Their Christmas Royal Wedding

It was no use; she couldn’t lie in all this splendour any more—the doubts, the weight of responsibility, the fear of making a fool of herself would crush her into the soft pillows and suffocate her.

She swung her legs over the sumptuous mattress and wriggled her toes into the soft plushness of the carpet. Pulled on jeans and an oversized sweater over her flannel pyjamas, tugged on a pair of running shoes. Maybe she’d tiptoe into the kitchens and make herself some camomile tea or even get a snack—she’d eaten nothing at dinner, too nervous at the idea of the ball.

Carefully she snuck down the vast passageway, told herself that there was no need to sneak—technically this was her palace. Only it didn’t work like that—here she was hemmed in by rules and shibboleths, a hem woven by fear of bringing the Valenti name into further disrepute. As her mother had over thirty years before. Sophia Valenti had fled her royal marriage without explanation, deserted her husband and vanished in the dead of night. Once the scandal had died down she’d been written out of Casavallian history as the shortest of footnotes.

As she approached the kitchens Gabi’s courage failed her. Despite the lateness of the hour she could hear activity, staff preparing for the next days and weeks. For the ball, for Christmas—it seemed as if the palace never slept. The idea of appearing unannounced seemed impossible; after all, she didn’t even know where the teabags were...or if packets of cookies even existed in the royal lexicon.

It was then the idea came to her: she knew exactly where she wanted to be. The stables. There she knew she would find some calm and peace, with the magnificent beings that didn’t care whether she was a princess or not. There would be no judgement. Plus, just that day a gift of two beautiful horses had arrived from Aguilarez—and, ridiculous though it might sound, Gabi was worried they were homesick. She’d only been able to spend a few snatched minutes with them, posed for a photo and now suddenly it felt imperative to go check on them.

Before she could change her mind she tiptoed past the kitchens, along the vast corridor to a side door that led to the paved courtyard. Opening it quietly, she slipped out, braced herself against the cold bite of the winter wind, inhaled the tang of promised snow in the air. A scent so familiar and yet so different from the Canadian equivalent. She crossed the mosaic tiles, suddenly aware of the dead quiet of the night.

She entered the stables and instantly a sense of peace, of comfort, enveloped her and she headed straight for the stalls that housed the new arrivals. Gently she stroked the nose of the nearest, heard his whinny and moved closer to his warmth. If only these creatures could attend the ball tomorrow instead of the Asturias royal family.

A noise interrupted her fanciful thoughts, the sound of footsteps, the rustle of a coat... All sense of tranquillity disappeared, replaced by instant panic. Fear that she would be caught, a suspicion that royalty did not roam the stables in the wee hours of the morning with jeans pulled over their pyjamas. Instinct propelled her into the next-door stall and she dived down into the straw, lay still, her heart pounding her ribcage.

Cesar Asturias muttered under his breath as he crossed the courtyard of the Casavalle palace, having exited the palace after yet another meeting between the Asturiases and the Valentis. The whole situation had gone from bad to worse; the position seemed inescapable. He’d been called on to make the ultimate sacrifice: a political marriage. The diplomat in him applauded and accepted the necessity, saw that it would cement the alliance between Casavalle and Aguilarez, show the world that the Asturiases and the Valentis accepted Gabriella Ross as rightful Queen. The marriage would cancel out the insult of Meribel’s defection. The irony was not lost on him. Meribel had baulked at the last hurdle, decided she couldn’t go through with a loveless marriage for the sake of duty. So now it was Cesar’s turn to step up. So here he was, ready to attend Gabriella Ross’s Presentation Ball the following day.

The start of Campaign Marriage.

Because it was a campaign and he would plan it as carefully as any general had ever planned a military campaign. Obviously nowadays a royal bride and groom could not be forced into a marriage. And, as his father had pointed out, Gabriella Ross had not been brought up as royalty, might not understand or accept the convention of a marriage of political convenience. ‘So you will have to approach this carefully, Cesar. Make the girl fall in love with you,’ King Jorge had ordered.

