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ENEMIES AT THE ROYAL ALTAR

Natalie Anderson

Chapter One

‘You realise it’s not me in that video. It’s not actually anyone—I think it’s AI generated.’ Tilly Brookes stared at the intricate parquet flooring, unable to stand the condemnation in her stepfather’s eyes. ‘You know I would never—’

‘People believe it’s you,’ Domenico said harshly. ‘It’s everywhere, Tilly. Everyone has seen it. The situation must be rectified.’

But surely not the way he wanted? Tilly pressed her crossed arms closer to her trembling body as his sickening suggestion whirled in her mind. How could he think she’d ever do what that video supposedly showed her doing?

‘I understand that, but—’

‘I’ve done so much for you.’ Disappointment coarsened his tone. ‘I gave you everything when most men in my position wouldn’t.’

The whomping rhythm of helicopter rotor blades sounded overhead, or maybe it was her thumping pulse deafening her…she was too stressed to tell.

‘Yes, I know and I’m so grateful.’ She lifted her gaze slightly, taking in the ornately carved legs of the enormous antique throne that had been presented to Montaurella three centuries ago by a visiting party from Sweden. ‘I absolutely appreciate your—’

‘Even when your mother left us,’ he interrupted sharply. ‘Especially then.’

Her throat tightened, leaving her barely able to nod. Seven years ago her mother had betrayed the King and abandoned her. Tilly had done as the King had asked—hidden her mother’s infidelity to the world—but that bitter secret had benefited them both.

‘I’ve looked out for you as if you’re one of my own. Treated you as the daughter I never had.’

And Tilly had striven to repay him, always mindful to demonstrate her appreciation because she’d been wary not only of her own precarious position, but also of Domenico himself. Like all powerful men, he had a ruthless edge and she’d not wanted it turned on her. Stranded in the palace aged seventeen, she’d clung to what little safety she had, tried to strengthen her thin hold on it by doing the best job she could. She’d learned the provenance of every artwork in the palace, every piece of furniture, every aspect of Montaurellan history. When the King had decided to make the palace more accessible to the public, Tilly’s role in the museum had broadened. She’d honoured and respected the royal history and never tried to bring further attention to herself. But now Domenico frowned at the phone in his hand. Now his temper flared. Now that ruthlessness struck and it was so much worse than she’d imagined.

‘This is intolerable!’

She glimpsed the screen. The video was paused on her face but that alone was enough to make bitter acid flood her mouth. King Domenico cared about appearances, about public approval. He had high, exacting standards, which was why they were meeting in the intimidating state apartment, where centuries before disloyal and disobedient courtiers were sentenced to death. The vast room was cleverly designed to ensure even a whisper echoed loudly, reaching every corner. There was no hiding from the King’s authority in this hall. There was no hiding from the utter humiliation of today’s viral video.

Tilly drowned in waves of hot shame as Domenico glared at her. There was no point reiterating that the appalling thing was a fake, that it had been generated by some horrible jerk who had nothing better to do than bully and mock her. Her stepfather was apoplectic and demanding a fix that was even more shocking.

She bowed her head, desperately hoping genuine contrition would appease him. ‘I’m so sorry.’

‘If you’re truly sorry, you’ll do as I request.’

His ‘remedy’ to ‘restore her reputation’ and the ‘honour of Montaurella’ wasn’t a request, it was an order. One that worsened what was already one of the worst days of her life. While she owed Domenico, she’d never imagined he would ask her to do something so unpalatable or so extreme. Especially given that this wasn’t her fault. The injustice sucked the air from her lungs.

‘It is the only way to fix this,’ he added.

Her throat closed over completely.

‘Good,’ Domenico praised, reading her silence as acceptance.

Because Tilly was always dutiful.

‘This will work out for the best.’ He actually smiled.

There was no arguing. She was stuck in speechless mode anyway. She was here at his grace and favour. It didn’t matter that she’d given years of her life to serve, she was expected to do as she was told—because she always had.

‘You need protection,’ he added as if he were doing her the greatest favour. ‘As does the palace.’ Domenico frowned at the phone again. ‘I can’t have this impacting Montaurella’s reputation.’

This video wasn’t even real and it was nothing on what his eldest son had done over the years. The difference was his exploits were real. The double standard ought to infuriate her, but the other key difference was that she’d not been born into this life. She didn’t deserve the title Domenico had bestowed upon her—no matter what she did. Which was the exact point this video made.

‘Hugo has the arrangements in hand. Yellow and cream, I believe.’

Hugo was a frighteningly efficient official who regularly bulldozed the world’s most powerful politicians into meek acquiescence over the all-important seating plans at state banquets.