‘It has nothing to do with my ego and everything to do with securing a prosperous future for my country!’
‘And then what?’ he demanded. ‘Being with someone who doesn’t want you is hardly a recipe for life-long contentment, is it?’
For a moment Zabrina was perplexed by his words—because surely he wasn’t foolish enough to believe in fairy tales like life-long contentment. A relationship of polite civility and tolerance was the best that could be hoped for, because that was how these things worked. A royal marriage was about what the couple represented rather than the relationship which existed between them. She had even known she would be expected to turn a blind eye to his behaviour—to the liaisons with other women he would undoubtedly have—and she had been prepared to do that, because that had always been the case for the wives of kings.
She looked at him and thought about his words. ‘But in some ways you do want me,’ she said slowly.
‘I’m not talking about sex!’ he snapped.
‘But isn’t that also important? I mean, is what happened between us just then usual?’
‘No, it isn’t usual,’ he said. ‘You must know that.’
Zabrina nodded. She’d thought that to be the case. Perhaps in a different situation she might have been pleased by his acknowledgement of the powerful chemistry which existed between them, were his words not tinged with such obvious bitterness. And, of course, accusation. That subtle jibe about her supposed sexual experience hadn’t escaped her. But she had lived a life where unfairness was something you just learned to live with and there was no reason why this should be any different.
‘So why not just go through with it? It’s not ideal, I know. But understand this, Roman. I’ve spent years preparing for my fate and if I hadn’t, I might have lived my life very differently. I don’t want to go back to Albastase as the Jilted Princess, and when you think about it you’ll have to go to all the trouble of finding another bride who can provide you with an heir—that all-important means to securing and continuing your line of inheritance. Someone else who might just happen not to pass your exacting vetting process.’
There was silence for a moment. ‘You mean you wish to bear my children?’ he questioned slowly.
It had always been a given that she would do so and deep down Zabrina had always longed for children of her own. She thought of the fierce love she felt for her sisters and brother and how much she was going to miss them. Producing a family was an essential part of an arranged royal marriage, when you stopped to think about it, and yet it wasn’t the kind of thing you spoke about in polite society. Yet as Roman asked the question, Zabrina felt a surge of something which felt like hope. Something which warmed and stirred her heart in a way she hadn’t expected, but she kept her expression deadpan, because she suspected that somehow it would be more appropriate. That passion or eagerness might scare him.
‘That has always been part of the deal, hasn’t it?’ she questioned quietly. ‘We could make this marriage work, if we wanted it to. We don’t seem to have a problem with communication and maybe that could work in our favour. We don’t shy away from discussing things other people might find difficult. And neither of us believe in love, only duty. We have no foolish illusions, do we, Roman? No secret dreams ripe to be shattered. So, if you were to agree, we could continue on this train to the palace at Petrogoria and I could prepare for my life as your queen, as planned.’
There was a long pause before he spoke. ‘Just like that?’
‘Why not?’
His eyes narrowed, the silver gaze slicing through her like a blade. ‘You’ve got it all worked out, haven’t you, Princess?’
She wished he wouldn’t use her title in that mocking way, because she liked it. She liked it more than she should. ‘Let’s just say I’m making the best of a bad situation.’
‘And if I refuse? What then?’
> His voice was silky but the note underpinning it was anything but. Zabrina imagined that tone might have intimidated many people, but it wasn’t going to intimidate her. She shrugged, hearing the rhymical sound of the train as it thundered through the darkness towards Petrogoria. If she had been somebody else she might have threatened to go to the newspapers, because imagine all the money the press would pay for a juicy scoop like this—a respectable king pretending to be someone else and seducing the virgin princess! But she wouldn’t do that—and not just because such a disclosure would drag both their names and their reputations through the mud. No. There were some things she would push for and some things she realised were pointless, because on an instinctive level she recognised that a man like Roman the Conqueror would never give in to something like blackmail.
‘I don’t think you will refuse,’ she said, her gaze very steady. ‘Because I think you need this marriage as much as I do.’
CHAPTER SEVEN
THERE WERE FLOWERS EVERYWHERE. Bright flowers which filled the air with their heady scent. Roses and gerbera. Delphinium and lilac. Pink and blue and red and orange and every conceivable shade in between. Swathes of them festooned the railway station at Rosumunte and yet more were waved by the packed crowds lining the roads to the palace. Petals were thrown towards their open-topped car and most fluttered to the ground but some were captured by the inert wipers and lay against the car’s windscreen, where already they were beginning to wilt in the warm sunshine.
And there were so many people. In the pale blue silk dress which had been specially chosen for this occasion, Zabrina sat bolt upright beside the King, who was raising his hand to his adoring subjects, and she forced herself to follow suit. ‘Gosh,’ she breathed, her heart missing yet another beat. ‘This is...’
He turned to her, his face shadowed and enigmatic despite the bright sunshine. ‘What?’
She swallowed but somehow turned the movement into a small smile, the sort of smile her new subjects would expect to see, because she wasn’t supposed to be inside her own head, thinking about the man whose thigh was so tantalisingly close to hers. She was supposed to be thinking about other things. Like that sweet little girl by the roadside, who was waving like crazy in her direction. Zabrina lifted her fingers in response and the child’s smile widened.
But it wasn’t easy to rid her thoughts of the devastatingly handsome King, because it took some getting used to—seeing him in uniform when before she’d only ever seen him in billowing shirt, trousers and long boots. And naked, of course. She mustn’t forget that. But the Petrogorian army uniform was dark and formal and did incredible things for his already impressive physique. It emphasised the hard, honed body, while the peaked cap drew attention to the shadowed jut of his jaw and the proud posture which made his shoulders look so broad. Zabrina cleared her throat. ‘It’s massive,’ she breathed. ‘I wasn’t expecting all these people to turn out to greet me.’
‘You are their future Queen. Of course they wish to welcome you.’
‘I know, and I appreciate that. It’s just that you can be aware of something intellectually, but, when it happens, it doesn’t feel how you thought it would feel.’
‘And how does it make you feel? Nervous?’
She folded her hands together in her lap, terrified he would notice the tell-tale dampness of her palms, because hadn’t she fought for this? To be Roman’s future queen and to bear his children? In which case it would be inappropriate to showcase a quivering mass of uncertainties which seemed to have come at her out of nowhere. ‘I was told many years ago that nerves have no place in the life of a princess.’
‘And did you believe everything you were told, Zabrina?’