pressed her lips together, keeping the words unspoken. She wished with all her heart that life had not gotten so complicated.
She should have never done what she had, Amelia upbraided herself. But she only had herself to blame. If she had not given in to her curiosity, to her desire, she and Russell would have continued being friendly strangers, nothing more.
But now he was going to have a position of honor inside every dream she had. Almost against her will, she slanted a glance toward Russell. Their eyes met.
Her breath caught in her throat. Breathe, Amelia, breathe.
She looked away, only to see that Madeline was watching her. The redhead’s mouth moved into a quick, comforting smile.
Madeline turned to look out the window. “We’re here,” she announced in a tone that the executioner might have used to tell Marie Antoinette that it was time to climb up the steps that led to the guillotine.
Aware that Carrington’s eyes were still on her, Amelia lifted her chin and took on a regal bearing.
“Yes, we are.”
If she sighed inwardly after the words, no one heard it. But she had a feeling that Carrington sensed it. As his eyes washed over her, she was certain she saw concern glinting in his eyes. She managed a smile that was meant to put him at his ease—and still maintain the distance between them.
As if there would ever be real distance between them, she thought ruefully. The night they had spent together had effectively burned away any kind of space that might have ever existed. Body and soul, she was his now. She always would be, even though they could never make love again. It only took that one time for the promise to be there. To be eternal.
Carrington was the first to unbuckle his seat belt. On his feet, he approached her respectfully. His voice was gentle as he said, “Princess, it’s time to meet your people.”
She took a deep breath, as if that would provide her with the courage that she felt ebbing away from her. She’d been to Silvershire before, but years ago and with her father. She wished he was here now, but he had made it clear that he felt she should come alone, signifying her new position. She was no longer his daughter but Reginald’s intended queen. He was going to join her in a day, but her first hours on Silvershire’s soil should be focused entirely on her and Reginald.
“Yes, it is,” she agreed.
With slow, deliberate movements, Amelia unbuckled her seat belt and then took the hand Carrington offered to help her to her feet. She tried not to think of how that hand had felt the other night, stroking her flesh. Bringing her pleasure that she had never, in her wildest dreams, imagined existed.
Madeline popped up, flashed a smile and whispered, “It’s going to be all right.” Amelia returned the smile, in her heart knowing that it wouldn’t be. Not while she had to be Reginald’s wife.
Turning on his heel, Russell led the way to the plane’s door. The steward preceded him, opening it for them before stepping back.
Russell looked at Amelia. “The people will expect to see you emerging first, Princess,” he told her.
“Then we can’t disappoint them, can we?” she responded gamely.
With Madeline directly behind her, Amelia stepped out onto the steps that had been brought directly before the opened door. Standing there for a moment, she raised her hand and waved to the people who had all gathered there. They didn’t look unlike her own people she had left in Gastonia.
A cheer rose, enveloping her like a warm blanket as the crowd greeted her. For a moment, she remained where she was, waving, absorbing the upturned faces. There were all manner of people within the crowd. Old, young, men, women and children, they were all waving at her. All cheering for this princess they were determined to welcome into their hearts.
Waving and smiling was second nature to her. It had been required of her for as far back as Amelia could remember. It was, she thought, the meaningless side of who and what she was. The meaningful part came from lending her support, her name and her efforts to charitable foundations, to actually accomplishing things. But because of the state of turmoil that her mind was in, she welcomed this distraction. It allowed her to go on automatic pilot.
And not to dwell on the fact that Carrington was standing much too close to her, causing her body to hum. Causing her to remember the other night, when she had been alive for the very first time.
“There’s King Weston.” Madeline said the words against her ear as she gestured toward the monarch standing proudly with his back to the crowd as he watched Carrington and the others disembark. “But where’s the prince?”
Madeline’s question echoed in Amelia’s brain as she scanned the area around King Weston. The tall ruler had some of his key people assembled with him. But the prince was noticeably absent.
This was entirely unacceptable, Amelia thought. It was not only thoughtless and rude, it was beyond insulting. Was he deliberately absent in order to publicly embarrass her? Was this a sign of the things that were to come? Or was he just out to show her how superior he was to her?
Amelia looked over toward Russell, her eyes reiterating Madeline’s question. If anyone would know of the prince’s whereabouts, it was Carrington. But she saw the duke move his head from side to side, silently telling her that he was just as much in the dark about Reginald as she was.
This was not good, Amelia thought. None of the princesses in the fairy tales she had grown up reading were ever stranded by their prince.
Maybe because he’s not really your prince.
The band began to play. Amelia shut the voice in her head out. She carefully came down the narrow metal steps. Despite the din of the crowd, she could swear she heard the click of her heels as she made contact with the metal over and over again. And with each step she took, she heard the same tattoo being struck.
Run. Run. Run.
Except that there was nowhere to run to.
The king and his entourage approached, meeting her halfway. Stepping forward, Weston embraced her, then kissed her soundly first on one cheek and then the other. Finished, he stood back and beamed at her.
“Welcome, Princess.”
There was warmth in the monarch’s eyes, but there was something more there, she realized. There was just a hint of discomfort.
The king was embarrassed that Reginald wasn’t here, Amelia thought. He was embarrassed for her and for the realm. She took heart in that.
In his mid-sixties, King Weston appeared to be in the prime of his life. Distinguished, he looked like a man at least ten years his junior. Six feet one inch tall, with a strong build, he had a full head of silver-gray hair and kind blue-gray eyes. Amelia had always liked him. She fervently wished she could have felt the same way about his son.
Stepping to the side, he gestured, presenting her to his people. “Welcome to your new home.”
After a push from her mother, a little girl of no more than six approached with a huge bouquet of flowers. The little girl held it up as high as she could, offering the bouquet to her. There were carnations, perfect specimens of pink and white, mixed with several other delicate flowers that Amelia
