which she might have lost herself in this strange little fairy-tale.
She was not an idiot. She did not, in truth, wish to govern, and doubted she would be any good at it, anyway. She would have no idea how one even went about it. Lara had no particular interest in politics, but she could, she realized, use the position she found herself in for good. There was no excuse for lying about a castle, of all places, feeling bored and put upon. How she would have slapped herself for even thinking such a thing, once upon a time, when her paycheck had had to last far too long and cover books and tuition as well as pay her rent! Appalled at herself, Lara began to involve herself in charity work—to get a sense of what her people, her subjects, her countrymen really needed.
And what she needed, too, if she was to stay here. If she was really to do this long-term. She pretended it was a lifestyle decision she was mulling over, like when she’d decided to stay in Colorado after college and make her life in Denver. She pretended it was a decision about a location, and about a job.
After all, fairy-tales weren’t real. Not even this one.
“You are just like your father, may he rest in peace,” an old woman told her as Lara toured one of the local hospitals, visiting the helpless and the needy, talking to the overworked staff. I can help these people, she had been thinking just moments before, as she’d tried to smile at a little girl gone bald from the cancer treatments, clearly the old woman’s grandchild. Maybe that’s why I’m here.
“I beg your pardon?” she asked, fighting to keep her smile in place as the old woman held on to her hands. It was not the physical contact she minded, she realized, but that wild intensity in the woman’s eyes.
“He was a good man,” the woman said, in the dialect of the upper mountains. “And a great king. I give thanks every day that you have returned to us, to bless us and help us prosper as your family has done for generations, no thanks to that evil woman who stole you away in the first place!”
And what could Lara say? It was hardly the place to argue—particularly with the grandmother of a sick child. And why did it seem as if the part of her that had defended Marlena for so long was simply … tired?
“Thank you,” she said, fighting to keep her expression serene. “I hope I can live up to his memory.”
Later that night, Lara met Adel at the start of a great ball to honor a dignitary whose name she had yet to commit to memory as she knew she should. The palace was alive with lights and Alakkul’s most glamorous people were decked out in their finest clothes, all of it shining and sparkling. The palace gardens had been converted to a kind of wonderland for the evening, complete with a dance floor and little tables clustered in and around the flowering trees and geometrically shaped shrubberies. It was the end of August already. The twilight brought with it hints of the coming fall, the air was cool, and Lara felt a restlessness shiver through her, making her feel as if her skin was two sizes too small.
“You are fidgeting,” Adel told her without altering his calm expression as they stood side by side to receive their guests. She did not have to look at him to know that he looked as he always did—so strong, so capable, his mouthwateringly male form displayed to perfection in the dark suit that clung to his every muscle and made his chest look like some kind of hard, male sculpture. He was mesmerizing. Still.
“It is just as well that you were raised since you were young to rule this place,” she said, not thinking, letting the wildness that rolled inside of her have its way. “I would have made a terrible ruler. Perhaps you knew that. Perhaps my father did, too. Perhaps it is not sexism but practicality that governs you.”
He did not reply. He shot her one of those dark, far-too-calm glances that made her breath catch, and something thick and heavy turn over into a knot in her gut. Then he returned to his duties, the endless greeting and acknowledging of guests, as if she had not spoken at all.