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“Is something wrong?” I blurted. “Is she okay?”
“Never better,” Uncle Ian said. “In better shape than me, honestly.”
“But she can’t make the trip to Delacroix any longer, and it’s been a while since I’ve visited her,” Father said. “I have obligations as a king—and I also have obligations as a son. I hope you remember that when I’m gone and you’re all your mother has.”
Atticus rolled his eyes. “You talk about your death every day, I swear.”
“You do,” I said in agreement. “It’s annoying.”
He focused on his food. “Death comes swiftly in the dark. It’s like a shadow. You don’t see it until it’s standing right behind you. All I ask is you learn from my example and take care of your mother as you’ve watched me take care of mine.”
Mother stopped eating her fruit and stared at Father, her elbows on the table and her hands together. She was quiet, but her piercing look carried a conversation entirely on its own.
When Father ignored her stare, I knew there was trouble in paradise.
“When do you leave?” I asked.
“Tomorrow,” Father answered. “Your mother will rule in my stead while I’m gone.”
“Good,” Atticus said. “That means things will lighten up around here.”
I swallowed my chuckle.
Uncle Ian let a smirk slip through.
Father ignored the insults and continued to eat, but his face was as hard as his stare.
7
IVORY
The door to his study was slightly ajar, so I stuck my head inside to look at my husband, The King of Delacroix and the Kingdoms.
He sat at his desk, his elbow on the armrest with his curled fingers against his chin. He stared at the cold fireplace with eyes that didn’t blink, his thoughts heavy like an anchor at the bottom of the sea. He sat there for over a minute, and it took even longer for him to blink. His attention was focused like a hawk on its prey—so I knew his mind was full of insecurities.
I entered his study, and that was when his eyes flicked to mine.
“What is it, baby?” He dropped his hand from his chin and straightened, like he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t.
I approached his desk, seeing the same man I’d fallen in love with decades ago. Time had changed his features slightly, but he still had eyes so blue they rivaled the sky in spring. His eyes and mouth were still hard, and his jawline had the sharpness of a blade because he remained fit even though peace had reigned since before our babies were born. Most kings grew fat and lazy as they kept their thrones warm, but Huntley was prepared for battle like a siege was just a league away. His arms were still thick and strong, and his shoulders stretched out everything he wore. He had the body of a young man in his prime, but he had the sexiness of a man who had aged like a fine wine.
I did my best to keep up with his commitment, but after giving him two children, my body was soft in places where it used to be hard. But he kissed my scars like they turned him on and spanked my ass like he’d bought me for the night. Kings had mistresses—but my husband only had me.
He continued his stare, waiting for my response.
“You lied to me.”
His expression didn’t change, hard and defiant as always.
“And I thought we didn’t do that to each other.”
He was so still that he had turned to stone. Breaths didn’t even raise his chest because he stopped breathing at the accusation.
“You only stare at the fireplace like that if something troubles you.”
His eyes finally dropped, and he released an annoyed sigh.
“The last time you did it was when Harlow was born prematurely, and all you could do was sit in that chair and think.”
