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“Nicholas, could you zip me up, please?” asked Mia, smoothing her dress as she inspected her reflection, tiara glinting in the lamplight, hair neatly pinned up except for one artfully curled lock beside each ear.
Stepping behind her, Nicholas finished adjusting his tie, then pressed his hands to her back, carefully sliding the zipper home. As the tight fabric closed around her, Mia caught a flicker passing across her own face.
“Are you alright?” said Nicholas, resting those steady hands on her bare shoulders, thumbs lightly rubbing across her skin. “You look a little tired.”
“Just what every woman wants to hear before she goes to a banquet,” teased Mia, meeting his gaze in the mirror, though she could feel how thin her own smile was.
Nicholas chuckled, touching a kiss to her nape, more tender than seductive. “Obviously you look beautiful. I'm just worried you've been overworking yourself, that's all.”
“Can't overwork when the work never stops,” said Mia, stretching her smile wider, a tension thrumming at the back of her head. “Being queen is a 24/7 job.”
“Being queen also means you can tell everyone to leave you alone,” said Nicholas, eyebrows slightly raised, hands still gentle on her shoulders.
“I don't think parliament would be very happy if I did that,” Mia said playfully, turning to face him, spinning within his embrace.
Nicholas laughed softly. “Is parliament ever happy?”
“Only during the summer break,” said Mia, mischief tugging her smile to one side.
“Sounds like taking a break has a positive effect,” said Nicholas, feigning surprise, casual and polished.
Mia sighed, half fond, half exasperated. “You really don't give up, do you?”
“Not when it comes to your good health,” said Nicholas, blue eyes stern but teasing.
“I'm fine, Nicholas,” Mia said, summoning a more earnest smile. “Just a little tired.”
“Then maybe you should rest,” he said, voice playful, but there was a sincerity in his face that made her heart twinge.
“It's only a banquet,” she insisted, though that dull tension lingered in her scalp. “I'll be sitting down the whole time.”
“I suppose I can't argue against sitting,” said Nicholas, blue eyes glimmering.
“Or eating,” said Mia, more brightly. “Food will keep my strength up.”
“True,” Nicholas said, expression turning airy. “And tonight's menu is supposed to be spectacular.”
Mia swallowed a snort. Leaning closer, she dropped her voice to a whisper, full of conspiracy. “I heard the chefs had a secret collaborator.”
“Did they?” said Nicholas, as if he hadn't spent weeks telling her about ingredients and recipes. “I wonder who that could be.”
“Maybe they'll reveal themselves at the banquet,” she said, smoothing his lapel before taking a step towards the door. “It'd be a shame to miss that.”
“I suppose it would,” said Nicholas, calm and easy, as he offered her his arm.
Mia curled her hand around his elbow, and they set off towards the banquet hall. On the short journey, she took a few slow breaths, trying to chase away that taut sensation in her head. But it remained, a frown twitching across her forehead in response.
“Will you be alright?” murmured Nicholas, low and earnest, as they paused before the closed doors.
“I'll be fine,” insisted Mia, offering another smile. But part of her wished she'd asked for a quick massage from those skilful hands, to loosen up her tight shoulders. Maybe she still could –
Except the footmen were opening the doors and the majordomo was thumping his staff, announcing the queen and her consort.
She swept into the room, a placid smile lying on her lips, husband steady at her side. All the guests were already seated, but they stood as she entered, silk and suits rustling. Gaze drifting from face to face, Mia acknowledged as many guests as she could while she crossed to the table. She made a wide gesture with her arms – not quite as elegant as she'd seen grandma do – then settled at the head of the table, Nicholas pushing her chair in for her before taking up his own.
“Count Reimann,” she said, turning to the man on her left, as the waiters sallied in with the soup course, “how is Monika doing?”
“Well enough,” the count answered, back straight as he spread his napkin. “Though I think she'd prefer to stay at home.”
“Ah, yes, she's just started school, hasn't she?” said Mia, smiling softly, and picked up her spoon. “That's definitely an adjustment.”
A wry smile tugged at the count's mouth. “Especially with a new puppy to tempt her...”
Mia traded polite comments between mouthfuls of gazpacho, the rich flavour full on her tongue, the coolness refreshing her soul – though it didn't touch the tension wrapped round her head, now blooming to a dull ache. She glanced at Nicholas, cheerfully discussing the pear market with Baroness Bellucci, and hoped she'd been right to ignore his urging.
