“Oh, my goodness. We could have been discovered.” Zabrina was breathing in horror. “Anyone could have walked in at any time.”
Roman shook his head. He had been wondering how he could tell her what she needed to know. He just hadn’t been sure how to go about it. But now he was. There was a perfectly simple way of alerting her to the simple fact that was going to change her fate forever. His, too. Yet wasn’t there a part of him that felt a kind of relief at the prospect that he would no longer need to marry her? No longer need to marry anyone.
“Nobody would have walked in,” he declared with icy certainty.
She gave a nervous laugh. “You can’t possibly know that.”
“Yes, I can.”
“How?”
He looked into her forest green eyes and sucked in a deep breath.
“Because my name is not Constantin Izvor and I am not the chief bodyguard to the royal household. I am—”
“You are the king,” she interrupted suddenly, her face growing as white as a summer cloud. “You are King Roman of Petrogoria.”
SHARON KENDRICK once won a national writing competition by describing her ideal date: being flown to an exotic island by a gorgeous and powerful man. Little did she realise that she’d just wandered into her dream job! Today she writes for Mills & Boon, and her books feature often stubborn but always to-die-for heroes and the women who bring them to their knees. She believes that the best books are those you never want to end. Just like life...
Also by Sharon Kendrick
The Italian’s Christmas Housekeeper
The Sheikh’s Secret Baby
His Contract Christmas Bride
Cinderella in the Sicilian’s World
The Sheikh’s Royal Announcement
Cinderella’s Christmas Secret
The Legendary Argentinian Billionaires miniseries
Bought Bride for the Argentinian
The Argentinian’s Baby of Scandal
Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk.
One Night Before the Royal Wedding
Sharon Kendrick
www.millsandboon.co.uk
ISBN: 978-0-008-91374-8
ONE NIGHT BEFORE THE ROYAL WEDDING
© 2021 Sharon Kendrick
Published in Great Britain 2021
by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF
All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.
By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.
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For the gorgeous Pete Crone, with thanks for his help and inspiration— particularly in regard to the Marengo Forest.
Contents
Cover
About the Author
Booklist
Title Page
Copyright
Note to Readers
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
EPILOGUE
Extract
About the Publisher
CHAPTER ONE
WHO WAS SHE?
A puppet, that was who.
Zabrina pulled a face, barely recognising the person she saw reflected back at her. Because the woman in the mirror was an imposter, her usual tomboy self replaced by a stranger wearing unaccustomed silks and finery which swamped her tiny frame. Another wave of panic swept over her. The clock was slowly ticking down towards her wedding and she had no way of stopping it.
‘Please don’t scowl,’ said her mother automatically. ‘How many times do I have to tell you? It is not becoming of a princess.’
But at that precise moment Zabrina didn’t feel like a princess. She felt like an object, not a being. An object who was being treated with all the regard you might show towards a sack of rice being dragged by a donkey and cart towards the marketplace.
Yet wasn’t that the story of her life?
Expendable and disposable.
As the oldest child, and a female, she had always been expected to safeguard her family’s future, with her hand in marriage offered up to a future king when she was little more than a baby. She alone would be the one able to save the nation from her weak father’s mismanagement—that was what she had always been told and she had always accepted it. But now the moment was drawing near and her stomach was tying itself up in knots at the thought of what lay ahead. She turned to face her mother, her expression one of appeal, as if even at this late stage she might be granted some sort of reprieve.
‘Please, Mama,’ she said in a low voice. ‘Don’t make me marry him.’
Her mother’s smile failed to hide her resolve. ‘You know that such a request is impossible, Zabrina—just as you have always known that this is your destiny.’
‘But this is supposed to be the twenty-first century! I thought women were supposed to be free?’
‘Freedom is a word which has no place in a life such as yours,’ protested her mother. ‘It is the price you pay for your position in life. You are a princess and the rules which govern royals are different from those of ordinary citizens—a fact which you seem determined to ignore. How many times have you been told that you can’t just behave as you wish to behave? These early-morning missions of yours are really going to have to stop, Zabrina. Yes, really. Do you think we aren’t aware of them?’
