The Prince's Chambermaid

But she would be a good Princess, she told herself fiercely. She would care for her Prince in any way that he would let her—and she would use whatever talents she had to try to make the people of Zaffirinthos happy.

There was no triumphant peel of bells as they emerged from the chapel into the bright sunshine and she wondered whether there might be a public kiss to seal the union  . But there was not. Just the golden gleam of his eyes as he looked down at her.

‘So, Catherine,’ he said softly. ‘Princess of Zaffirinthos. How does that feel?’

‘It feels unreal,’ she admitted with a whisper and saw the brief shuttering of his face.

‘All royal life is unreal.’ He gave a short laugh. ‘That is both its attraction and its danger.’

‘Its danger?’ she questioned shakily.

Lifting one olive-skinned hand, he gestured at the splendour which surrounded them. ‘Of course. Sometimes people who are not born to it find it incredibly restrictive. Or they fall in love with the heady sense of power it bestows. Few remain immune to its lure. Can’t you see the danger in that, Cathy?’

‘I…suppose so.’ She wanted him to tell her not to worry, that it was all going to be okay—especially today, of all days. She wanted to feel part of everything—but most of all she wanted to feel part of him in the way that all new brides were supposed to. Her fingers dug into the tight white roses of her bouquet. ‘But I’d prefer to think about happier matters on my wedding day.’

He looked down at her. With her pale hair caught up in a sophisticated chignon and threaded with glittering jewels, she looked incandescent. Already, the image of the simple little chambermaid she had once been was fading—though her naïve statement reminded him that, essentially, she was the same woman underneath. ‘Yes, of course you do. So come on. Big smile—and then let’s go and say hello to the staff.’

All the palace personnel were lined up along the marble steps to greet the newlyweds and Cathy was grateful that Flavia had told her to stop and chat only every few places—otherwise they would have been there all day. But she saw a couple of crestfallen faces from the younger maids she didn’t actually get to speak to—and she determined to make their acquaintance on another occasion. Because hadn’t she been there, where they were—a small, anonymous face looking out at all the splendour as the moneyed people went by?

Suddenly, Cathy felt a pang for the old life—the life she had left behind. One where feelings were allowed precedence over rules, and where it would have been perfectly acceptable for a new bride to fling her arm around her husband’s neck and to kiss him.

The wedding breakfast was held in what she had learned was the smallest and most intimate of the three dining halls—though intimacy was not a word which married well with such a room. How could it when every piece of cutlery they used was made of solid gold and studded with rubies? Even the crystal glass containing priceless wine was so heavy that she needed to use two hands to pick it up.

And Cathy suddenly realised that she had nothing to say! Not unless she started advising the noble assembly how to make a bed—or the best way to fold sheets—and Flavia had tacitly advised her not to dwell on her former life. Her words and her thoughts seemed to have dried up, leaving her feeling empty. Not that anyone seemed to mind. It was clearly Xaviero who was of prime importance. Xaviero whose jokes they laughed at and Xaviero whose observations were met with nodding interest.

Cathy sat listening, absorbing everything she heard—trying to learn as much about her new royal life as she could. But the meal seemed to drag on and on—course after course of it—all amazing little delicacies, most of which she’d never tasted before and were much too rich to lay comfortably in a stomach already churned up with nerves. Especially when all she really wanted was for Xaviero to take her in his arms and to kiss away all her fears and insecurity.

Yet despite the fact that they were newly wed, they were still surrounded by onlookers and protocol. She tried sending him looks of appeal across the glittering table—and was it her imagination, or did he simply ignore her silent entreaty?

By the time the meal was finished she was a mass of insecurity, but consoled herself with the sight of her new husband as he stood up. In his dark naval uniform awash with medals as golden as his eyes, he looked so tall and so handsome. And in that moment Cathy simply felt an immense and quiet pride that she had married such a man.

It didn’t matter what had gone before—it was the now which mattered, and soon she would be locked in his arms again. Her bare skin would be close to his in a way she had hardly dared remember, for fear that it would never happen again. But tonight it most definitely would. Hadn’t they always been magic in bed together—and wouldn’t her pleasure only be enhanced by knowing that she was now legally his wife? She could show him love in the privacy of their bedchamber and Xaviero would learn to accept it—maybe even one day to return it.