“And the renovations are going well?” Mia said to Count Reimann as the waiters ushered away their empty bowls and replaced them with fresh plates: roasted artichokes with a lemon drizzle, on a salad of spinach, chickpeas and tangy cream.
“Slower than I'd like,” said the count, prying his artichoke apart with his knife. “But restoring a wing built in the eighteenth-century is an exacting process.”
“I'm sure it will be lovely when it's finished,” Mia said, having a little trouble with her own artichoke, that ache now a heavy band around her skull. “I've heard the painted ceilings are very beautiful.”
“Oh, they will be, once we...”
Mia bit her lip, focusing on parting her artichoke without flinging the leaves across the table. Nicholas caught her gaze, blue eyes soft; when he'd suggested this dish, he'd teased her about whether she could manage it, and she'd playfully insisted she could – but she hadn't been expecting that sharp throb now building up behind her eyes.
But she smiled at him, gripped her cutlery a little tighter, and successfully pried it apart. And the taste really was incredible: nutty yet sweet, balanced by the bitter spinach and the fresh cream, lifted by the zing of the lemon sauce. Mia widened her smile, and Nicholas gently returned it, though when he brushed his knee against hers under the table it seemed less about his skill than a moment of concerned affection.
“And, of course,” said Count Reimann, ploughing through both dish and story, “we needed masons who know the traditional techniques.”
“Sounds like a difficult project,” Mia said, heaping up her next forkful, though that ache pulsed as she fixed her eyes on the count's face. “But it's important to preserve Genovia's heritage.”
“I wholeheartedly agree,” said the count, leaning a fraction closer, and Mia steeled her expression against any revelation of the pain thrumming through her head. “And you're welcome to visit when it's complete, Your Majesty.”
“Oh, that's very kind,” she said, urging her mouth into a polite smile, but she had to take a mouthful of spinach to cover the waver on her lips.
Loosing half a sigh when her plate was clean, Mia rested her hands on the table, breathing slow and deep. Oh, that headache was definitely not good.
Nicholas clasped her right hand, gently squeezing her fingers. “Mia, do you need to retire?” he murmured, blue eyes soft and tender.
Mia swallowed, savouring that little press of his hand. She might be able to hide things from her guests, but not from her attentive husband. “I'll be okay,” she whispered, even as that ache pulsed, glad this was a fairly small occasion and not a grand one. “There's only dessert left.”
Nicholas studied her carefully, then nodded, polished smile sliding back onto his lips as he resumed questioning the baroness about her interest in painting. But he didn't release Mia's hand until the waiters arrived with dessert.
Inhaling slowly, Mia glanced at her waiter, almost tempted to ask for some painkillers. But there wasn't a way to deliver them secretly, and then her guests would either wonder what they were missing out on, or realise she was struggling. And it wasn't long now, wasn't long –
She curled her fingers around her dessert spoon, setting to work on the final course. Poached pears with curls of vanilla ice cream, and a honey and ginger sauce. Oh, it was sweet and smooth, with just a hint of spice – and the chill of it did help dull that flaring pain a little.
Nicholas brushed his knee against hers again, almost idly, calmly chatting to the baroness – and Mia might've thought it was a mistake, except for the way his free hand edged towards her too. Heart twingeing, a sincere smile twitched across her lips, even as her head throbbed.
Straightening up, Mia turned back to the count. “I guess your wife is looking forward to extra rooms to store her books.”
“Oh, she's already earmarked two of them for that,” said the count, tone resigned but eyes amused.
Mia let the flow of conversation carry her, dipping back into her dessert for more doses of that soothing chill, until at last it was all gone. She regretted the end of that sweet dish – but not the end of that meal.
Nicholas caught her eye, claiming her hand again, and she rose to thank the guests and glide away – her husband sliding in close, arm curling around her waist, steady and strong. That touch sustained her as they made their way back to their suite, until they were behind closed doors, away from all prying eyes, and Mia loosed a long, slow sigh.
“Mia,” Nicholas said, stern but kind, arm still lingering around her.
“Okay, I admit it,” she said, a smile flitting across her lips, as she eased her tiara from her throbbing brow. “I've got a headache.”
“Ah, so queens are human after all,” he murmured, soft and playful, sliding his arms further around her.
