Virgin Princess's Marriage Debt / Demanding His Desert Queen. Annie West

over their guests.

      ‘Your governance is modelled on the British system.’

      Sofia shrugged a nonchalant shoulder. ‘It worked for them.’

      Theo inclined his head in agreement.

      Sofia drew a deep breath, reluctantly steeling herself. ‘It’s time to see the king.’

      She felt rather than saw Theo sweep his gaze across the crowded room. ‘He’s talking to someone—let’s have a drink.’

      Sofia pressed down on her panic. Her father had been here for fifteen minutes already and she didn’t know how long he’d be able to continue before an episode began.

      ‘Theo, please.’ Whether it was the tone in her voice, or the fact her small hand had reached out to his, punctuating the request with a slight trace of desperation, she didn’t know, but a low lean of his head gave his agreement.

      Her mother met their approach with something like the same relief that Sofia felt. The moment this was done, protocol was met, her mother and father could return to the privacy of their suites.

      ‘Your Majesty,’ Sofia called to her father, instantly checking his eyes for signs of clarity or confusion, ready to whisk Theo away should the latter be the case. Her father took in the sight of her, assessment shining in his eyes. It gave nothing else away.

      ‘Mother,’ she said, pressing a kiss to each of her delicate cheeks.

      ‘Father, may I present Theo Tersi,’ she said, stepping slightly to the side, and suddenly overwhelmed with the fear that Theo would do or say something wrong.

      ‘Your Majesty,’ Theo said with a bow from his lean neck, drawing to his full height as each man assessed the other.

      Her father cut her a glance, one that took her immediately back to ten years before. Anger, a slight trace of confusion, marred the older man’s frowning brow. Sofia bit back a curse. They had waited too long.

      ‘I told you,’ he growled, ‘that you could not…’ He trailed off for just a moment, giving her the only opening she knew she’d get. She remembered those words, too, from that night all those years ago. Was that where her father was in his mind? She forced a smile to her face, hoping that if she and her mother could maintain the farce, they might just get through this.

      ‘That I could not find a better man. I know, Papa.’ Not waiting for any further act that might give away his deterioration, she pressed kisses to each of his cheeks. Surprise and brief happiness shone in her father’s eyes, warming the cool place of sadness in her heart. ‘He’s perfect, Papa,’ she said, turning to Theo, whose quick mind must have already picked up that something wasn’t quite right. ‘And makes me truly happy.’ As she said the words, she felt the now familiar sting of tears pressing against her eyes.

      She saw her mother squeeze her father’s arm in a gesture both comforting and grounding.

      ‘I’m glad that you found each other again. It’s good. It’s right,’ he declared finally and the breath that had been held universally across the ballroom was exhaled by all the guests.

      Theo bowed once again at the older man before they exchanged a strong handshake, Theo holding it for perhaps just a moment longer than required.

      Released from duty, Sofia had turned, pulling Theo with her, when her father called her back.

      She leaned towards her father to hear his whispered words.

      ‘En garde, Sofia. En garde.’

      She nodded, feeling his words more truthful than any she’d heard him speak in the last five years. For just a moment she felt that her father was back, with her, protecting her and caring for her. Until she heard his next whispered words.

      ‘And watch out for the German parachutist. Do not speak to him!’

      Without having to look at her mother, who was the only other person to hear the king’s incoherent warning, she replied, ‘I will, Papa. I will.’

      Theo had imagined meeting Sofia’s parents many times, under many different circumstances. Ten years ago, he had not thought for a second that she was a royal in disguise. Nothing of what she had told him about her family had indicated any such thing. As an only child, like him, she had spoken of finding ways to amuse herself, spending hours delving into imaginary worlds within books, or running through gardens and woods. He had picked through each and every one of her words since he’d discovered that she was a princess—but, as with all good lies, much of it must have been taken from some thread of the truth. But the exchange with her father was…not what he’d expected.

      He hadn’t missed the moment of panic shared by the two women, mother and daughter, at the way the king’s words hadn’t quite fitted the situation. And, though he hadn’t heard the last exchange, Theo hadn’t missed the raw vulnerability in Sofia’s eyes when she had proclaimed her happiness and his perfection.

      Were they worried that the older man would rile against his common birth? Was her father furious that she was to wed a commoner? Theo had met much discrimination over the years, for various different reasons. He knew what it looked like, felt like and tasted like. And the king? He was not happy.

      But he’d said ‘again’. He was glad they’d found each other again. Which seemed to indicate that he knew about their relationship in the past, which confused him. He’d been convinced that she had kept him her dirty little secret, but—

      ‘Whisky? We will toast with champagne, but if you wanted…’

      His dark look at her must have thrown her as her words trailed off. Her eyes were overly bright, her words just a little too quick. What was going on? A slight noise behind him drew his gaze to see the retreating figures of the king and queen, discreetly spirited away through a side exit. And once again anger whipped through him.

      ‘Your father isn’t sticking around for the toast, then?’ he couldn’t help but bite out. Couldn’t help but be transported back to a time when all he’d wondered was why his own father hadn’t stuck around. Couldn’t help but remember the way his family had treated his mother and himself because of it. Heat and hurt scorched him in an instant.

      ‘No. He couldn’t.’ Before the growl could escape his lips, she pressed on. ‘He’s been…working hard and is tired.’

      He was used to reflecting that every single word from her mouth was a lie, but this was different. There was the ring of truth in what she said, but there was also a shimmer of falsehood there too or, if not, then evasion distracting him from his reflections on the past.

      The toast was given to them by a man he’d never seen before, but was probably a whole lot more appropriate than what Sebastian might have said to a room full of royals. He felt Maria’s gaze on him throughout the evening, and not for the first time wondered whether if it might have been better to have let her believe the falsehood he was weaving through the night. She was young and impressionable and wholly overprotected by her brother.

      Within an hour Theo was surprised to find himself on the verge of exhaustion. As a successful businessman and vintner, he was used to heading up million-dollar business meetings, but this constant diplomacy was tiring, yet Sofia showed no signs of fatigue, her fake smile—for he knew it to be fake—was undimmed and as fresh as the first one she had offered.

      ‘Little Sofia,’ said an older man with shocking white hair and a broad purple sash spotted with medals and pins that proclaimed his importance. He felt Sofia bristle beside him at the patronising appellation. Unconsciously his protective instincts rose, and he drew to his full height.

      ‘Theo Tersi,’ he said, stretching out his hand to sever whatever connection had sprung between his fiancé and the older man.

      ‘Georges de Fontagne.’

      ‘Monsieur