Vows to Save His Crown

It felt a little sad, a bit pathetic, to leave an entire life behind so easily. She’d email her friends once she reached Kallyria, and Mateo had promised her that he would pay for anyone she wished to attend the wedding to be flown over. He’d dealt with her job situation, and she’d felt a flicker of sorrow that, after ten years, she could both walk away and be let go so easily. But Cambridge was a transient place; people moved in and out all the time. Even after ten years, she was just one more.

Still, Rachel told herself as the royal jet levelled out, there was no point in being melancholy. She was about to embark on the adventure of a lifetime, and she wanted to enjoy it.

She glanced at Matteo, who was sitting across from her in a sumptuous seat of white leather, frowning down at his laptop. Since securing her hand in marriage, he had paid very little attention to her, but Rachel hadn’t minded. He had much to attend to, a country to rule and, besides, she wasn’t one to want to be fussed over.

Still, she wouldn’t have minded a bit of conversation now.

‘I feel like we should have champagne,’ she said a bit playfully, and Mateo looked up from his screen with a frown.

‘Champagne? Of course.’ He snapped his fingers and a steward materialised silently, as if plucked from the air.

‘Yes, Your Highness?’

That was something that was going to take a lot of getting used to. Despite Mateo’s obvious and understated displays of both wealth and power, she realised she hadn’t fully believed in the whole king thing until she’d stepped on the royal jet, and everyone had started bowing and curtseying and ‘Your Highnessing’ him. It had been weird.

The steward produced a bottle of bubbly with the kind of label Rachel could only dream of, popped the cork and poured two crystalline flutes full.

‘Cheers,’ Rachel said a bit tartly. During this whole elegant procedure, Mateo hadn’t so much as looked up from his screen.

She took a large sip of the champagne, which was crisp and delicious on her tongue. Another sip, and finally Mateo looked up.

He took in the open bottle chilling in a silver bucket, his untouched flute, and Rachel’s expression with a small, rueful smile.

‘I apologise.’ He reached for his glass and touched it to hers, his gaze warm and intent. ‘As we say in Kallyria, yamas.’

‘I don’t even know what language that is,’ Rachel confessed, wrinkling her nose. ‘Or what language you speak in Kallyria.’

‘It is Greek, and it means health or, more prosaically, cheers.’

‘Do you speak Greek?’

‘Yes, and Turkish.’

‘Wow.’ She realised how little she knew about, well, anything. ‘I should have done an Internet search on you last night.’

He arched an eyebrow. ‘You didn’t?’

‘I was too busy thinking about whether or not I was going to marry you.’ Although really she’d already decided. She’d spent most of the evening walking around in a daze, doing nothing productive.

‘You can ask me what you like. There will be a lot to learn.’

‘Yes.’ Rachel could see that already. ‘What’s going to happen when we land?’

‘I’ve had our arrival at Constanza embargoed—’

‘What does that mean?’

‘I am not alerting the media and no press will be allowed.’

‘Okay.’ She tried to process that for a moment, and failed. ‘Why?’

‘Because I want to control all the information,’ Mateo answered swiftly. ‘When we arrive at the royal palace, I will take you to meet my mother.’

Rachel swallowed. ‘Have you told her about me?’

‘Yes, she is greatly looking forward to making your acquaintance.’

‘That’s nice,’ Rachel said faintly. She didn’t know why she was starting to feel so alarmed; she’d known this was the kind of thing she was signing up for. And yet now it was starting to feel so very real. ‘And then what?’