Weight of the Crown (17 page)

‘What’s the matter? Have you got a pain?’ Ra’id stopped bouncing and looked almost as stricken as Alyssa felt.

‘Yes,’ she said.

But she didn’t tell him that pain was called Lysander Kahani.

T
HERE
was no escape. From that moment on, Combe House was filled with talk about the forthcoming royal wedding. The newspapers seemed to know more than the staff did, so each morning a copy of every title was brought in. Everyone but Alyssa pored over them to discover the latest rumours. The ceremony was going to be held in the vast chapel at the Rose Palace in Rosara. All the talk was of which royal families and TV celebrities would be invited, what they would eat and which designer would be dressing the bride. Ra’id was so excited at the thought of his uncle Ly getting married, he talked about it non-stop. Egged on by the footmen, he decided he would be the official ring-bearer. His happy chatter wrecked every second of every day for Alyssa—until someone showed him the official photographs of his parents’ wedding. Ra’id took one look at the lace encrusted, Rosari court dress their little pageboys had been forced to wear, and went strangely quiet.

Once he discovered how he would be dressed for the big occasion, Alyssa had no more trouble with Ra’id. He had spent hours trampling over her feelings and nagging to be involved. Now he couldn’t wait to
retreat with her to the spa wing. He didn’t mention either Lysander, or the wedding, again.

Alyssa had to cope with his disappointment while keeping her own agony locked deep in her heart. Letting Ra’id fool around in the ball pit, she tried to drown her own sorrows in the warm, rose-perfumed waters of the Combe House pool. Whatever was happening back in Rosara, Lysander didn’t want her any more. That simple fact drained all the life and hope out of her. She had never known a pain like it. What she was forced to endure now showed up her old heartbreak for what it was—a fuss over nothing but vanity. When Jerry had admitted his affair, she had felt viciously cheated of her big day and the happy ever after she assumed was her right—but that was all. She could see it now. Losing Jerry hadn’t been the cause of all her anguish. Any feelings she might have had for him had shrivelled and died on the day he had told her to pull herself together after Georgie died. She deserved better, but looking back now she could see why Jerry had strayed. They had both been playing parts: hard-working professionals planning a safe, predictable future like all their so-called friends. It had been Alyssa’s shattered dreams and damaged pride that had hurt the most. Jerry had almost been an optional extra in her plans for the perfect wedding.

The way she felt about Lysander had nothing to do with promises and party favours. She had known from the start he would have no interest in either, but for a little while he had been kind, and funny, and a spectacular lover. She had ignored all the pointers in his
past and her own experience, and now she was paying the price. What more could she expect?

Despite everything, she found herself worrying as well as hurting. Whatever else he might have done, Lysander had listened, and comforted her. His own very special brand of kindness was impossible to forget. He had led a charmed life so far, but there was still a chance his luck would run out before he got back from his mission to the mountains. Alyssa couldn’t bear to think of him being injured or killed. She knew she shouldn’t care, but she did.

If he could seduce her while knowing about the plans for his arranged marriage, he must think she wasn’t good enough for anything more than a bit part in his life. It hurt—but, thinking about it, she realised her parents and Jerry must have thought about her in much the same way.

It was a turning point. She had got over those disappointments. It felt as though she would
never
get over this, but there was one thing she could do to start on the road to recovery. If Lysander came back expecting to take up where he’d left off, he’d be out of luck. Alyssa’s recent experiences had made her damned sure of one thing—she was too good to be nothing more than a mistress to him, and if she got the chance she wouldn’t be afraid to say so.

The sound of an approaching microlight cut through her pain like a buzz saw. Rousing herself, she waded to the side of the pool. Ra’id always liked to be called out to see anything like that. As she climbed the steps a two-man machine swept low and slow over the trees surrounding Combe House. It swung around like an
irritating horsefly, getting lower with every circuit. Alyssa was already angry and upset. She thought things couldn’t possibly get worse—until she heard one of the riders call out to her. She looked up, and saw a long lens.

