HER HEART WAS RACING, need and desire painted her skin with a flush, and her breathing was coming out in small pants. Mason opened her eyes, and closed them immediately. The plush cream interior of the private jet jarred against the dream memory of their first night together. She resisted the urge to groan aloud, knowing that Danyl would hear it from where he sat on the other side of the plane. It would be a miracle if he hadn’t heard whatever sounds she’d made during the intensity of her dream. From that first night to their last, sex had never been a problem between them. If anything, it had been the glue to keep them together for that short while.
And then, as sorrow and loss crept into her consciousness like a thief, stealing pleasure and happiness, she desperately wanted to cling to that dream. To cling to that moment when they had been innocent, when they had had no fear of the future, no sense of reality about to come crashing down...no warning...
She fought the tears that were gathering at the edges of her eyes and instead tried to focus her mind on the present.
‘Would you like some water?’ Danyl asked, his tone dark, as if he had sensed her thoughts. He’d always somehow done that, but where once she’d loved him for it, now she resented it.
‘What I’d like is a shower,’ she bit back harshly. Too harshly.
From the moment her father had sealed her fate with the words ‘You should go’ after they had returned to the farm and Danyl had explained his proposition, a whirlwind of activity had surrounded her, even though it was just the three of them in the house, Danyl’s entourage having stayed outside with the vehicles.
Within fifteen minutes a small bag was packed with only the essentials, assurances that the right clothes would be provided her made, promises of financial transfers were given, papers—that Danyl had arranged to be emailed over—were printed out and signed, and Mason had found herself ushered onto a helicopter that ferried them to a small airfield where she was presented with the royal family’s private jet.
She was wearing the same clothes she’d put on that morning, the sweet smell of hard work and horse clinging to her shirt the way the past had clung to her dream.
‘Then by all means have one,’ he said, not even bothering to look up from the laptop he had been punishing with an energy and determination that she had once relished.
‘Really? You have a shower on a plane?’
‘Sadly it’s less a luxury and more a necessity these days.’
These days. As if at some point in his life he’d imagined something different. There were a million ways Mason had once dreamed of taking this trip with Danyl to Ter’harn. But never like this. She tried to be kind to the young woman who had thought that she might go to the palace as his fiancée. But she couldn’t help the harsh thoughts that told her off for being foolish. As if she—a girl from a small town in Australia—might one day be the Princess of a desert kingdom. Things like that just didn’t happen.
The sound of furious typing brought her attention back to Danyl. She’d feel pity for the person on the receiving end of his frustration, if she wasn’t in exactly the same position. He’d changed. And yes, so had she, but looking at him then, the slight dusting of grey at his temples only serving to make him look even more sophisticated and self-assured, she could see that this was not a man who would dye away the signs of his age, but embrace them and harness them to his advantage. She remembered the sight of his chest as he’d pounded in the wooden stake a few hours and a few hundred thousand miles away. He had kept his lean, mouth-watering physique and somehow only added to it.
Mason wondered briefly what he saw when he looked at her. A lucky escape? Something inside her, buried deep, protested against the thought, but she forced herself to be practical. What they had had was ten years ago. Things changed. People changed.
* * *
Danyl waited until he’d heard her retreat to the back of the plane following the air stewardess, who was telling Mason where she could find towels, before risking a glance at her. He’d not been able to take his eyes from her while she was sleeping. Even though it was almost as painful as not looking at her.
Another email pinged into his inbox and he bit back a groan. Under any other circumstances an email with the subject line ‘Last Chance!’ with an eight-by-ten picture of a beautiful woman sent to a member of the royal family could be mistaken for a blackmail note. It almost felt like that from where he was sitting.
At the time, he’d thought hiring a private matchmaker was a good idea. If people thought it was hard meeting someone in this technologically driven, increasingly reclusive world, they should try being a prince. If he’d just wanted someone to grace his bed, that wasn’t exactly a hardship, although he was mentally avoiding the maths on how long it had actually been since the last time he’d indulged his desires. It was the perfect someone he was looking for. The person who would become his Queen, who would stand beside him at royal and diplomatic functions, who would not have any expectations above that ‘duty’, who would allow his parents to step away from the throne and for him to finally take on the full mantle of royalty. Someone who would—eventually—provide him with heirs. And if that last thought bit a hole into the part of his heart he’d thought long since anaesthetised, then that was his problem, not hers. Whoever she may be. He scanned the email once more.
