He looked at the stack of papers on the nightstand, at the detailed schedules and carefully crafted protocols. All of it was evidence of Finn’s desperate attempt to transform into someone worthy of his position – worthy of Darragh.
And yet, all Darragh saw was the evidence that he was losing his husband one formal dinner, one declined visit home, one sleepless night at a time.
And he had no idea how to stop it without jeopardizing everything they’d both sacrificed so much to protect.
Chapter Nineteen
“Your Majesty.” The footman bowed at Darragh’s office door. “The king consort’s companion from Winrone has arrived. He’s requesting an audience with His Grace.”
Darragh looked up from the shipping manifests he’d been reviewing. “Trent?” He’d met Finn’s closest friend briefly at the wedding, but they hadn’t had much chance to talk. “Where’s Finn now?”
“In the blue parlor with Lady Helena and Lord Aldric, reviewing seating arrangements for the summit opening banquet.”
Of course he was. Another meeting. Another three hours of Finn reviewing details that had already been reviewed twice. Although Helena had mentioned that different things were going wrong, and no, it wasn’t Finn’s fault, there was no explanation for the issues either. Darragh stood. “I’ll speak with Trent myself. Have him brought to the small drawing room.”
/~/~/~/~/
Trent didn’t bother with excessive formality when he entered. He bowed, yes, but his expression was serious, and his eyes met Darragh’s directly. “Your Majesty. Thank you for seeing me.”
“Just Darragh, please.” He gestured to a chair. “Finn’s tied up in another planning session. He should be done in a few hours.”
“A few hours.” Trent sat, but tension coiled through his shoulders. “How many of these sessions has he been doing?”
“Every day. Sometimes twice.” Darragh settled across from him, studying Trent’s face. There was concern there and an underlying worry. “You didn’t just come for a social visit.”
“No.” Trent leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “Forgive my bluntness, Your Majesty, but is Finn all right?”
The question landed like a punch. Darragh opened his mouth to give the standard reassurance, but Trent cut him off.
“I got a letter from him last week, and it didn’t sound like him at all. It was formal and distant, like he was writing to a stranger. Finn and I have been friends since we were seven years old. We’ve never been formal with each other, not once.” Trent’s jaw tightened. “So I’m asking again. Is Finn all right?”
Darragh could lie. Offer platitudes about adjustment and learning curves. But Trent deserved better than that. Finn deserved better than that.
“He’s struggling.” The admission cost him something. “The summit is in six weeks, and there’s enormous pressure for it to succeed. We’re in danger of losing a major trade agreement because the Northern Collective thinks we’re too unsophisticated to host the World Council. Finn’s taken on the weight of proving them wrong.”
“Finn’s handled pressure before.” Trent’s voice stayed level but firm. “Building deadlines, village emergencies, impossible repair jobs where someone’s roof was caving in, and they couldn’t afford to lose their home. He’s always been steady under stress. But in that letter – in all the letters he’s sent me - he sounded like someone I don’t recognize.”
The confirmation of Darragh’s worst fears settled into his chest, heavy as stone. It wasn’t just him noticing the change. Finn had transformed so thoroughly that even his oldest friend saw a stranger.
“He thinks he has to be perfect,” Darragh said quietly. “He thinks that if he makes any mistakes, if he’s not the ideal king consort, it’ll cost the kingdom everything.”
“And you think that too?”
“I think the stakes are real. It’s not publicly known yet, but forty percent of our export market is hanging in the balance on whether we can prove we’re legitimate political players, not just merchants pretending at nobility.” Darragh met Trent’s gaze. “I think Finn’s right that we can’t afford major mistakes right now. But I also think he’s killing himself trying to be someone he’s not.”
Trent sat back, his expression grim. “That’s what I was afraid of.”
They sat in heavy silence until a commotion in the hallway announced the end of Finn’s meeting - voices, then footsteps. The door opened, and Finn appeared, still in formal attire, his hair perfectly styled, his expression carefully neutral.
Then he saw Trent. For one heartbeat, Finn’s face transformed - genuine joy, unguarded and bright, and a smile Darragh hadn’t seen in weeks.
“Trent!” Finn crossed the room in three strides and pulled his friend into a tight embrace. “What are you doing here?”
“Mrs. Weatherby’s birthday party is tomorrow. I thought you might like some company for the trip home.” Trent returned the embrace, but over Finn’s shoulder, his eyes found Darragh’s.See? This is who he’s supposed to be.
Finn pulled back, and the mask slid into place again. Not completely - there was still warmth there, still happiness - but the guardedness returned. “I can’t go, I’m so sorry. I have summit preparations.”
“Mrs. Weatherby will be disappointed. But look at you, all fancy.” Trent’s tone aimed for teasing, but concern bled through. “Those are some serious clothes.”
