her sovereign. They were certainly not the same man.
She swallowed hard and executed a small curtsey toward her mother. “Your Majesty.” She pivoted and did the same toward her brother. “Your Majesty. Is that all? May I be excused?”
Grantham’s jaw tightened. “You will not fight this?”
“How could I?” she said softly, even as her mind spun off in a dozen different directions trying to find a way to do just that. “May I be excused?” she repeated.
She could see him grinding his teeth, but he inclined his head. “Yes.”
She turned on her heel and exited the room, her hands shaking as she fled down the hallway to her own chamber. She rushed inside and slammed the door behind her, leaning on it with both hands as she tried to regain some semblance of control over her senses.
“Your Highness?”
She pivoted and found her companion, Sasha Killick, standing behind her, hands clasped and worry on her face. After the death of her parents when she was just a little girl, the royal family had taken her in and raised her alongside their own children. Not quite an equal. No, her father had required that. But Sasha was almost like Ilaria’s own sister, as well as her companion…and when situations required it…her body double. They looked alike enough from a distance to serve that purpose.
Today, though, she only saw her friend and rushed forward to grasp Sasha’s hands. “They are going to marry me off to some titled twit.”
“What?” Sasha gasped and drew her to the settee before the low fire.
Ilaria told her what had happened, perhaps with a little more flourish than was required, but she was being bartered with like a horse, for heaven’s sake. If there had ever been a time to be dramatic, this was it.
When it was all over, Sasha sat there, staring off into the fire, an inscrutable expression on her face. At last, she sighed. “I suppose we might have guessed this would happen. After all, royal marriages are very rarely for love or by choice of the particular parties. Look at your mother and father. They were a union to shore up alliances between Athawick and the kingdom of Everlay.”
“And two more miserable people you never could have met,” Ilaria sighed. “And this is what they wish for me. In these modern times.”
“I think you’re being a little silly, if you thought you would ever be truly in control of your future. You know that is not what your family is about.”
Ilaria bent her head. Sasha wasn’t wrong, of course. There were duties and expectations on her shoulders. There always had been. And yet somehow she had been able to ignore this possibility because her marriage had not been a topic of discussion since her father was alive. Grantham was such a different man from that cold, cruel bastard, she had hoped…
Well, it didn’t matter now.
There was a light knock on her door and she huffed out a breath. “Probably my mother come to scold me.”
Sasha squeezed her hand and then went to the door. But when she opened it, it was not the queen but Remi who leaned in her doorway.
“Sasha,” he said with a wink toward Sasha as he entered the room.
“Your Highness,” she returned as she closed the door behind him.
“Ugh, please don’t do that,” he said. “We’re practically brother and sister, and I hate it.”
“That’s why I do it,” Sasha teased. “And also because Blairford would blister my ears if he heard me being overly familiar.”
“That piece of shit,” Remi muttered as he flopped down on the settee next to Ilaria and slouched down.
“He looked so smug when he came to collect me,” Ilaria said with a roll of her eyes. “You know he was part of this grand plan.”
“Probably. He held the strings for Father and he’s not going to let go of them easily for our brother.” Remi shook his head. “Proximity to power is addictive, as we see every day.” He nudged her with his shoulder. “How are you holding up?”
“Terribly,” she said. “How about you?”
He laughed. “Me? I’m right as rain. They’re not marrying me off to a simpering British virgin with no wit.”
“You think not?” Ilaria said. “You’re the second in line for the throne now, Remi. You’re still in the crosshairs until Grantham finds a bride and produces a few heirs of his own to usurp you.”
He flinched. “Christ, I hadn’t thought of that.”
“Well, you should,” Ilaria grumbled. “If only so I don’t have to