Page 23 of Wedding Night In The King's Bed

But now Helene stood there in the Royal Palace of Fiammetta, her mobile in her hand and her cousin right there on the other end of the text. She could say anything she liked. Faith would believe her no matter what she said, even if it wasn’t true. Faith would immediately come in, guns blazing—whether only via text or actually at the palace gates depended on what Helene told her.

Helene knew this without having to type a word.

Or...she could protect her fragile, likely fractured relationship with Gianluca instead.

She sent her cousin a string of emojis that said nothing at all, then slipped her mobile into her back pocket before she could ask herself why.

It wasn’t until she’d located what likely qualified as one of the so-called “pocket libraries”—though it was large and featured a great many window seats that let in the snow as it began to fall—that she understood that it wasn’t the headmistress’s discussion of various kinds of subservience that made her want to protect this.

Whatever this was.

It was her mother.

Her lovely Mama, who had maintained until the end that she was happy. She had insisted on it. And she had never, to Helene’s knowledge, ever told another soul about the things Herbert did that an objective observer might find unkind.

She had even defended him to Helene herself.

Why didn’t you marry a Prince Charming? Helene had asked, artlessly enough, when she was too young to know better.

Her mother had held her there, snug in her lap, and so it was only now in retrospect that Helene thought that the smile she’d given then was sad.

But I did, mon chou, she had said. That is the thing about Prince Charmings, you see. Sometimes it is only their chosen princess who can see them for who they truly are. Don’t you worry. You’ll know.

Looking back, Helene did not think her mother truly believed that Herbert was any kind of Prince Charming. But she had protected him anyway.

He had kept her, clothed her, allowed her as much time with her child as she wished, and then he had cared for her when she fell ill. He had protected her, too, in his way.

And Helene did not have it in her to do otherwise.

Or perhaps, she thought later, when she’d found her way back to her rooms with an armful of books so the staff could dress her for a dinner she had assumed she’d be taking on her own, that wasn’t the truth. Perhaps the truth was that she was a coward. That she had not wished to face her cousin’s reaction if she told Faith what had really happened.

Perhaps she was afraid that a marriage—or her marriage, at any rate—was a fragile thing. And that that telling others the truth of what happened inside it could tear it asunder.

But then she was marched through that previously locked door and down the hall into the King’s rooms to find herself in Gianluca’s private dining chamber. And she rather thought that if there was going to be any sundering, he would do it himself.

He greeted her with sharp, frigid courtesy, dismissed his staff, and then gazed at her as if she was a specimen beneath the microscope that had gone unexpectedly viral.

“I’ve spent the day considering my options,” he told her.

“That bodes well,” she replied, which was not the way she had been taught to handle such situations, but there was only so much she could be expected to do. She laced her fingers together in front of her, wishing she had pushed back a bit more when the women had selected the dress she was wearing. It was far too voluminous. It felt like another wedding gown all over again and even though it was certainly not a virginal white, it made her feel...

Well. Too many things and none she liked.

Gianluca stood there by the great windows that let the mountains in, staring at her, and she had the faint notion that if she took her seat he would take his as well, but she didn’t. She stared back at him, wondering where that man she thought she was getting to know had gone.

Or how he could read her so wrongly.

She supposed the silver lining in this was, the knot in the deepest part of her aside, that she couldn’t feel the sort of shame and horror she supposed she ought to, because it was that ridiculous. No man had ever touched her but him. Yet he believed she was as dissipated as the nefarious, likely made-up women the headmistress had always thundered at them to heed as terrible warnings.

Helene almost wished she really had been out there, sewing wild oats with abandon, if she was going to be punished for it either way.

“You have put me in a terrible position and I will never forgive you for it,” Gianluca said in that low, cold voice of his. And that might have been a body blow. If she was guilty. “If I divorce or annul you there is not only the fact that I would be forced to share the fact that you inadvertently made me break the law, I would break even more traditions by ruling while divorced. I would appear weak and easily fooled. None of these are options. We will concentrate on the things we can control. We will get you with child.”

Helene might actually have flinched. “Excuse me?”

Gianluca did not appear to notice her reaction. “This is what you promised me, Helene. Is it not bad enough that you lied about the part that is actually required by ancient law? Will you now cast aside every other vow you took as well? Will you attempt to undercut my reign with the scandals and tantrums that have sunk many other monarchies in these modern times?”

She could hardly breathe. “And if I do?”