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And when she looked back at him, Saviero thought he saw some hint of challenge there in her gaze. Or defiance.

He realized instantly that she expected him to argue with her. That she thought what he had told her about supporting her in public was a lie. Or something he might walk back, if and when he disagreed with her.

She was sitting there in an armchair in his office that he usually reserved for late-night reading. And once again, she managed to make it look like she was sitting upon a throne. And while she was smiling, still with that hint of self-deprecation, he could see that she was tense.

And he bet that he was the only one who could see it—because he was quite certain that he was the only person alive who had ever seen her as relaxed as she’d been last night.

But the takeaway here was not that she’d armored herself in all her usual ways to come meet with him and their combined staffs this morning.

It was that she clearly didn’t expect him to do what he’d said he would.

He was Saviero Cimarosa. Or rather, he was now Prince Saviero of Liandero, and he was not known for going back on his word. And had, in fact, been the best and only choice for the role of the new Queen’s husband and consort because his word was so highly regarded and it was known without question that he was a man of honor in all things.

It was tempting to feel a little offended about the fact that Cesca was, as far as he knew, the only person on the planet who had ever doubted him.

But he didn’t. He couldn’t. He’d known this woman for the whole of her life and aside from that stark, revealing moment in front of her mother’s art, he had never seen her even remotely vulnerable. Aside from that single photo from right after her father’s death that should never have been shared, that was. And she’d spent too much time in the glare of the tabloid vultures since to allow them or anyone else to see her without her guard up.

Saviero understood the gift she’d given him.

He inclined his head, bowed as this was the first time he’d seen her today and that was protocol, and he did not go and sit behind his desk the way he normally would. Instead, he went and took a different chair, one that more junior staff members usually claimed.

And he kept his gaze on the Queen no matter who looked at him, making it clear without saying a word who was in charge.

“What do you think?” she asked him, once everyone had finished looking between them and had shifted to keeping their attention where it belonged. On her.

“I think that’s an excellent idea,” he replied at once. “Your Majesty has always been particularly good in interview situations. No one can spin a story like you can. It will be a charm offensive and the perfect introduction to your reign.”

He thought he saw her smile, though she hid it.

They spent the morning hammering out various strategies, both short- and long-term. Saviero called in Vesuvius’s staff, and they talked about integrating those senior palace officials into the Queen’s team, as well as his.

Her people got busy scheduling her interviews while Saviero walked her deeper into the business wing of the palace, where she was expected to spend her afternoon getting caught up on all the matters of state that the kingdom was currently most concerned about, involved in, or otherwise felt was on their radar.

“Thank you for supporting me,” Cesca said quietly, as they walked down the corridor, Saviero careful to stay a step behind her and members of the Royal Guard standing at attention as she passed.

She had dressed for her first full day as a working monarch far more casually than her brother would have, but that was the thing about Cesca. When she wished, she could exude a certain authority, and it didn’t really matter what she was wearing.

He didn’t think that anyone would doubt that she was the Queen even if she’d rolled into these meetings in jeans and a T-shirt. But she knew better than that. She’d opted for a pair of high-waisted, wide-leg trousers and a slightly dressy blouse. Very simple. Very chic. With her hair swept back, she looked elegant.

Saviero was quite certain she knew it.

Just as he knew that she had deliberately tried to look untouchable as well, likely as a response to how much touching had occurred last night.

“You don’t have to thank me for my support,” he said quietly, where only she could hear. “You can depend upon it.”

“Even if you disagree with me?” she asked, though she kept her gaze on the hall ahead of them as they walked.

“I may often disagree with you,” Saviero told her mildly. “And I will tell you so in private. We may even have heated debates on a great many topics, Francesca, and it will stay behind closed doors. I am your consort and my role is to support you and further your aims in all things.”

“But you might not agree with my aims,” Cesca said. She looked at him then—a touch of dark hazel. “I have been known to be remarkably unserious, in my day.”

He did not stop walking, but he gave her his full attention all the same. “It seems to me that court intrigue only happens when the people at the top of the food chain allow others to get between them,” he said, making sure that none of the guards lining the government offices along the hall could hear him. And he held her gaze with his. “I promise you, I have no intention of letting that happen to us.”

Cesca studied him, something like cynicism in her eyes then. He didn’t care for it at all. “Because you think you can influence me?”

She did not ask, Is that why my brother picked you for me? Though it was heavily implied.

The look he gave her then made her cheeks heat beyond any hope of repression, and he was glad of it.