“But, Your Royal Highness!” Gregor protested. “What you’re suggesting...it borders on criminal. In fact, kidnapping is criminal.”
She’d expected resistance and she’d hoped it wouldn’t have to come to this. Mila had long believed the pledge of absolute obedience made by staff to the royal household to be archaic and, frankly, ridiculous. Who in their right mind would vow to serve their royal family unquestioningly in this day and age—especially if it meant doing something illegal? But tradition still formed the foundation of everything in Erminia and, in this case, the end justified the means. It had to. Her happiness and that of any children she might bear depended on it. She couldn’t allow Thierry to begin their marriage with a professional courtesan already in place as his mistress—not without making every effort to win his love for herself, first.
“Gregor, it is your princess who asks this of you,” she said imperiously. She hated herself for having to act with such superiority. She’d never been that person—never had to be. In fact, she’d never believed she could be, but, it seemed, when pushed hard enough she was no different from her forebears. “I have no desire to take another woman’s leavings when I meet my groom at the altar,” she said, taking the bull directly by the horns.
Before her, Gregor blushed. One didn’t discuss that sort of thing in front of a member of the royal family—especially not a princess. He looked as if he was about to protest once more, but Mila held her ground, staring directly into his eyes. The man never faltered. He held her gaze as if he could change her mind by doing so but then it appeared that he realized she was set on her course of action—whether he helped her, or not.
“I understand, ma’am.”
And he did. She could see it in his eyes. No one who lived and worked within these walls understood her dilemma better. In his position he’d seen one generation after another form marital alliances that had been alternately mediocre and miserable—which, Mila guessed, was only to be expected when people were picked for their pedigree alone and not their compatibility. Thierry’s family had been little different, even though his parents purportedly married for love—and look how that had ended. Deep in her heart she knew that she and Thierry could have better than that. They deserved it.
“Then you’ll assist me?” she pressed.
“Your safety is paramount, ma’am. If at any time you are under threat—”
“There will be no risk of that,” Mila interrupted. “First, however, we must find out who this courtesan—” she said the word with a twist of distaste on her lips “—is, and what her travel plans are. Everything hinges on that.”
“It won’t be easy, ma’am.”
“Nothing worthwhile ever is,” Mila said with a twinge deep down inside. “And, Gregor, thank you.”
“Your wish is my command, ma’am,” Gregor said with a deep bow. “Your people only wish for your happiness.”
Her happiness. Would she be happy, she wondered? She’d darn well better be if this plan to kidnap the courtesan and take her place worked. If not, well, the outcome did not bode well for any of them.
* * *
Thierry ripped the ceremonial sword belt from his hip and cast the scabbard onto his bed with a disrespectful clatter.
“Nico!” he commanded. “Assist me out of this getup immediately, would you?”
His valet scurried from the dressing room and helped Thierry from the formal military uniform he’d worn to his father’s funeral this afternoon. The weight of the serge and brass and loops of braid was suffocating and Thierry wanted nothing more than to divest himself of it and all it signaled for his life to come.
The day had been interminable. First the lengthy procession from the palace to the cathedral, following his father’s coffin on foot through streets lined with loyal, and some not so loyal, subjects crowding the pavements. One step in front of another. It had gotten him through the ghastly parade of pomp and ceremony and through the endless service at the cathedral and finally through the gloomy private interment in the royal tomb back here at the palace. The entire event had been sobering and a reminder of the years of restrictive duty that stretched before him and what was expected.
It was nothing more than he had been brought up to do, and nothing more than his children would be brought up to do after him, God willing. Children. He’d never stopped to think about what it might be like to be a parent. He only remembered his own dysfunctional childhood where his parents had been distant characters to whom he was always expected to show the utmost respect and reverence. Even to his mother, who’d thrown her position and her responsibilities to the wind long before she’d embarked on her final, fatal affair.
“Is there anything else you require, sire?” Nico asked, as he took the last of the heavy raiments on his arm.
“Not this evening, thank you, Nico. I’m sorry I was so short with you just now.”
“No need to apologize. It’s been a trying day for you.”
Trying. Yes, that was one word for it, Thierry thought as he stalked in his underwear toward the massive marble bathroom off his bedroom. He stripped off his boxer briefs and turned on the multiheaded shower in the oversize stall and set the jets to pulse. He had a meeting scheduled with King Rocco of Erminia in an hour. An appointment dictated by duty, although if they could shed their various hangers-on, one that could prove fruitful as they both wished for the same outcome. Peace between their countries and an opening of the border, which was slated to improve both their economies.
Of course, there were still plenty of the old-school holdouts in their respective governments who wished to maintain the status quo. Trust no one, was their motto—and Thierry could see how that motto had been earned. But that era needed to end and it was time their nations grew with positive change rather than remain forever entrenched in the old ways.
Water pounded against the tension in his neck and shoulders, slowly loosening the knots. Thierry wished he could escape to his hunting lodge in the mountains tonight, but he had to abide by the protocols set by others before him. The meeting with King Rocco needed to be a productive one. After all, the man was set to become his brother-in-law in only three weeks’ time.
Later, in his library, Thierry lifted the heavy crystal stopper from a decanter and looked across to the powerfully built dark-haired man who lounged comfortably in one of the armchairs by the window.
“Brandy?” he asked.
“Actually, I’d kill for a beer,” his guest, the King of Erminia, said with a dazzling smile that lifted the darkness of his expression.
Thierry replied with a smile of his own. “Glass or bottle?”
“The bottle is made of glass, isn’t it?” Rocco replied.
