Vows to Save His Crown

Rachel rested her chin on her hand as she gazed outside. A bright tropical butterfly landed on a crimson hibiscus blossom, the sight as incredible as anything she might find in the pages of a nature magazine, and yet commonplace in this new world of hers.

She supposed she was bound to feel a bit uncertain and out of sorts, at least at the start. Everything had happened so fast, and the change had been so enormous. She wished she’d seen more of Mateo, because she recognised that he grounded her, and his reassurance would go a long way. But when she’d asked that morning, one of the palace staff had informed her he’d left for the north of the country last night, and wouldn’t be back until this evening. He hadn’t even told her he was leaving. And she kept telling herself not to mind.

But that didn’t mean she had to sit and do nothing about it.

Rachel was busy for the rest of the afternoon, between fittings for her evening gown and wedding dress, and lessons on comportment that Agathe had gently advised her to attend. Rachel hadn’t even known what those were until she’d shown up for her first one, and Agathe had begun to explain how to both sit and stand in public; how to make small talk with strangers; how to navigate a table setting with six separate forks, knives, and spoons.

At first Rachel had bristled slightly at the instruction; she wasn’t a complete yokel, after all. She knew how to behave in public, surely, and she’d made small talk with plenty of people over her years in academia. Still, it hadn’t taken her long to realise, when it came to royalty, she was out of her element, and Agathe was here to help her. She had only a week to become royalty-ready, and she—and Agathe—were determined to make the most of every moment.

As evening fell, the sky scattered with stars, Rachel heard the sound she hadn’t even realised she’d been waiting for—the loud, persistent whirr of a helicopter. From the window of her bedroom she watched the royal helicopter touch down on the palace’s helipad.

Mateo was back...and she was going to find him.

* * *

Mateo scrubbed his gritty eyes as he tried to refocus on the report he was reading. He’d barely slept last night, having spent the last forty-eight hours on the move in the north, trying to arrange a meeting with the leader of the insurgents gathering there.

Despite the unrest, the realisation of his marriage and ascension to the throne had made them more willing to consider a compromise, thank heaven. His marriage to Rachel was already paying dividends.

Rachel. He hadn’t seen her in several days, and barely before that. Barely since the kiss on the balcony, when they’d as good as sealed the deal. He wondered how she was now, if she was coping with all the change and busyness. He told himself she was too sensible to have cold feet, but he wished he could see her. He’d make time tomorrow, he promised himself. At least, he’d try to.

A soft footfall outside had him tensing. The palace was nearly impregnable and teeming with security. He wasn’t nervous, not exactly...just conscious that he’d spent the last few days negotiating with desperate men who were little more than terrorists, and if they wanted to put an end to him, before his wedding would be the time to do it.

‘Mateo...?’ The voice was soft, low, and wonderfully familiar.

‘In here.’

The door creaked open and Rachel peeked her head in, smiling with relief when she saw him. ‘I’ve been wandering around in my nightgown, which I realised is probably not the best idea. Certainly not queenly behaviour.’

‘Well, you’re not a queen yet.’ Mateo smiled, pleasure at seeing her like honey in his veins. She was wearing an ivory dressing gown that was all silk and lace and

hugged her sweet curves lovingly.

She caught him looking at her and, grimacing, spread her arms wide. ‘Isn’t this the most ridiculous thing ever? Francesca insists it’s perfectly appropriate night-time attire for a queen, but I feel a bit like—I don’t know—Lady Godiva.’

‘As I recall, Lady Godiva was meant to be naked, as well as on a horse.’

‘Right.’ Rachel laughed huskily. ‘Well, you know what I mean.’

Yes, he did. Just as he knew that with the lamplight behind her and her arms spread, Rachel might as well be naked. Out of decency he knew he should inform her of the fact, but he didn’t want to embarrass her—and he was enjoying the view.

‘Anyway.’ She dropped her arms and moved towards him, so the robe became seemly again, more was the pity. ‘Where have you been? How are you? I haven’t seen you since—well, since the balcony.’

She blushed at that, which Mateo liked. He might have been trying to keep Rachel at arm’s length, but the memory of that kiss was scorched onto his brain. And after several days of having her much farther away than his arm, he was enjoying her company far too much to put up the usual barriers.

‘I know, I’m sorry. I’m afraid I have had much to command my attention.’

‘You don’t have to apologise.’ She perched on the edge of his desk, giving him a small smile. ‘You were up north?’

‘Trying to set up some peace talks, yes.’

‘And were you successful?’

‘I believe so.’

‘And now?’ She nodded towards the stack of files on his desk. ‘What are you working on now?’

He paused, because he had already developed the instinct to keep his royal work private, and yet this was the woman he’d hashed out every potential problem with for a decade. They’d wrangled and wrestled with countless theorems and difficulties, had debated the best way forward on countless experiments, had worked side by side most days. He’d wanted to marry her for just those reasons, and yet sharing this work did not come naturally to him.