Royal Babies. Cat Schield

showed them into the private dining room, where a beautifully decorated table laid with snowy white linen held fluted glassware, gleaming cutlery and a simple table decoration composed of an arrangement of glorious white roses.

      Sunita looked at them, and then at Nikhil, and a lump formed in her throat. White roses had been her mother’s favourite flower—her trademark accessory—and as the scent reached her nostrils she closed her eyes for a second. ‘Thank you, Nikhil.’

      The manager gave a small bow. ‘You are very welcome. Now, both of you enjoy the food. I believe our chef has excelled himself. And I guarantee you complete privacy.’

      With one more beaming smile, he left, closing the door behind him.

      ‘I’m sorry about your mother,’ Frederick said.

      ‘Thank you.’

      ‘She isn’t mentioned in any articles about you except April’s most recent one. None of your family is.’

      ‘No. They aren’t.’

      And that was the way it would stay—she would love to remember her mother more publicly, but to do that would risk questions about her father, and she’d severed her ties with him years before—the man who’d abandoned her before birth and then reappeared in her life only to make it thoroughly miserable.

      ‘Anyway, we aren’t here to speak of my family.’ He raised an eyebrow and she bit her lip. ‘I mean, we are here to discuss Amil’s future.’

      ‘We are. But first shall we help ourselves to food?’

      She nodded. No way could she hurt Nikhil’s feelings, but she sensed there was more to Frederick’s suggestion than that. It was almost as if he were stalling, giving himself time to prepare, and a sense of foreboding prickled her skin—one she did her best to shake off as she made a selection from the incredible dishes displayed on the table.

      There was a tantalising array of dumplings with descriptions written in beautiful calligraphy next to each platter—prawn and chive, shanghai chicken, pak choi... Next to them lay main courses that made her mouth water—Szechuan clay pot chicken, salmon in Assam sauce, ginger fried rice...

      The smell itself was enough to allay her fears, and she reminded herself that Frederick had a country to run—other fish to fry, so to speak. Surely the most he would want would be to contribute to Amil’s upkeep and see him a few times a year. That would work—that would be more than enough.

      Once they were seated, she took a deep breath. ‘Before we start this discussion you need to know that I will not agree to anything that feels wrong for Amil. He is my priority here and if you try to take him away from me I will fight you with my last dying breath. I just want that out there.’

      There was something almost speculative in his gaze, alongside a steely determination that matched her own. ‘Amil is my priority too—and that means I will be a real part of his life. That is non-negotiable. I just want that out there.’

      ‘Fine. But what does that mean?’

      ‘I’m glad you asked that, because I’ve given this some thought and I know what I believe is best for Amil’s future.’

      The smoothness of his voice alerted Sunita’s anxiety. The presentiment of doom returned and this time her very bones knew it was justified. Spearing a dumpling with an effort at nonchalance, she waved her fork in the air.

      ‘Why don’t you tell me what you have in mind?’

      His hazel eyes met hers, his face neutral. ‘I want you to marry me.’

       CHAPTER FIVE

      ‘MARRY YOU?’ SUITA STARED at him, flabberghasted. ‘That’s a joke, right?’

      It must be his opening bid in negotiations designed to throw her into a state of incoherence. If so, he’d slammed the nail on the head.

      ‘No joke. Trust me, marriage isn’t a topic I’d kid about. It’s a genuine proposal—I’ve thought it through.’

      ‘When? In the past few hours? Are you certifiably nuts?’

      ‘This makes sense.’

      ‘How? There is no universe where this makes even a particle of a molecule of sense.’

      ‘This is what is best for Amil—best for our son.’

      ‘No, it isn’t. Not in this day and age. You cannot play the let’s-get-together-for-our-child’s-sake card.’

      That was the stuff of fairy tales, and she was damned sure that her mother had been right about those being a crock of manure.

      ‘Yes, I can. In the circumstances.’

      ‘What circumstances?’ Her fogged brain attempted to illuminate a pathway to understanding and failed.

      ‘If you marry me Amil will become Crown Prince of Lycander after me. If you don’t, he won’t.’

      The words took the wind out of the sails of incredulity. Of course. Duh! But the idea that Frederick would marry her to legitimise Amil hadn’t even tiptoed across her mind. The whole concept of her baby one day ruling a principality seemed surreal, and right now she needed to cling onto reality.

      ‘We can’t get married to give Amil a crown.’

      ‘But we can get married so that we don’t deprive him of one.’

      ‘Semantics.’ Think. ‘He won’t feel deprived of something he never expected to have.’ Would he? ‘Amil will grow up knowing...’

      Her voice trailed off. Knowing what? That if his mother had agreed to marry his father he would have been a prince, a ruler, rather than a prince’s illegitimate love-child.

      ‘Knowing that he can be whatever he wants to be,’ she concluded.

      ‘As long as what he wants to be isn’t Ruler of Lycander.’

      Panic stole over her, wrapped her in tentacles of anxiety. ‘You are putting me in an impossible position. You are asking me to decide Amil’s entire future. To make decisions on his behalf.’

      ‘No. I am suggesting we make this decision together. I believe this is the best course of action for Amil. If you think otherwise then convince me.’

      ‘He may not want to be pushed into a pre-ordained future—may not want to be a ruler. Why would we burden him with the weight of duty, with all the rules and obligations that come with it?’

      ‘Because it is his right to rule. Just as it was my brother’s.’

      His voice was even, but she saw the shadows chase across his eyes, sensed the pain the words brought.

      ‘Axel wanted to rule—he believed in his destiny.’

      ‘So you believe this is Amil’s destiny?’ Sunita shook her head. ‘It’s too abstract. We make our own destiny and Amil will make his, whatever we decide to do. I want to make the decision that is best for his wellbeing and happiness—you don’t need a crown for either.’

      ‘This isn’t about need—this is about his birthright. As my first born son he has the right to inherit the Lycander crown.’

      ‘Even though he was born out of wedlock?’

      It was the phrase her grandmother had used to describe Sunita’s birth, to try and explain why her husband had thrown their pregnant daughter out.

      ‘I know it is hard to understand in this day and age, Sunita, but in our family a mixed race child, born out of wedlock, was a stigma. It wasn’t right, but it was how my husband felt.’

      A feeling shared by others. Sunita could still feel the sting of the taunts her half-siblings had flung at her—nasty, insidious words that had clawed at