as the tea room in the Bath Assembly Halls, with the same style of double-columned balcony on the side opposite the windows. But there the similarities ended. Every available wall surface in this salon was tiled, row after row of rich gold and earth colours, separated by elaborately carved rococo dados. On the furthest wall was something which looked rather like a four-poster bed, and which Constance assumed must be the royal throne. Though the floor immediately in front of it was covered in thick silk rugs, there was, however, not a single other seat, cushion or chair to be found.
Prince Kadar seemed to realise this at the same time as Constance did. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said ruefully, ‘the Royal Saloon is designed to intimidate visitors, not offer them comfort. I had forgotten.’
‘Forgotten?’
‘I have used this room but once before. When I took my vows.’
‘Your vows,’ Constance repeated, wondering if she was being obtuse. ‘Ah, I see now. This room is used for royal weddings?’
‘I am not married.’ A flicker of something—pain? Sorrow? Regret?—passed over the Prince’s countenance, but it was gone so quickly Constance might well have imagined it. ‘The solemn vows I took when I assumed the crown,’ he said.
‘Oh, you mean your coronation.’
Another shake of the head. ‘No, that ceremony was postponed until after the period of national mourning for my elder brother, who died suddenly three months ago.’
‘I am so sorry, how dreadful. My most sincere condolences.’
She had reached out to touch him in an automatic gesture of sympathy. The Prince was staring at her grubby, tanned hand with its ragged nails, which contrasted starkly with the pristine sleeve of his tunic, as if fascinated. Or more likely repelled. Or simply appalled at her lack of deference. Constance snatched her hand away. ‘Were you close, you and your brother?’
He took so long to answer she wondered if he had heard her question. Or perhaps posing it had been another breach of protocol. When he finally spoke, his tone was flat. ‘I have been living abroad for the last seven years.’
Which was no answer, but his frosty expression made it clear the subject was closed. When he turned his back, Constance began to panic. She had offended him. The audience was over before it had begun, and she knew not a single fact more than when she had arrived. ‘Please, Your Highness, if you could...’
He held his hand out to silence her. ‘One moment.’ The throne or divan or whatever it was, was covered in scarlet cushions tasselled with gold. Prince Kadar began to strew them on the floor. ‘There,’ he said, when the throne lay bare and the floor contained two heaps of cushions, ‘now we may both be seated in comfort.’
He sank down with a fluidity she could not dream of imitating, crossing his legs with enviable ease, indicating that she sit opposite him. Considerably impeded by her voluminous tunic, Constance did as he bid her. The Prince tugged off his headdress, casting it carelessly, with its diamond-encrusted band, onto the stripped throne. His hair was black, silky, dishevelled, curling down over the collar of his tunic at the back, the contrast with his austere countenance adding another dimension to his allure. He really was a very, very attractive man.
‘You were saying?’
Constance started. ‘What?’ She blushed. ‘I mean, I beg your pardon.’ She pushed her wild tangle of hair away from her face. ‘I mean, yes, I was. I was wondering—that is—the other passengers on the Kent, the crew, Captain Cobb.’
‘Of course.’
Prince Kadar rested his chin on his steepled fingers. His eyes really were an extraordinary colour, like stone speckled with lichen. What was he thinking? She shifted uncomfortably on the cushions. She wished he would say something. ‘Your Highness? I cannot be the only survivor, surely?’
‘No. No, of course not.’ Another pause. ‘You are anxious. Forgive me, the situation is somewhat awkward, I was trying to think how best to explain it.’
‘I much prefer the unvarnished truth. I find it is less painful in the long run.’
This remark earned her another of those looks. Assessing, that was the word she had been searching for. ‘You speak as one who has experience of—er—painful truths?’
‘That’s not what I said.’
‘It is what you implied.’
‘Goodness,’ Constance retorted, ‘am I on trial?’
Prince Kadar flinched. Then he smiled ruefully. ‘I beg your pardon, of course not. I find you—interesting.’
Which was no compliment, she was sure, but she was blushing all the same. ‘Well,’ Constance said, flustered, ‘I find you interesting too.’ Could she find anything more fatuous to say! ‘I mean, I have never met a prince before.’ Or inane! ‘You were right.’ Deflated, she smiled at him awkwardly. ‘I have had a great deal of experience in painful truths of late, but if you are thinking that I am likely to dissolve into hysterics at whatever it is you have to tell me, then let me reassure you, I am not the hysterical type.’
‘After what you have been through, I am surprised that you have any equanimity at all,’ the Prince replied. ‘Your composure is admirable.’
‘Oh, it’s not. Trust me, beneath this stylish piece of clothing, which is the only one I possess, I am shaking like a jelly.’
The faintest trace of colour stained his cheeks in response to this remark. His gaze was fixed on the gaping neck of her tunic. She had embarrassed him. And now she had embarrassed herself again. Constance bit back her apology, realizing just in time that it would only make matters worse, deciding to take a leaf out of the Prince’s book, and hold her tongue. And stop fidgeting. And stop staring.
‘The sinking of the Kent,’ Prince Kadar pronounced finally, as if he were reading from Shakespeare. ‘First of all, I must apologise. I was out of the country on state business when the ship went down, and since my return I have been required to devote my time to dealing with the consequences of the shipwreck. I am afraid the message sent to the palace informing us of your survival was overlooked until yesterday. Be assured that I acted upon it immediately.’
‘The man you sent was certainly efficient,’ Constance replied, ‘though I confess I found the sea journey somewhat more of an ordeal than I anticipated. I fear I can no longer claim to be such an excellent sailor as I once was.’
‘I am sorry. It did not occur to me that another sea voyage so soon after your ordeal would be a fraught experience for you. I thought only to have you brought here by the fastest route possible.’
‘Please, think nothing of it.’ Constance repressed a shudder. ‘My only regret is that my expression of thanks to Bashir, the village elder whose family cared for me, were woefully inadequate.’
‘You need not fret about that. I instructed my Chief Adviser to ensure that the village was rewarded for the care which they took of you. I am sure that Abdul-Majid said and did everything that was appropriate. He is a most—a most conscientious servant of the crown.’
Though not a servant close to Prince Kadar’s heart, if she did not mistake that tiny little moue of distaste. ‘A Chief Adviser,’ Constance said, ‘implies that you have many others.’
