PROLOGUE
AT NINE YEARS OLD, Crown Prince Octavio de la Rosa knew certain things for sure. He knew that he was destined to one day rule the prosperous island kingdom of Castilona, that he was being groomed for this purpose every day of his life, and he knew that his mother was the most beautiful, perfect creature on Earth, whom he loved more than anything. He also knew that he hated it when his parents travelled.
‘It’s only two nights, dearest.’ Queen Eleanora crouched down, effortlessly graceful despite the formal evening gown she wore. ‘And when we come back, you can show us how much you’ve learned.’
Octavio pulled a face. Part of his education included mastering the piano. His mother, a gifted musician, had insisted. And though he was naturally talented, he didn’t enjoy lessons, nor practising, and saw the only silver lining to his parents’ absences as the reprieve it gave him from learning.
‘I mean it, Tavi. No slacking off.’ She winked at him though, before tousling his hair as she stood.
Octavio nodded, transferring his attention to his father, King Miguel, who was fiddling with one of the diamond cuff-links he wore. ‘Be a good boy, won’t you?’ he said, already distracted by the evening ahead. ‘And call if you need anything.’
He nodded, hating the rush of emotion flooding his chest.
‘Okay, bye.’ He tried to sound casual and relaxed.
But his mother saw. She understood. She reached down and squeezed his hand in hers. ‘Two nights, my love. Don’t forget…’ She trailed off, waiting for Octavio to finish the sentence.
‘We’ll always share the stars.’ He repeated the words he’d learned by rote when he was very young and would weep whenever his mother had to leave the country. She had taught him to look out at the stars and know that she was doing the same, that they would always be connected by the heavens.
The phrase did make him feel calmer. He watched as his parents walked out of the elegant gallery, his father’s arm wrapped around his mother’s waist, their heads bent close together as they began to converse privately, a bubble forming around them indicating how happy and in love they were.
Octavio watched them until they were out of sight, and he would always be glad for that, because that was the very last time he saw his parents. Within days, they would be dead, and his life altered for ever. Soon, Prince Octavio de la Rosa would be utterly, completely alone.
CHAPTER ONE
Nineteen years later
FROMTHESEPARTICULARwindows in the prestigious Clínica San Carlos, King Octavio de la Rosa had an unimpeded view of his palace. The place that defined who he was in life—a king of this prosperous Mediterranean island country. He stared across at the palace now, the sky a jet-black. Even the stars were blanked out by low cloud cover, giving the impression the heavens were utterly bereft of light, the darkness almost bleak enough to match his mood.
Grief flooded him. Grief, for his uncle Rodrigo had just died and with him, the last touchstone to his lifebefore.Before his parents had been killed and he’d been orphaned, before his life had been turned upside down. He felt it deeply, but there was also a dark anger, so intense it burned through him, alongside frustration, despair and a cloying sense of being truly alone in the world.
In reality, he wasn’t.
He was rarely alone—as the King, that wasn’t possible. But Rodrigo was different. Rodrigo had been a last link to his parents. The man his mother had always joked she might have married if she’d met him first had died, and Octavio had been powerless to save him. Maybe if he’d known about Rodrigo’s ill health sooner?
A noise startled Octavio out of his reverie. He glanced up, on autopilot, to see one of the hospital’s cleaners stepping into the luxurious suite he’d been appointed since arriving at the facility. He’d seen her before and noticed her. Even in his state of grief, he couldn’t fail to notice her. She was beautiful, but it was more than that. She was graceful, like a ballerina, and there was a wistfulness in her gestures that couldn’t help but convey itself.
Theclínicawas the last word in medical excellence, but it also shared some hallmarks with a five-star hotel—there were several suites such as this made available for guests of patients. For Octavio, the biggest and best had been reserved, allowing him to spend days at a time sitting vigil by his uncle’s bedside.
Not that it had made a difference.
His stomach churned, impotent fury at his inability to help Rodrigo a slick of regret deep in his chest.
The woman busied herself clearing rubbish, keeping her head bent, evidently trained as his palace staff was, to exist without being seen.
It had never bothered him before. He’d been surrounded by staff all his life and had learned to live with the constant intrusion, but now, something about her self-effacing attempt to fade into the background was galling to him.
He attributed the sensation to his grief, to the shock of having sat at his uncle’s bed not one hour earlier as the machines began to beep in that awful way, a flatline appearing on the equipment.
Soon he’d return to the palace, but he needed a little longer to process his loss.
To work out what he’d do next.
His uncle had died, but it had been preventable. The truth was, one uncle had all but killed the other, and Octavio had to work out how to deal with that.
The woman was lifting glasses now, stacking them on a tray, her fingers so delicate, even when they were capable. He staredunashamedly, as one might watch a performance. Her uniform was dark blue, a dress that fell to her knees and cinched in at the waist, with buttons up to her throat. Her neck was elegant, swan-like, the alabaster colour of her skin revealed by the way her long blonde hair had been swept up into a ponytail. If she wore make-up, it was minimal. Her face was clear, her eyes wide set and a striking shade of green. As if his ruminating on their colour had somehow conveyed itself to the woman, she glanced across at him then, her cheeks flushing pink when their eyes connected. Her lips parted on a quick exhalation of breath, and she looked away once more, turning her back on him.
Frustration, anger, irritation grew.
