target="_blank" rel="nofollow" href="#u6ce185eb-d1d9-5b0a-a365-14f3fb8e58fe"> CHAPTER EIGHT
Royal Palace, Aguilarez, November
HIS ROYAL HIGHNESS Prince Cesar of Aguilarez looked down from the helicopter at the looming trees, the jut and crags of the mountainous terrain as the pilot began their descent to the helipad that topped the fortress-like palace he had grown up in. A palace he had visited only infrequently in the past three years. When need dictated.
The whir of the blades couldn’t distract him from the grim tone of his thoughts. Now he’d been summoned back to a family summit—called, presumably, to figure out a strategy in the face of the scandal that had rocked the royal House of Asturias. And not just the house, but also the royal family of Valenti, rulers of the neighbouring country of Casavalle.
Two small countries that shared the same island—shared also a history of feuding and war. A relentless succession of invasion attempts had left both countries battle-scarred, until eventually a fragile peace had been negotiated. A peace that had endured for over two centuries as both countries had prospered.
A peace now under threat.
All because of his younger sister Meribel.
What had she been thinking? Like all five royal siblings Meribel had been brought up to know that Aguilarez came first, that duty was paramount, and emotions were an irrelevance.
So Meribel’s actions defied belief. To date she’d jilted Crown Prince Luca Valenti days before their wedding. Whilst pregnant with another man’s baby. The whole idea of the marriage had been to cement an alliance; now the alliance was in tatters.
Then they’d been hit by the next scandal, because it turned out that the Crown Prince of Casavalle wasn’t the Crown Prince after all, because Luca had a long-lost, hitherto unknown older sister—Gabriella Ross.
To compound the situation Gabriella’s existence had been discovered six months after the death of Casavalle’s King, so just before Luca was due to ascend the throne of Casavalle. Now Gabriella Ross, a woman brought up in Canada, with no knowledge of her heritage or the royal blood that coursed through her veins, would take the throne.
The whole situation was a mess and little wonder the people of both Casavalle and Aguilarez were crying foul, with accusations of deceit and counter deceit on all sides.
Hence the summons to Cesar, requesting his presence at the Aguilarean palace. Though the request had been an order and, whilst he understood the need for a meeting, the manner of the summons tasted bitter in his throat: a curt demand with no hint of family affection. No surprise really—the Asturias family didn’t do affection. Thus it had always been and thus it always would be.
No matter, he was here now, and as he alighted onto the helipad he braced himself as if for an ordeal, even as he inhaled the fresh snow-tanged mountain air with a sense of appreciation that he had come home to the country he loved.
Minutes later he entered the throne room, where his parents were already seated at the enormous circular wooden table, faces serious. Behind them up on a dais, the imposing stone throne embedded with jewels, the spoils of victories of the distant past, dominated the room. The surrounding walls were adorned with tapestries and paintings that depicted past battles and a pair of crossed swords topped the marble fireplace.
‘You’ve cut it fine, Cesar,’ King Jorge said. ‘We are due in Casavalle for talks in a few hours and we have much to discuss.’
As he bowed first to his father and then his mother Cesar switched to ambassador mode, the role he’d been brought up to, destined for from the day of his birth. ‘Apologies, Father.’
Present no reason as it will only be seen as an excuse.
His mother now. ‘First we must talk about Lady Amelia.’
‘We must?’ Cesar could not imagine why this would be necessary—Lady Amelia Scott-Browne was his current girlfriend, though he was pretty sure a break-up was imminent. There had been signs of possessiveness, signs that Lady Amelia had forgotten the rules she’d signed up to. First and foremost being no long-term future. Because Cesar had no intention of getting married. Marriage equalled a bullet he fully intended to dodge. After all, he was the spare heir—there was no necessity for him to marry. Both his brothers had been marched to the altar, both had produced the requisite heirs. So there was no need for him to be entrapped in an unwanted union.
‘Yes, Cesar, we must. You need to end the...association.’ His mother made a small moue of distaste.
‘Why?’ It seemed a fair question; his parents had never interfered in his ‘associations’ before. Rather they tended to simply pretend they did not exist.
The King leant forward. ‘Because we have a plan.’
‘What plan?’ Foreboding prickled his neck as he faced his parents.
‘The best way to forge an alliance and show the world that Aguilarez and Casavalle are still friends is through marriage. So, Cesar. You will marry the new Crown Princess of Casavalle. Gabriella Ross will become your bride.’
Cesar felt the loom of the metaphorical wall at his back, could hear the hiss of the oncoming bullet.
Royal Palace of Casavalle, December
It was no good. Sleep was not going to happen. Gabi had counted two thousand seven hundred and five sheep, tried deep breathing, reminded herself that it was practically sinful not to be able to sleep on sheets this luxurious, surrounded by every comfort a queen-in-waiting could expect. But all to no avail; her brain buzzed and whirled with too many thoughts to allow sleep.
Queen-in-waiting. The words caromed around her brain, underlay every waking thought, every dream-filled night, and the bizarre surrealism made the whole situation seem nigh on impossible. How could she, Gabriella Ross, be royalty? For thirty-one and a half years of her life she had believed herself to be an ordinary person; she’d been brought up by her ordinary, elderly aunt and uncle in a small town in the Canadian mountains. She had inherited their bookshop, which she had adored, had built it into a thriving business—that had been her life.
Now...here she was in the palace of Casavalle. All because eight months ago she’d found two letters, written by her mother, who’d died when she was only three. One letter to King Vincenzo of Casavalle and one letter written to Gabriella herself.
Letters that revealed Gabi’s true identity, the fact that her father had been King Vincenzo Valenti. A father she would never know, who had never known of her existence. The irony was obvious: in all her childhood reckonings,