The Future King's Bride (The Royal House of Cacciatore 3)

‘Yes, of course, Your Majesty.’

‘And Alesso? Will you tell him I rang?’ she said quietly and then her voice softened. ‘And that I shall see him tomorrow evening.’

‘Yes, Your Majesty.’

While Millie’s lady-in-waiting packed for her, she and Lulu wandered down to the stables, and as they stood looking down at a brand-new foal Millie was overcome with a powerful wave of nostalgia for how things used to be—when life had seemed a whole lot simpler.

‘Do you miss England?’ asked Lulu suddenly, when they had walked back through the fields, splashing through the boggy puddles in their Wellington boots. The sun had emerged from behind a cloud and its brightness was drying all the leaves on the branches, like washing hung on a line.

Millie closed her eyes and breathed in the very Englishness of the air. Her senses could transport her back to other times and other places, and never more so than now, when her senses were so keenly alert. But nothing did stay the same—it might look the same on the outside, but the people who flitted in and out were growing and changing all the time. ‘Sometimes.’

‘But not the weather?’ joked Lulu.

‘No, not the weather.’ Millie smiled.

‘What, then?’

‘Oh, the freedom. Yes, the freedom, mainly—being able to do what you want without consulting a diary or a secretary. Being able to wander off without men in bulky jackets never being very far away from you. But that’s life as a Royal—and I knew that when I married Gianferro.’

But in a way she had known it only on a purely intellectual level—she had been unprepared for the reality of almost complete loss of freedom. She had floundered in her new life, like a little squirming fish thrown into a mighty swirling ocean. And instead of turning to her husband for help and support she had pushed him away—driven a wedge between them with her stubbornness and the secret she had nursed.

Was it too late to try and get close to him again?

The private jet skated onto the runway at Solajoya airport the following day and Millie stared out of the window, hoping and praying for the sight of her husband come to meet her—but there was no sign of him.

Not even Alesso was there—just a couple of officials who Millie did not know terribly well. She had not wanted a fuss, but she had expected some kind of welcome—no matter how lukewarm. But this felt like…like what? As if she was being marginalised? As if a very definite message was being sent out to her?

Her feelings of insecurity grew all the way to the Palace, and once there things were no better, for there was no sign of the King. No note. Nothing.

Nothing.

Millie kicked the shoes off her aching feet and looked around the empty suite of rooms. Nor were there any flowers on the tables. The shutters were drawn as if nobody lived there any more, and she moved forward to open them so that golden sunlight poured like honey into the room, leaving her dazzled and confused as she turned to her dresser.

‘Has there been any word on when the King might return, Flavia?’

‘No, Your Majesty.’

She picked up the phone. Gianferro was not answering his mobile, but then he rarely did. It was Alesso that she got through to. As usual.

‘You had a good flight, Your Majesty?’ he enquired.

‘Yes, yes,’ answered Millie impatiently. ‘Where are you?’

‘In Soloroca—it is the anniversary of the opening of the Juan Lopez Gallery, remember?’

‘Is Gianferro not there with you?’

‘Unfortunately, no. He has taken the Spanish officials sailing.’

Millie scowled at her reflection in the mirror. ‘And what time is he expected back at the Palace tonight?’

There was an almost infinitesimal pause. ‘There is a reception which is not scheduled to end until late, Your Majesty. The King gave the instruction that he may be delayed and that you are not to wait up for him.’

There were a million things she wanted to say, but she could not. Alesso knew as well as she did that the King could leave any reception at any damned time he pleased—if he did not do so, it was because he had chosen not to. His wife had been away for over a week and he wasn’t even going to bother to see her until the next day. Which told her in no uncertain terms just how much he cared.

Millie felt her heart plummet, as if someone had dropped it from the top of a very high building. She knew that so much in Royal life was never stated, that things were ‘understood’. It saved embarrassment—and presumably little could be more embarrassing than having to tell your young wife that their brief marriage was over.

But was she going to sit back and accept that?