Chapter One #2
Thankfully, since her father’s death, she’d been able to hire her own team and had undergone something of a makeover. She’d always loved fashion and was enjoying experimenting with different looks.
Then Stephen had said, ‘You’ve been invited to that masked ball in Paris. Caius will undoubtedly be there—it’s in aid of one of his charities. You should go, see him in person and then decide if you want to shut the door.’
Well, she had gone to that ball and he had been there and to say it had changed her life was an understatement.
Stephen’s phone rang now, scattering Poppy’s thoughts.
He answered it and she went over to the French doors in her bedroom that opened out onto a terrace overlooking the small but impressive city of Valdere—it was a fairy-tale image with the mountains behind the palace and the city spread along the shores of a sparkling lake.
There was an island in the middle of the lake that housed another royal residence. A romantic chateau built by one of Poppy’s ancestors for one of his mistresses. In plain sight of the main palace. A timely reminder of the reality of a royal marriage.
A lot of the buildings dated back to the 1800s when the main industry had been textiles and wealthy merchants had been influenced by their travels to places like Morocco and Asia.
Poppy could see the spire of the medieval cathedral soaring over the terracotta rooftops but she wasn’t seeing the view. Her mind was inwards. Unconsciously her hands went to her belly, where the burgeoning swell of her abdomen had been cleverly disguised as much as possible by her new stylist.
She couldn’t blame the baby in her womb for this scramble to get married. She could only blame herself and the monumental weakness she’d displayed when faced with the world’s most notorious playboy king who had since fallen from grace and become a mere prince again.
The worst of it was, she knew that even if she went back in time, and was faced with the same scenario again, she couldn’t truly say she would have behaved any differently…
Paris, four months ago
It wasn’t hard to spot the man Poppy was looking for in the crowd.
Not only did he stand head and shoulders above most of the other guests at this masked ball, he carried himself with the authority and innate privilege that came with being more than a mere mortal.
A king. King Caius Mansur de Roche, to be specific.
Even with the black mask that covered half his face he was recognisable. The high forehead. Dark slashing brows. Thick dark hair, just this side of messy. Strong jaw covered with short dark beard. The formidable physique more suited to an athlete than a pampered member of the royal elite.
As crown prince, Caius had blazed a trail through the world’s most glittering hot spots and had never been without a beautiful woman on his arm.
They’d rarely lasted longer than one or two public outings though.
He was known to be an inveterate playboy and finding him here in the thick of this glittering exclusive masked ball only confirmed what Poppy already knew.
He was in no real hurry to settle down—because he didn’t have to, like her, even if her country was strategically attractive.
She frowned under her own mask now. She’d come here to see him up close.
To try and get the measure of the man who she’d spoken to on the phone only a few days ago to discuss the suitability of a marriage match.
After overhearing his unflattering opinion of her.
That she looked ten years older than she was and needed a serious makeover.
She hated to admit it but part of her coming here had to do with her piqued feminine pride that he thought her so inconsequential. It had stung somewhere very vulnerable. Thanks to her new stylist, she could now come to a party like this in Paris and not feel like a wallflower.
But she was in disguise because she wanted the luxury of observing King Caius in his natural environment to see just how debauched he really was.
So she’d coloured her distinctive auburn hair with a wash-out colour of dark brown and was wearing dark contact lenses to hide her green eyes.
Not that Caius would even have recognised her anyway.
Not his type. She didn’t like to admit it but maybe a part of her was still afraid of rejection even if he saw the new, improved version of herself.
Caius, was, after all, one of the most photographed and coveted bachelors on the planet.
Aside from being a king, and somehow in spite of his relentless socialising, he was also a renowned financier.
Respected the world over for his acumen.
He’d built up a fortune to rival the one he’d inherited on his coronation day.
But there was something about his insanely good looks that had caught at Poppy whenever she’d looked him up online, even as his social whirl made her wonder what on earth he was chasing.
He was so masculine, in a way that no royal playboy should be.
And, even though he was always smiling and charming and undeniably sexy, she’d sensed that there was something more underneath the devil-may-care surface.
Something a bit…bleak that she recognised.
To think for a second that they might be kindred spirits? Deluded.
She snorted a little to herself from her vantage point at the side of the ballroom. She knew what was underneath the charm. A deep and toxic seam of cynicism. And arrogance.
For a second she was almost tempted to turn tail and go back to Valdere, but then she thought of the effort she’d put in to come here, and of convincing Stephen that she really didn’t even need her security to shadow her at the party because she’d be in disguise…
and before she could change her mind, she helped herself to a glass of champagne, took a breath and dived into the crowd and made her way to where the man was holding court in the centre of the room, surrounded by adoring acolytes.
‘And then…’ Caius delayed his punchline, letting the tension build. He looked at the faces around him, tilted towards him, eyes shining, mouths open. Men vying for his attention, women vying for him, lust in their eyes and not just for the physical but for so much more. For status…as his queen.
As Caius drew the moment out, he imagined just stepping back, into the crowd and melting away. Leaving them all looking at an empty space. Because he was empty inside. Hollow. And he felt it in this moment. These people couldn’t care less about him. He couldn’t care less about them.
Was this it? Even once he acquired a queen and had heirs, would he still feel this…lonely?
At the last second, just when he noticed a couple of people look at each other as if to ask if he’d lost it, Caius delivered the punchline, some inanity, that wasn’t all that funny, and yet they squealed and guffawed with laughter.
‘You’re awful, Caius…or must we address you as King Caius now?
’ said a voice close to his ear with an accompanying hand on his arm, squeezing possessively.
He looked to his side to see a woman he recognised, even under her mask.
He’d slept with her once and, ever since, she’d been angling to get back into his bed, but now his insides turned over at her cloying perfume and he shook his arm free.
‘Excuse me, there’s someone I need to speak with.’
He saw the flash of displeasure in her eyes as he turned away and it only compounded a growing sense of desperation. He could leave this party, he knew that. But to do what? Go where?
Go back to Sadat and concentrate on matters of the state? suggested a little voice. Yes, of course he could do that. Should do that. But somehow the thought of his serene island home, with its pretty main town, sparkling marina and rocky shores, didn’t even entice.
He also had the pressing matter of a queen to consider, the unsavoury prospect of which was non- negotiable.
His team had found him—in their eyes—a perfect candidate, and on paper she was.
Young, single, a crown princess in possession of a monarchy in a strategically attractive part of Europe.
Central to everything and full of economic potential.
She was also a crown princess in desperate need of a king, as she couldn’t become sovereign until she married—a fact his team had unearthed.
She, however, had little personal appeal for Caius and even though he knew this was a good recipe for a harmonious marriage—the last thing he wanted was a repeat of his parents’ histrionics—he felt reluctant.
It was as if, since he’d become king, he’d become more and more aware that this was it.
He was now king and yet on his coronation day he hadn’t felt any great sense of…
coming home. Or that he was finally in his rightful place.
He’d always thought that once he was king, he’d feel more of a sense of belonging but, if anything, as he’d looked out over the crowd of people, he’d felt even more alienated. Worse, he’d felt a void inside him.
Caius didn’t remember his father ever being remotely warm or affectionate.
He’d always looked at Caius with a strange expression, almost suspiciously.
And he’d been embroiled in the toxic relationship with Caius’s mother.
Their arguments had been epic and volcanic.
The toxicity had spread throughout the palace, infecting everything.