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He was about to glance down at his watch again when he caught movement out of the corner of his eye. He looked up and froze.
Clara walked down the path toward him. The dress she’d picked, an ivory creation made of lace, clung to her svelte figure before gently flaring out around her knees and cascading into a train that made her seem like she was gliding down the path. A brilliant blue peacoat brought out the color of her eyes and made her pale gold hair glimmer against the backdrop of the snow.
She looked stunning. Like a future queen. When she drew alongside him, he reached out and tucked her gloved hand in the crook of his arm.
She smiled up at him, her eyes soft and glowing.
“Thank you,” she whispered. “It’s all so lovely.”
Satisfaction warmed his chest even as shame threatened to snatch it away. Briony had been right. Two simple gestures had made all the difference in the demeanor of his bride.
As the judge began to speak, Clara’s fingers tightened around his arm. He glanced at her. Her eyes were focused on the judge, her face smooth and her lips set in the barest hint of a smile. Despite her gratitude, there was nothing to suggest she thought of this marriage as anything more than what it was: an arrangement to provide protection for her and their child, as well as a secure path to the throne for his heir.
Why did that bother him?
Because, he realized as the judge continued to speak on the sanctity of marriage, that part of him that had been disappointed by Clara’s resigned acceptance of her fate was also now longing for something...more. What exactly, he couldn’t begin to fathom.
He blinked, realizing the judge was addressing him.
“...take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife...”
He needed to take a step back from the emotional precipice he’d stumbled onto. Yes, the situation had turned out far better than he had anticipated. But it had still been the result of his loss of control. This was not a fairy-tale royal romance. It was a business arrangement meant to protect an innocent child and the future of the country.
As he slid the wedding band onto Clara’s finger, he steeled himself against any further sentimental indulgences. Now was the time to reassume the mantle of leader and focus on what mattered most: guiding his country into a new chapter while preparing to become a father to the next heir to the throne.
He met Clara’s gaze and gave her a small, aloof smile.
“I do.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
CLARALOOKEDDOWNfor the seventh or eighth time since the ceremony at the simple silver band on her left finger. It was official. She was now Clara Van Ambrose, Royal Princess of Linnaea.
Wife.
Not a title she had expected to have anytime in the near future, if ever, and certainly not with Alaric.
Alaric. Her boss. Herhusband.
After their wedding ceremony, they had posed for a few photos for one of the palace photographers. Another gesture that, despite her best efforts, had further erased some of her concerns and questions and replaced it with hope. Foolish, bright, lovely hope.
She’d barely caught her breath on the elevator ride up to his private quarters.
Theirprivate quarters, she’d amended as she’d walked into them for the second time that week, a nervous fluttering in her chest. Alaric had hinted that their marriage would, in time, include physical intimacy. But surely he hadn’t meant now?
No, she’d realized with a mixture of relief and disappointment as he’d given her a slight, distracted smile and then immediately hopped on his phone once the door had closed behind them. It was to prepare for their honeymoon to Lake Geneva. A honeymoon that, judging by his side of the conversation, was all about privacy and giving Alaric the ability to work.
Work that didn’t include her anymore.
Less than an hour later, he’d escorted her down to one of the private cars he preferred over the luxurious limousine Daxon liked to ride in. The short ride to the airport had been spent with him switching back and forth between his phone and his laptop as she sat there. The couple of times she’d tried to jump in like she had as his executive assistant, to offer a reminder on upcoming legislation or a detail about a dignitary, he’d told her to stop working and relax.
“You’re a princess, not my assistant.”
He hadn’t said the words cruelly, but they’d still cut deep. Was this what her new life was to be like? Just sitting around like some useless ornament for him to trot out whenever he needed?
Anger simmered below the surface on the one-hour-long private plane ride to Geneva. She never would have guessed by the way he’d welcomed Briony and her activism with Linnaea’s education system that he would relegate his wife to the role of fancy bauble.
She couldn’t help but wonder if it wasn’t how he felt about the role of his wife, but how he felt abouther. Despite the position she’d served in for the past seven years, she was essentially a commoner, the daughter of a mechanic and a teacher who had only landed in the upper echelons of society because she’d caught Miles’s eye. Did Alaric think her capable of organizing his budget and typing his emails, but not of leading the country together?
