Page 25 of A Throne for the Taking

And that was how he wanted it. Wanted her warm and willing as       she had been all night and every night since then. So much so that his body       still pulsed at the memory, the burn of hunger not subdued even by the ache of       appeasement.

But surely something that burned so white hot inevitably risked       burning itself out? How long would this last and when it did end what did they       have to put in its place? He had told himself that this was the only way to keep       her safe. To marry her for now and then later—when it no longer mattered—he       would let her go.

When it no longer mattered? How could it no longer matter? He       had come alive, had lived in a new degree of intensity in the past weeks. How       could something that felt this way ever fade into nothingness?

But would he ever be justified in keeping her here with him       like this? He might call her father a bully but wasn’t he trapping her into       marriage just as much as Gregor had wanted to do? She had never wanted to be       queen, just as he had never wanted to be king. Together they had built a way to       take Mecjoria into a peaceful and prosperous future. But would that be enough to       create their own futures?

If it wasn’t then he’d have to set her free. But not yet. He       couldn’t let her go yet.

‘We make a good team. But I’m not a monster—I won’t force you       to stay in this marriage for ever.’

The abrupt change of subject caught Ria unaware. One moment she       had felt that they had moved to a new understanding, then this had come out of       nowhere. Just as she had thought they had been celebrating a new beginning, it       seemed that Alexei had already been thinking of the prospect of an end. She       supposed she should have expected it. But the real horror was in the way he said       it, as if he was offering her something worthwhile. Something that he believed       she wanted.

‘We could set a limit on the time it has to last,’ Alexei       stated flatly. ‘Two years—three.’

Not a life sentence, then. She should feel relieved. Three       weeks ago that was what she would have felt. It would have been a relief to her       then to know that she hadn’t signed her life away in this heartless marriage of       convenience. But relief was not the emotion flooding through her now at the       thought of a very limited future with this man. The terrible, tearing sense of       loss threatened to rip her heart to pieces. She felt the blood drain down from       her cheeks and she was sure that she must look as if she had seen a ghost. The       ghost of her hopes and dreams. Dreams she had barely yet acknowledged to herself       existed.

‘I would give you a generous divorce settlement, of       course.’

‘Of course,’ Ria echoed cynically. ‘Once you have been king for       a decent amount of time.’

‘For which I will have you to thank.’

Again there was the sting of knowing that he meant it as a       compliment. Because really he hadn’t needed her in the end.

‘You’ve won your own place in the hearts of the country. Surely       you could see that yesterday?’

‘Your help has been invaluable.’ He was addressing her like he       was at a public meeting. As if she was one of the ministers of state he had been       spending so much time with of late. ‘I knew you would make a perfect queen.’

‘But only for a strictly limited time.’ It was impossible to       keep the bitterness from her voice. ‘So perhaps we’d better really discuss the       precise terms of this arrangement before we go any further? I’m to—what...?’

Sitting up in bed pulling the covers up around her because she       felt too vulnerable otherwise, she checked off the points on the fingers of one       hand.

‘To be your fiancée, create the image of that fairy-tale       romance, appear at your side in public, warm your bed in private. Marry       you—provide you with an heir... No?’

His reaction had startled her. Shocked her. It was as if a       sheet of ice had come down into the room, cutting them off from each other and       freezing all the air in the room.

An heir. Of course she had known       that was a touchy subject. But that had been when she had been concentrating on       the future of Mecjoria. Now she had let herself think about his past, about the       way he had fathered a child already, only to neglect the tiny girl who had died       so tragically. He hadn’t even tried to deny it when she had raised the       accusation.

Why should I deny the facts when the world           and his wife know what happened? And no one would believe a word that’s           different. The memory of the bitter words made her flinch inside, her       stomach lurching nauseously.

An heir. Alexei felt as if someone       had reached inside his heart and ripped away the dressing he had thought he had       slapped on there to protect it, revealing a wound that hadn’t really healed but       was still raw and vulnerable. A wound that he had been trying to ignore ever       since that night that Ria had come to his room. The night that he had       thoughtlessly made love to her without using a condom, breaking the number-one       rule by which he’d lived his life since Belle had died.

And now this. Now with that one short word she had forced him       to face what he had been pushing to the back of his mind, focussing his       attention on the duties of being a king—the public duties—while ignoring the one       private element that would always be there, needing to be considered for the       future.

Ria had put her finger unerringly on it, dragged it out of the       darkened corner to which he’d confined it, brought it kicking and screaming into       the light—and it couldn’t have come at a worse time.

He’d slept badly. Dark dreams had plagued his night. And it was       with Ria’s words that he had understood why. Yesterday had been a triumph. He       knew there was no other word for it. But then there had been the small boy who       had wanted his attention.

His heart kicked hard as he remembered the tug on his trousers,       barely at calf level. He’d looked down into a pair of wide blue eyes, seen the       curly fair hair, the gap-toothed grin. The impulse to pick the child up had been       instant and spontaneous. The feel of that strong, compact little body in his       arms had been nothing at all like the tiny, fragile speck of life that Belle had       been but in a way that had been so much worse. It had hit home so hard with all       the might-have-beens that he’d struggled with, forced him to look down into the       dark chasm that he’d thought he’d put a lid on once and for all. The chasm he       knew he was going to have to open up again someday or fail in his duty to       Mecjoria.

Because how could he be a true king if he left the country       without an heir for the future? That would mean that all this—that Ria’s       sacrifice—would be for nothing. The country needed an heir. Poor child with him       as its father. But with Ria as its mother...

But how could he ever hope to follow through his resolution to       let Ria go if he had made her pregnant?

‘This will be a real marriage. In all possible ways. Of       course.’ It was flat and unemotional, the dangerous truth hidden behind       blanked-off eyes. ‘What else had you expected? That was what would have happened       with Ivan. Wasn’t it?’

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