Zabrina stared down at her gleaming silver shoes and tried to compose herself. She’d been in trouble again for sneaking out and travelling to a refuge just outside the city, fired by a determination to use her royal privilege to actually do something to help improve the plight of some of the women in her country. Poverty-stricken women, some under the control of cruel men. Her paltry personal savings had almost been eaten away because she had ploughed them into a scheme she really believed in. She repressed a bitter smile. And all the while she was doing that, she was being sold off to the king of a neighbouring country—in her own way just as helpless and as vulnerable as the women she was trying to help. Oh, the irony!
She looked up. ‘Well, I’m not going to be able to behave as I please when I marry the King, more’s the pity!’
‘I don’t know why you’re objecting so much.’ Her mother gave her a speculative look. ‘For there are many other positive aspects to this union, other than financial.’
‘Like what?’
‘Like the fact that King Roman of Petrogoria is one of the most influential and powerful men in the world and—’
‘He’s got a beard!’ Zabrina hissed. ‘And I hate beards!’
‘It has never prevented him from having a legion of admirers among the opposite sex, as far as I can understand.’ Her mother’s eyes flashed. ‘And you will soon get used to it—for many, a beard is a sign of virility and fertility. So accept your fate with open arms and it will reward you well.’
Zabrina bit her lip. ‘If only I could be allowed to take one of my own servants with me, at least that might make it feel a bit more like home.’
‘You know that can’t happen,’ said her mother firmly. ‘Tradition dictates you must go to your new husband without any trappings from your old life. But it is nothing more than a symbolic gesture. Your father and I shall arrive in Petrogoria with your brother and sisters for the wedding.’
‘Which is weeks away!’
‘Giving you ample opportunity to settle into your palace home and to prepare for your new role as Queen of Petrogoria. After that, if you still wish to send for some of your own staff, I am certain your new husband will not object.’
‘But what if he’s a tyrant?’ Zabrina whispered. ‘Who will disagree with me for the sake of disagreement?’
‘Then you will work with those disagreements and adapt your behaviour accordingly. You must remember that Roman is King and he will make all the decisions within your marriage. Your place as his queen is to accept that.’ Her mother frowned. ‘Didn’t you read those marriage manuals I gave you?’
‘They were a useful cure for my recent insomnia.’
‘Zabrina!’
‘No, I read them,’ admitted Zabrina a little sulkily. ‘Or rather, I tried. They must have been written about a hundred years ago.’
‘We can learn much from the past,’ replied her mother serenely. ‘Now smile, and then let’s go. The train will already be waiting at the station to take you to your new home.’
Zabrina sighed. It felt like a trap because it was a trap—one from which it seemed there was no escape. Never had she felt so at the mercy of her royal destiny. She’d never been particularly keen to marry anyone, but she was far from ready to marry a man she’d never even met.
Yet she had been complicit in accepting her fate, mainly because it had always been expected of her. She’d been all too aware of the financial problems in her own country and the fact that she had the ability to put that right. Maybe because she was the oldest child and she loved her younger brother and sisters, she had convinced herself she could do it. After all, she wouldn’t be the only princess in the history of the world to endure an arranged marriage!
So she had carefully learnt her lessons in Petrogorian history and become fluent in its lilting language. She studied the geography of the country which was to be her new home, especially the vast swathe of disputed land—the Marengo Forest—which bordered her own and would pass into the ownership of her new husband after their marriage, in exchange for an eye-watering amount of cash. But all those careful studies now felt unconnected with her real life—almost as if she’d been operating in a dream world which had no connection with reality.
And suddenly she had woken up.
Her long gown swished against the polished marble as she followed her mother down the grand palace staircase which descended into an enormous entrance hall, where countless servants began to bow as soon as the two women appeared. Her two sisters came rushing over, a look of disbelief on both their faces.
‘Zabrina, is that really you?’ breathed Daria.
‘Why, it doesn’t really look like you at all!’ exclaimed little Eva.
Zabrina bit down hard on her lip as she hugged them goodbye, picking up seven-year-old Eva and giving her an extra big hug, for her little sister sometimes felt like a daughter to her. She wanted to cry. To tell them how much she was going to miss them. But that wouldn’t be either fair, or wise. She had to be grown-up and mature and concentrate on her new role as Queen, not give in to indulgent emotion.
‘I don’t know why you don’t wear that sort of thing more often,’ said Daria as she gazed at the floaty long gown. ‘It looks so well on you.’
