That night, Tess appeared for dinner dressed in one of the overly feminine silk frocks that lined her wardrobe. She had to admit, the cut and trumpet skirt of the gown accentuated her features in a way she couldn't help but appreciate, and a dark, secret part of her wondered if Antone would notice and appreciate it, too.

She needn't have worried about that, though.

For all the time and effort she'd put into getting dressed and appearing on time, neither Antone nor his sister bothered to attend supper that evening. Or, in fact, any of their meals for the rest of the week.

Instead, Tess was left to roam the castle's corridors alone, exploring all the little rooms and alcoves that Antone and his sisters probably knew so well. That her own son or daughter would grow to explore as the years went by.

If she was worried about running into Antone, she needn't have bothered with that, either. Apparently, he was too busy running the country in his father's absence to bother much with his pregnant bride. Which, Tess supposed, was to be expected. Perhaps he thought--as she did--that their night together had simply been a moment of weakness between them. That their arrangement should continue as planned, regardless of the heat that had surged between them.

That was the logical thing to do. To remain separate. To live their lives as each of them wanted to, without having to bother with what the other would think.

And yet, when she went to bed each night, a small niggling part of her wondered what it would be like to feel the heat of his body press against her. To feel his warm breath against her neck as it evened and slowed. Then, in her darker moments, she wondered if perhaps someone else knew that feeling. If, in all these hours she'd gone without seeing him, he'd brought another woman into the palace...into his bed. As much as she hated herself for it, her gut twisted at the thought of his strong arms wrapping around another woman's waist, pulling her close to his muscular, rock-hard chest.

As one week turned into two, though, her suspicions only worsened. Soon, she was having nightmares of Antone's affairs with other women. Imagining that he waited behind every door with some blond or redhead that she didn't know, challenging her to say something of his infidelity.

All the while, though, her princess lessons with Ellaria muddled on, each growing worse than the last has her distraction and Ellaria's frustration compounded.

One day, at the end of her second week without a word from Antone, she stumbled on a phrase and Ellaria slammed a book onto the floor with a loud "crack."

"I thought you were slow, but this is absurd," Ellaria muttered something else in rushed Italian under her breath and Tess scrubbed a hand over her face.

"I'm sorry, I'm just--"

"Save your apologies for my brother. They will not help you with me." Ellaria plucked the book from the floor and sat it in front of Tess again. "Now read. Review."

Tess glanced down at the words, unseeing, then she closed the tome and stared up at her reluctant professor. "Look, I know you don't like me."

"Whatever would give you that idea?" Ellaria practically snarled.

"I didn't ask for this any more than you did."

"Oh no? The random American with a family of social climbers never dreamed of being a princess?" Ellaria raised an eyebrow.

"No. I didn't. I just wanted--"

"I don't care. I thought I had made that clear. Save it for my brother."

"That'd be a lot easier if your brother ever spoke to me." Tess was at the breaking point. She curled her fingers around the little table in front of her and Ellaria looked her over with fixed disdain and a flicker of something else. Curiosity?

"That would explain some things." Ellaria curled a finger around one of her golden locks.

"Like what?"

"He asks me for reports on you. How you're eating. If you're looking well."

"He does?" Tess wasn't sure what to make of that, but Ellaria nodded.

"He seems quite concerned. He's booked a doctor's appointment for you at the end of next week."

"Good of him to tell me," Tess grumbled.

"We all serve at his pleasure." Ellaria gritted her teeth. "All of us."

"Do you--?" Tess started to ask, but Ellaria stalked toward the door and swung it open.

"Practice your conjugation," she said, then with a nod toward Luca who was stationed at the door, she disappeared.

Tess blinked after her, then tapped her fingers against the cover of her book. It was an old, hard-backed English to Italian dictionary and she'd practiced with it every day to no avail.

With a sigh, she opened to the page she'd been studying and repeated the words over and over again, begging her mind to allow the translation to stick.

"You will not go far practicing this way," Luca offered after she'd let out a frustrated sigh.

"Oh?"

"You must practice in speech. Immersion. This is how I learned English." Luca nodded. "Watch Italian television. Converse in Italian. I tried to tell the princess, but she...she is difficult to sway." Luca offered a friendly smile and Tess softened.

"Maybe you're right. I doubt she'd practice with me, though."

"Perhaps the prince might serve?" Luca asked.

"He might if I ever knew where he was." Tess held her head in her hands, then looked up at Luca again. "Isn't it hard for you to keep track of all their royal whereabouts?"

Luca shook his head. "I have served this family since I was a boy. We played together as children. If one of the royal family needs to go somewhere to think, I always know where they are."

"And where does Prince Antone go?"

"The garden," Luca said it so simply that Tess wondered why she'd never thought of it herself. Maybe because she could hardly picture Antone's imposing form towering over rose bushes and flowerbeds. Before she could comment on that, though, Luca went on.

"His mother spent much of her time there when he was a child. She planted most of the garden by hand."

"I see," Tess said. "Do you think he would be there now?"

"I think, princess, there is only one way to find out."

* * *

"Cesar--" Antone tried to reason with the man on the other end of the phone, but he was speaking in such rapid-fire Italian that it was nearly impossible to get a word in edgewise.

"Cesar, please," he tried again, then sat down on the garden bench and glanced up at the sky.

The moon was full tonight, and the stars were shining so brightly that there was a glow in the dark sky. It should have been a beautiful night, the perfect time to walk the gardens, relax, and think over his situation. As it was, though--

"I feel that you are not listening to me." Cesar's voice rang through in English as he finished his long line of Italian profanities.

"I am listening. What would you have me do?"

"I would have you consider that you are the crown prince of this nation."

