Of course not. Fayaz loved to compete, always wanting to prove he was a winner in his own right, not just because of the privilege of his birth.

Sheikh Ibrahim continued in the same monotone voice, shock seemed to have flattened all his usual military pomp. ‘The road was flat and empty and should have been quite safe but it would seem that either His Majesty or the other driver lost control of the wheel and crashed into the other car with a loss of all lives. We have experts on the scene and should have more information for you imminently.’ He looked down at his notes. ‘Four of my agents were in the crash.’

Idris pinched the top of his nose, the words spinning around in his head. He could see the scene so clearly: Fayaz laughing as the open-topped four-wheel drives wove in and out of each other’s path on the wide, sand-covered road, encouraged by the screams of Maya, his wife and Queen. At what point had those screams become real—or had it all been over too fast for any of the party to be aware of how the game would end? He hoped so. He hoped they were laughing right until the end; it would be how he remembered them. Happy and so full of life it hurt.

‘I’m sorry. Please pass on my condolences to your agents’ families and take care of any outstanding pension and compensation arrangements.’

The General nodded and Idris turned to the man on his left, Minister of the Interior and his own great-uncle. ‘What happens next?’

Sheikh Malik Al Osman pushed his tablet to one side. His eyes were heavy, his shoulders slumped as if he couldn’t bear the burden that had fallen upon him. ‘We’ve kept news of the accident under wraps while we made sure of no hostile involvement, but now you’re here we’ll brief state media and Parliament. The funerals will take place this evening and the official mourning period will commence then.’

Idris nodded. ‘And then?’

Sheikh Ibrahim jumped in. ‘Your Majesty. You know the terms of your grandfather’s will. His Highness Sheikh Fayaz Al Osman and his line inherited the throne of Dalmaya, but if he died without issue then the kingdom passes to you and your line.’

Of course Idris knew this. Technically he had always been aware he was Fayaz’s legal heir. He remembered the shock—a shock mingled with the warmth of acceptance—when his grandfather’s will had been made public, cementing him firmly into the family. But the prospect of actually becoming King had been so far away he had never considered he would actually be called to do so. Fayaz had already been married at the time of their grandfather’s death and his wife was young and healthy. There was no reason to believe they wouldn’t soon have many children of their own to take precedence over Idris.

Besides, despite his grandfather’s decree, Idris knew how unorthodox his claim was. ‘My claim to the throne is through my mother. No King has ever inherited through the maternal line before.’ Not only that but his mother’s name was a byword for scandal in Dalmaya and, possibly even more unconventionally, his father was French—would the people of this proud kingdom accept the son of such a pair as their ruler?

The point was moot. His vineyard, chateau and his wine export business were all the kingdom Idris needed. He was fond of Dalmaya but he had no intention of living and ruling there. He didn’t belong.

‘Your grandfather’s will...’ the General repeated, but from the corner of his eye Idris saw a speculative look pass over his great-uncle’s face and turned back to him.

‘What do you think, Sheikh Malik?’ Hope twisted in his chest, mingling with the fatigue and grief already consuming him. He knew how hard his grandfather had worked to keep the kingdom safe, to modernise it, to introduce universal healthcare and education. He couldn’t just walk away from that legacy, not if there was no other option. But the Al Osman family was extensive. Surely there must be someone qualified and near enough the ruling branch for Idris to be able to hand over the crown with a clear conscience?

His uncle looked directly at Idris. ‘His Excellency is of course correct and if Fayaz died without any issue you are by law the next King. But there is the baby...’

Idris blinked. He’d seen Maya just a few months ago and she hadn’t mentioned any pregnancy. Besides, Fayaz would have told him straight away if he had had a child. Wouldn’t he? ‘The baby?’ The rest of the table looked as confused as he felt. ‘What baby?’

* * *

Saskia stretched and stared out at the enticing view. The sky was so bright and blue it almost hurt, the colour mirrored in the infinity pool just outside the folding glass doors and in the still sea beyond that. Another beautiful day in paradise, and if she could just drag herself off the insanely comfortable sofa and brave the intense heat for the ten seconds it took to step outside the air-conditioned villa and plunge into the pool then she would definitely have a swim. After all, the pool was the only place she was truly comfortable any more, her weight buoyed by the water, her bulk less ungainly.

Her hands strayed down to the tight bump as she caressed it. Just six weeks to go. Not that she was exactly looking forward to what awaited her at the end of that six weeks despite her daily private pregnancy yoga lessons, her doula, personal midwife and the deluxe delivery suite already pre-booked and awaiting her arrival. Nothing but the best to ease the birth of the new Crown Prince or Princess of Dalmaya.

Stretching again, Saskia winced as her back twinged. Even with the best care possible, pregnancy was the most uncomfortable experience she had ever been through. Don’t be so spoiled, she told herself firmly, heaving herself to her feet and padding towards the doors. She was safe, ultra-healthily fed, looked after and, more importantly, so was Jack. Once the baby was safely delivered and in the loving arms of his or her parents then she and her little brother could get back to their lives. Only this time she would be able to afford to give Jack the kind of childhood he deserved. And she would finally catch a break.

Right. Saskia heaved herself off the sofa and took an unsteady step and then another, regaining her balance as she did so. Balance. She missed that, along with being able to see her toes and not swiping things off tables with her belly when she turned around. A swim and then she would settle down and tackle the essay she had been putting off. She might have the money to go back to university thanks to Fayaz and Maya, but if she could just get the first year completed long distance then she would have more money for a house—and for Jack.

Shucking off the loose cotton robe she wore over the frankly vast maternity swimsuit, Saskia opened the door, almost recoiling from the scalding temperature that hit her the second she stepped out. She hurried as best she could to the pool and cautiously sat herself down by the side, near the wide steps that led down into its blissfully cool depths. Sitting on the floor without needing a forklift to help her back up, that was another simple pleasure she was looking forward to.

‘Sorry, little one,’ she murmured, her hand slipping back to her belly. ‘I do appreciate what a good baby you’ve been to look after for Maya but I think we’re both getting a little uncomfortable here. Besides, you must be looking forward to meeting your mummy and daddy, hmm? I know they can’t wait to meet you.’

That was an understatement. Fayaz and Maya were determined to be there for every step of the pregnancy. They had recorded stories for Saskia to play for the baby daily so that their voices would be instantly familiar when it was born and Maya had been as regular a visitor as she could manage. ‘Not long now,’ Saskia continued as she slid her aching legs into the deliciously cool water. ‘Mummy comes to live with us next week so she can spend every moment with you until she can take you home. Won’t that be lovely?’