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And now all semblance of protocol had disappeared and the face she turned towards him was both mulish with pride and pink with passion. ‘Yes,’ she breathed. ‘A problem to which there is no satisfactory solution, for all my high-born position in life. Because I am being forced to marry a man I have no wish to marry!’
CHAPTER FOUR
ZABRINA WAS SHOCKED to find herself on her feet, staring across the table at Constantin Izvor as the train continued its swaying journey through the countryside. No, that wasn’t quite true. She wasn’t shocked. She was horrified.
Horrified.
Had she really just announced to the King’s chief bodyguard that she had no desire to marry his esteemed boss?
Yes, she had. Guilty as charged.
So now what?
Trying to smooth her scrambled thoughts and work out how to get herself out of this bizarre situation, she walked over to the window to survey the darkening landscape outside. High up in the indigo sky the moon was nothing but a thin, almost unobtrusive slither, which meant that you could see the blaze of thousands of stars which bathed the countryside, illuminating the blossom-covered trees with an unworldly silver light. It was the most beautiful scene she could remember seeing in a long time, yet it felt unbearably poignant. She thought about the same stars shining high over her palace in Albastase and her brother and sisters assembled there, and was surprised by another wave of homesickness which swept through her.
But she couldn’t be a coward. She must face the music she had managed to create all by herself. She had just committed what was, in effect, an act of treason. And if Constantin Izvor was determined to denounce her to his boss—which he was perfectly entitled to do—then she would have to accept her punishment and her fate.
Slowly, she turned around and lifted her gaze to his, but to her surprise the bodyguard did not look outraged. In fact, judging by the implacable expression on his devastatingly handsome face, he didn’t even seem particularly shocked by what she had just blurted out. Just curious—the way she imagined someone might look if they had just been handed an envelope written in a hand they did not recognise.
‘Look, can you forget you heard that?’ she began falteringly. ‘I was...overwrought. It must have been a lack of blood sugar—like you said.’
‘Or not?’ he negated.
She looked at him in surprise. ‘Not?’
‘In my experience, people don’t just say things they don’t mean. You clearly have some concerns—and concerns should always be addressed. So why don’t I ring for these dishes to be taken away, while you go and sit down over there and compose yourself?’ His grey eyes narrowed as he lifted the bell and rang it. ‘And then perhaps I can put your mind at rest for you.’
He was gesturing towards one of the sofas on the opposite side of the salon and, once again, Zabrina thought he was behaving almost as if he were the host, rather than a member of the royal household! But by then a fleet of silent servants had arrived and were taking away all the used dishes, extinguishing candles and lighting soft lamps around the carriage, and by the time they had quietly shut the door behind them, she started thinking quickly. Wondering how she could possibly redeem herself in the light of such an inappropriate outburst, she sank onto the sofa he had indicated, thinking how blissfully comfortable it felt after being seated on that rather hard and ornate chair. Suddenly, the atmosphere seemed attractively inviting and intimate. She found herself wishing that the rest of the world would disappear and she could just stay in here, with him, protected and safe from the world. Wasn’t that a bizarre thing to be thinking at such a time?
And now Constantin Izvor was moving across the silken rug towards her—this time not apparently requiring any invitation from her—and he sat down on the opposite end of the sofa and turned his head so that she was caught in the penetrating spotlight of that steely gaze.
‘So,’ he said, his accent sounding pronounced and thoughtful. ‘You clearly have reservations about your forthcoming wedding.’
She thought that was probably the understatement of the year. ‘Doesn’t every bride?’ she hedged.
‘May I ask why?’
It wasn’t really a subject which should be up for discussion but there was something so...so approachable about the way he was looking at her that she found herself wanting to tell him, but something held her back. It would be far better to pretend they’d never started this conversation, wouldn’t it? She could dismiss him and he would obviously obey and next time she saw him she could act as if nothing had happened. But that wouldn’t work for all kinds of reasons. He would know what she’d said and he would either pass those words on to his boss, or keep them to himself. If he did the former she would be vilified, and the latter would mean there would be a big secret between the two of them which the King wouldn’t be privy to. And both those outcomes would be a disaster.
So couldn’t she backtrack a little? Play up her natural worries about marrying a man of the world like Roman, and make out that they were nothing but the natural fears of any innocent bride-to-be?
She lifted up her shoulders and felt her ponytail whispering against her back. ‘I realise it came out all wrong—’
The brief shake of his head indicated his lack of agreement. ‘It came out the way it did because it was something you were feeling at the time. But please be aware that I am not planning to judge you, Your Royal Highness, for it is not my place to do so. Or to tell tales,’ he added coolly. ‘I am simply interested in your reaction and thinking that perhaps you need to get something off your chest. Certainly before you arrive at the royal palace,’ he concluded softly. ‘For I know it can be an intimidating place at the best of times.’
‘But I grew up in a palace!’ she defended quickly. ‘And I’m used to that kind of life.’
‘Perhaps you are, but no palace in the worl
d can equal the size or splendour of the Petrogorian citadel,’ he said, eyeing her with a shuttered look. ‘Look, why don’t you consider me like a priest in the confessional, knowing that anything you say to me is bound by the rules of confidentiality and will go no further than these four walls?’
Anyone less like a priest, Zabrina couldn’t imagine—because surely holy men weren’t supposed to inspire thoughts of...of... She swallowed. Thoughts she didn’t understand properly, but which were bubbling away inside her and making her want to squirm uncomfortably beneath his seeking gaze.
Yet hadn’t one of her initial thoughts on meeting him been that he would know the King better than anyone? What better person to allay her fears about her future husband and put her mind at rest, than Constantin Izvor?
‘I have heard that the King is very...ruthless,’ she said at last.
His thin smile was followed by a shrug. ‘Some might say that an element of ruthlessness is necessary for any monarch and particularly for a man as successful as Roman the Conqueror. He has increased our country’s wealth by some considerable margin since coming to the throne, and brokered peace in a region which has a history of being notoriously unstable. As you know, Petrogoria has often come under siege from its neighbours in the past.’ He flicked her a candid look. ‘Including from your very own country, Your Royal Highness.’
