CHAPTER ONE
Friday, 4.05 p.m.
‘LEAVE. NOW!’
A warning alarm beeped, emphasising the urgency of the harsh whisper. Elsie Wynter crunched her eyes more tightly and hunched lower in her seat. She didn’t want to leave. Not again.
‘Miss?’ Someone spoke right above her. Someone different—a woman—not him. ‘Miss? Please lift the window shade and ensure your safety belt is fastened.’
Elsie blinked and realised reality and nightmare had merged. She was in a plane and she was going somewhere new. Only they were landing far sooner than she’d expected.
‘Please, miss.’ The air steward shot her an authoritative glance. ‘Your safety belt.’
‘Of course.’ Elsie followed the orders.
She always followed orders. Especially those given so seriously. But as she checked her belt she glanced at the middle-aged man across the aisle from her. ‘Are we already in Spain?’
‘We’ve been diverted,’ he said softly. ‘A woman on board needs medical care.’
‘Oh—’
‘She’s having a baby a bit early but they seem to have it under control.’ The man shrugged his shoulders.
‘The poor woman must be scared,’ Elsie murmured.
She slid the window shade up. Their plane was moving swiftly over a vast expanse of sapphire water and a large island was rapidly coming into view. Smaller islands were visible in the distance beyond it but that main island soon swallowed the window space. Beautiful stone villas were built in the crannies of the cliffs, while to the north the island narrowed. A palace rose imposingly from the rocks at the end of the spit—like a fortress, it was a powerfully hewn beacon of strength, impervious to the ravages of weather or time or the changing needs of the world. It stood as it had for centuries. Part fortress, part palace, part medieval torture prison.
Elsie’s heart pounded. She’d recognised it immediately but couldn’t help asking, hoping she was wrong. Surely fate couldn’t be so cruel. ‘Where are we landing?’
‘Silvabon.’ The man peered past her. ‘Beautiful, isn’t it?’
Heartbreakingly beautiful, yes. She’d been here before. And in one day, one meeting—one person—had changed everything.
‘Apparently there’s a dungeon beneath that palace,’ the man said. ‘And treasure everywhere.’
Silvabon was a Mediterranean paradise—resplendent and timeless, a literal treasure in a vast sea. Blessed with abundant natural resources, the kingdom had skilfully fostered strategic alliances for security—in centuries past through marriage with other royal families in the region, and in more recent times through business alliances and access to its prized shipping routes. Elsie had known they’d be flying near as they travelled from Athens to Madrid, but she’d not realised they would come this close to the illustrious kingdom—let alone be diverted directly to it.
A memory flickered—a firm step, a teasing laugh, a long look. A whisper about that dungeon. Hot hurt crescendoed as the recollection solidified. She breathed deliberately slowly to ride the worst out—humiliation and ostracism weren’t strangers to her. But she’d worked too hard to let just one thought of him diminish her peace. But more than one thought of him impinged now. Elsie had spent over two months here in the glorious sunshine and luxurious atmosphere until she’d been unceremoniously evicted.
Leave. Now!
That order had come from the King himself. At the time she’d been stupidly confused why his tone had been so cruel, so urgent. She’d been more than stupid because for a second she’d thought he might actually—
No.His actions after that order had been unequivocal and utterly humiliating. So she’d not needed to be told twice and she’d vowed never to return. But now, she rationalised with purposefully even breaths, she wasn’t returning. Their plane was landing only to drop off the patient. The rest of the passengers—including her—wouldn’t disembark. They’d simply take off again. There was no reason to be anxious.
But as they came in to land, her pulse went off beat. An army of private jets was perfectly lined up on the tarmac like a flotilla of bragging billionaire toys. Banners hung from the airport terminal and surrounding buildings. She stared at the midnight blue, black and gold—the colours of Silvabon emblazoned every possible edifice in celebration. The flags weren’t fluttering. There was no wind to lift them. Because the weather was perfect. Everything was perfect. She knew exactly why. The mourning period for his grandfather was over and King Felipe Roca de Silva y Zafiro’s official coronation was less than twenty-four hours away.
An ambulance raced to meet their plane, flanked by two fire appliances. It took only a few minutes for the distressed woman onboard to be transported away. King Felipe’s people were incomparably efficient—especially his security team.
‘Thank you for your patience and I apologise for the interruption to our journey.’ The pilot spoke over the intercom. ‘Unfortunately there will be further delay.’
Elsie’s lungs tightened.
‘We were granted permission to land only because of the medical emergency onboard. Silvabon’s skies are closed for King Felipe’s coronation this weekend. Because of this,’ the pilot continued, ‘we must remain grounded until the ceremony concludes tomorrow.’
A collective groan echoed around the plane but Elsie couldn’t utter a sound.
‘Can’t we just take off again now?’ someone called out.