To: D.NejemAlArain@arascan.tu
From: AngelServices@email.com
Subject: Last Chance!
Danyl,
I have looked high and low to find you what you want, but I’m beginning to think that even you don’t know what that is. In the last eighteen months I have provided you with a number of perfect candidates and you have either offended, dismissed or infuriated each one of them. Amata de Cayce will be present at your parents’ gala. She is a lovely girl. Perhaps too lovely for you, but she’s your last chance. The end of your parents’ gala will be the termination of our contract.
I will expect all finances to be settled by the end of the gala weekend.
He had to give Angelique her due. There was no real appropriate sign-off for that kind of email. Danyl suddenly felt as if he were nine years old, back in the palace’s private school room, being told off by the sublimely superior Madame Fortier.
He ran a hand over his face, before clicking on the attachment of Amata de Cayce. Christ, he must be getting old, because the girl—and she looked like a girl—seemed so young, even though her stats put her at twenty-six. It was older than Mason when he’d first met her.
He bit back the growl of frustration that threatened to erupt from his chest. He should have told Mason that he had a date for the event. But it was not as if it was easy to slip into conversation: I know I had to pay you an inordinate amount of money to come here, but I already have a plus one... Nope. Wouldn’t quite cut it. And besides, Mason was only attending at his parents’ request, not his. Not really.
He fought the wave of thoughts cascading through his mind, then gave up and swam in their stream. He had to admit that it was ironic, his looking at the picture of a woman who might be his future bride, when the one he once thought would be was presently engaged in the shower and presumably trying to work out several ways in which she could either kill, maim or at the very least inflict some kind of damage to his royal person.
Then again, it was exactly because of the woman presently engaged in the shower that he was forced to look for an unemotional, very heavily stringed but essentially perfect marriage of convenience. And then he was drenched in memories of Mason, of what they had had, what they had lost and what, now, could never be. Danyl was a practical man, and for the most part always had been. The only thing he could do was try to make the most of this ridiculous situation. He’d hated bringing Mason all the way to Ter’harn. He could see the hurt, the fear, lying hidden in those deep brown pools he’d once thought to drown in.
Mason had said that she’d refused the financial incentive of the interviews because they would zero back in on Rebel and the horse race that had effectively ended her career. Well, for eight years at least. She’d only come to the Winners’ Circle, as he now knew, to be able to use the purse money to rescue her father’s farm. And if guilt warred in his breast for thinking it was for fame, or money for personal gain, then that was his penance for thinking so badly of a woman he’d once...
He forced his mind back to the point. Rebel. He hadn’t realised that she was still so haunted by it. In his mind, he scanned the press coverage of the Hanley Cup and realised that almost every single mention of her success had been grudgingly acknowledged in direct association with the events surrounding Rebel’s death. It was in every article, and one enterprising journalist had even managed to get it into a headline.
Perhaps, if at the very least, getting to the bottom of what had happened that day might help lay the past to rest. Because the rest of it...well. Pain rose up to choke off the conclusion of that sentence. It would do them both good to draw a line under their past. Because he knew neither of them had been able to move on.
He listened for the sounds of the shower, making sure she was still there and wouldn’t interrupt his next conversation.
He picked up the sat phone and waited for the connection to go through.
‘Odir.’
‘It’s me, Danyl.’
‘Danyl, good to hear from you. Everything okay?’
‘Yes, well, as long as I survive the gala.’ Danyl heard a chuckle from the ruling monarch of Farrehed. A sound that he’d once thought impossible from the imposing ruler of the neighbouring country.
‘Did you not get our RSVPs? Sorry—the kids have been running rings round my secretary since the nanny went on holiday last week.’
An image of Odir’s family sprang into Danyl’s mind. When he thought about his future, he could never imagine himself being as lucky as Odir had been—even in spite of the rocky path he and Eloise had once been on. In fact, it was a minor miracle that Odir and Danyl had become so close, given Odir’s father’s illegal incursion onto Ter’harnese soil the night of Odir’s wedding. It had taken weeks of intense negotiations to resolve, but working together had forged a bond that would not be easily undone again.