"And as such, it is not my place to wrangle the king," he shot back, though he rubbed his brow with one hand. Would that it were his job to manage his father's affairs. Then, maybe, he wouldn't receive such regular midnight phone calls. Maybe he'd even be able to get a decent night's sleep without having to get up at three in the morning and sneak into his father’s office to ensure the day would be filled with work instead of whatever new games he had planned with his blushing bride.

It hadn't always been like this. Ruefully, he thought of the days when his father would wake him at four in the morning to review his schedule, to show him the importance of running a kingdom with grace and precision. When his mother had been alive, his father had been the sort of king any kingdom could wish for. He was stern, but fair. Always two steps ahead of what was needed. Always bettering the lives of his people.

But then, one very dark and cold December, his mother had passed, and everything had changed.

His father was a broken man. Despondent, uncaring. Everything reminded him of her. The people reminded him of her vigils. His children reminded him of her warmth.

Antone didn't have to ask to know the truth of it. Without his mother, his father saw no reason to continue.

So he hadn't.

He'd begun waking when it suited him. Taking his meals alone. Spending his days with one woman or another to fill the void until finally a new, pretty thing came along to divert him. Within a year of his wife's death, he was already remarried and living the life of a honeymooner.

And Antone?

He was left to pick up the pieces.

"Your highness--" Cesar's rough voice cut into his thoughts and Antone blinked.

"Fine, fine. E-mail me your paperwork and I will handle the situation myself."

"This is a matter for the king, your grace. If you could--"

"I said I will handle it," he barked, then clicked the phone off and leaned back in the bench seat.

By the looks of it, it would be another long night filled with paperwork and planning.

He glanced at a rose bush beside him and plucked one of the bright pink blooms from the vine, staring at it for a long moment and remembering the day his mother had planted them.

"You will be king one day and all of this will be yours." He'd been five then. Only a child and already reminded of the burden he would bear.

Where his father had made it sound like a job and a duty, though, his mother had made it sound like an honor. Something only he could do.

"You must care for the people like this rose bush." She sank the roots into the dirt, then swept the loose ground around to cover it. "You must anticipate their needs. Tend to them carefully. Prune certain aspects of their governing so they can continue to grow and prosper. Understand how to handle them so you are not pricked by their thorns."

He squared his jaw. He'd never bothered to ask her what she'd meant. He'd simply taken in what she'd said and carried on with his day.

But it all made sense now.

A rustling sounded from a few feet away and he glanced up to find Tess standing in front of him, a pretty lavender chiffon dress highlighting her frame. He should have been surprised to see her here, but he wasn't. He'd known, somehow, that a woman like her would not allow his [sanctuary] to go on forever.

It was just as well, though. Her dark hair swayed in the wind and he swallowed to keep from telling her exactly how beautiful she looked tonight. Like a queen.

Briefly, he wondered what she'd look like when she began to fill out and swell with the child inside her. Only more beautiful, probably. Even more exquisite.

"You've come to tell me you intend to leave again?" he asked, raising his eyebrows.

Surprise flicked across her pretty features, but then she relaxed. Almost smiled. Almost.

"Not this time," she said, and crossed the space between them to join him on the bench.

The moment she sat down, the smell of lavender swirled in the air around him, and he wanted to lean closer. Wanted to remember what it was like to taste her skin.

But he didn't. He simply sat there, waiting for whatever bombshell she was about to drop on him.

"Who was on the phone?" she asked.

He blinked, unsure he'd heard her right.

"You heard that?"

"Well...you sort of yelled." She shrugged. "This place echoes."

"Of course it does." He pursed his lips. "It was no one. Nothing to concern yourself with."

"I need to concern myself with something. Maybe you're cool with this Quasimodo routine, but I'm going crazy. I only have your sister for company, and I don't know if you know this, but she's not exactly warm and fuzzy."

Antone laughed. "So you've come to lodge a complaint? Is that it?"

"I've come to see if you'll at least meet me half way. I've had a lot of time to think about this. And I mean like dizzying amounts of time. I just think..." She sighed. "We're raising a child together. I want to know who you are. I'm going to these princess lessons and dealing with the whole growing a person inside of me thing. Do you think you could at least try to have dinner with me or something?"

He considered her for a moment, thinking over all the nights he'd glanced up at the clock and wondered what she was doing. All the times he'd wanted to leave his desk and join her in the dining hall.

Before he had a chance to say anything, though, she went on.

"I know you may be...entertaining other guests." She tilted her head to the side. "But I'm still the mother of your child."

"Entertaining other guests?"

"Look, I'm not stupid, but the fact is that it's none of my business who warms your bed at night. All I'm asking--"

"You are of the impression I would do that?"

"I just thought--"

"Tess. You are my woman. You are carrying my child. Whatever issues we may face, I would never dishonor you by bringing another woman into my bed."

"But you said--"

"I know what I said. The truth is...I like to see you blush." He offered her a wry smile and she returned it, though the reluctance was clear on her face.

"I wouldn't have expected that from you," she said.

"I am not all bad." He handed her the rose he'd plucked from the bush and she stared down at it for a moment before turning to face him again.

"I guess I've never had the chance to find out." She raised the flower to her nose and breathed long and deep. Then, with her mouth tilted to the side, she said, "Well, that sounded like an important call. I don't want to keep you."

He blinked at her, unsure what to do. He wanted her to stay. Wanted to ask her to come back to his quarters so he could show her exactly how considerate a man he could be. But he knew their agreement, and he was a man of his word.

So, with a heavy heart, he nodded and said. "Yes. Well, good night then."

"Good night." She rose and he watched as she strolled back to the castle gates, her long hair swaying behind her as she walked.