She ran to the ball pit to keep Ra’id inside the spa, but the damage was done. There could be only one reason why the press were buzzing Combe House. They had run out of rumours about the royal wedding and now needed to dig deeper for their daily fix. Everyone’s life would be made a misery in the search for pictures and stories.

Especially mine
, she thought with a chill of dread. Once the paparazzi arrived at a scene, everyone was fair game. The media feeding frenzy surrounding the Kahani wedding would need to be stoked every day. If there were no fresh details about the bride or groom, the circle would widen. Sooner or later, a slow news day would throw up Alyssa’s name, and her part in Georgie’s tragedy. It would be filed as a ‘human interest’ story, without any humanity at all. Her past pain would be raked over again, trapping her in a hell of her own making.

Lysander had proved he was the only one who could free her from that—and he was getting ready to marry someone else.

The succulent image of Alyssa in her sleek green swimming costume was a gift to the press. It went around the world in moments. Lysander, still deep in political arrangements, eyes tired from endless diplomatic discussions
and smothered in yards of royal red tape, saw it and felt something break inside him.

Akil had nagged him for years about changing his wild ways. Lysander had never listened, and now he was glad he hadn’t. It had taken only one night with Alyssa to upset his carefully crafted public image, and make him consider something beyond his body’s prime reactions. Akil hadn’t managed that in a lifetime of moaning. Lysander had been perfectly happy enjoying himself, with no thought for anybody else. There hadn’t been room in his busy social life for conventional things like a wife and family. Considerations like that were for other people, not him.

Then Alyssa had walked into his life, and sent his perfectly regulated life haywire. In the long, restless hours since he’d abandoned her, he’d come to a decision. A lot had to change—and his own attitude was top of the list. Alyssa thought he cared more about his image than anything else. That might have been true before they met, but things had moved on for both of them since then.

At first Lysander had found the idea of ruling anything, much less a whole country, a bleak and lonely prospect. Watching Alyssa dealing with Ra’id had changed his thinking. He saw there must be give and take, but within limits. His head was beginning to tell him that being a royal needed two people who liked to be involved with others while staying aloof from them, and didn’t mind hard work or long hours. His heart filled with the warm glow of certainty as he thought of the only person he needed and wanted to fill that special place by his side.

One sleepless night later, he had everything straight in his mind. When all the official communiqués were drafted and sent, and all the phone calls fielded, he called a press conference. He had never cared about what the media said about him in the past, but that was before he became the undisputed ruler of Rosara, until Ra’id came of age. It wasn’t simply his own feelings he had to think about now. He needed to put on a good act for everybody today, and a spectacular show for the only person who really mattered to him.

When the meeting was all over, Lysander pumped the rebel leader’s hand for the last time and walked away. He had achieved nearly all his objectives. Ra’id was safe from idiot rebel attack now the people of Rosara had a strong leader. Lysander was in command, and everyone was on his side. From this moment on he could go where he liked, and do what he wanted. Everything was within his power, but somewhere along the line glamorous bars and nightclubs had lost their appeal. When he looked back on his old life, it felt so shallow and incomplete. Happy it was behind him now, he didn’t want to waste time wondering why or when he had started to think differently. A vital part of his future was missing, and he was going back to England to reclaim it.

Commandeering the nearest vehicle, he set off to find Alyssa.

The past week had been one of the worst of Alyssa’s life, but it was about to be eclipsed in spectacular fashion. It was late. Time and again over the past few days she had tried to put away the memory of Lysander and
his moonlit kisses, but it was no good. Nothing she could do was a big enough distraction to obliterate thoughts of him. They were fixed in her mind like a full-colour, life-sized photograph of the event. Right now she was standing in the shower, but torrents of water could not wash away the contrast between her paradise then, and her living hell now. Lysander’s disdain for her must be ice-cold. It was a side of him he had kept hidden with soft words and careful promises while they were together, but he’d more than made up for it since then.