‘RSVPs all received. Actually, I wanted to ask a favour.’
‘Of course. I’ll never refuse a chance to put you in my debt,’ Odir joked, both men knowing full well that they were beyond debts.
‘Can I borrow Malik? I want him to look into something for me, though I’m not quite sure what he’ll be able to find, if anything. It was ten years ago, now, so...’
‘If there’s anything to find, he’ll find it,’ Odir assured him, and passed on Malik’s contact details.
* * *
Mason emerged into the cabin, her skin hot and pink, not from the heat of a shower so good it should be illegal on a private jet, but from sheer fury. She’d just got off the phone with her father and she was trying so very hard not to hit Danyl. Hard.
‘You got my father a woman?’
It was a beat. She might have missed it if she hadn’t known him so well, but he’d definitely taken a beat. Enough time to look her up and down with hawk-like eyes that made her suddenly conscious of every single part of her body. She wanted to growl. He’d always had that way of distracting her. Instead, she focused back on the problem at hand.
‘I got your father the best estate manager I could find.’
‘And she’s a woman.’
‘Yes, Mason. The best estate manager around happens to be a woman.’
‘Is this payback?’
‘Payback for what?’
‘I don’t know. You never needed much to be petty.’
‘Don’t be silly. I’m not petty,’ Danyl said with a trace of arrogant offence heavy in his tone.
‘Yes, you are.’
‘No, I’m not.’
‘You are! You spent a week dressed in pink shirts because of the crack I made about real men wearing pink.’
‘Well, it’s true. Only a real man can wear pink. And besides, you said it brought out the colour of my eyes.’
‘It brought out the colour of something,’ Mason grumbled in reply.
‘Is he unhappy with her?’
‘What?’
‘Mary. Is your father unhappy about her being a woman?’
‘No, not really.’
‘Well, then.’
And that, it seemed was the end of the conversation.
* * *
The armoured limousine glided through the palace gates with more grace than Mason could have thought possible when she’d first spied the vehicle waiting for them on the tarmac of the landing strip.
She’d been slightly disappointed that the private airfield was so close to the palace, having wanted to see Aram, a city she’d once heard so much about. But the moment the gleaming transport arrived at its destination outside the main palace entrance, all her yearning was forgotten.
‘Karl, we’re supposed to be using the left wing’s entrance.’
‘Sorry, Your Highness, but the sheikh and his Queen requested it.’
Mason was sure that the growl vibrating through Danyl’s compressed lips was holding back a barrage of frustration and took perverse enjoyment that someone was playing Danyl at his own game for once.
The driver came round to her side to open the door, Danyl having swung his open and emerged from the dark interior before the driver could do anything but shrug his shoulders. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the bright light she had been shielded from by the limousine’s tinted glass. So her first gaze upon the palace was one that slowly came into focus through a white glare, as if she was to be both physically and emotionally stunned.
It took her breath away. Quite literally. The large, sprawling palace before her was outlined in Moorish architecture. She caught glimpses of manicured gardens off to the left and right of the palace, and even from here she could smell honeysuckle and ginger, and see the riot of incredible colours coming from the immaculately cultivated gardens. The heat of the sun was gentle, but then they were that far from Australia now, where it was the height of summer.
‘I don’t know how you could have borne being away from this for so long,’ she said, the words escaping her mouth unbidden.
‘While I was in New York?’ he queried. ‘I knew this would always be waiting for me.’
So did I, her mind responded.
‘And besides, you only see what the royal family want you to see. Not the hard work, the duty, the practicality of running a small kingdom alongside a prime minister and surrounding countries who either want to steal your country’s products, or buy them at an undervalued price.’
‘I thought you would have liked the cut and thrust of it, the power games and winning,’ she returned.
‘I’m good at it,’ he replied. Which said enough.
The light from the sun, although more wintry, suited the pink ochre of the palace walls. Turrets, which Mason was pretty sure might not actually be called turrets, sprang up at different twists and turns of the building that sat above three layers of circular steps. At the top of which stood...
