Royal Desire(8)

Jasper masks a fleeting expression of disdain. I have to suppress a laugh.

“I’m OK with it,” I say.

Alex leans over the table to kiss me in front of Jasper, who takes his cue and makes a hurried and quite disgusted exit.





4





Jasper is indeed right. Unpleasant things have to be done.

I can’t help but wait anxiously for Alex’s return. He made a day trip to Nuernberg to seek an audience with the Duke and Tatiana. I’m all pins and needles. I picture Tatiana being distraught, the Duke refusing to allow the breakup. I imagine the Duke threatening to go to war! I mean, Germany went to war with Austria over a very trivial issue, right? What’s to stop Nuernberg from going to war with Moldavia?

Do those two nations even have armies?

When Alex finally comes home, I rush into his arms. He’s bone weary and he sinks down with me onto the bed.

“How did it go?” I ask lightly, not wanting to let him know how worried I was.

He sighs. “Not good. The Duke did not take it well at all. Tatiana, on the other hand, was uncommonly calm. For her, I mean.”

That does not sound good.

“Will everything be OK?” Anxiety swarms my voice.

“I hope so,” he says, kissing me and pushing me onto the bed. “I’m tired, but I still have a raging hard-on every time I look at you.”

I laugh despite my reservations about the situation. As he begins to tease the warm folds of my pussy, my restless mind wanders to how I can take matters in my own hands.





*





I text Tatiana:





'PLEASE MEET ME TOMORROW AT 2.30 PM. A CAR WILL BE WAITING AT YOUR PALACE ENTRANCE. WE HAVE MUCH TO TALK ABOUT. DO NOT LET ALEX KNOW YOU ARE MEETING ME.’#p#分页标题#e#





OK, I’m a stickler for déjà vu.

I get one of the drivers to take me in a limo to Nuernberg. In a reversal of events, I wait for Tatiana in the backseat. She’s right on time. She moves in gracefully beside me as I depress the button that shields the backseat passengers from the driver. She wears a sharp suit today – cerise jacket and skirt with black zigzag embellishments. Tatiana can pull any dress off.

She regards me with her bemused eyes.

“Turning the tables on me?” she says wryly. “You’ve won, you know. No need to rub it in.”

I clasp my hands. I’m nervous. “No, it’s not like that. I’m not here to gloat. I’ll never do that to you, or to anyone.”

She raises her eyebrows.

I say, “How are you, Tatiana?”

She does look different. Her shoulders are not as poised and a stray hair has escaped her usually impeccable coiffure. The sides of her mouth are creased. There are extra patches of concealer buried beneath her eyes, suggesting that she has not been sleeping well or looking after herself in the usual flawless manner.

My chest contracts. In this kind of war, there can only be one victor. I remember the state I was in when I left Alex for the first time. I was pretty depressed. It’s remarkable that Tatiana even managed to get out of bed and dress for me.

“As well as I can be, under the circumstances,” she says.

“I heard your father is really upset.”

“It’s a slap in the face for him. My engagement to Alex was a very public announcement after all.”

“Is your father . . . treating you OK?” I don’t know how royal fathers act towards their daughters, but suddenly, I am worried for Tatiana.

She smiles. “He hasn’t hit me, if that’s what you are implying. But he’s disappointed in me. He has always wanted a son, and this incident does not sit well with him. It’s an affirmation of his belief that daughters are and will continue to be disappointments to his lineage.”

“But it’s not your fault.”

“He insists it is. If I had been more persuasive with Alex . . . more beguiling, more giving.” Tatiana’s shadowed eyes flit away.

I feel really, really bad, but we are not close enough for me to reach out and clasp her hand. I’m not sure she would welcome my comfort either – I who have stolen away the love of her life.

“He thinks I should have been more ruthless,” Tatiana continues.

“How?”

She shakes her head. “There are things some royals do that never see print. You don’t want to know what they are capable of.”

Her eyes regard me again, and I suddenly feel a cold shiver slide down my spine.

She says, “Don’t worry. I’m not going to have you murdered.”

A smile ghosts her lips.

The thought of her hiring someone to kill me has never crossed my mind, and now she is suggesting that it should. Oh God. What am I playing with? Surely things like these don’t happen these days? With my heart thudding, I remember Princess Diana’s fatal crash in the French tunnel when she was with her lover.