She came out of the bathroom still towelling her hair dry. Keying commands into a remote-control handset, she plunged her living room into darkness and sent its heavy velvet drapes scurrying apart. She was tired, and would normally have walked straight through to her bedroom. Tonight, though, something made her hesitate. She went over and looked out of the window instead.

Combe House was so isolated, the countryside outside was completely black. All that gloom beyond the windows reflected Alyssa’s feelings exactly. She stared into it until her eyes became accustomed to the dark, and she could make out shapes on the horizon. The pillowy silhouettes of oak trees to the east would soon show some hope of morning. As she watched she noticed a single point of light in the distance. She couldn’t see any other stars, and wondered if it was a planet—Venus, maybe. That was supposed to be the morning star, after all. She couldn’t find it in her heart to really care. She wondered again how she could have wasted so much time grieving for the broken engagement that had
brought her here in the first place. That pain had been nothing, compared to the agony of losing Lysander.

The trauma of seeing him with another woman would be too much, but she would never be able to avoid it. She couldn’t hand in her notice—she had to stay here and care for Ra’id. What would happen to him if she resigned? It wasn’t only her conscience talking, it was her heart. She really loved the little boy, and this Princess Peronelle hadn’t treated him very well the first time they’d met. That was unlikely to change when she became Queen of Rosara, or, as Alyssa already thought of her, the Wicked Stepmother.

Letting her imagination sweep her away, Alyssa sighed. She picked up the pieces of shattered childhood dreams often enough in her line of work. Prissy Princess Peronelle would be all over Prince Lysander, leaving him no time for Ra’id. A woman like that might employ any kind of help, just to keep the little boy out of the happy couple’s way. Alyssa shuddered every time she thought about what it could be like. At the very least, she’d have to wait and see whether the Wicked Stepmother really lived up to her name. Worst of all, the idea of betraying Lysander’s trust in her held her captive. He had admired her attitude and her work before they slept together, and he had always wanted the best nanny in the world to look after his nephew. Lysander’s high opinion of her work was something that would never change. She didn’t want to destroy those feelings in him by nailing her broken heart to her sleeve. At the first sign of snivelling he would lose all respect for her, and she would feel the same way about herself.

As she dredged through all her unhappy thoughts
the distant bright light played hide and seek among the trees. Soon, it didn’t seem so far away. She opened the French doors to get a better look and the sound of a low-flying plane flickered through the air. It grew louder, focused on that single bright point.

Suddenly Combe House burst into life. Every security light on the estate blazed. The plane swung around to approach the estate’s private landing strip. As it slid sideways through the floodlight beams the royal blue and yellow crest of Rosara on its side told everyone that this wasn’t a drill. It was the real thing. The Prince Regent had arrived.

Transfixed, Alyssa stood and watched the plane disappear beyond the lime trees in front of the house. Lysander was here at last. The urge to rush out, throw herself into his arms and thank him for getting back safely almost overwhelmed her. Only self-respect held her back. She had broken down in front of him once before, and look where
that
had led … Gripping the window sill, she felt her palms dampen. With a snort of derision she dragged the curtains closed again and snapped on the light. The dazzle made her see sense. There could be any number of reasons why a plane of the king’s air fleet might drop in. Lysander didn’t have to be on-board. He had no reason to come here in person any more, when he could be lording it in the Rose Palace like every previous King of Rosara. He would have too much to do, preparing his stunning home for Princess Peronelle.

She shut her eyes. Her fury couldn’t sustain itself when she was running on empty. For six days she had
put on a brave face. Now all she wanted to do was crawl into bed, pull the covers over her head and stay there.

She didn’t get as far as her bedroom. A thunderous rapping on the door of her apartment rattled her nerves as hard as it shook the windows.

‘Alyssa?’

It was him. Lysander.

She thought about running into her room and locking the door. That wouldn’t work. He sounded in a mood to come straight after her and, in any case, Alyssa suddenly realised she didn’t want to run away. Facing him with what he had done to her and how he had betrayed her was the only way to fix this. All the rage fermenting inside her bubbled to the surface and wouldn’t let her retreat. She marched over to the door and flung it open.