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‘You should get as far away as possible from here,’ he said huskily.

A lump formed in her throat. A lot of her life in Montaurella had been good.

‘Go to the other side of the world.’ He fidgeted with his watch strap. ‘New Zealand? Canada?’

A couple of times she’d woken in the night and seen him standing at the window looking out at the city lights. He wasn’t keeping his distance from the palace. It wasn’t about being just far enough away to do whatever he wanted with DJs and stripper poles—they were hyperbole, and in the past. He was watching over the city. Guarding it.

He’ll throw you in the dungeon—feed you to the dragon.

There was no dungeon, but the dragon in the palace was his father.

‘There’s no real rush to decide yet,’ she muttered.

He turned back to her, stormy-eyed and serious. ‘Soon.’

She hugged the documents to her chest. ‘Thank you for this. I appreciate it so much. And yes, I’ll be giving some of that money away.’

‘Steady, might think you actually tolerate my presence.’

‘You’re too far away, as it happens.’

He moved and she leaned in. The corner of the passport dug into her palm. It was thoughtful. He’d listened to her, acted on what she’d said, given her what she’d thought she wanted more than anything. And somehow that fact made him more dangerous than ever.

Chapter Fourteen

‘You’ve got to be joking.’ Alex gaped at the article Cristian had just emailed to him. ‘This is a sick prank, surely?’

‘I’m sorry but it’s true. It was his computer while he was on the clock in the palace. I should have found it first. I’ve let you down.’ The palace tech guru sounded miserable. ‘And now the evidence is already in the press, as you can see, they’re reporting it everywhere.’

‘Palace Aide Shares Cruel Hoax Video.’

Alex gripped his phone, fury overflowing as he read the headline and saw the screenshots proving this was no sick conspiracy theory. ‘How’s the King reacting?’

If Domenico had anything to do with Hugo’s actions, Alex would unleash hell.

‘I understand he’s debating his best course of action.’

The palace was being slammed. This damaged not just the crown but also Montaurella’s standing in the world. No way would his father tolerate guilt by association—even if he was guilty.

‘If Domenico showed public support for our marriage, the narrative against the palace might turn,’ he growled, hating offering a tip to protect his father. But the monarchy was bigger than any one person. Even more importantly to Alex, it was about doing everything possible to protect Tilly.

‘I agree,’ Cristian said.

‘Then I suggest you go and convince him.’ Alex ended the call and sat back.

He didn’t want or need Domenico’s ‘blessing’, but it would help Tilly’s future to have full palace support. Alex wanted the opportunity to face his father and straight out ask if he was behind the amplification of that second video. If he was, then forgiveness was impossible. Only fury. Only revenge.

At least now all the online commentary was on Tilly’s side. The public were scathing of the palace’s lack of immediate response. Alex had avoided the press for a couple of days, but now he sucked in a breath—stunned in a different way as he stared at the screen. He was used to being the subject of media attention, but this was next level. Some fixated freak had trawled through every official photo the palace had released in the last five years. State balls and banquets were the occasions when he’d been photographed in the same room as Tilly. Entrances, ‘candid’s from the dance floor, everyone standing at their seats in the banquet hall, his father at one end, Alex miles away at the other. Tilly was usually seated in the top third, nearer his father. In every picture she was perfectly attired, her smile polite. The problem was that in every photo they’d collated Alex was looking directly at Tilly—even when he had a date on his arm. And his expression? Mortifying. He’d have thought the montage was another AI hoax except he remembered noticing her in those dresses. Remembered his annoyance. He’d looked. Every time.

There were none of her looking at him. If he stopped to care he might be embarrassed, but something else flashed out at him. The pattern had begun about two years ago. In all the photos from that time on, very near, if not right beside her, stood Francesco Sandrelli. Looking at her. Alex swallowed the hot bile and pulled out his phone again.

‘Have you found anything on Francesco?’ he interrogated Tino, his analyst. ‘I need a full report tonight. Go through his financials forensically—look for any possible link to my father. If there’s anything it’ll be well-buried and tenuous. This is the only focus for the whole team.’

His email pinged. Official palace address. An invitation. It seemed Domenico had made his decision.

Alex picked up his laptop and went in search of her. She was lying on a lounger on the balcony, wearing a slip of a summer dress with her sketchpad on her stomach. Her hair was loose and curling and her eyes were closed. She looked so lusciously relaxed, he didn’t want to destroy her peace by telling her the latest.

He crouched beside her and ran light fingertips up her arm. ‘Are you awake?’