joke. Trust me, marriage isn’t a topic I’d kid about. It’s a genuine proposal—I’ve thought it through.’
‘When? In the past few hours? Are you certifiably nuts?’
‘This makes sense.’
‘How? There is no universe where this makes even a particle of a molecule of sense.’
‘This is what is best for Amil—best for our son.’
‘No, it isn’t. Not in this day and age. You cannot play the let’s-get-together-for-our-child’s-sake card.’
That was the stuff of fairy tales, and she was damned sure that her mother had been right about those being a crock of manure.
‘Yes, I can. In the circumstances.’
‘What circumstances?’ Her fogged brain attempted to illuminate a pathway to understanding and failed.
‘If you marry me Amil will become Crown Prince of Lycander after me. If you don’t, he won’t.’
The words took the wind out of the sails of incredulity. Of course. Duh! But the idea that Frederick would marry her to legitimise Amil hadn’t even tiptoed across her mind. The whole concept of her baby one day ruling a principality seemed surreal, and right now she needed to cling onto reality.
‘We can’t get married to give Amil a crown.’
‘But we can get married so that we don’t deprive him of one.’
‘Semantics.’ Think. ‘He won’t feel deprived of something he never expected to have.’ Would he? ‘Amil will grow up knowing...’
Her voice trailed off. Knowing what? That if his mother had agreed to marry his father he would have been a prince, a ruler, rather than a prince’s illegitimate love-child.
‘Knowing that he can be whatever he wants to be,’ she concluded.
‘As long as what he wants to be isn’t Ruler of Lycander.’
Panic stole over her, wrapped her in tentacles of anxiety. ‘You are putting me in an impossible position. You are asking me to decide Amil’s entire future. To make decisions on his behalf.’
‘No. I am suggesting we make this decision together. I believe this is the best course of action for Amil. If you think otherwise then convince me.’
‘He may not want to be pushed into a pre-ordained future—may not want to be a ruler. Why would we burden him with the weight of duty, with all the rules and obligations that come with it?’
‘Because it is his right to rule. Just as it was my brother’s.’
His voice was even, but she saw the shadows chase across his eyes, sensed the pain the words brought.
‘Axel wanted to rule—he believed in his destiny.’
‘So you believe this is Amil’s destiny?’ Sunita shook her head. ‘It’s too abstract. We make our own destiny and Amil will make his, whatever we decide to do. I want to make the decision that is best for his wellbeing and happiness—you don’t need a crown for either.’
‘This isn’t about need—this is about his birthright. As my first born son he has the right to inherit the Lycander crown.’
‘Even though he was born out of wedlock?’
It was the phrase her grandmother had used to describe Sunita’s birth, to try and explain why her husband had thrown their pregnant daughter out.
‘I know it is hard to understand in this day and age, Sunita, but in our family a mixed race child, born out of wedlock, was a stigma. It wasn’t right, but it was how my husband felt.’
A feeling shared by others. Sunita could still feel the sting of the taunts her half-siblings had flung at her—nasty, insidious words that had clawed at her self-esteem.
Focus. Frederick watched her, his hazel eyes neutral and cool; he was in control and she quite clearly wasn’t. Her thoughts raced round a playground of panic, visited the seesaw, spent time on the slide. Being born out of wedlock would have no impact on Amil’s life; it was not a reason to get married.
She forced herself to concentrate on Frederick’s answer to her question.
‘It makes no odds as long as we legitimise him through marriage,’ he said. ‘Lycander’s rules are complex, but clear on that front.’
Oh, Lord. What was she supposed to do? How could she make a decision like this without the use of a crystal ball? Her mother had believed the right course of action had been to hand Sunita over to her father.
‘People can change, Suni,’ her mother had said. She’d stroked Sunita’s hair with a hand that had looked almost translucent, the effort of even that movement an evident strain. ‘I have to believe that.’
Sunita understood the uncharacteristic thread of sentimentality in her mother over those final weeks. Leela Baswani had wanted to die believing her daughter would be safe and happy, and so she had allowed herself to be conned again by the man who had already broken her heart. She’d allowed herself to believe that people could change.
Well, she’d been wrong. And so was this.
‘This is impossible, Frederick. We can’t spend the rest of our lives together.’
The very idea of spending a week with anyone made her skin prickle in affront—she could almost feel the manacles closing round her wrists. ‘Maybe we should get married, legitimise Amil, and then get a divorce.’
Even as the words left her lips she knew how stupid they were.
‘No. I want to give Amil a life with both his parents, and most importantly, if he is to rule Lycander, he needs to live in the palace, be brought up to understand his inheritance. And I need a wife—a true consort.’
This was becoming laughable. ‘Really, I am not wife material—trust me on this.’
His broad shoulders lifted. ‘But you are the mother of my child.’
Fabulous. ‘So you’ll make do with me because I come with a ready-made heir? And this whole marriage idea is because we are convenient?’ The idea caused welcome anger—an emotion she could manage way better than panic.
‘You don’t care about Amil as a person—you only care about him as a commodity.’
‘No!’ Her words had clearly touched a nerve. ‘I care about Amil because he is my son and I believe this is his right. I want him to grow up with two parents. And, believe me, this is hardly convenient. I intended to present my people with a wife and heir in a more conventional way.’
‘Well, gee, thank you. That makes us feel really special.’
But she was the woman who had omitted to mention his son’s existence—making her feel special would hardly be anywhere on his agenda.
His raised eyebrows indicated complete
