“It’s court dress.” Finn smoothed his jacket self-consciously. “I have meetings.”
“All day, every day?”
“The summit is in six weeks.”
“Right.” Trent glanced at Darragh. “Your husband mentioned. Mind if we catch up somewhere private?”
/~/~/~/~/
Darragh watched them disappear toward Finn’s private sitting room, then forced himself to return to his work. They needed time alone. Trent might get through to Finn in ways Darragh couldn’t.
An hour later, he walked past the sitting room on his way to the council chambers. The door stood slightly ajar, and voices filtered through.
“…can’t afford to be myself.” Finn’s voice was tight with frustration. “Myself isn’t good enough for this.”
“That’s bullshit, and you know it,” Trent said bluntly. “You’re telling me the man Darragh married wasn’t good enough? Because he seemed pretty convinced you were exactly what he wanted.”
“He didn’t know what the summit would require. Neither did I.”
“So you’re not being yourself anymore.”
“I’m being what I need to be.”
Darragh kept walking. He couldn’t eavesdrop, even if every instinct screamed to intervene.
/~/~/~/~/
He found Trent in the gardens two hours later, standing beneath a sprawling oak tree and scowling at the perfectly manicured hedges.
“They’re too neat,” Trent said without preamble. “Finn would hate this. All these plants were tortured into geometric shapes instead of being allowed to grow properly.”
“My mother designed most of this garden. Finn likes the wild section on the east side.”
“Of course he does.” Trent turned to face him. “He’s miserable. You know that, right?”
The words hit harder coming from Trent than from his own observations. “Yes.”
“What are you going to do about it?”
“I don’t know.” Darragh moved to lean against the tree trunk. “Every solution I consider makes it worse. If I tell him to stop preparing so hard, the summit still needs to be successful. If I tell him to be himself? The advisers are already concerned about his unconventional approach. I tell him I love him exactly as he is, but he already thinks I married someone who doesn’t fit in this world.”
Trent studied him for a long moment. “Finn thinks he has to change everything about himself to be worthy of you. To be worthy of being king consort. And maybe you didn’t ask him to change, but you also didn’t prepare him for how brutal this world would be.”
The accusation stung because it was true. Darragh had been so focused on Finn’s authenticity, so relieved to find someone who would be himself in a court full of performances, that he’d romanticized the whole thing. He’d told Finn to be himself, promised it would be enough, never considering the practical difficulties.
“You told him to be himself,” Trent continued, voice hard, “but this court punishes authenticity unless you have enough powerto force people to accept it. Finn doesn’t have that power. Not yet. Maybe not ever, if he’s supposed to be the king consort instead of the king. So he’s caught between who he is and who he needs to be, and it’s tearing him apart.”
Darragh had no defense. Every word was accurate.
“I know I should have helped him more,” he said finally. “I could’ve taught him what he needed to know instead of just telling him he was perfect. If I’d given him actual tools instead of empty reassurance…”
“It’s a bit late for that now.” Trent crossed his arms. “Your fancy summit’s in six weeks. He’s already committed to this path of transforming himself into the perfect consort. I doubt he’d listen if you tried to stop him at this point.”
“Probably not.”
“So, yeah, I hope you have a spare room because I’m staying.”
Darragh looked up. “What?”
