Kate Hewitt - A Queen for the Taking?

So marry she would, if King Alessandro would have her. She took a deep breath as the flutters started again, reminded herself of the advantages of such a union.

As queen she could continue to devote herself to her charity work, and raise the profile of Hands To Help. Her position would benefit it so much, and she could not turn away from that, just as she could not turn away from her parents’ wishes for her life.

She owed them too much.

Really, she told herself, it was perfect. It would give her everything she wanted—everything she would let herself want.

Except it didn’t seem the king wanted it. Her. She recalled the slightly sneering, incredulous tone, the way he’d looked at her with a kind of weary derision. She didn’t please him. Or was it simply marriage that didn’t please him?

With a wary unease she recalled his sense of raw, restless power, as if this palace could not contain him, as if his emotions and ideas would bubble over, spill forth.

She wasn’t used to that. Her parents were quiet, reserved people, and she had learned to be even more quiet and reserved than they were. To be invisible.

The only time she let herself be heard was when she was giving a public address for Hands To Help. On stage, talking about what the charity did, she had the words to say and the confidence to say them.

But with King Alessandro? With him looking at her as if... Almost as if he didn’t even like her?

Words had deserted her. She’d cloaked herself in the cool, numbing calm she’d developed over the years, her only way of staying sane. Of surviving, because giving into emotion meant giving into the grief and guilt, and if she did that she knew she’d be lost. She’d drown in the feelings she’d never let herself acknowledge, much less express.

And King Alessandro, of all people, wasn’t meant to call them up. This marriage was meant to be convenient. Cold. She wouldn’t have agreed to it otherwise.

And yet the questions he’d asked her hadn’t been either. And the doubt his voicing of them stirred up in her made her insides lurch with panic.

Tell me why you’re here, Lady Liana.... Such a possibility does not distress or concern you, considering we have never even met before?

He’d almost sounded as if he wanted her to be distressed by the prospect of their marriage.

Perhaps she should have told him that she was.

Except, of course, she wasn’t. Wouldn’t be. Marriage to King Alessandro made sense. Her parents wanted it. She wanted the visibility for Hands To Help. It was the right choice. It had to be.

And yet just the memory of the king’s imposing figure, all restless, rangy muscle and sinewy grace, made her insides quiver and jump. He wore his hair a little too long, ink-black and streaked with silver at the temples, carelessly rumpled as if he’d driven his fingers through it. His eyes were iron-grey, hard and yet compelling. She’d had to work not to quell under that steely gaze, especially when his mouth had twisted with what had looked—and felt—like derision.

What about her displeased him?

What did he want from her, if not a practical and accepting approach to this marriage?

Liana didn’t want to answer that question. She didn’t even want to ask it. She had hoped they would be in agreement about this marriage, or as much as they could considering she hadn’t wanted to marry at all.

But then perhaps King Alessandro didn’t either. Perhaps his seeming resentment was at the situation, rather than his intended bride. Liana’s lips formed a grim smile. Two people who had no desire to be married and yet would soon be saying their vows. Well, hopefully they wouldn’t actually be seeing all that much of each other.

‘Lady Liana?’

She turned to see one of the palace’s liveried staff, his face carefully neutral, standing in the doorway. ‘Yes?’

‘The king requested that I show you to your room, so you may refresh yourself.’

‘Thank you.’ With a brisk nod she followed the man out of the ornate receiving room and down a long, marble-floored corridor to the east wing of the palace. He took her up a curving marble staircase with an impressive gold bannister, and then down yet another marble corridor until he finally arrived at a suite of rooms.

During the entire journey she’d only seen more staff, liveried and stony faced, giving her the uneasy sense that she was alone in this vast building save for the countless nameless employees. She wondered where the king had gone, or, for that matter, the queen dowager. Surely Sandro’s mother, Sophia, intended to receive her?

Although, Liana acknowledged, she couldn’t assume anything. The summons to Maldinia’s royal palace had come so quickly and suddenly, a letter with Alessandro’s royal insignia on top, its few pithy sentences comprising the request for Lady Liana Aterno of Abruzzo to discuss the possibility of marriage. Liana had been in shock; her mother, full of expectation.

This would be so good for you, Liana. You should marry. Why not Alessandro? Why not a king?

Why not, indeed? Her parents were traditional, even old-fashioned. Daughters married, produced heirs. It was perhaps an archaic idea in this modern world, but they clung to it.

And she couldn’t let them down in their hopes for her. She owed them that much at least. She owed them so much more.

‘These will be your rooms for your stay here, my lady. If you need anything, simply press the bell by the door and someone will come to your attention.’

‘Thank you,’ Liana murmured, and stepped into the sumptuous set of rooms. After ensuring she had no further requirements, the staff member left with a quiet click of the door. Liana gazed around the huge bedroom, its opulence a far cry from her modest apartment in Milan.

Acres of plush carpet stretched in every direction, and in the centre of the room, on its own dais, stood a magnificent canopied four-poster bed, piled high with silk pillows. The bed faced a huge stone fireplace with elaborate scrollwork, and several deep armchairs in blue patterned silk flanked it. It was a chilly March day and a fire had already been laid and lit, and now crackled cheerfully in the huge hearth.

Slowly Liana walked towards the fireplace and stretched her hands out to the flames. Her hands were icy; they always went cold when she was nervous. And despite her every attempt to convey the opposite to King Alessandro, she had been nervous.

She hadn’t expected to be, had assumed a marriage such as theirs would be conducted like a corporate merger, their introduction no more than a business meeting. She wasn’t naive; she knew what marriage would entail. Alessandro needed an heir.

But she hadn’t expected his energy, his emotion. He’d been the opposite of her in every way: restless, quick-tempered, seething with something she didn’t understand.

She closed her eyes, wished briefly that she could return to the simple life she’d made for herself working at the foundation, living in Milan, going out on occasion with friends. It probably didn’t look like much to most people, but she’d found a soothing enjoyment in those small things. That was all she’d ever wanted, all she’d ever asked for. The safety of routines had calmed and comforted her, and just one meeting with Sandro Diomedi had ruffled up everything inside her.

Swallowing hard, she opened her eyes. Enough. Her life was not her own, and hadn’t been since she was eight years old. She accepted that as the price she must pay, should pay.

But she wouldn’t think anymore about that. It was as if there were a door in Liana’s mind, and it clanged shut by sheer force of will. She wouldn’t think about Chiara.

She turned away from the fire, crossing to the window to gaze out at the bare gardens still caught in the chill of late winter. Strange to think this view would become familiar when she was wed. This palace, this life, would all become part of her normal existence.