‘No.’ Cesar’s reaction had been unequivocal. ‘I will not do that, Father, but I will convince Gabriella to marry me. But I ask you all—’ he’d looked around the room, at his parents and Queen Maria ‘—to leave it to me. I do not want Gabriella to be instructed or coerced or “persuaded” by any of you. We have all seen how wrong that went with Meribel. I will do things my way.’

So it had been agreed that Queen Maria would not mention the proposed union to her sons or Gabriella. And thus began his first steps towards a ball and chain, the imprisonment of marriage.

Dark thoughts swirled as he headed towards his car, and then he heard a whinny from the stables nearby. Another spurt of irritation huffed through him; he’d been horrified to learn that in a further ‘gesture of goodwill’ his family had gifted Gabriella two thoroughbred horses, one of whom Cesar himself was particularly fond.

His objections had been overruled.

No surprise there, then.

He remembered his father’s cold, emotionless voice.

‘The gift was necessary. If all goes well you will own those horses with Gabriella anyway.’

His mother, faintly exasperated.

‘You are irrational, Cesar. You have hardly even been to Aguilarez these past years. To claim affection for these horses is nonsensical.’

There you had it: in the Asturias clan if something made no sense it was invalid. Emotions made no sense, hence his parents’ marriage: a cold union, that had nonetheless produced five children. They had been faithful to each other yet not once had he ever seen either offer the other a sign of intimacy or simple affection. No wonder Cesar had vowed from an early age that marriage wasn’t for him, had revelled in his bachelor lifestyle. Made sure he had enjoyed life, ensured every relationship included fun and passion in the short term. Now a similar fate to his parents’ was before him; worst of all he understood that it was necessary.

A noise intruded on his thoughts, the soft whicker of a horse. Hell—it must be a sign. Perhaps he’d go and say hello to Ferron—nonsensical or not, he was fond of the beast. But as he entered the stables he halted, suddenly sure he wasn’t alone. There had been movement, an indrawn breath, a rustle of fabric. Swiftly he moved forward towards Ferron’s stall, saw the beautiful horse was fine. Noiselessly he moved towards the next-door stall, pushed the door open and stepped inside, all his senses on alert. Could be a saboteur, a horse thief...?

Surely that was a figure lying in the straw. Hoping to evade detection? Swiftly he pulled his phone from his pocket, turned on the torch, held the light up and blinked; there on the straw lay one of the most beautiful women he’d seen in his life. Long chestnut hair, straight classical nose, high cheekbones. And impossible, nay, criminal, to ignore the length of her slim curvy figure, clad in jeans and oversized jumper, over...he squinted at the cuffs of her wrist...checked flannel pyjamas.

OK, Cesar. Time to stop staring and time instead to figure out why Gabriella Ross, Crown Princess of Casavalle and his possible bride-to-be, was hiding in a bed of straw.

CHAPTER TWO (#u76616908-6869-54ac-a8a3-d33634eb521d)

GABI LIFTED A hand to shield herself from the intrusive beam of light and instantly the man holding the torch redirected the rays to the floor. What to do, what to do? What on earth had possessed her to hide? Stupid, stupid, stupid. The urge to weep from sheer mortification was tempting but she refused to succumb.

Instead she had to embark on mission impossible to try and salvage even a semblance of dignity. As she looked up at the man, he stooped and held out a hand. ‘May I help you up, Your Royal Highness?’

Fabulous; he’d recognised her. Any forlorn hope that she could somehow pretend to be a fainting groom faded.

‘Thank you,’ she murmured, figuring a hand up would be more dignified than a clumsy scramble to her feet.

His hand encircled hers, his grip cool and firm as he helped her up and then stood back. She darted a look at him, his face cast in shadows, the torch now by his side so she couldn’t see him clearly. Yet even in the gloom she registered handsome features and the bemusement that etched them. Dark short hair, strong features, firm jaw, tall, muscled body dressed in clothes that discreetly indicated expense. His dark grey woollen coat moulded broad shoulders and to her irritation she felt a sudden surge of...interest.

