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He raised an eyebrow, daring her to go on.
‘It would be only logical for you to have your future Queen on your arm at both engagement announcements, thus taking credit for being deferential to your younger siblings before announcing your own, whilst also testing the people’s opinions of your soon-to-be bride.’
He clenched his jaw. If he were that transparent...
‘Your Majesty, as the only person who has been made aware of both of the Princesses’ engagements, and Freya’s diagnosis, it is easier for me to...’ She shrugged, clearly not wanting to drive home the point that she had seen through his plans. He cocked his head to one side, opened his mouth to admonish such impertinence when—shockingly—she interrupted him again.
‘And then, of course, you asked me about Viveca three weeks ago.’
She had been wasted on Freya, he thought for only a second before realising that he would never have chosen anyone else to have been by his sister’s side all this time. Henna had always been there, for Freya and even Marit when she was feeling forgotten by their parents. Henna had been there when he couldn’t be and he didn’t like how reliant he had become on her.
‘So why shouldn’t I marry your sister?’ He knew whyhedidn’t want to marry her.
The purposely blank look that shuttered her features niggled. There was something she was not telling him and that was absolutely unacceptable to him.
‘Henna,’ he warned.
‘You just...’ It was unusual for Henna to struggle over her words like this and it slithered through his gut unpleasantly. ‘You can’t trust her,’ she finally got out.
Her words were like a knife, cutting through his plans for her stepsister.
‘Why?’
‘Personal reasons.’
Aleksander got the distinct impression that the Spanish Inquisition wouldn’t get more out of his sister’s lady-in-waiting, and he barely resisted the urge to say so. ‘Okay, but that doesn’t help me resolve my situation, though, Henna,’ he warned.
He watched her wisely bite back what must have been another inappropriate response. She was right about Viveca, obviously, and her grasp on that was surprisingly astute. Henna was efficient and discreet, he reasoned. He had already taken her into his confidence with his plans for Freya and Marit. In theory, this shouldn’t be any different. A low hum began to sound in his mind, faintly reminiscent of a fire alarm. The instinct to keep his plans to himself was years old and hard-learned—forged from a betrayal so shocking that it still had the ability to steal a breath and a heartbeat. His trust had been broken once and he’d vowed to never let it happen again. But if Viveca wasn’t evidence enough that he needed some help in the matter...
Henna was frowning up at him, so he saw the exact moment jade daggers of awareness flashed in her hazel-coloured eyes, as if she had followed his chain of thought.
‘Oh, no. No, Your Majesty.’
‘No, what, Henna?’
‘That iswaybeyond my job description.’
‘Freya is away for two weeks.’
‘You say that as if you think that my work stops when she’s not here.’
‘I am your King.’
‘And she is my boss.’
He glared at her, but her raised eyebrow challenged him to overrule a bond she clearly believed superior to that of her King’s. He could have laughed at her audacity. But he played his trump card. ‘And that makes me your boss’s boss, so clear your schedule, Henna. I need you to help find me a fiancée.’
Without waiting for an answer, he pushed open the door to the drawing room and several curious eyes swerved back to a hazy middle distance.
‘Viveca? You may go.’ And with that he turned on his heel and marched down the corridor as if he didn’t know that he’d left both sisters with their mouths hanging open.
CHAPTER TWO
HENNAHADWOKENwith a headache at five-thirty that morning and despite the quick twenty minutes of yoga, the two painkillers, the three cups of coffee and the green smoothie the staff chef knew she liked best, it hadn’t gone away. But then she hadn’t really expected it to, she realised, looking out across the perfectly manicured spring green lawn as Aleksander, in a white shirt, tan trousers and dark leather shoes, waved and gave his best toothpaste smile to the international press. Objectively, he lookedgood. This was the perfectly polished, sanitised version for mothers and little children to warm their hearts.
But in her mind’s eye she saw him as he had been at the Vårboll, the annual Spring Ball held at the Palace. He’d towered above her, dressed in his cream thigh-length military coat with gold piping at the shoulders and neck. He’d been draped with military decorations and more finery than half the women in the room, but he had made it lookfierce.
Despite Aleksander’s plan to force Freya back into Kjell’s arms, Freya had returned from Sweden devastated but determined to do her royal duty and at the Vårboll Henna had stood beside Aleksander, her heart breaking as Freya had said goodbye to the man she loved and thought she could never have. The raw umber of Aleksander’s eyes had turned nearly black but his fury had been nothing compared to her own. She’d been angry with him for manipulating her best friend, even if he felt he had the right as her older brother and King, and furious with him for inflicting more hurt on Freya.