‘Probably because it’s not really appropriate clothing for being on the back of a horse,’ replied Zabrina wryly. ‘Or for running around the palace grounds.’
She hardly ever wore a dress. Even when she was forced into one for some dull state occasion, she wouldn’t have dreamed of wearing one like this, with all its heavy embellishments which made it feel as constricting as a suit of armour. The heavy flow of material impeded her naturally athletic movements and she hated the way the embroidered bodice clung to her breasts and emphasised them, when she preferred being strapped securely into a practical sports bra. She liked being wild and free. She liked throwing on a pair of jodhpurs and a loose shirt and jumping onto the back of a horse—and the more temperamental, the better. She liked her long hair tied back out of the way in a simple ponytail, not gathered up into an elaborate style of intricate curls and studded with pearls by her mother’s stylist.
Her father was standing there and Zabrina automatically sank to the ground, reluctantly conceding that perhaps it was easier to curtsey in a dress, rather than in a pair of jodhpurs.
‘How much better it is to see you look like a young woman for a change,’ the King said, his rasping voice the result of too many late-night glasses of whisky. ‘Rather than like one of the grooms from the stables. I think being Queen of Petrogoria will suit you very well.’
For one brief moment Zabrina wondered how he would react if she told him she couldn’t go through with it. But even if her country didn’t have an outstanding national debt, there was no way the King would offend his nearest neighbour and ally by announcing that the long-awaited wedding would not take place. Imagine the shattered egos and political fallout which would result if he did!
‘I hope so, Papa—I really do,’ she answered as she turned towards her brother, Alexandru. She could read the troubled expression in his eyes, as if silently acknowledging her status as sacrificial lamb, but despite his obvious reservations what could the young prince possibly do to help her? Nothing. He was barely seventeen years old. A child, really. And she was doing it for him, she reminded herself. Making Albastase great again—even though she suspected that Alexandru had no real desire to be King.
Zabrina walked through the gilded arch towards the car which was parked in the palace courtyard and, climbing into the back of the vintage Rolls-Royce, she envisaged the journey which lay ahead of her. She would be driven to the railway station where King Roman of Petrogoria’s royal train was waiting, with his high-powered security team ready to accompany her. On this beautiful spring afternoon, the train would travel in style through the beautiful countryside and the vast and spectacular Marengo Forest, which divided the two
countries. By tomorrow, they would be pulling into Petrogoria’s capital city of Rosumunte, where she would meet her future husband for the first time, which was a pretty scary thought. It had been drummed into her that she must be sure to project an expression of gentle gratitude when the powerful monarch greeted her, and to curtsey as deeply as possible. She must keep her eyes downcast and only respond when spoken to. Later that night there would be fireworks and feasting as the first of the pre-wedding celebrations took place.
And two strangers would be expected to spend the rest of their lives together.
Zabrina shot a wistful glance across the courtyard in the direction of the stable block and thought about her beloved horse, which she had ridden at dawn that very morning. How long would it take for Midas to miss her? Would he realise that until she was allowed to send for him one of the palace grooms would take him out for his daily exercise instead of her?
She thought about the bearded King and now her cause for concern was much more worrying. What if she found him physically repulsive? What if her flesh recoiled if—presumably when—he laid a finger on her? Despite her jokey remarks, she had read the book gifted to her by her mother, but she had received most of her sexual education from the Internet and an online version of the Kama Sutra. Even some of the lighter films she’d seen didn’t leave a lot to the imagination and Zabrina had watched them diligently, fascinated and repelled in equal measure. She had broken out in a cold sweat at the thought of actually replicating some of the things the actors on the screens had been doing. Could she really endure the bearded King’s unwanted caresses for the rest of her life?
She swallowed.
Especially as she was a total innocent.
A feeling of resignation washed over her. Of course she was. She’d never even been touched by a man, let alone kissed by one, for her virginity played a pivotal role in this arranged marriage. She thought about another of the books she’d ploughed her way through. The one about managing expectations within relationships and living in the real world, rather than in the fantasy version peddled by books and films. It had been a very sobering read but a rather useful one, and it had taught her a lot. Because once you abandoned all those stupid high-flown ideas of love and romance, you freed yourself from the inevitability of disappointment.
One Night Before The Royal Wedding (Mills & Boon Modern) Page 1