Get a grip.

This man was a stranger in the Casavalle stables; belatedly she wondered if she should be scared. Yet he looked vaguely familiar. Oh, God. Was he perhaps someone she should know? She had been introduced to so many people over the past weeks it was nearly impossible to remember them all, though she was trying.

But surely she would remember who he was...if she’d met him before... She couldn’t imagine forgetting a man with such a potent aura.

An aura that was messing with her head, making it whirl and think with her hormones rather than her common sense. Not the behaviour of a queen in waiting; she’d learnt that much. Think, Gabi. He was in the stables at midnight—good chance, then, that he had a reason to be here; something to do with the horses. Perhaps he’d been sent with the gift from the Asturias family, with Ferron and Arya. That would make sense. Perhaps she’d spotted him earlier in that whirlwind press photo and registered his presence. Maybe he’d come in to check on them.

Doubt flickered in her mind—to be brutally honest he didn’t look like a groom, but she still didn’t understand the hierarchy of how the royal entourage worked. Not that it mattered. The man was connected to the horses in some capacity—she didn’t need to know any more than that. Right now what mattered was that she should stop gawping at him. Royalty did not gawp.

‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘And...um...sorry about that.’ She gestured to the straw with what she could only hope was a poised rueful smile. Knew it was more likely to be a grimace. ‘I was checking the horses. Sounds stupid but I was worried they may be a little homesick.’

An arrested look came to his face, and his dark brown eyes flashed with empathy, surely a confirmation that this man must be connected somehow with the horses.

He smiled at her. ‘That makes sense, or, if it does not, I do understand and appreciate it. But why the straw?’ Reaching out, he pulled a bit out of her hair.

Gabi was pretty sure there was some royal protocol or other that made the gesture punishable by death. Yet this man made the move seem natural.

‘I...you startled me and I just...dived for cover. I hadn’t realised someone else would be coming to check the horses. I’m so sorry to interrupt your work here. Please proceed with your duties.’

For a fleeting second an expression she couldn’t interpret crossed his face, and then he took the smallest of steps backwards, executed a bow.

‘Ma’am. There is no need for you to apologise. These horses are now yours and are yours to visit any time of day and night. I know they will appreciate your care.’

‘And I’m sure that they appreciated yours. Tell me, are you their...?’ She allowed her voice to question and he took another small step backwards.

‘I have been responsible for them. I stopped by tonight to ensure they have settled in, that they are not, as you say, “homesick”. Soon I will return to Aguilarez.’ He hesitated, studied her face. ‘If you like, before I go, we could take a moonlit ride; you could get to know Ferron and Arya better.’

Her turn to hesitate now; were royal princesses supposed to go on moonlit rides with strangers? Possibly not...but...her brain scrambled into overdrive, wanting, seeking reasons to justify her instinctive desire to say yes. This man wasn’t a stranger as such—he was part of the Aguilarez entourage. So this could be classed as a gesture of friendliness. Also he must love these horses and probably wanted a chance to have one last ride—it would be unkind to deny him that. And royalty often rode out accompanied by staff, and maybe she could use this as a fact-finding mission. Find out more about the Asturias family before the ball, especially Prince Cesar. And...dammit...she wanted to do this. Craved a ride on one of these magnificent animals in the company of this man.

‘Thank you. I’d like that. As long as you don’t have to be back...’

‘No. I do not need to leave yet.’ He gestured outside. ‘It is beautiful outside but cold—if it is not too presumptuous, I could lend you my coat.’

‘But then you’ll be cold.’

‘I am used to these temperatures, ma’am; I grew up here. My jumper will suffice.’ With a smile that rocked her backwards he hitched off his coat and handed it to her.

‘Thank you, though I suspect I’ll look ridiculous.’ Though perhaps no more ridiculous than she already did, with bits of her pyjamas protruding at wrist and ankle.