by Pippa Roscoe
She walked over to the closet and took out the dress covered by a protective zipped bag. Hanging on the same hanger was underwear and hosiery, and she felt a flush of embarrassment knowing that it hadn’t been Odir who had picked them out for her in a passion-fuelled desire to see her in them. It would have been some faceless member of staff—possibly someone sitting now on the other side of that door—who had picked out suitable clothes for Odir’s press conference.
The dress would have been weighed up, possibly even polled, to see what people’s reactions would be. It wouldn’t be overtly sexy. It would probably cover her arms to her wrists, with no hint of cleavage, but nor would she look like a prim Victorian matron.
The irony wasn’t lost on her. She couldn’t look too appealing, but nor could she look cold and aloof. It would be the Goldilocks of dresses and she would have to be the Goldilocks of queens.
‘I’ll get changed in the bathroom.’
‘I’ll be next door when you come out. Should I tell Hair and Make-Up—?’
‘Send them in. I’ll not be long.’
‘Eloise—’
Her name sounded strange on his tongue this time, almost regretful, and the sound tugged on her heart and turned her around.
‘It’s okay. I understand.’
She couldn’t work out why that didn’t seem to settle him. She smiled before stepping into the bathroom with the dress, hoping that might reassure him. Reassure them both, even.
In the bathroom, she slipped the towel from around her and let it fall to the floor. Oddly, it felt as if she had lost some form of protection. As if the barrier between her and the world outside was gone.
She unwrapped the brand-new underwear from its cellophane. It felt expensive and new against her skin.
She slid the zip down on the cover of the dress without looking beneath it. With her eyes on anything else in the bathroom, she pulled the dress from its hanger and stood holding it limply in her hands.
This was the moment when her life would change. No matter the decisions and the promises from earlier that evening, Eloise knew that the moment she put on this dress was the moment that she would be irrevocably his.
* * *
When she emerged Eloise thought she’d stepped into an alternative reality. When only moments before it had only been Odir in the room, now there were four people—none of whom she recognised from her life at the palace before.
She frowned. ‘Where is Victoria?’ she asked, wondering why the woman who had been her royal stylist from six months before their wedding wasn’t there.
A small blonde woman turned and in clipped, professional tones delivered the news that Victoria was back in Farrehed, having given birth two weeks earlier.
Life goes on, Eloise realised. First Anders and now Victoria.
For all the time she had been in Zurich, going to work, spending precious time with Natalia, watching the seasons change in that beautiful city, learning that she liked helping to organise her boss’s day and hating the loneliness of the nights, Eloise had never imagined time continuing in Farrehed. But it wasn’t a magical kingdom that had slept in her absence. It was a soon-to-be thriving country under Odir’s care and rule.
The small blonde who was still yet to introduce herself gestured for her to take a seat at the bedroom’s opulent dressing table. Eloise padded over to the chair, her feet separated from the plush carpet by the silk stockings covering her legs, numbing her from the touch of the mundane or the real.
‘We had to guess at your size, Your Majesty.’ The line was delivered without reproach or curiosity. ‘We chose black, as the situation demands, but allowed for the lines of the dress to highlight your femininity. It would not be done to have you looking all boxy.’
The woman sniffed, as if such a thing would be the greatest offence. It grated on Eloise’s fragile nerves.
‘It is the perfect dress for the occasion,’ she found herself responding, and it must have been the right thing to say for the woman seemed eminently pleased.
‘There are changes of clothes ready on the jet that will take you to Farrehed. These will be in the traditional style, and will match the King’s as he makes his first appearance to the public after the announcement.’
Eloise tuned out the soft litany falling from the woman’s lips as she pulled and pushed the dress about her frame to ensure that it was fitting correctly. A man bobbed up and down behind her, teasing tangles out of her hair with a brush, whilst at the same time another girl started applying make-up as if she were an artist with oils and paintbrushes rather than concealer and mascara.
When someone dipped behind her in front of the hairstylist and looped a string of pearls around her neck Eloise tried her hardest not to flinch. They were the same style of pearls that her mother had worn when Eloise was a child. Her hand hovered just beneath the pearls, as if reluctant to touch them—fearful, even. Eloise had never worn pearls for that very reason, and in her mind she was flung back almost twenty years.
She’d been hiding in her favourite place—the bottom of her mother’s wardrobe. It had been dark and warm, her body surrounded by silk and velvet and the finest cotton, and there had been just enough space in the gap between the doors to watch her mother as she prepared herself for another function. Cream. Her mother always wore cream.
She would sit at her dressing table, surrounded by make-up, perfume, and the most beautiful jewellery. It was all so very grown-up, and as a child Eloise had wanted it so badly.
As her mother had applied the base for her make-up, blusher and eye shadow, little Eloise had copied her every movement, swirling an imaginary brush in the palm of her hand, smoothing it over soft cheeks still plump with childhood.
The haze of a child’s imagination had coloured in the spaces with fairy tales of magical evenings full of dancing and serenity, believing the emotion glittering in her mother’s eyes was excitement rather than what Eloise could see it for now...sadness and the effect of prescription medication.
