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For a moment she wondered what that would be like—to be whisked away to some luxurious isolated escape, wined, dined and pleasured by a handsome man—and then laughed at herself. She had far too much to do here. Henna picked up the phone and dialled the French Embassy and while she was waiting to be put through to Ambassador Toussaint her gaze snagged on an email appearing at the top of her inbox. Frowning, she clicked on it and stared.
‘Hello? Ms Olin?’
Shaking her head clear of the mental fog that had paused her brain function for a second, she spun the chair away from the distracting computer screen and focused on the task at hand.
‘Ambassador Toussaint, I’m so sorry to have to ask but I’m afraid I’m going to need your help.’
It took fifteen minutes to carefully pick through the minefield of cancelling a diplomatic event with a foreign embassy without ruffling feathers, bruising egos or over-compensating with undeliverable promises and Henna did it perfectly, all the while resolutely ignoring the email that pulsed in the back of her mind.
By the time the call ended she had swept her hand across an overly warm forehead so much that her fringe had an upward-bending kink. Finally, after steeling herself, she returned to the email that had rocketed her heart rate.
Dear Miss Olin...
...trusted member of the Svardian royal staff...highly recommended...believe you would be a perfect fit...very competitive salary...
Headhunted. She was being headhunted.
She squinted her eyes at the screen to see if just a little peek at the invading email would make it less...tempting. But no, what they were offering was a once-in-a-lifetime position. And as a lady-in-waiting, that was saying something. The details didn’t include the name of the would-be boss, but there were enough clues in there for her to piece it together. The female CEO was internationally renowned, energetic, enthusiastic and determined to work exclusively on projects that had big global impacts. Henna shook her head, confused by the enticement of the email.
She wouldneverleave Freya, or her younger sister Marit. But, even as she thought it, she couldn’t deny that things were changing. With Marit secretly engaged to Lykos Livas, the Greek billionaire, and Freya and Kjell’s very public engagement ball in just two weeks, the Princesses were growing up and moving on with their lives. They had found their partners, theirconfidants. They wouldn’t need her as much. Henna looked to the pile of paperwork on her desk. There would always be enough work between the royal siblings to keep her busy...but what if she wanted more than that?
She shook her head again and whispered ‘no’ into the empty room. She loved Svardia. She’d lived here all her life and while she’d travelled all over the world in her duties with Freya, coming home had always been the best part. She loved watching the seasons change in the leaves of the large trees in the palace gardens. Loved the way that the salt-touched breeze swept in from the sea, the dramatic craggy coastline that looked prehistoric, and the explosion of Svardian technology that harnessed the very best of nature without destroying it in the process. It just wasn’t something she wanted to walk away from.
Henna’s mobile phone rang, shocking her from her thoughts, and she saw Freya’s name as she accepted the call.
‘Are you meeting your sister?’ she heard Freya ask over the sounds of the gravel drive crunching beneath the tyres of the car taking her to the private airstrip at the back of the palace grounds.
‘Stepsister,’ she corrected as numbness spread quickly through her. ‘No. Why?’
‘I saw her pulling up in her car. I thought I’d give you a heads-up. I wonder what she’s doing here.’
Only Henna didn’t need to wonder.
Aleksander.
Aleksander was beginning to believe that his ‘great idea’ was, in fact, deeply flawed.
On paper, she was perfect. She would inherit her mother’s Marchioness title, she was rich, beautiful, educated and sophisticated. His family had known hers since they were children. She moved in similar circles as he did. But clearly there was something he had forgotten. Just at that exact moment, she opened her crimson-coloured mouth and once again he resisted the impulse to cringe.
‘So, I said to him that he couldn’t possibly have got me confused with Lady Annabelle because the woman spends her entire life looking as if she were dragged through a hedge, backwards! I mean, look at me.’ The vicious comment cut through the air as successfully as the dramatic sweep of her hand down the length of her body.
Viveca Lassgård was perched on the edge of the settee in a position that could hardly have secured a single pert cheek and could not have been anything other than deeply uncomfortable. Her legs were dramatically crossed high at the thigh, revealing more of her than Aleksander had any intention of ever seeing again. The patent red leather of her shoes matched the crude colour of her lipstick, separated by a bright honeybee-yellow dress that clung to angles rather than curves on her body.
No. Aleksander, King of Svardia, was man enough to admit—tohimself—that he had made a monumental mistake. How Henna could have grown up in the near vicinity of this woman and not committed murder would be one of his life’s greatest unanswered questions.
Aleksander conceded that he had been somewhathasty, enticed by the ease with which a possible fiancée might be found. Because that was what he needed it to be—easy. Four months ago, as tradition decreed, his father had abdicated on his sixty-fifth birthday and Aleksander had ascended to the throne of the Scandinavian kingdom. The day after his coronation his mother and father had left for the twelve-month sabbatical that allowed each new monarch to find their feet as ruler.
Aleksander might have laughed, if he’d been in the habit of such things. He could have ruled Svardia at any point since his twentieth birthday if needed. The fact that he’d had to wait nine years was merely incidental. He had been six years old when his uncle, the King, had died, forcing his father to take a throne he’d never wanted, but he had ruled with absolute focus and determination. Nothing had come between his father and his duty and he’d ensured that his children felt exactly the same way. Whether they wanted to or not. It was a cause of quite considerable distaste to Aleksander that he was now in a position to inflict a similar fate on an heir of his own.
That teeth-grinding thought pulled him back into the present, and the living area of his palace suite where Viveca was currently removing a cup of tea from a tray held by a server she had yet to, and he doubted ever would, acknowledge. Instead, she was eyeing up the Italian baroque furnishings and design elements that ran through the entire palace because some long-forgotten ancestor had taken a liking to the style. Aleksander hated it. Imagine having to have a conversation with world leaders about nuclear disarmament in a powder-blue room with gold filagree.
‘It is beautiful,’ she said lasciviously.
He grunted in response and she didn’t even raise her carefully pencilled eyebrow. He had seen women like her on the arms of rich old men. Aleksander didn’t judge. Heneverjudged. If she wanted to throw her body away for financial security and gain that was her choice. But he wasn’t ever going to be that rich old man. With years of practice, he made barely polite small talk while he reassessed his position. Viveca clearly wouldn’t do—atall—but it didn’t change the fact that he was still in need of a Queen.
Time was running out. That the devastating news that Freya was unable to carry a child to term was still a secret was nothing short of miraculous, but it wouldn’t stay that way for long. The situation had to be negotiated carefully. Aleksander hated that it was the case, but he knew what the press were like. If it wasn’t handled perfectly, they would tear Freya to shreds and then start on Marit, questioning her fertility next, which was unacceptable. Faith in the royal family would be at its weakest in years, so if Aleksander needed to be married to help his sisters and his country navigate such a serious crisis so early in his rule, then he would marry.
He would do whatever it took because he wanted Svardia to be one of the greatest countries in the world. His father had protected their country when it was reeling in shock from the sudden death of their King. It was Aleksander’s job to make itthrive. And to do that, the nation needed to trust its King. And if they needed a Queen beside him to do so, then he would give them a Queen. Even if it was the last thing he wanted.
