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"Evening," she greeted him, without turning to be sure of his identity, not lifting her eyes from the page.
He didn't respond, simply stared at her, drinking in her perfect features, so refreshingly different from the Tortallan beauties he had been presented with every day at his father's court. It was as if he was seeing her – really seeing her – for the first time, past the pretences they both affected when in public.
She looked up, startled, when he didn't offer the customary answer, and quickly set the book aside, assuming he had something important to tell her. It pained him how quickly they had slipped into a routine. He didn't want this – he didn't want convention, niceties and stiff formalities. Not from her. He didn't want the woman he had (yes, why not?) fallen in love with to be his silent shadow.
"I had a visitor this afternoon," he explained, sitting down next to her and taking one of her hands in both of his.
She winced, visibly, knowing what this conversation was leading to. "She didn't," she whispered, withdrawing her hand sharply as her cheeks flushed with colour.
"She did," he affirmed, a wry smile crossing his face. Secretly, he was pleased that he could elicit such a response from her, even on a topic like this. "She told me everything. Several times, at various volumes, I might add." He watched her as she moved away, concealing her expression from him. He wished she wouldn't – he longed to know what she thought, what she felt about this, but he wouldn't push it. Not yet. "I thought I was hiding it well, you know. It just didn't occur to me how well you might be hiding it too."
She turned back to face him, an unvoiced question in her eyes. No words. He needed to speak first, even if he was afraid of seeming weak before her.
He took in a breath, wanting to look down, to look away, somehow almost embarrassed, but keeping his eyes locked with hers. No more pretence, he reminded himself. "I'm scared too," he admitted quietly. "I'm scared because I'm so different to my father. I'm – I'm afraid I won't be able to satisfy the – the people, or our neighbours – or-" He broke off and looked at her helplessly.
She crossed the room quickly and wrapped her arms around him. He buried his face in her shoulder, unable to speak, ashamed, yet somehow pleased that he'd said it, that they could deal with it now.
"I'm sorry. I should have come to you about it. It's just – I wasn't groomed for the throne, not-" Her voice caught in her throat. "Not like – well, you. I'm worried that I won't be able to fill your mother's role."
He pulled back from her then, just enough so that he could see her face. They were almost close enough for their noses to touch. "Ah, but I don't want to marry my mother. I want to marry you."
She smiled then, and leaned forward, closing the remaining physical distance between them.
"We'll talk about things like this in future," he said, not ready to let the issue go yet. It would be much harder to bring up a second time. She nodded, looking hesitant, and he slid two fingers under her chin, tilting it up. "My parents ruled Tortall well. It's not something we can shy away from. But we shouldn't be afraid of ringing in the changes either."
Finally, she looked convinced.
In the moment before their lips met, he murmured, "No more worries?"
"No. Not one."