Claiming His Secret Royal Heir
‘I said it.’ The voice came from one of the elder statesmen.
‘My relationship with Sunita bears no resemblance to that of my parents.’
‘I beg to differ, Your Highness. I was there. Prince Alphonse fell hook, line and sinker for your mother—chased her whilst his wife, the mother of Crown Prince Axel, was dying. Their wedding was an extravaganza pushed forward because the bride was pregnant. Within months of your birth the marriage was floundering; within a few years it had ended in scandal. Your mother played him for a fool.’
White-hot anger roiled inside him. Yet the words were true—a fact he had to face.
‘Are you saying that I am a fool? What would have happened if you had spoken to my father thus?’
Frederick made a gesture to a guard, who stepped forward without hesitation to a murmur of surprise.
‘You would have been marched out and the council would have been shut down until after the wedding.’
He gestured for the guard to stop and rose to his feet.
‘But I do not rule as my father did—I have listened to all your concerns and I understand them. Now I tell you this. My marriage to Sunita is to be made in good faith on both our parts. There will be no scandal. There will be no custody battle. This union will endure. This wedding is happening.’
What was he? The Delphi Oracle? But now was no time to exhibit doubt. ‘I promise you all that I value your opinion. But you see, ladies and gentlemen, Amil is my son, and if I have a chance to be a father without taking my son from his mother then I have to take it. So the wedding will happen and I very much hope to see you all dance at it.’
Further silence, and then Marcus rose to his feet, an enigmatic look on his face. ‘I suggest that is the end of this special council meeting.’
As everyone filed out Frederick ran a hand down his face and turned as his chief advisor approached. Frederick shook his head. ‘Not now, Marcus. I can’t take any more wedding advice.’
The dark-haired man gave a half-smile. ‘I wouldn’t dare.’
‘Now, that I don’t believe.’
‘You should.’ Marcus eyed him. ‘That is the first time since your ascension to the throne that I have seen you stand up for something you believe in.’
‘Rubbish. I have stood in this room and fought to convince councillors to support education and tax reform, to close the casinos...’
‘I get that. But those were all Axel’s policies. This is your marriage.’
‘Axel would have agreed that I am doing the right thing.’
‘Then maybe you and Axel had more in common than I realised.’
For a second his chief advisor’s words warmed him—but only for a fleeting second. If Marcus knew the truth he’d never use such words.
Frederick rose to his feet before the urge to confess overcame common sense and tried to rid himself of the grubby feel of deceit.
‘Frederick? I’ll support you in this, but you will need to make this work. You need to win the public round.’
‘I know.’
Luckily, he knew the perfect person to help with that.
* * *
Sunita stared down at the diamond ring that sparkled and glistened and weighted her finger. She looked around the apartment that appeared opulent yet felt oppressive, with its heavy faded gold curtains and the bowls of flowers that, though magnificent, emanated a cloying, gloom-laden scent.
These were showrooms—there should be signs and information leaflets to outline the names of the rich and famous who had stayed within these walls, to document the lives of the painters who had created the looming allegorical creations that adorned them.
The furniture was decorative—but the stripes of the claw-footed chaise longue almost blinded her, and the idea of sitting on it was impossible. As for the bedroom—she’d need a stepladder to get up into a bed that, conversely, seemed to have been made for someone at least a foot smaller than she was.
Well, there was no way she would let Amil live in a showroom, so she needed to make it into a home.
She started to unpack—hung her clothes in the wardrobe, took comfort from the feel of the fabrics, the splash of the colours, every item imbued with memories.