Oh, God, it was Danyl’s parents.
The moment she caught sight of them she was plunged into ten-year-old fantasies. It was like a glimpse at a possible future that had never happened, and hurt all the more for it. Something she’d wanted so, so much that could never be. They would have come here, they would have been met by his parents, she would have been welcomed as his fiancée.
Her hand reached out to grasp the door handle, whether anchoring her to the past, or keeping her in the present, she could no longer tell. She saw her white knuckles, but couldn’t feel anything past the blood rushing in her ears.
It was so much worse because back then she hadn’t allowed herself to imagine this moment, as if self-delusion had attempted to protect her from what this moment would mean, how it would make her feel.
Danyl spoke her name, and when she looked at him she realised that he, too, was thinking the same thoughts. Because the compassion in his eyes was almost too hard to bear. Compassion and something horribly like accusation.
This is your fault, a little voice prodded at her conscience. And then she soothed it with a response. It was no one’s fault. She’d done what she’d had to do. For both of them.
A uniformed member of staff somewhere behind the royal couple at the top of the stairs twitched as if she had made them all wait too long, as if she was indulging in negligent etiquette. The Queen’s smile hadn’t moved an inch, but her eyes darted between Mason and Danyl.
She felt Danyl’s hand on her arm, guiding her up the stairs to meet the older couple. She’d seen pictures of them in the press throughout the years, and remembered them from photos that Danyl had once shared with her, a gleam of pride that even he couldn’t disguise shining in his eyes.
And Mason felt a thread of awe and self-consciousness that she’d never experienced in Danyl’s presence. Sheikh Hashid Nejem Al Arain, tall like his son, stood in a military stance that had him looking as if he were almost made of stone. But his eyes hid a deeper emotion. Hashid was polite, regal, but there was a gentleness about him that softened the rigidity of his appearance. Danyl’s mother, Elizabeth, while poised and, Mason considered almost instantly, the true definition of exquisite, was, in almost direct contrast to her husband, what could be described as touchy feely. Mason found herself in a warm embrace, one held for a beat too long. Mason cast a frowned glance at Danyl over her shoulder, who seemed as unsettled by Elizabeth’s warm welcome as Mason felt.
A pinprick of fear welled in her chest. Could she know? Would Danyl have told her?
But Danyl’s slight shrug suggested that he was as confused as she.
‘Elizabeth, put the poor girl down. She must be exhausted after the flight,’ her husband commanded in almost accentless English, and from somewhere in her memory she fished the information that explained Hashid had attended Eton, and had been disappointed when Danyl had chosen NYU.
‘We’re so pleased that you could come to the gala. It’s such a long way for you, but we really do appreciate it,’ said the Queen, having almost reluctantly released Mason from her embrace. ‘After all, it wouldn’t be a true celebration of your incredible success at the Hanley Cup without you here.’
There was a flurry of activity over the Queen’s shoulder, and Mason watched as the older woman schooled her features into something that managed to be both courteous yet simultaneously disapproving.
‘Ah, yes. Danyl, your date for the gala arrived a few hours ago.’
Mason had prepared herself for this. She hadn’t needed Danyl to tell her that he already had a plus one. It was only logical for a man on the hunt for a bride, if the newspapers were to be believed. Over the past eighteen months he’d been seen with a series of high-profile dates that had led to insatiable speculation of just who would win the Princess lottery. Speculation she had tried to remain firmly outside of. Because it hurt. Because it reminded her of all the things it might have been.
‘Oh,’ Mason said, turning to Danyl, hoping that her expression would be curious, rather than pained, ‘is Birgetta here?’ Deep down her money had been on the poised Scandinavian blonde she had seen pictures of him with at some Greek charity event a few months back.
‘Who,’ his mother interjected archly, ‘is Birgetta?’
‘Birgetta is...a friend,’ he finished as if the word friend had left a bitter taste in his mouth. Mason almost felt sorry for him. Almost. ‘I believe that she has run off with her personal assistant and is currently in the process of causing a bit of a ruckus on the Croatian coast.’