Curled up in the corner of the wardrobe, her knees clutched to her chest, every time she had thought that this would be the time her mother would notice her hiding place. That this would be the time her mother would find her and kiss her goodnight, tell her that she loved her.
Every time until that last time. When through the reflection in the mirror they had locked eyes, and all the hope of her mother finally coming to kiss her goodnight had disappeared when the only thing her mother had offered her was a small smile before leaving the room.
Eloise had never hidden in her mother’s wardrobe again.
Her mother had not loved her. Not in the way that she had needed as a child. She couldn’t hold that against her—Angelina simply wasn’t capable of it. Even now. But Eloise was different. She was capable of love—she knew that now. She deserved love. She deserved someone who would put her before the parties, before the social engagements, before anything and anyone else.
The tug of her wedding ring being taken from her finger brought her back to the present with a shock, and she instinctively closed her hand in a fist.
‘What do you think you are doing?’ she demanded.
‘As I said, Your Majesty, we need to place a snuggy inside your ring.’
‘A snuggy?’ She realised her voice was high and loud but didn’t care.
‘Yes, ma’am. Your ring—it’s loose. This is a piece of plastic that will sit inside the ring to make it tighter around your finger, so that it won’t slip during the press conference.’
Even though the man sounded apologetic she didn’t care. He was holding up a ridiculously small, horribly grey plastic band as if it were the most important thing in the world. As if somehow it would make her wedding ring fit. As if it would cover the tiny gap between her being royal and her not being royal. Her being Odir’s wife and not being Odir’s wife.
Someone entered the bedroom behind her, and in the reflection of the mirror, through the open door, her eyes found her husband’s. All night she
had felt the weight of her husband’s gaze and the power held there, whether it was in sexual attraction, arrogance or anger. But in that moment she clung to it desperately, as if they were two people in the eye of a storm not of their own making.
She made herself look away. She felt numb—or she felt too much. She couldn’t quite work which. It was as if she couldn’t feel any of it. Even the weight of the wedding ring as it was pushed back tightly onto her finger.
Suddenly she was that little girl again, hiding in the corner of the closet, waiting for someone to find her. Waiting for someone to love her.
And she couldn’t do it.
She couldn’t be that scared little girl any more.
* * *
‘Clear the room.’
Odir’s command stopped everyone in their tracks. Startled faces looked back at him. All but Eloise’s. The stylist looked as if she might disagree, but Odir had stared down armies of men, and he watched as the woman realised as much. All four people hastily scrambled from the room and disappeared through the door.
His wife had still not looked at him.
He prowled over to the chair. He knew that he towered over her, but he couldn’t help it. His wife looked incredible, but she also looked untouchable and he didn’t like it.
Her fingers reached up behind her neck and struggled with a string of pearls that didn’t suit her at all. There was something in the way that she fought with the necklace that sent a shiver of fear through him.
‘I think it’s caught in my—’
He brushed her fingers aside and undid the clasp. He smoothed away the few errant strands of hair that had become caught in the clasp and the moment the necklace was secured he felt peace settle around him.
‘You look magnificent,’ he said, settling his hands on her slim shoulders.
She was here. Beneath his fingers and his touch. And she would be standing beside him in an hour, when he made his announcement to the press. They would talk on the plane. They would figure it all out. He’d take her to bed and take away the fear he could see in her eyes.
‘Odir—’
He knew what she wanted, but in that moment he would do anything to make her stop.
‘Odir, I—’
‘Don’t say it. For the love of God, don’t say it, Eloise.’
‘I have to.’
‘No, you don’t.’
‘Yes, I do. I will not be like my mother. I will not be anything like either of my parents, Odir. I cannot live my life afraid to say the one thing that fills me so completely. I love you.’
Somewhere deep within him something broke loose. Fear and fury took over his body and his mind.
He felt his lips draw into a grim line. ‘No, you don’t,’ he growled. It was a warning more than a denial.
‘It’s not something that you can command or control. It’s not something you can order removed from your life. It’s mine—mine to give.’
‘I refuse to accept it.’
‘What? My love or the fact that you can’t control it?’
He couldn’t answer that question even if he’d wanted to.
‘Through everything you’ve tried to do,’ she continued—her words beating against his heart, smashing through the walls that he’d carefully placed around it to protect himself. ‘Everything, Odir—bribery, blackmail, lies and cheating—through it all it’s still here. I still feel it for you.’
‘Love is weakness, Eloise,’ he barked, as if he could convince her of it too. ‘Love destroys. Look at your mother. A woman who would seek oblivion and secrecy over her daughter’s happiness! How good is love then? And my father! Look at him. If I am to be any kind of ruler—any kind that is far from the destruction my father caused because of his love—then love will never be part of my life.’
He knew that he was shouting now. Knew that he’d lost the control he’d so desperately clung to all evening. Lost the one thing that had got him through the day and the night.
