The King's Bride

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A SILENCE fell over the packed room. Lizzie looked up quickly, eager to see the man she’d come to find.

His Majesty King Daniel, hereditary ruler of Voltavia, twenty-fifth of his line, thirty-five years old, monarch of his country for the last six months.

Since he’d arrived for his state visit London had been full of official pictures, so she’d thought she knew what he looked like. But while photographs had shown the proud carriage of his head and the stern authority of his lean face, there was no way they could convey the vividness of his features. Lizzie noticed his eyes in particular. They were dark, but with a brilliance that she’d seen only once before, in a picture of his grandfather.

He was tall but carried himself stiffly, and she guessed that a press conference, such as this, came hard to him. In Voltavia he was a monarch, with a good deal of power. He wouldn’t take kindly to answering questions from journalists, and Lizzie knew he’d been persuaded to give this conference only for the sake of ‘good international relations’.

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