Vows to Save His Crown

The women all swept panicked curtsies that Mateo ignored.

‘Your Highness...’

‘What is going on?’

‘We were just attending to Kyria Lewis...’

‘In a manner I find most displeasing. You are all dismissed at once.’ A shocked intake of breath was the only response he got, followed by a frozen silence.

‘Mateo,’ Rachel said softly. He turned h

is gaze to her, saw her giving him one of her wonderfully wry smiles. ‘Remember when I was being a drama queen? Don’t be a drama king. They’re just doing their job.’

‘They insulted you,’ he objected, his voice pulsating with fury. ‘I will not have it.’

‘They were just being pragmatic, and in any case they weren’t saying anything I haven’t said myself a thousand times before. I really don’t like my chin.’

‘Your chin is fine.’

Rachel’s mouth quirked. ‘Shall we argue about it?’

‘Their comments and attitude are not acceptable.’ He would not back down, no matter what damage mitigation Rachel felt she needed to do.

‘Your Highness,’ Francesca, the main stylist, said in a hesitant voice. ‘Please accept my deepest apologies for my remarks. I was thinking out loud...but you are right, it was unacceptable.’ She bowed her head. ‘If you will give me this opportunity to style Kyria Lewis, I will do my utmost to help her succeed.’

‘She will succeed with or without you,’ Mateo snapped. ‘You are not here to make her succeed, but simply to provide her with the right clothes and make-up.’

Francesca’s head dipped lower. ‘As you say,’ she murmured.

‘Mateo.’ Rachel’s voice was gentle. ‘Honestly, it’s okay.’

But it wasn’t. He saw so clearly how she accepted being belittled, how she thought because she was curvy and dressed in shapeless clothes she wasn’t worth the same as a woman with a wasp-like waist and a similar attitude. Mateo hated it.

‘You will dress and style Kyria Lewis,’ he instructed the women, his eyes like lasers on the penitent Francesca. ‘I will review the terms of your contract with the palace myself before the day is out.’

The women murmured their thanks and he strode out of the room, still battling an inexplicable fury. Why did he care so much? Rachel didn’t. Why couldn’t he just let it go? Yet he found he couldn’t.

He’d never considered Rachel’s feelings in such a specific way before he’d decided to marry her. He’d never considered anyone’s feelings, he acknowledged with wry grimness, not really.

Not since Cressida, whose feelings he had considered both far too much and not nearly enough. The paradox of his relationship with her, the manic highs and terrible lows, was something he knew he wasn’t strong enough to experience again. And even though Rachel was entirely different, he feared the root cause of those emotions was the same. Love. Best to avoid.

And yet now, despite his determination to keep a certain aloofness, and for reasons he did not wish to probe too deeply, he felt as if he was changing. Now he cared—admittedly about something relatively small, but still. It mattered. It mattered to him.

Wanting to leave such disturbing thoughts behind, Mateo went to meet with the palace press officer and arrange the last details of their appearance on the main balcony. All the country’s press would be assembled in the courtyard below, along with most of Europe’s and some of Asia’s.

Kallyria was a small country, but since the discovery of oil beneath its lands, it had become a major player on the world stage. The whole world would be waiting for and watching this announcement. Mateo wanted to make sure everything was ready—and perfect.

At quarter to two, the door to the reception room whose French windows opened onto the main balcony opened, and Francesca ushered Rachel in, beaming with pride.

Mateo gave her a level look, still unimpressed by her behaviour, before turning his attention to his soon-to-be wife...and then trying not to let his jaw drop.

Rachel looked...like Rachel, yet more. Her hair had been trimmed and was styled in loose waves about her face, soft and glossy. She wore minimal make-up, but it highlighted everything Mateo liked about her—her lush and rosy lips, her dark eyes with their luxuriant lashes, and cheekbones that he hadn’t actually noticed before but now couldn’t tear his gaze away from.

She wore a simple wrap dress in forest-green silk—a dress that clung without being too revealing and made the most of the generous curves Mateo longed to touch and explore. Her shapely calves were encased in sheer tights, and accentuated by a pair of elegant black heels.

‘Well?’ Her voice held a questioning lilt that bordered on uncertainty. ‘Will I pass?’

‘You will more than pass.’ Mateo gave Francesca a grudging nod. ‘I meant what I said earlier, but I will admit you have done well.’