‘But what if he’s a tyrant?’ Zabrina whispered. ‘Who will disagree with me for the sake of disagreement?’
‘Then you will work with those disagreements and adapt your behaviour accordingly. You must remember that Roman is King and he will make all the decisions within your marriage. Your place as his queen is to accept that.’ Her mother frowned. ‘Didn’t you read those marriage manuals I gave you?’
‘They were a useful cure for my recent insomnia.’
‘Zabrina!’
‘No, I read them,’ admitted Zabrina a little sulkily. ‘Or rather, I tried. They must have been written about a hundred years ago.’
‘We can learn much from the past,’ replied her mother serenely. ‘Now smile, and then let’s go. The train will already be waiting at the station to take you to your new home.’
Zabrina sighed. It felt like a trap because it was a trap—one from which it seemed there was no escape. Never had she felt so at the mercy of her royal destiny. She’d never been particularly keen to marry anyone, but she was far from ready to marry a man she’d never even met.
Yet she had been complicit in accepting her fate, mainly because it had always been expected of her. She’d been all too aware of the financial problems in her own country and the fact that she had the ability to put that right. Maybe because she was the oldest child and she loved her younger brother and sisters, she had convinced herself she could do it. After all, she wouldn’t be the only princess in the history of the world to endure an arranged marriage!
So she had carefully learnt her lessons in Petrogorian history and become fluent in its lilting language. She studied the geography of the country which was to be her new home, especially the vast swathe of disputed land—the Marengo Forest—which bordered her own and would pass into the ownership of her new husband after their marriage, in exchange for an eye-watering amount of cash. But all those careful studies now felt unconnected with her real life—almost as if she’d been operating in a dream world which had no connection with reality.
And suddenly she had woken up.
Her long gown swished against the polished marble as she followed her mother down the grand palace staircase which descended into an enormous entrance hall, where countless servants began to bow as soon as the two women appeared. Her two sisters came rushing over, a look of disbelief on both their faces.
‘Zabrina, is that really you?’ breathed Daria.
‘Why, it doesn’t really look like you at all!’ exclaimed little Eva.
Zabrina bit down hard on her lip as she hugged them goodbye, picking up seven-year-old Eva and giving her an extra big hug, for her little sister sometimes felt like a daughter to her. She wanted to cry. To tell them how much she was going to miss them. But that wouldn’t be either fair, or wise. She had to be grown-up and mature and concentrate on her new role as Queen, not give in to indulgent emotion.
‘I don’t know why you don’t wear that sort of thing more often,’ said Daria as she gazed at the floaty long gown. ‘It looks so well on you.’
‘Probably because it’s not really appropriate clothing for being on the back of a horse,’ replied Zabrina wryly. ‘Or for running around the palace grounds.’
She hardly ever wore a dress. Even when she was forced into one for some dull state occasion, she wouldn’t have dreamed of wearing one like this, with all its heavy embellishments which made it feel as constricting as a suit of armour. The heavy flow of material impeded her naturally athletic movements and she hated the way the embroidered bodice clung to her breasts and emphasised them, when she preferred being strapped securely into a practical sports bra. She liked being wild and free. She liked throwing on a pair of jodhpurs and a loose shirt and jumping onto the back of a horse—and the more temperamental, the better. She liked her long hair tied back out of the way in a simple ponytail, not gathered up into an elaborate style of intricate curls and studded with pearls by her mother’s stylist.
Her father was standing there and Zabrina automatically sank to the ground, reluctantly conceding that perhaps it was easier to curtsey in a dress, rather than in a pair of jodhpurs.
‘How much better it is to see you look like a young woman for a change,’ the King said, his rasping voice the result of too many late-night glasses of whisky. ‘Rather than like one of the grooms from the stables. I think being Queen of Petrogoria will suit you very well.’
For one brief moment Zabrina wondered how he would react if she told him she couldn’t go through with it. But even if her country didn’t have an outstanding national debt, there was no way the King would offend his nearest neighbour and ally by announcing that the long-awaited wedding would not take place. Imagine the shattered egos and political fallout which would result if he did!
‘I hope so, Papa—I really do,’ she answered as she turned towards her brother, Alexandru. She could read the troubled expression in his eyes, as if silently acknowledging her status as sacrificial lamb, but despite his obvious reservations what could the young prince possibly do to help her? Nothing. He was barely seventeen years old. A child, really. And she was doing it for him, she reminded herself. Making Albastase great again—even though she suspected that Alexandru had no real desire to be King.
Zabrina walked through the gilded arch towards the car which was parked in the palace courtyard and, climbing into the back of the vintage Rolls-Royce, she envisaged the journey which lay ahead of her. She would be driven to the railway station where King Roman of Petrogoria’s royal train was waiting, with his high-powered security team ready to accompany her. On this beautiful spring afternoon, the train would travel in style through the beautiful countryside and the vast and spectacular Marengo Forest, which divided the two
countries. By tomorrow, they would be pulling into Petrogoria’s capital city of Rosumunte, where she would meet her future husband for the first time, which was a pretty scary thought. It had been drummed into her that she must be sure to project an expression of gentle gratitude when the powerful monarch greeted her, and to curtsey as deeply as possible. She must keep her eyes downcast and only respond when spoken to. Later that night there would be fireworks and feasting as the first of the pre-wedding celebrations took place.
And two strangers would be expected to spend the rest of their lives together.
Zabrina shot a wistful glance across the courtyard in the direction of the stable block and thought about her beloved horse, which she had ridden at dawn that very morning. How long would it take for Midas to miss her? Would he realise that until she was allowed to send for him one of the palace grooms would take him out for his daily exercise instead of her?
She thought about the bearded King and now her cause for concern was much more worrying. What if she found him physically repulsive? What if her flesh recoiled if—presumably when—he laid a finger on her? Despite her jokey remarks, she had read the book gifted to her by her mother, but she had received most of her sexual education from the Internet and an online version of the Kama Sutra. Even some of the lighter films she’d seen didn’t leave a lot to the imagination and Zabrina had watched them diligently, fascinated and repelled in equal measure. She had broken out in a cold sweat at the thought of actually replicating some of the things the actors on the screens had been doing. Could she really endure the bearded King’s unwanted caresses for the rest of her life?
She swallowed.
Especially as she was a total innocent.
A feeling of resignation washed over her. Of course she was. She’d never even been touched by a man, let alone kissed by one, for her virginity played a pivotal role in this arranged marriage. She thought about another of the books she’d ploughed her way through. The one about managing expectations within relationships and living in the real world, rather than in the fantasy version peddled by books and films. It had been a very sobering read but a rather useful one, and it had taught her a lot. Because once you abandoned all those stupid high-flown ideas of love and romance, you freed yourself from the inevitability of disappointment.
The powerful car pulled away to the sound of clapping and cheering from the assembled line of servants, but Zabrina’s heart was heavy as she began her journey towards unwanted destiny.