‘I really don’t think our sleeping arrangements are anyone else’s business,’ she said, even though she knew this view would not be shared. The palace was filled with spies loyal to differing factions, the King’s spies, the Queen’s spies… Everyone took sides, at least that was how it had felt to her, or maybe she had been infected by the paranoia of the claustrophobic life inside the palace walls?
Her eyes went to Dante’s face. Presumably he now had his own army of spies reporting to him. ‘And now you’re making the rules.’
She hitched her bag onto her shoulder, not anticipating that her remark would evoke much reaction, certainly not the ripple of complex emotions she saw flicker across his face.
Had she inadvertently hit a nerve?
‘Well, don’t you?’
‘So is that how you think of me? A dictator?’ He vented a wry laugh as they began to climb the sweep of stairs together. ‘I sometimes think it would make life easier.’
He felt he was not just combating his own perceived inexperience but a father who, while he was reluctant to relinquish any power, was equally reluctant to leave the golf course for a long boring meeting, and senior courtiers who, accustomed to winding their King round their collective fingers, thought modernity a dirty word and equated stability with immobility.
She realised they were standing outside the open door to Dante’s study. Opposite was a small salon, where her Italian tutor used to try and be polite about her progress. They were a few doors down from the bedroom suite they had shared, but he went directly to the first door and opened it.
‘This is me. I’ve had the doors to both the adjoining suites opened up, so if you hear any noise you’ll know…’
Beatrice immediately felt foolish for making such an unnecessary issue out of the room situation. ‘Not very likely, the walls are about ten feet thick.’
‘And there are locks on all the interconnecting doors, should you be concerned I might ravish you.’
‘Maybe I’m worried that I might ravish you. It wouldn’t be the first time,’ she flung back recklessly.
He stood there, his eyes burning into her… Very slowly he raised his hand and, with one finger, tilted her face up to him.
‘What are you trying to do, Beatrice?’ he said, turning her own words back on her.
His hand dropped and she gave a shuddering sigh of shame, tears standing out in her eyes as she passed a shaky hand across her mouth.
‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered, before turning and running down the corridor to her own bedroom door. She felt his eyes burning into her back but she didn’t turn around, she didn’t breathe, until she was safe behind the closed door.