“What did you think I was?” teased Mia, leaning into him, soul savouring his gentle embrace.
Nicholas chuckled, pressing a kiss to her temple. “A goddess, of course.”
“Prince Charming, you're cheesy as ever,” she sighed fondly, nuzzling into his neck for a moment, revelling in that warmth. “Could you ask the footmen for a glass of water?”
“Of course,” he said, clutching her tight before he slipped away.
Mia strode over to her bedside table, eyes throbbing, and dug out the painkillers she kept there – usually a balm for bumps and scrapes and falls, but hopefully effective on this new ache. As she set them down, Nicholas returned, sliding close again.
“Would you like some help undressing?” he asked, calm and earnest.
“Please,” Mia murmured, aware how tricky her formal outfits were at the best of times, and Nicholas set to it.
With his help, she was soon wrapped in her nightclothes and settling on the couch, painkillers to hand.
“Don't you think you should be resting?” Nicholas said, slightly stern. “In bed?”
“Thank you,” Mia said to the footman, as he returned with a glass of water before scurrying away. She downed her tablets, then wriggled further into the cushions, picking up a pile of papers from the table. “These only arrived today, and parliament has a session tomorrow.”
“Indeed it does,” said Nicholas, fixing his blue eyes on her. “So perhaps you should get a good night's sleep, and read them in the morning?”
Mia squirmed under that gaze, ruffling her papers. “I might not have time in the morning.”
Nicholas huffed, fond and despairing. “But you have time now...?”
Swallowing against that throbbing ache, Mia offered him a small smile. “The painkillers will kick in soon, Nicholas. I'll be fine.”
“Fine,” he said, slipping off his suit jacket, striding over to collect his reading glasses and a half-read novel from his bedside table. “Then I'll read too.”
Mia chuckled as he settled next to her, kicking off his shoes to swing his feet on the couch, forming a louche and stubborn figure – even if there was something cosy about it, almost cuddled up, reading together. But as silence settled upon them, she turned her aching eyes to the papers in her hands.
She squinted at the black type on the crisp white, letters pulsing as her head throbbed, wavering as she tried to follow them. But it seemed to be a note from the Italian ambassador? About... Genovia's pear exports? Yes, yes, that was... But the letters were swimming a little, as was her head and –
Mia swallowed, blinked a few times, then narrowed her eyes again. Yes, the pear market was... Four percent up? Or down. She inhaled slowly. Oh, when would these painkillers really get working? The edge had dulled a little, but that was it.
Shrugging herself off, Mia leaned forwards, clutching the papers tighter. Four... Four percent up, and the Italian ambassador was... concerned that this was... Mia rubbed her eyes, head throbbing. Ah, she just needed to –
Mia thumped backwards again, into the cushion of the couch. She breathed in, breathed out, eyes drifting down the page, not catching on a single letter. Her head was pounding still, but – Come on, Mia. Just a few pages.
Beside her, Nicholas shifted, the silence growing sharp. She tensed, papers rustling in her fingers. “Nicholas,” she said, lightly as she could, before turning to fix her gaze on him, “I know you're pretending to read.”
He was looking at her over his glasses, over his book, blue eyes stern and tender. “So are you.”
Mia huffed. “Nicholas, I – I really need to read these.”
He straightened up, eyes soft, expression serious. “Let me read them,” he said, holding out his hand.
Mia's brows twitched, pain flaring through her. “Excuse me?”
“I'll read them,” Nicholas said, calm and earnest. “Give you a summary of what you need to know.”
Mia bit her lip. She didn't doubt his ability – he was as well educated as she was. And he helped her organise her thoughts often enough, debated with her, edited her speeches. She'd just never handed him a stack of official papers before. But her head was throbbing, the painkillers had barely done anything, and –
“Thank you,” she murmured, and held the papers out to him.
Nicholas smiled, took the sheaf, got to his feet – then offered his other hand to her.
“Um, what now?” said Mia, shifting on the couch.
“I'll read, you rest,” he said, smile soft, expression gentle.
Mia inhaled an aching breath, then took his hand. He hoisted her up, arm sliding around her as she reached her feet, just in case she wobbled – and steered her over to their bed, pulling back the covers before guiding her in. As she settled there, body sighing into the mattress, Nicholas flashed her a tender grin, then slipped around to the other side and scooted across to join her in the middle.
“There,” he said, as he shuffled close. “Comfortable?”
