attention kept flickering back to the statue of the second King Astraeus, a marble titan dating from 1403. Trident in hand and unashamedly naked, he had the same arrogant look with an underlying hint of ferociousness that Helios carried so well. If she had known nothing of the Agon royal dynasty, she would have known instinctively that her lover was a descendent of this man. Agon had been at peace for decades but their warrior roots dated back millennia, were ingrained in their DNA.
Helios had warrior roots in spades.
She had to stop thinking about him.
God, this was supposed to be easy. An affair with no promises and no need for compromise.
She’d been so tempted to stay in the boardroom with him. She’d ached to stay. Her body had been weighted down with need for him. But in the back of her mind had been an image of him exchanging his vows with a faceless woman who would become his wife.
Amy couldn’t be the other woman. Whatever kind of marriage Helios had in mind for himself, it would still be real. He needed an heir. He would make love to his wife.
She could never allow herself to be the cause of pain and humiliation in another. She’d seen first-hand the damage an affair could cause. After all, she was the result of an affair herself. She’d spent seventeen years knowing she was the result of something sordid.
She was nothing but a dirty secret.
* * *
Helios’s driver brought the car to a stop at the back of the palace, beside his private entrance. Dozens and dozens of schoolchildren of all shapes and sizes were picnicking on the lawn closest to the museum entrance: some playing football, some doing cartwheels and handstands. In the far distance a group were filing out of the Agon palace’s maze, which was famed as one of the biggest and tallest mazes in the world.
Helios checked the time. He was always too busy to spend as much time with the palace visitors as he would like.
He had a small window before he was due at a business meeting he’d arranged with his brothers. His brothers ran the day-to-day side of their investment business, but he was still heavily involved. Then there were his royal duties, which had increased exponentially since the onset of his grandfather’s illness. He was in all but name Prince Regent, the highest ranking ambassador for his beloved island. It was his duty to do everything he could to bring investment and tourists to his island, to spread his country’s influence on the world’s stage and keep his islanders safe and prosperous.
As he neared the children, with his courtiers keeping a discreet distance, their small faces turned to him with curiosity. As often happened, it took only one to recognise him before his identity spread like wildfire and they all came running up. It was one of the things he so liked about children: their lack of inhibition. In a world of politeness and protocol he found it refreshing.
One thing he and Catalina were in agreement about was the wish for a minimum of two children. They agreed on many things. Most things. Which was a good omen for their forthcoming marriage. On paper, everything about their union appeared perfect. But...
Every time he tried to picture the children they would create together his mind came up blank. The picture just would not form.
Despite her ravishing beauty, his blood had yet to thicken for her. But this was only a minor issue, and one he was certain would resolve itself the more time he spent with her. Tomorrow he would fly to Monte Cleure so he could formally ask her father for Catalina’s hand in marriage. It was only a formality, but one that couldn’t be overlooked.
At least times had moved on from such issues as a dowry having to be found and trade alliances and so on being written into the contract of any royal betrothal. Now all he had to worry about was his bride having blue blood.
He’d always found blue so cold.
He turned his attention on the English children and answered a host of questions from them, including, ‘Is it true your toilet is made of gold?’
His personal favourite was ‘Is it true you carry a sub-machine gun wherever you go?’
In answer to this he pulled from his pocket the penknife his grandfather had given him on his graduation from Sandhurst; an upgraded version of the one he’d been given on his tenth birthday. ‘No, but I always carry this.’
As expected, the children were agog to see it. It was termed a penknife only in the loosest sense; on sight anyone would recognise it for the deadly fighting instrument it truly was. Children loved it when he showed it to them. Their basic human nature had not yet been knocked out of them by the insane political correctness infecting the rest of the Western world.
‘Most Agonites carry knives with them,’ he said to the enthralled children. ‘If anyone wants to invade our island they know we will fight back with force.’
Their teacher, who had looked at the knife as if it had come personally from Eurynomos himself, looked most relieved as she glanced at her watch. Immediately she clapped her hands together. ‘Everyone into their pairs—it’s time for our tour.’
Today was Thursday... Amy was taking on some of the tours...
The hairs on the back of his neck lifted. He looked over at the museum entrance. A slender figure stood at the top of the steps. Even though she was too far away for him to see clearly, the increasing beat of his heart told him it was her.
He straightened, a smile playing on his lips. Only two days had passed since she’d called his bluff and walked out of the boardroom, leaving him with an ache in his groin he’d only just recovered from. He would bet anything she had suffered in the same manner. He would bet she’d spent the past two days jumping every time her phone rang, waiting for his call.
Her pride had been wounded when she’d learned he was taking a wife, but she would get over it. She couldn’t punish him for ever, not when she suffered as greatly as he did. Soon she would come crawling back.
After a moment’s thought, he beckoned for one of his courtiers and instructed him to pass his apologies to his brothers. They could handle the meeting without him.
The time was ripe to assist Amy in crawling back to him.
* * *
The Agon palace dungeons never failed to thrill, whatever the visitor’s age. Set deep underground, and reached by steep winding staircases at each end of the gloom, only those over the age of eight were permitted to enter. Inside, dim light was provided by tiny electrical candles that flickered as if they were the real thing, casting shadows wherever one stood. Unsurprisingly, the children today were huddled closely together.
‘These dungeons were originally a pit in which to throw the Venetian invaders,’ Amy said, speaking clearly so all twenty-three children on the tour could hear. ‘The Venetians were the only people to successfully invade Agon, and when Ares the Conqueror, cousin of the King at the time, led the uprising in AD 1205, the first thing he ordered his men to do was build these pits. King Timios, who was the reigning King and whom the Agonites blamed for letting the Venetians in, was thrown into the cell to my left.’
The children took it in turns to gawp through the iron railings at the tiny square stone pit.
‘The manacle on the right-hand wall is the original manacle used to chain him,’ she added.
‘Did he die in
