If she really did suspect him and his relationship with Amy, she covered it well.
‘I understand your grandfather is unwell?’ she said quietly.
‘He’s been better.’ It was all he could bring himself to answer with.
Why couldn’t he feel anything for her? Here was a beautiful, compassionate woman of royal blood and all he felt when she touched him was cold.
He tried again, using a milder tone of voice. ‘He has an infection.’
She smiled sympathetically. ‘I hope he recovers quickly.’
‘So do I.’
But he didn’t hold out much hope. These past five months had been a battle to keep him alive long enough for him to see the Gala. That was all his grandfather had been focusing on. Now, with the Gala over, his grandsons all paired off and the succession to the throne secured, King Astraeus was preparing to die.
His duty was done. His grandfather wanted to be with the woman he’d loved for his entire adult life.
And Amy had said she loved him.
Helios wished he could unhear those words.
What kind of selfish monster was he to tie her to him when he knew doing so was destroying her?
It was possibly the longest meal of his life. For once, the power of speech had deserted him. He couldn’t think of a single witty remark or any of the tales that usually had guests enthralled.
Throughout the meal disquiet grew within him, a foreboding which came upon him from an unseen direction.
As soon as the coffee had been cleared away he cleared his throat. ‘My apologies, ladies and gentlemen, but I need to retire for the evening. I know I haven’t been very good company this evening—I think exhaustion has crept up on me—but be assured that I am very impressed with everything you’ve told me and will give my recommendation to the committee early next week.’
When he’d finished speaking he glanced at Catalina. She was staring at him with a cool, thoughtful expression.
It took fifteen minutes, time spent saying goodnight to everyone individually, before he was finally able to leave the dining room.
Catalina made no effort to follow him.
The disquiet in his chest grew with every step he took towards his apartment. By the time he reached his door and was able to shake off the courtiers, perspiration had broken out on his brow and his pulse had surged.
He headed straight down the passageway and rapped on Amy’s connecting door.
No answer.
He banged again, louder.
No answer.
‘Amy?’ he shouted, pounding on the door with his fist.
On impulse he tried the handle, even though Amy always kept the door locked...
The door opened.
His heart thundering painfully beneath his ribs, he stepped into her apartment.
‘Amy?’ he called into the silence.
His heart knew before his head could comprehend it.
On legs weighted down with lead, he stepped into her bedroom.
The room was spotless. And empty.
All that lay on the dressing table, which was usually heaped with cosmetics and bottles of perfume, was a large padded envelope he recognised as the one he’d given to her all those weeks ago, containing the jewellery he’d bought her. Next to it lay a scrap of paper. Written on it were two words.
Forgive me.
* * *
‘You look troubled, Helios,’ his grandfather said, in the wheezing voice Helios hated so much.
They were playing chess, his grandfather’s favourite game. The King was in his wheelchair, an oxygen tank to his right, a nurse set back a little to his left.
‘I’m just tired.’ Helios moved a pawn two spaces forward, unable to stop his stomach curdling with the fear that this might be the last game they played together.
‘How are the wedding preparations going?’
‘Well.’
Not that he was having anything to do with them. The palace staff were more than capable of handling it without his input. And without Catalina, who seemingly had as much interest in the preparations as he had. None at all.
His grandfather placed the oxygen mask on his face for a minute, before indicating for the nurse to take it off.
‘I remember my own wedding day well.’ The misty eyes grew mistier. ‘Your grandmother looked like an angel sent from heaven.’ Then the old eyes sharpened. ‘Your mother looked beautiful on her wedding day too. It is my eternal sorrow that your father couldn’t see her beauty. Your mother was beautiful, inside and out.’
Helios’s spine stiffened. His parents’ marriage was a subject they rarely touched upon other than in the most generic terms.
‘The biggest regret of my life—and your grandmother’s, rest her soul—was that your father couldn’t choose his own wife. Would it have made a difference if he’d been able to choose?’ He raised a weak, bony shoulder. ‘We will never know. Despite our best efforts he was a vain and cruel man. He thrived on power. Your mother didn’t stand a chance.’