall a single one that depicts him smiling. It makes him look like a different person, one whom I am somehow even more attracted to than I was a moment ago.
Why is the whole world not talking about the fact that Stelland’s new king ishot? Like,really hot.
“I wish I could say I was selfless enough.” He leans in closer to speak without being overheard, and my breath hitches as my lungs are invaded by the heady, masculine scent of rosewood and cinnamon. “But God only knows where his mouth has been.”
I have to bite my lip to prevent myself from laughing out loud. “You know, that’s fair. I?—”
My next words are cut off by a boisterous voice. “Your Highness!Sucha pleasure to see you here tonight.” We both look around at one of the other guests who has stopped just beside us, a man I don’t recognize, but whose accent suggests he’s a part of the same aristocracy as James and the king.
King Benedict stares at him, all signs of amusement gone. “And you, Lord Brian.” He turns his gaze back to me. “You were saying?—”
“You must allow me to introduce you to my wife,” Lord Brian offers loudly, apparently oblivious to the king’s total disinterest, winking. “She’s been on me to get an invitation to the coronation, and I know she’d be delighted to meet you personally. Let me call her over.” He looks over his shoulder, beady eyes scanning the room as his mouth opens wide, obviously preparing to call for his wife. Before he can, though, the king puts an end to it.
“Believe it or not, I am not in attendance tonight to speak to you or your wife, Brian. You’ve quite rudely interrupted Miss Flowers, and as there isn’t one more word that could come out of your mouth that would be of the slightest interest to me. Leave. Now.”
The secondhand embarrassment I feel for Lord Brian in that moment is palpable. His face goes bright red, and he stares at the king, lips pressed together as if struggling to prevent himself from rebutting. After a moment, the man merelyinclines his head curtly and turns on his heel, hurrying off without another word.
If nothing else, the interaction I just witnessed makes it clear why I’ve seen King Benedict called the most unlikeable monarch in modern history. While I’m hardly an expert on the world’s remaining royal families, it seems as though they’ve generally taken a lot of trouble to make themselves well-liked, kissing babies and visiting hospitals to gain favor with their people. It’s not that different from Hollywood, where giving the illusion of likeability is essential, but this man—this king—doesn’t seem to give a damn.
It should be a turnoff, right? Nobody likes an asshole. Yet as I turn my gaze back to him, still not quite able to wrap my head around the fact this is happening at all, my heart stalls.
Nope. Not a turnoff.
“I apologize for Lord Brian,” he tells me, noticeably less at ease as he takes a sip of his drink. In the corner of my eye, I see his fingers tapping restlessly on the edge of the bar beside us.
He’s nervous.
I gaze at him, a bit dazed by the underlying truth of the situation, which is only just now setting in:He’s just a man.
“He was rude,” I assure him, and take a small sip of my champagne, hoping for the drink to bolster my confidence a little.
He wouldn’t be talking to me if he didn’t want to, right?
No way. In the few minutes I’ve known him, it’s become clear that King Benedict isn’t the type to be polite for the sake of it. Actually, for him to come here at all must have been something of a sacrifice. Which means he, like me, is in attendance tonight because he needs something.
What is it like to be a king? Terribly lonely, I bet.
“It’s my first time,” I confess, feeling a rush of exhilaration as I stare up into his dark eyes. “Coming to one of theseparties, I mean. My friend thought I needed to get out of my head.”
His fingers stop tapping. “Do you?” he questions, head tilting ever so slightly to the side.
I let out a breathless little laugh. “Probably. Does it work?”
The king considers for a moment, still looking at me in that same penetrating, studious way. “I would say so, yes. Though it’s been a long time since I attended. So my memory may very well be failing me.” His lips twist in a wry smile.
I’m dimly aware of a round of laughter and a few claps from somewhere behind me, but there isn’t a single thing that could be happening in this room that’s more interesting than the conversation I’m having. King Benedict must feel the same way, because his eyes don’t stray from mine. Not for a second.
