Page 46 of Crowned for His Son

Bells pealed from the basilica with the precision of a Swiss watch the second Eden stepped out of the exquisite four-horse-drawn royal carriage, and the soaring of meticulously trained white-tailed eagles overhead in salute drew a roar and thunderous cheers from the gathered throng who were throwing themselves wholeheartedly into the day that had been declared a holiday kingdom-wide.

Since her father would never figure in her wedding plans, or in her future, and the King was too feeble to walk her down the aisle, Azar’s uncle—a rather stern-faced bishop—had been chosen for the task.

Eden was partly glad she didn’t need to make conversation with him, and partly sad for the absence of any support for a jittery bride—especially one thrown into such extreme circumstances as she. Especially after her mother had eventually admitted, after much prodding, that she’d been newly released from rehab and, on her counsellor’s advice, wouldn’t attend. News the palace had scrambled to hide, and Eden had shed silent tears over.

Enough of that—woman up!

Long, deep breaths as they reached the imposing doors of the basilica calmed her a little. Enough to steep herself in the moment, pushing away thoughts of what her future with Azar would be like.

She’d made this decision with her head, so even if her heart seemed inexplicably to be ramming itself against the fortifications she’d thrown up to protect it, so be it.

The staggering number of dignitaries, heads of nations and celebrities had been one thing when they’d been mere names on a list—seeing them in person lent even more gravity to the occasion.

Queen Fabiana sat ramrod-straight in her barely contained disapproval, her nose in the air, while a slightly improved King Alfonso and Max sat next to each other, their heads together in whispered conversation that made the old man smile. The press release about his existence—coupled with that uncanny picture of Azar as Max’s age—had been a stroke of genius that had had the kingdom instantly falling in love with her son.

But, as always, her gaze was compelled to the imposing figure poised at the altar, flanked by his half-brothers. The multi-hued sunlight streaming through the basilica windows fell dramatically upon him, casting his dark bronze hair, his profile and his whole body in a celestial glow she would have thought was photoshopped if she hadn’t been staring at the real-life, jaw-dropping thing.

Against the protocol drummed into them during their wedding rehearsals, he had turned to watch her progress with an interest that bordered on rabid. Those eyes connected with hers through the filmy veil, and the weak-kneed, shivery sensation that jolted through her body almost made her stumble. In that moment she was grateful for the bishop’s arm, but even that grew insubstantial when she finally arrived and Azar held out his hand.

Imperious. Possessive.

No hope for escape.

She stepped up to him and… Was it a trick of the light, or did he exhale in what looked like relief?

But the almost arrogant possessiveness in his gaze when it slid over her told her it had all been in her mind.

Again discarding protocol, he seized her hand, lifted it to his lips and rasped,‘Eres diosa de la belleza.’

Half a dozen of the two dozen knots inside her eased. And while she didn’t entirely understand his words, she caughtgoddessandbeautyand greedily let their confidence boost wash over her, grateful for one right, if superficial, thing.

And perhaps it was that possessive streak that kept his hand clasped around hers, or perhaps he sensed she might do the unthinkable and bolt from the centuries-old basilica, the hundreds of guests assembled be damned. Or perhaps it was something as simple as him doing her a strategic kindness.

She chose that option to keep her grounded, present enough to register that she was indeed marrying Azar Domene, tying herself to him for life.

The vows were said.

Priceless rings exchanged.

The official wedding pictures were taken.

And while it all felt as interminable as every royal task seemed, seeing her son dressed in a dashing formal suit, smiling and looking as cute as a button, soothed her with a swell of love so strong it made her blink away tears.

Or maybe it was the overwhelming sense that she was now tied for ever to the Royal House of Domene. That her name henceforth would be Princess Eden Domene of Cartana. Soon-to-be…Queen.

She gulped at the thought, and felt Azar’s razor-sharp gaze on her.

‘Are you in need of bolstering again,tesoro? I’m happy to help.’

Remembering just how he’d bolstered her in her last bout of shaken confidence, she quickly shook her head. ‘No, thanks. I’m fine.’

The faintest trace of amusement twitched his mouth. ‘That’s disappointing.’

‘There are a dozen photographers in here. Whisking me into a corner for a dirty little fumble will cause a scandal.’

His lips twisted. ‘Not really. Not when they’ve all sworn in blood to remain loyal to me and are trained to overlook salacious things like a king and his queen engaging in…dirty little fumbles.’

Surprise punched though her. ‘Are you serious?’

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