Arranged Marriage, Bedroom Secrets

Nothing had changed in all the time she’d been away. She didn’t even know why she would have expected it to. Erminia was still locked in the old days where a woman’s place was not beside, but behind her husband, or her father or brother or whichever male figure led her household—her thoughts and ideas to be tolerated but not celebrated or given any respect.

Even in the Erminian parliament women were a rare breed. Mila wanted to see that change, and for their government to acknowledge women’s intelligence and their value as vital members of the very fabric of Erminian society as a whole. But she knew that change would be very slow to come...if it came at all.

“You don’t sound excited about your wedding,” Rocco prompted. “I thought you would be full of chatter about it.”

Mila sighed. “Rocco, I’m not a little girl about to go to a tea party in her favorite dress. I am a full-grown woman with a mind and thoughts of her own, about to enter into a marriage with a man I barely know.”

He stepped closer to her and placed a finger under her chin, lifting her face up to his. “You’ve changed.”

“Of course I’ve changed. I’ve grown up.”

“No, it’s more than that.” A frown furrowed his brow and his eyes narrowed. “Are you still...? Did you...?”

Mila held on to her temper by a thread. “What? You’re actually asking me if I’ve kept myself chaste? Do you really think I’d compromise the crown by throwing my virginity away on a one-night stand?”

Her brother paled. “You will not speak to me in that tone. I might be your brother but, first and foremost, I am your king.”

Mila swept down into a curtsey. “Sire, I beg your forgiveness.”

“Mila, don’t mock me.”

She rose again but did not look directly in his eyes. “I do not mock you, Your Majesty. I am well aware of my position in this world. I will do my duty and you can rest assured that by my wedding day no man will have touched me, with even so much as a kiss, before my future husband does. But, just in case you don’t believe me, please feel free to have the royal physician examine me to ensure that I am indeed a woman of my word.”

“Mila—”

“I believe I have an appointment for a dress fitting now. If you’ll excuse me?” she said, turning before his reaching hand could touch her.

She knew that, deep down, he probably hated the exchange they’d just shared even more than she did. But duty drove him now, and that meant the needs of the country always came first. He couldn’t be the doting older brother who had sheltered her for so many of her younger years. Ten years her senior, Rocco had been forced to prematurely take the crown after their father’s assassination when Rocco had been only nineteen. Mila could barely remember a time since when his shoulders hadn’t borne the weight of responsibility that had descended with the crown. Almost overnight, he’d gone from the teasing and protective older brother she’d adored, to the domineering sovereign she knew today. The man who showed no signs of weakness, no chink in the armor that shrouded his emotions.

As she let herself out of his office and barely held herself back from storming down the ornately decorated corridor of the castle to her suite of rooms, a part of her still mourned the boy he’d been while another continued to rail internally at how he’d spoken to her just now. He still saw her as a silly, empty-headed child; that much was clear. And no matter what she did or said, that would probably never change. She had to learn to accept it as she’d had to learn to accept so much about her life. But maybe, just maybe, she would be in a position to effect change once she was married.

Later, as she fidgeted under the weight of the elegant silk-dupion-and-lace gown that was being fitted to her gentle curves she couldn’t help but think back to that moment when she and Thierry had kissed good-night—or perhaps it had been good morning, she thought. She couldn’t hold back a smile as she remembered the exquisitely gentle pressure of his lips upon hers. If she closed her eyes and concentrated she could almost feel him again, smell the subtle scent of his cologne—a blend of wood and spice that had done crazy things to her inside—and sense the yearning that there could be more. A tiny thrill of excitement rippled through her—a ripple that was rapidly chased away by the sensation of a pin in her thigh.

“I’m so sorry, Your Highness, but if you’d just keep still for me a moment longer...” The couturier’s frustration was evident in her tone.

“No, it is I who should apologize,” Mila hastily assured the woman. “I wasn’t concentrating. It is not your fault.”

She focused on a corner of a picture frame on the wall and kept her body still, turning or lifting and dropping her arms when asked—like a marionette. And that, essentially, was all she was to her brother, she realized with a pang. A puppet to be manipulated for the benefit of all of Erminia. There wouldn’t have been such pressure on her if he had married by now himself. But, when faced with a royal proposal, the girl he’d loved through his late teens and early twenties had decided royal life was not for her, and since then he’d steered clear of romantic entanglements.

Rocco’s crown might sit heavily on his dark curls, Mila thought with a sad sigh, but hers was equally burdensome. But, there was a silver lining, she reminded herself. Her night with Thierry showed they were intellectual equals and he had at least appeared to respect her opinion during their discussions.

If he could give a total stranger his ear, why wouldn’t he extend the same courtesy to his wife?

