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‘When I am seeking your approval, I will be sure to ask for it!’ Zabrina answered coolly and for some reason Silviana winced, as if she had said something untoward.
‘I will be sure to remember that in future, Your Royal Highness,’ the bodyguard replied gravely. ‘And in the meantime, I will escort you to your salon.’
She followed him along the narrow corridor until he threw open a door which led onto a lavishly appointed salon. Zabrina nodded and walked inside but, annoyingly, the bodyguard showed no sign of leaving. He was still standing on the threshold, his steely eyes gleaming, as if he had some God-given right to dominate her space and disturb her equilibrium. Zabrina wondered if she should formally dismiss him—yet the stupid thing was that, despite his presumption and his undoubted arrogance, she was strangely unwilling to see him go. It would be like closing the night-time shutters on a spectacular moon—you wouldn’t be sure when you’d see all that beauty again.
‘How long do you anticipate we’ll be travelling for?’ she questioned.
He shrugged, a movement which served only to illuminate the powerful ripple of his shoulders beneath his silky shirt.
‘Fourteen hours at most, for the train will halt its journey midway, to allow Her Royal Highness a peaceful night of sleep,’ he replied smoothly. ‘We should reach the capital of Rosumunte before the sun is too high, where the people are already gathering to greet you.’
‘Good,’ she said, though the word didn’t register her sudden rush of nerves at the thought of crowds of people waiting to see her. Would they like her? Would they consider her worthy to be the wife of their King?
‘I trust you’ll find everything to your satisfaction,’ he said.
Zabrina forced herself to look around, trying to take in her surroundings and act as if she cared about them when all she could think about was him. She tried to acknowledge the splendid decoration. The walls were hung with pale lemon silk and several stunning oil landscapes, which she recognised as being of some of Petrogoria’s most famous beauty spots. Woven silk rugs were scattered on gleaming wooden floors, and on a polished bureau she could see plenty of writing materials, along with golden pens in a jewelled container. A bowl of fruit stood on a low table and the two sofas which stood nearby were littered with soft and squashy cushions. Through a carved archway was a door leading to what was probably the bathroom and, beyond that, a wide and sumptuous-looking divan bed, scattered with yet more cushions. The bedroom, she thought, painfully aware of the sudden flush of colour to her cheeks as she prayed the bodyguard hadn’t noticed.
‘This all looks perfect,’ she said, but suddenly all she could think of was how strange and alien it seemed. And how alone she was going to be for the next few weeks before the wedding—so far from home and away from everything which was familiar. She might moan about her family from time to time, but they were still her family, and right now they represented stability.
Constantin bowed. ‘In that case, I will take my leave of you, Your Royal Highness. Silviana is here to wait on your every need but if there is anything you discover you don’t have—’
‘I’m sure there won’t be,’ she said quickly.
‘Anything it is within my power to give you,’ he continued, as if she hadn’t spoken, ‘then please ring. At any time. I will be stationed directly outside your compartment.’
‘You will?’ questioned Zabrina nervously. ‘Right outside?’
‘But of course. Your welfare is my sole preoccupation and only a wall will divide us. Nobody will pass me to gain access to the Princess and I will remain awake for as long as the journey lasts.’ He paused, his voice dipping. ‘It is usually the custom for the chief bodyguard to eat meals with his or her royal subject.’
‘Really?’ she questioned.
‘But of course. I need to taste your food and make sure it has not been poisoned, or tampered with. Which is why I am proposing to join you for dinner this evening, unless you have any objections to that.’ Once again he flickered her a steely grey stare. ‘Would such a proposition be acceptable, Your Royal Highness?’
Zabrina’s mouth grew even dryer. She was expected to eat meals with him? She was expected to sit looking at his beautiful face, while all the time attempting to adopt an air of indifference? It sounded like a forbidden kind of heaven, made worse by the fact that Zabrina knew she shouldn’t be thinking this way. She was promised to another man, wasn’t she? That was the deal. She should be thinking about Roman and only Roman—beard or no beard. ‘Why?’ she questioned, playing for time. ‘Am I such an unpopular choice to be your queen that I am likely to be poisoned?’
‘Of course not.’ He gave the faintest wave of dismissal. ‘It is simply a necessary precaution. A safeguard, if you like, so that you will be delivered to the King unharmed.’
‘I see,’ said Zabrina slowly, but his use of the expression ‘deliver’ only reinforced the doubts she’d been experiencing earlier. Was that how everybody saw her—as a commodity? She supposed it was. She might be a crack shot who was fluent in four languages and thoroughly at home on the back of a temperamental horse. She might have devoted a huge portion of her time to working for women’s charities and trying to get more equality for them in her homeland. But none of these things counted for anything, not really. And perhaps it was that which made a sudden streak of rebellion influence her decision, even though she had vowed to herself she wasn’t going to make waves.
She could have told the autocratic bodyguard she wasn’t particularly hungry and was quite happy to miss dinner—both of which were true. She could have hidden herself away in here and not seen anyone until they reached Rosumunte. But she wasn’t going to. She glanced around at the sumptuous salon and suddenly it resembled nothing but a gilded cage.
Her gaze was drawn to the spring-like countryside outside—a blur of bright green as the train passed through. She was leaving her old life behind. When she returned here—and who knew when that would be?—it would be as the queen of a foreign country. One which had waged war against her ancestors in the past. And she was one of the spoils of that war. The modern-day virgin princess offered to the grisly king in exchange for a small chunk of his sizeable wealth.
Through the train window she caught a tantalising glimpse of an orchard at its very best. The branches of the trees were covered in thick white blossom, as if a mantle of snow had fallen on them. She found herself thinking of sunshine and birdsong and felt the sudden quickening of her blood.
Was it that which made her bold?
She was about to consign herself to a life of duty with the bearded King and, in essence, this was her last day of freedom. Surely she could have a little harmless fun before that happened? Would it be so wrong to mix socially with someone she wouldn’t usually have been allowed anywhere near? Constantin Izvor obviously knew her husband-to-be as only a loyal servant could—and certainly a whole lot better than she did. Perhaps she could subtly learn a few tips on how best to handle the powerful King.
At least, that was what Zabrina told herself.
Just as she told herself it had absolutely nothing to do with the bodyguard’s steely eyes and hard body.
‘Yes, I suppose that will be okay,’ she said carelessly, and then turned away before he saw the telltale flush in her cheeks.
CHAPTER THREE
AS HE STOOD outside the ornate door of the Princess’s carriage, Roman felt the powerful thunder of his heart. His throat was dust-dry and his body tense as the train hurtled towards the vast forest which divided Albastase from Petrogoria. He felt excited, yes, but the familiar, blood-pumping sensation of desire which raced through his body was one which filled him with foreboding.
