‘Yes, it does. It represents the past. A part of my life that is over. For good.’
Reality was the crown of Lycander and the path he had set himself. Axel had die
d—had been denied the chance to rule, to live, to marry, to have children. The only thing Frederick could do now was honour his memory—ensure his vision was accomplished. Ensure the monarchy was safe and Lycander prospered.
‘It’s time to get back to the palace.’
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Two weeks later
SUNITA GAZED AROUND the transformed apartments with satisfaction. It hadn’t been easy, but the spindly chairs of discomfort, the antique non-toddler-friendly glass tables, the dark gloomy pictures were all gone—and she didn’t care if they were by museum-worthy artists. Mostly it hadn’t been easy because of the intense levels of disapproval exhibited by nearly every single member of staff she’d asked for help.
In truth, Sunita quite simply didn’t get it—she hadn’t expected instant love or loyalty, but this condescension hidden behind a thin veneer of politeness was both horrible and familiar. It made her feel worthless inside—just as she had in her stepmother’s home.
Giselle Diaz, the housekeeper, looked down her aristocratic nose at her, Sven Nordstrom, chief steward, somehow managed to convey utter horror, and the more junior members of staff had taken their cue from their superiors. Whilst they listened to Sunita’s instructions, they did so with a frigid politeness that made her quake.
But she’d stuck to her guns, had ransacked the palace for real items of furniture, and tucked away in nooks and crannies she’d discovered some true treasures.
Old overstuffed armchairs, ridiculously comfortable sofas...and now she and Amil had a home, a haven.
Sunita gazed at her son. They had brought him back from Mumbai ten days before and he had settled in with a happiness she could only envy. With a smile, he crawled across the floor and she scooped him up onto her lap.
‘What do you think, sweetheart?’ She showed him two different fabric swatches. ‘Do you like this one or this one? For your new nursery when we move to the state apartments.’
‘Dabadabad!’ Amil said chattily.
‘Shall we ask Daddy? That’s a good idea, isn’t it?’
Frederick would arrive at any moment—every day without fail he was there for Amil’s breakfast and tea, and for bedtime. Otherwise he worked.
Ever since the olive grove he’d been distant, as if he’d built a wall of transparent glass that she couldn’t penetrate. He was polite, kind and unfailingly courteous, and it made her want to scream. It also made her wonder what demon drove him to spend nigh on every waking hour in the council room, closeted with advisors, lawyers, education experts or engrossed in legal and constitutional tomes that dated back centuries.
Her reverie was interrupted by the familiar knock on the door.
‘Come in.’
Frederick entered and, as happened each and every day, her heart fluttered and she noted the lines of tiredness around his eyes and wished she could smooth them away.
‘Adadadadaa!’ Amil said, and if she’d blinked she’d have missed the smile that lit Frederick’s face—one of pure, unaffected joy—before his expression morphed back to neutral.
‘Good evening, Amil. And what have you got for tea today?’
‘He has lasagne with carrot sticks. Prepared by his very loving, very lovely potential new nanny.’
Satisfaction pumped a fist inside her as she saw his eyebrows snap together—that had at least got his attention.
‘Nanny? You didn’t tell me you’d chosen one from the list I gave you.’
The list that had chilled her very bone marrow—a list of extremely qualified, excessively expensive women.
‘That’s because she isn’t on the list. But maybe we could discuss this once Amil is in bed.’
‘Sure.’
‘Then let’s get tea underway.’
She headed to the kitchenette and soon had Amil seated in his high chair.