* * *

It was 2:00 a.m. and Mila was still wide awake. Never a good traveler, she struggled to adjust to the change in time zones. While most of the good people of Erminia would be fast asleep in their beds about now, Mila’s body was on Boston time and for her it was only seven in the evening. Granted, it had been an exhausting day with the hours of travel followed by that awful meeting with her brother. Given how she always suffered severe motion sickness, which left her physically wrung out, logically she should be more than ready to sleep. Sadly, logic was lacking tonight, she accepted with a sigh as she pushed back the covers on her pedestal bed and reached for the light robe she’d cast over the end of her mattress before retiring.

Maybe some warm milk, the way Cookie used to make it for her back when she was a child, would help. After donning her robe, Mila headed for the servants’ stairs toward the back of the castle. Sure, she knew that all she had to do was press a button and someone would bring the milk to her, but a part of her craved the inviting warmth and aromas that permeated the castle kitchens and that were such an intrinsic part of her happier childhood memories.

Her slippers barely made a sound on the old stone stairs and, as opposed to the usual daily busyness that made the castle hum with activity during normal waking hours, the air was still and serene. She could do with some of that serenity right now.

To her surprise, the sound of voices traveled up the corridor toward her. Obviously some staff was on duty around the clock, but it was unusual for the senior household steward to still be afoot at this time of night. Mila recognized Gregor’s voice as it rumbled along the ancient stone walls. For a second she was prepared to ignore it, and the younger female voice she could barely hear murmuring in response, but her ears pricked up when she caught Thierry’s name mentioned.

Mila slowed her steps as she approached the open door of the steward’s office and listened carefully.

“And you’re certain of this?” the steward asked.

Mila was surprised Gregor’s voice sounded so stern. While the man held a position of extreme responsibility, he was well-known for his warm heart and caring nature—it was part of why the royal household ran so smoothly. His brusque tone right now seemed at odds with the person she remembered.

“Yes, sir. My second cousin assists the king of Sylvain’s private secretary. He saw the document soliciting the woman’s—” the young woman hesitated a bit before continuing “—services.”

“What does your cousin plan to do with this information he so willingly shared with you?”

“Oh, sir, he didn’t do so willingly. I mean, it wasn’t meant as gossip.”

“Then what did he mean by it?”

Mila heard the younger woman make a sound, as if holding back tears. “Oh, please, sir. I don’t want him to get into any trouble. It troubled him that the king would seek the services of a courtesan so close to his marriage, especially when it is known within the Sylvano palace that the prince is—was—saving himself for marriage.”

A courtesan? Mila’s ears buzzed, blocking out any other sound as the word reverberated in her skull. Her stomach lurched uncomfortably and she fought the nausea that swirled with a vicious and sudden twist.

A sound from the steward’s office alerted her to the movement of the people inside. She couldn’t be caught here, not like this. Mila turned back down the corridor and slipped into another office, this one dark and unoccupied. With her arms bound tight around her middle, she stared at the closed door framed by a limning of light. Her mind whirled.

Thierry had procured a professional mistress? Why would he even do such a thing? How had she misjudged him so badly? Their time together that night in New York had been wonderful, magical—and entirely chaste, without the slightest hint that he was seeking physical intimacy. It had thrilled her to think that he was staying untouched for her, just as she had done for him. None of what she’d learned about him in the hours they’d spent together made sense against what she’d just overheard.

Mila stiffened as she heard a light pair of footsteps walk briskly down the hallway—the maid, leaving Gregor’s office by the sound of it. She waited, wondering if she’d hear Gregor leaving the same way, and as she waited her mind spun again. What should she do now she had this knowledge? She couldn’t refuse to marry Thierry. That would cause upheaval on both sides of the border. And she didn’t want to, not really. But how could she consider a future with a man who was already in the process of installing a mistress in a home they were meant to share? She had toiled long and hard to make herself into a worthy wife for the man she thought he was. Had she been wrong about him all along? Was he just another ruler who treated marriage as nothing more than a facade—like so many royal marriages that had taken place in the past? Had he already given up on the idea that Mila could possibly make him happy?

Was their marriage really to be nothing more than a peace treaty between neighboring nations? Were they not to share the communion of two adults with shared hopes and dreams for the future? Tears burned her eyes, but she blinked them back furiously. She would not succumb to weakness in this. There had to be a way to stop him from taking a mistress, a way to somehow circumvent this. Think! she commanded herself. Here she was, well educated, astute about women’s issues and keen to do something about them, and yet, when faced with a problem all she could do was hide and then fight back tears? How clichéd, she scolded silently. Mila loosened her arms and let them drop to her sides and lifted her chin. She was a princess, it was about time she started to think and act like one.