A man after his own heart, Thierry decided as he opened the fridge door, disguised as a fourteenth century cupboard, and snagged two longnecks from the shelf. No doubt their respective protocol advisers would have a fit if they could see them now. Well, let them. Thierry twisted off the tops and handed Rocco a bottle. They drank simultaneously, sighing their satisfaction after that first long pull.
“A local brew?” Rocco asked.
Thierry nodded.
“I don’t believe we carry it in Erminia. We might need to do something about that, among other things.”
And there they were, at the crux of their meeting. His forthcoming marriage to Rocco’s sister. Thierry tried to summon the interest he knew the subject was due—it was his duty after all—but it had been a long time since his first meeting with Princess Mila and it had not gone well at all. Though he supposed, it had gone better than if she’d thrown up on his shoes, and from the look he’d seen on her face, that had certainly been a possibility.
No, he castigated himself. He wasn’t being fair to her. She’d been a child still, brought up in a sheltered environment, nervous at meeting her future husband for the first time. What else had he expected? A beautiful woman of the world? Someone he could converse with at length on topics near and dear to his heart?
For a moment he was caught by a flash of memory of a woman who’d been exactly that. That brief moment in time with Angel was less than a week ago, but it felt as if an entire lifetime had passed since then. He pushed the memory from his mind but he couldn’t hold back his body’s response. Just a thought of Angel and excitement rippled through his veins. For the briefest instant he wished he could have been an ordinary man. One who might have been permitted to pursue, to court, to bed his Angel. But he shoved the thought unceremoniously from his mind. His was no ordinary life. He was no ordinary man. And, he was soon to marry a princess.
And just like that the thrill that had coursed through him was gone. Thierry took another slug of his beer and turned to his guest.
“How is Mila? Did she enjoy her time in the United States?”
And, pow, there it was again. The memory of his own time in the United States, with Angel. The scent of her skin as he held her while they slow-danced. The sweet, sweet taste of her lips as they bade one another farewell.
He realized that Rocco had spoken and was awaiting a response. “I’m sorry,” he apologized swiftly. “Could you repeat that?”
“Daydreaming about your bride already,” Rocco said with a tight smile. “A promising start to your forthcoming nuptials. I said that she has returned both well-educated and well-polished. Provided you look after her, she will make a most suitable consort for you, I’m sure.”
There was a thread of protectiveness in Rocco’s tone that was unmistakable. Rocco could rest assured that Thierry had no intention of harming his new bride. In fact he was taking steps to ensure that she was well-satisfied in their union, both in bed and out of it. But that wasn’t the kind of thing one shared with the brother of your fiancée, Thierry thought as he schooled himself to make a suitable response to Rocco’s comment.
Before long they turned their discussion to broader topics relating to their two nations, and how they hoped to mend the rifts between them. By the time Rocco withdrew from their talks three hours later, they’d reached an accord—one underpinned by an implicit understanding that while Rocco’s sister’s happiness was of the utmost importance, of equal magnitude was the well-being of both of their countries, starting with reconciliation and moving on toward growth and prosperity. In fact, if pushed, Thierry wasn’t certain if Rocco did not give the latter even more weight and consequence than his sister. Perhaps the two went hand in hand, he reasoned as he saw his guest from the room. One thing had been made adamantly clear, however. If relations between him and his new bride failed, the uneasy peace between their nations would shatter, causing a return to the economic instability that currently gripped his country and possibly even early stages of war. It was a sobering thought.
As the door closed behind his visitor, Thierry reached for the brandy decanter and poured himself a measure. Taking it over to one of the deep-set windows, he looked out toward Erminia. What was his bride doing now? Brushing up on Sylvano protocol, perhaps?
He hoped she was well prepared for the life she would soon face. There was only so much sheltering he could do for his new wife. She had duties already diarized for when they returned from their honeymoon and he wouldn’t be able to continue to protect her from the glaring lens of the media as she had been to date. Still, he considered, as he took a sip of the brandy and allowed it to roll on his tongue, he had excellent staff who would assist her in her transformation from princess to queen consort if that was necessary. Perhaps he needed to focus less upon Princess Mila and what she needed to do and more upon himself and what he needed to do to keep her happy.
His upbringing had made one thing absolutely clear to him—if the royal couple were not united in everything, the entire country suffered. And so he had taken steps to ensure his education in the delights of the marital bed. Before his wedding day, he would learn how to keep his wife satisfied—and those lessons would be undertaken well away from any media spotlight. He looked forward to it. Of course, his personal vows meant that the instruction would be strictly hands off, with no actual physical intimacy between himself and his instructor. But even without direct demonstration, he knew there was still so much he could learn that would help him start his marriage on the right foot. He wanted to know exactly what it was that a woman needed to be seduced—not only physically, but emotionally and spiritually as well—into remaining committed to her union with him.
Neither the example his parents had left him, nor several generations of grandparents before them, was conducive to the kind of future he sought to achieve with his wife. He wanted to be happy and stable in his marriage, and he wanted his children to know the same happiness and stability. Was that too much to ask? He didn’t believe so. It wouldn’t necessarily be easy to achieve, since he and his bride would be entering marriage as strangers, but that was where his lessons would help.
Thus, his employment of the services of a discreet courtesan. Who else could educate him on the subtleties of what gave a woman the ultimate in pleasure? Being prepared had always been vital to him. He hated surprises. He would go into this marriage educated and ready, and he would take any steps necessary to make his wife love him enough to offer him the same commitment and fidelity that he was prepared to offer her.
He would do what he had to do.