‘Then who is...?’ Mason trailed off, both because of the impertinence of the question, and because the flurry of activity behind the Queen had suddenly appeared amongst them.
‘Danyl!’
A young blonde in an improbable amount of tulle and frills collapsed into the group, almost sending his parents scattering, launching herself and her big blue eyes right into Danyl.
‘It’s so good to see you!’ she exclaimed, rushing into a stream of words so fast that Mason could only pick out the occasional syllable.
As Mason hung back she dared to cast a glance at Danyl, who seemed almost horrified by the sudden appearance of the young woman, the shock of it clearly robbing him momentarily of his ability to disguise his feelings. It was cruel to smile, because the young girl—though she was clearly totally inappropriate for him—had an uncontainable joy and enthusiasm about her. And for just a moment an ache formed in her chest, as she remembered that perhaps once she had been like that. So free and uninhibited.
Danyl called to a man over her shoulder and asked him to escort Mason to her rooms. She’d almost expected him to say ‘chambers’, but when she caught sight of who he’d asked she couldn’t help the smile form on her lips.
‘Michaels,’ she said and just about stopped herself from greeting him with a hug, the way that she had almost ten years before. She felt rather than saw Danyl flinch, tension suddenly cutting through the air about them as if he recognised the moment she feared she’d given herself away.
‘Miss McAulty. You look well,’ Michaels replied and she couldn’t help but smile at the bland pleasantry. She’d been dragged halfway across the world, was wearing rumpled jeans and a T-shirt and was currently only being held up by adrenaline and three hours’ sleep.
‘You are too kind,’ she said, with a dryness that only made him smile more.
She suddenly felt out of her depth, alienated from the decorum and the rules of etiquette she had never really known. And then she realised that she’d never seen Danyl in a royal setting, that their relationship had only existed outside this part of his life. And now, as she looked at the young European Princess taking all of Danyl’s somewhat reluctant attention, she concluded that she would never be in this part of his life either.
She must have taken her leave of Hashid and Elizabeth, and must have bid appropriate farewells, and must have on some level taken in the stark beauty of the palace, the detailed tile work, the arches and mosaics left by previous generations of rulers, but could remember very little of it by the time she reached her ‘rooms’.
Michaels had stopped just shy of becoming the bellboy, pointing towards the small holdall she had last seen on the plane, now positioned alone in the centre of a room that swamped it and made it seem tiny and out of place; an oddity in this incredible, regal set of rooms. Because it wasn’t just one room. It was three.
A lounge, bedroom and the most stunning bathroom she’d ever encountered. The bath was...well, it was almost insulting to call it a bath. It was big enough to fit at least five people in it, and at a push she could probably have managed a half-decent ‘lap’ if she’d used breaststroke.
And if this was the only taste of a life she might have known then she was going to take it. Before she said goodbye for the last time.
* * *
An hour later, her skin both slightly pink and shimmery with the incredible rose-scented oil she had allowed herself to use from the bath she just hadn’t been able to resist, despite her shower only hours before on the plane, she stood wrapped in a towel, in front of a wardrobe that had literally stolen her sense of self.
These clothes were for her? There were so many. Did Danyl always keep a stack of clothes for women at the palace? Were there more rooms scattered around this wing, perhaps each room assigned by dress size?
She pressed her eyes closed against the sudden and unwelcome threat of tears. She knew she was good at putting a brave face on things, but, really. What was she doing here other than just torturing herself?
A knock on the door cut her free. It must be Danyl. She’d just tell him that she couldn’t go through with it. That she would give him back his money, that she was sorry... She’d tell him anything at that point just to make it all go away.
She opened the door and it took her a moment to recognise the two beautiful and immaculately dressed women standing on the threshold of her rooms.
‘Emma?’ Mason asked, and the chestnut-haired woman broke into a smile.
‘I wasn’t sure if you’d recognise me. We’ve met, of course, but you always had...’
‘A horse beside me?’ Mason asked with a small laugh.
‘Well, an entourage of stable hands and John standing steadfast beside you. This is Anna,’ she said, bringing the other woman with her into the room. Anna was strikingly beautiful, with long dark hair and a stunning smile.
