Not Fit for a King?

“This was Queen Madeleine’s favorite room,” he said, leading her inside. The high ceiling of the room was painted sky-blue with white billowy clouds. “Yellow was Queen Madeleine’s favorite color as it reminded her of the sun and this was where she preferred to entertain.” He glanced at her. “Did you ever meet her? She was your grandmother’s first cousin.”

Hannah’s mouth opened and shut. “I … I don’t recall.”

“You would if you had met her. She was a lovely woman. We had quite a good relationship and I was very happy working for her, but when Princess Helena—His Majesty’s mother—arrived from Greece to marry His Majesty’s father, King Stephen IV, I was assigned to the newlyweds’ household.”

“Did you mind the switch?”

“Not at all. King Stephen and Princess Helena were a delight to work for. They, too, were an arranged marriage but soon after the wedding fell in love.”

“They had a happy marriage then?”

“The happiest.” It was Zale who’d answered and Hannah inhaled sharply, his deep voice sinfully sexy. Zale had entered through a side door and he walked toward them now.

“The two of them were inseparable through thick and thin, and they certainly had their fair share of challenges.”

“Your Majesty,” Krek said with a formal bow as Zale joined them. “We haven’t made it very far yet.”

“Perhaps I can take over?” Zale suggested.

Krek bowed again. “Of course, Your Majesty.” He tipped his head in Hannah’s direction. “Your Highness.” And then he was gone, quietly, discreetly.

“Enjoying the tour?” Zale asked.

“Yes,” she answered. “But we really only just started.”

“Then let’s continue,” he answered, leading her to the adjoining room, the Crimson Room, which had been the favorite reception room for Zale’s grandfather, King Stephen Mikal. “In this room my grandfather, King Mikal, entertained the Tsar, a Sultan, two British kings, a dozen dukes, as well as a Pope.”

“Did you ever know him?”

“He died when I was fourteen months old, but apparently he spent a lot of time with Stephen and me. We have quite a few photos of us together.”

“Were you and Prince Stephen close growing up?”

“Yes. But that didn’t mean we always got along. We could be quite competitive.” Zale’s expression was rueful. “At least, I was.”

“You fought?”

“Fistfights? No. But every now and then we’d challenge each other to a race or a wrestling match and then it was a battle to end all battles.” Zale smiled. “Mind you, Stephen was two and a half years older than me, and I was scrawny until my mid-teens, but there was no way I’d let Stephen take me without a fight.”

Hannah couldn’t imagine Zale small. “Define scrawny.” “Skinny, lanky, short.” “I can’t believe it.”

“Neither could I. I hated it. But at least I had speed.”

Her pulse quickened. Zale appealed to her at every level. “So when did you grow? Because no one could call you scrawny now.”

“I shot up nearly six inches when I was seventeen. Grew another four inches at eighteen. And kept growing until I turned twenty. But it’s hard being taken seriously in football when you’re so small. Fortunately it forced me to work hard, harder than everyone around me, and my work ethic was born.”

“I admire your work ethic.”

“It helped make me who I am.”

Zale opened the doors to a bright, vast, high-ceiling hall lined with portraits. “We’re now entering the Royal Gallery. All the portraits of Raguva’s kings and queens hang here. Your portrait will join mine after it’s completed—”

“We’re really going to marry?”

“Yes. Sex sealed the deal, Emmeline. I told you it would. It’s in the prenup, part of our contract. By making love, you became mine.”

They were standing before a large portrait of a dark-haired, brown-eyed king that looked remarkably like Zale.

She shivered. His.

He reached out to tuck a pale blond tendril of hair behind her ear. “We can be happy.”

She felt lost in his eyes. “You really think so?” “Yes.”

Her eyes burned and her throat ached and she had to turn away so he wouldn’t see her cry. “How can you be so sure?”

“Because I have strong feelings for you.”

His tone had been light, teasing and yet suddenly her chest constricted, air bottled in her lungs. If she were good.

But she was not good. Nor was Emmeline. Because they were both duplicitous. Both betraying him.