About being queen.
Was that who this woman really was? Or was he being stupidly judgmental and entirely unfair, based on his own sorry experience? It was impossible to tell what she felt from her carefully blank expression, yet he felt a gut-deep revulsion to the fact that she was here at all, that she’d accepted his summons and was prepared to marry a stranger.
Just as he was.
‘No,’ she said after a moment. ‘I have not...’ She gave a slight shrug of her shoulders. ‘I have devoted myself to charity work.’
Queen or nun. It was a choice women in her elevated position had had to make centuries before, but it seemed archaic now. Absurd.
And yet it was her reality, and very close to his. King or CEO of his own company. Slave or free.
‘No one else?’ he pressed. ‘I have to admit, I am surprised. You’re— What? Twenty-eight years old?’ She gave a slight nod. ‘Surely you’ve had other offers. Other relationships.’
Her mouth tightened, eyes narrowing slightly. ‘As I said, I have devoted myself to charity work.’
‘You can devote yourself to charity work and still be in a relationship,’ he pointed out. ‘Still marry.’
‘Indeed, I hope so, Your Highness.’
A noble sentiment, he supposed, but one he didn’t trust. Clearly only queen would do for this icy, ambitious woman.
Sandro shook his head slowly. Once he’d dreamed of a marriage, a relationship built on love, filled with passion and humour and joy. Once.
Gazing at her now, he knew she would make an able queen, a wonderful queen—clearly she’d been grooming herself for such a role. And the decision of his marriage was not about desire or choice. It was about duty, a duty he’d wilfully and shamefully ignored for far too long already.
He gave a brisk nod. ‘I have obligations in the palace for the rest of this afternoon, but I would like us to have dinner together tonight, if you are amenable.’
She nodded, accepting, unsmiling. ‘Of course, Your Highness.’
‘We can get to know each other a bit better, perhaps, as well as discuss the practical aspects of this union.’
Another nod, just as swift and emotionless. ‘Of course.’
He stared at her hard, wanting her to show some kind of emotion, whether it was uncertainty or hope or simple human interest. He saw nothing in her clear violet gaze, nothing but cool purpose, hard-hearted determination. Suppressing a stab of disappointment, he turned from the room. ‘I’ll send one of my staff in to see to your needs. Enjoy your stay in the palace of Averne, Lady Liana.’
‘Thank you, Your Highness.’
It wasn’t until he’d closed the door behind him that he realised she’d never called him Sandro.
* * *
Liana let out a long, slow breath and pressed her hands to her middle, relieved that the fluttering had stopped. She felt reassuringly calm now, comfortingly numb. So she’d met Alessandro Diomedi, king of Maldinia. Her future husband.
She crossed to the window and gazed out at the palace courtyard and the ancient buildings of Averne beyond the ornate fence, all framed by a cloudless blue sky. The snow-capped peaks of the Alps were just visible if she craned her neck.
She let out another breath and willed the tension to dissipate from her body. That whole conversation with King Alessandro had been surreal; she’d almost felt as if she’d been floating somewhere up by the ceiling, looking down at these two people, strangers who had never met before, at least not properly. And now they intended to marry each other.
She shook her head slowly, the realisation of what her future would hold still possessing the power to surprise and even unnerve her although it had been several weeks since her parents had suggested she consider Alessandro’s suit.
He’s a king, Liana, and you should marry. Have children of your own.
She’d never thought to marry, have children. The responsibility and risk were both too great. But she knew it was what her parents wanted, and a convenient marriage, at least, meant a loveless one. A riskless one.
So marry she would, if King Alessandro would have her. She took a deep breath as the flutters started again, reminded herself of the advantages of such a union.
As queen she could continue to devote herself to her charity work, and raise the profile of Hands To Help. Her position would benefit it so much, and she could not turn away from that, just as she could not turn away from her parents’ wishes for her life.
She owed them too much.
Really, she told herself, it was perfect. It would give her everything she wanted—everything she would let herself want.
Except it didn’t seem the king wanted it. Her. She recalled the slightly sneering, incredulous tone, the way he’d looked at her with a kind of weary derision. She didn’t please him. Or was it simply marriage that didn’t please him?
With a wary unease she recalled his sense of raw, restless power, as if this palace could not contain him, as if his emotions and ideas would bubble over, spill forth.
She wasn’t used to that. Her parents were quiet, reserved people, and she had learned to be even more quiet and reserved than they were. To be invisible.
The only time she let herself be heard was when she was giving a public address for Hands To Help. On stage, talking about what the charity did, she had the words to say and the confidence to say them.
But with King Alessandro? With him looking at her as if... Almost as if he didn’t even like her?
Words had deserted her. She’d cloaked herself in the cool, numbing calm she’d developed over the years, her only way of staying sane. Of surviving, because giving into emotion meant giving into the grief and guilt, and if she did that she knew she’d be lost. She’d drown in the feelings she’d never let herself acknowledge, much less express.
And King Alessandro, of all people, wasn’t meant to call them up. This marriage was meant to be convenient. Cold. She wouldn’t have agreed to it otherwise.
And yet the questions he’d asked her hadn’t been either. And the doubt his voicing of them stirred up in her made her insides lurch with panic.
Tell me why you’re here, Lady Liana.... Such a possibility does not distress or concern you, considering we have never even met before?
He’d almost sounded as if he wanted her to be distressed by the prospect of their marriage.
Perhaps she should have told him that she was.
Except, of course, she wasn’t. Wouldn’t be. Marriage to King Alessandro made sense. Her parents wanted it. She wanted the visibility for Hands To Help. It was the right choice. It had to be.
And yet just the memory of the king’s imposing figure, all restless, rangy muscle and sinewy grace, made her insides quiver and jump. He wore his hair a little too long, ink-black and streaked