‘So you’re the one who tamed the Greek billionaire,’ Mason said, and then suddenly felt awfully sure that this was not something one said to the wife of Dimitri Kyriakou.
‘Yes, indeed I am,’ she said with an unselfconscious pride. ‘Danyl sent us up here to see how you were getting on.’
Mason stood there in the towel and gestured to the wardrobe. ‘I must admit to being a little more familiar with jodhpurs or jeans than empire waists and stilettos. I’d say that you’ve arrived not a moment too soon,’ she said. ‘I’m not ashamed by who I am and where I come from, though I’d rather not look like an Aussie outbacker tonight. Not sure that would go down so well with Queen Elizabeth.’
‘Yours or Ter’harn’s?’ Emma asked, amused.
‘Either,’ Mason replied.
She was surprised by the easy camaraderie she felt with these two women, but realised it was who they were, as much as what they were here to do, that made it so. They were completely comfortable in their own skin, and there were no ulterior motives, no snide sideways assessment that she’d often encountered back in New York during her time there.
As they flicked through the array of incredible dresses Mason sent a prayer of thanks to Danyl for sending them to her. They distracted her from her fears and helped her get ready in a way that would allow her to fit in. Perhaps the evening wouldn’t be so awful after all.
* * *
‘That woman has been sent to torment me!’ Danyl exclaimed over his glass of whisky.
‘What—Mason? I thought you brought her here,’ Antonio said, deliberately misunderstanding him.
‘Amata,’ Danyl practically growled.
‘Are you surprised?’ Dimitri asked. ‘You sought out the most reputable matchmaker there is, then discarded every single prospective bride she sent your way. She does have a reputation to uphold and you’re singlehandedly destroying it.’
‘She’s not that bad, Danyl. She’s just...’
‘Young!’ all three declared simultaneously.
‘The poor girl has clearly only been sent here to make you play ball,’ Antonio concluded.
‘The poor girl has been decreed my last chance,’ Danyl replied.
‘I don’t see why you are persisting with it,’ Dimitri said of Danyl’s attempts to find a bride. ‘You’ll find the right one, when you’re ready.’
‘Oh, don’t be so smug. Just because you both have fallen in love, doesn’t mean it’s contagious and I’ll suddenly catch it. I don’t need love. I need a queen,’ Danyl said with alarming finality even to his own ears.
But even his harsh words couldn’t wipe the smiles from his friends’ faces, and Danyl couldn’t quite bring himself to begrudge them their happiness. Each had been through their own torment, and each had come through it with a ring on his finger, and a beautiful woman on his arm. Women they loved.
And as if his chain of thought conjured them from mid-air, a knock came on the door to the study, and in walked three of the most beautiful women all three men had ever seen. It would have been a lie to say that it took Danyl a moment to recognise Mason. He knew her instantly, and the dress she was wearing, the way she looked...it stole his breath.
A shimmer of purple clung to her lithe form. It sparkled every time she took a step, the entire length of the material covered in small purple crystal beads, making it look as if they clung to her skin rather than the barely-there material. His eyes ran up from her feet to where the material pulled across powerful legs, then a deliciously flat stomach, and up to where her perfect breasts were encased in more detailed beadwork. The low neckline clung over the slopes of her chest and his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. He’d always desired her, always known she was beautiful, but the purple against her suntanned skin was undoing him. Although then he looked a little more closely and saw a pale tinge to her cheeks, and something in her eyes that struck him hard.
Something was wrong.
He frowned, taking in Emma and Anna, who in direct contrast were almost giddy. Eyes bright, and each containing a happiness that was practically vibrating from them.
Dimitri let out a curse from beside him.
‘Anna! You told them,’ he accused.
‘I couldn’t help myself. And besides, everyone will start asking as soon as they realise I’m not drinking at the party tonight.’
Danyl’s usually quick brain stuttered to a halt, but Antonio caught on much more quickly. Antonio pulled Dimitri into a bear hug.
‘Another one? Already?’ Antonio demanded of his friend.
Pregnant.
Anna was pregnant.
But, rather than congratulating the happy couple, all he could do was look at Mason, who was refusing to meet his eyes.
And once again it felt as if the bottom had fallen out of his world.