Her head was thumping, eyes throbbing, the painkillers only dulling the ache slightly. Mia swallowed, and leaned into him, resting her head on his solid chest. He was warm and steady under her. “Yeah,” she murmured.
A sound halfway between a chuckle and a sigh tumbled from his mouth. “Good,” he said, curling one arm around her, and raised the papers to read them.
Inhaling deep, exhaling slow, Mia nuzzled into him. Pressed into his side, no sound but the rustle of paper, the air rested on them like a blanket.
“Genovian pear exports are up four percent since last year,” Nicholas said casually, hand sliding up to stroke over her hair – slightly ruffled for having been pinned and styled.
Mia's chest trembled at that touch, and she closed her throbbing eyes. The soft brush of papers, the soft sweep of his hand, settled something in her.
“The Italian ambassador is concerned that Genovia is exporting too many pears,” Nicholas said.
Breath calming, Mia pressed her hand to his chest, savouring his solid form. Her head still ached, but his warm presence, his soft voice, his calm assistance was a balm to the pulse of pain inside her, dulling it, quieting it, just a little. The rhythm of those papers rustling, of his steady heart under her ear, provided a beat more welcome than that stinging throb, distracting her from its swells and dips.
“The Spanish ambassador is concerned that Genovia isn't exporting enough pears,” Nicholas added.
Mia chuckled, burying her face further into his chest. Nicholas slipped his hand from her hair to curl further around her, gentle but strong, cradling her close.
“Motaz is suggesting we build four new railway stations,” said Nicholas.
“Where?” murmured Mia, tracing a circle on his shirt.
“Riesace, Dappola, Mitus and Gurstberg,” said Nicholas, thumb mirroring that circle on her shoulder. “There's a map. You can look in the morning.”
Mia hummed in agreement, shifting closer. The pain wasn't abating, but the tension in her muscles was unspooling, leached away by her husband's embrace.
“And tourism on the south coast is up three point eight percent,” said Nicholas, with a louder shuffle of papers. “Research suggests the latest advertising campaign is connecting with audiences, especially in France.”
Mia fluttered her eyelids open as Nicholas set down the bundle of papers. “Thank you,” she said, tilting her head up to meet those soft blue eyes.
“You're welcome,” he said, a tender smile curving on his lips. “That was much easier, wasn't it?”
“Much easier,” sighed Mia, only slightly sheepish.
His gaze drifted over her face, fond but playful. “It would be even easier if you didn't push past your limits.”
“Does a goddess have limits?” she asked, feigning innocence.
Nicholas snorted, nudging her, squeezing her tighter. “Prince Charming is regretting his words.”
“He should,” teased Mia, a little mischief flaring in her, that ache ebbing slightly. “They're so cheesy they belong in the kitchen.”
“Along with Prince Charming himself,” said Nicholas, brushing a lock of hair from her face.
“Well, if he's going to cook food like tonight's menu,” said Mia, gazing up at him, “I might allow that.”
“You liked it?” said Nicholas, a hint of pride in those blue eyes.
“It was wonderful,” she murmured, fingers stroking his chest again.
“I can't take all the credit,” said Nicholas, smiling softly. “The real chefs did most of the work.”
“But you did help,” said Mia, shifting closer.
“I'm always happy to help,” said Nicholas, hand resting on her cheek.
“Oh, be careful,” teased Mia, even as her stomach tingled. “Don't overwork yourself.”
Nicholas chuckled, nudging her, arching down to kiss her forehead. “Unlike some, I know when to say no.”
Mia swallowed, sliding her hand up his chest. “But you do always help.”
Nicholas hummed a soft note. “Maybe the next thing I'll help with is teaching you how to say no, once in a while.”
“I don't need to,” murmured Mia, half earnest, half mischief. “I have you to do that for me.”
Laughing softly, Nicholas shook his head. “If that's what my queen needs.”
Mia pressed closer to him, that ache ebbing in his embrace. “It's what your wife needs.”
“Well, then,” he said, dipping his head further down, warm breath ghosting across her face. “I certainly can't say no to her.”
He pressed his lips to hers, gentle but lingering, and Mia sighed into the kiss. Shivering as he pulled away, those blue eyes warm and yearning, Mia curled into his arms, savouring the sweet balm of his touch. And she settled against his steady chest, as the hurt leached away and sleep slowly rippled in.