‘You ask what kind of ruler you will be... You have spent so long looking to the future, Odir, that you don’t realise you have already been the kind of ruler to protect your country for the last few years. You have done more for Farrehed in those years than your father ever did to drag it backwards in thirty. You have faced rebellion and smoothed it over. You have faced negligence and done everything in your power to counter it. You have created programmes to ensure the protection of disadvantaged and desperate people who will thrive in years to come.’
Her breath was now as ragged as his own. But there was power in her words. It was as if she were conjuring up a battle cry, and yet he only had an inkling of what that battle would be.
‘You have the love of your people, and even if you don’t believe in the power of that love, the strength of that love, they do love you. And so do I.’
He knew they were on the brink of something. He could see them both on the edge of a crack in the centre of the earth. She was stepping back from him. And no matter how much he reached for her she was withdrawing from him, eluding his grasp.
‘You said yes, Eloise.’ His voice was raw and low. ‘You said you’d come back. Be by my side. You can’t take that back. You can’t leave now.’
The look in her eyes cut him to the core. It was sadness and pity. It was so different from the way she had looked at him earlier in the evening, when she had believed he could hang the moon wherever she wanted. Could protect her from all her demons. Now she was looking at him as if he were the demon. As if he could hurt her more than all her experiences combined.
‘You don’t need me—and deep down I think you know it.’
No. In his mind he denied it. And deep within his chest his heart was beating hard enough to be heard.
‘All this talk of love, Eloise, is nothing but an excuse. An excuse for you to run away.’
She shook her head in fierce denial. ‘It’s not, Odir. I am not running. I’m standing and fighting. But I won’t come back as your wife, no matter the threats or the bribes, unless you do love me.’
‘What you want is impossible.’ His arm slashed through the air before him, as if trying to cut her down. ‘I’m not even sure that I’m capable of it.’
Only for the first time he realised that he was lying to himself. He knew that what she was saying was true. He could rule without her. He’d done it for the last six months. He didn’t need her by his side to make the announcement, and he didn’t need her by his side to rule. Because he did love his people. And she was right—that did make him powerful and strong.
All evening he’d managed to lie to himself and convince himself that he needed her by his side. But if he was brutally honest it had nothing to do with ruling, or with Farrehed. He’d wanted her back because he’d never been able to get her out of his mind. Because he’d never been able to forget the young woman who had once captured his heart with her laugh.
What she’d achieved in the name of love—marrying him in order to protect her mother, turning her back on wealth and power and still being able to protect her friend—the transformation she had undergone, the independence she had thrived under for the last six months... And in just two hours he’d seen the damage he’d caused to that new fire within her. He’d seen her retreat behind a façade, and that had hurt him more than he could ever have imagined.
Because he did love her.
Everything in him rose up with love and the need to protect her.
He did love this incredible woman.
But his position as King, as ruler of his country, would mean that he couldn’t offer her the life she deserved, the love she deserved. He couldn’t keep her behind that façade she put on to combat the difficulty of life in the public eye.
Back in the limo, on their way to the embassy, the fire in her, the light, had been extinguished. He couldn’t tie her to a life of duty. He couldn’t—no, wouldn’t—make her live a life of sacrifice for a country that wasn’t even hers. He knew how heavy the bonds of those chains were, and the only thin
g he’d succeeded in doing tonight was looping them around her too.
So he would give her the only thing he could give her. He would give her freedom. Even if she hated him for it.
‘Get out,’ he commanded, unconsciously echoing the words he’d said to her six months ago. ‘Leave.’
He closed his eyes against the hurt he could see in her own.
‘You’re right,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘I don’t need you. I don’t need anyone. Our marriage will be annulled. We will be divorced. Whatever it takes. I’ll be free to make a marriage with someone who understands what it takes to be a queen. Someone who can bring something to Farrehed other than selfish demands of love.’
He hated himself more and more. Every word dripped poison into his veins and hers. Every word was designed to make her leave. Every word—as hateful as they were—was a way for him to love her. To protect her from a life that would surely be her undoing.
Her face drained of colour and her eyes glittered in the dim lighting of the room. But still she remained determined.
He couldn’t take another word falling from that lovely mouth of hers. He didn’t think he would survive it.
‘Get out!’ he roared.
CHAPTER TWELVE
August 2nd, 07.00-08.00, Farrehed Embassy
THE BEAT OF Odir’s pulse pounded within his head. Ripples shivered over his skin, through his body, over his mind and covered his heart. He was alone. Eloise had left. He didn’t remember seeing her go. She must have slipped out while he’d had his eyes closed.
The banging came again, and Odir wondered if it wasn’t his pulse after all. He didn’t want to see anyone. Not like this. The pain he was feeling was nothing like he’d ever felt before. If this was what love was then he’d been right to avoid it for so long. He felt it like a punch to his gut, stealing his breath and causing agony to radiate around his body. Shock. He thought he might actually be in shock.
The banging came once more and finally, without waiting for his approval, the door swung open into the room and Jarhan stormed in.
