Their Christmas Royal Wedding. Nina Milne

aside for her. The impact on the whole family she had wanted so badly and already loved brought her disquiet. Along with an overwhelming fear that she couldn’t do it; couldn’t be the fair, just, wise ruler Casavalle deserved.

      She didn’t even know how to look the part. That was why sleep eluded her, held ransom by her nerves—because in mere hours that evening it was her Presentation Ball and the very idea caused her insides to curl in sheer horror. Because it was imperative she pull this off.

      For the good of both Casavalle and Aguilarez, she had to win people over to her cause, try to stem the after-effects of the scandals that rippled the country and caused unrest. But that meant she had to face all the dignitaries, her every movement scrutinised both at home and abroad. Had to face the Royal family of Asturias, including the formidable Prince Cesar, who, rumour had it, was less than pleased at being recalled home from his ambassadorial duties.

      Sometimes it felt that simply by existing she was causing so very many problems. Life for both royal houses would have been easier if she hadn’t found out the truth. The feeling horribly familiar—as a child she had known her aunt’s and uncle’s lives would have been easier, happier without having been burdened with Gabi. Peter and Bea had been an elderly childless couple, who had been unexpectedly landed with Gabi. And now Gabi had landed in Maria’s... Luca’s... Antonio’s lives, had upended their lives just as much as she had Peter’s and Bea’s.

      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