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Leandro’s distinctive deep voice was easy to recognise; she caught the odd word and then, as she got closer, a fragment of a sentence. ‘Thank God! When did she turn up?’

The other man responded in the positive, but the conversation stopped when Leandro caught sight of her.

‘This is Franco, who is my…voice, occasionally. He lets me know what I’m about to say,’ he drawled with a touch of the languid playboy prince in his manner as the two men exchanged a look that confused Elsie.

It was a look of equals not royal and subordinate; her curiosity was aroused. Her parents were the sort of royals who dropped into a local eatery and were welcomed without ceremony, but up to this point there had been a lot of ceremony, not to mention bowing and scraping—even though he appeared oblivious—around Leandro.

‘Princess.’ The man came out of a bow, smiling. Elsie found herself smiling back—he had that sort of face. ‘I hope your parents are well?’

‘You are the one who approached them about…?’ She paused, flickering an awkward glance up at Leandro, who tipped his head.

‘Franco knows everything there is to know about our…situation. He will look after you.’

‘Princess,’ the other man said with a respectful tip of his head and another warm smile.

She smiled back, instinctively lowering her defences—essential around Leandro, but exhausting.

Elsie watched Leandro walk away with no explanation—so much for open and sharing. Two of the suited entourage with the headsets fell in a few paces behind him.

‘Don’t worry, Princess, he will join us on the flight. He is escorting the Dowager Queen, though I don’t expect we will see much of him onboard. The pilot is an old friend of his; he was Leandro’s instructor when he got his wings.’

‘Dowager Queen?’

The man read her expression and winced. ‘Ah, I might have spoken out of turn.’

‘He has a pilot’s licence? Of course he does,’ she added, not quite sure why this fact annoyed her.

The other man’s glance went from the tall figure, who even at a distance was unmistakable, to Elsie’s face; there was some sympathy in his expression.

‘The last few days have been stressful. He is what our country needs and soon more people will realise it,’ he said simply.

‘Is it always like this—the security? I know there has to be security, but this seems a bit over the top.’

‘It is not usually this heavy, but after the conference—’

She shook her head. ‘Conference?’

‘Leandro was a keynote speaker, and let’s just say he rewrote some of our country’s policies to an international audience… Some people are not happy, several noses out of joint, a few online threats…well, actually, quite a lot. It is just a precaution. There have been no more bomb scares, but I’m sure that Leandro must have explained about the crank threats.’

‘It must have slipped his mind,’ she said sweetly and the other man grimaced again.

She shivered. What was she walking, or rather flying, into?

Franco gave her a tour of the royal jet; she had anticipated luxury, but not quite on this level. Halfway through giving her the guided tour, her guide, or was that guard—she hadn’t quite figured that out yet—paused, an embarrassed expression flickering across his face.

‘Sorry, I don’t know why I’m telling you this,’ he said as they emerged from one of the bedrooms, this one boasted a king-size bed, ‘you being—’

She smiled. ‘Royal? There is more than one sort of royal. I come from the variety that knows all about budget flights and sale bargains. I’m working very hard at not being impressed—and failing.’

They were both laughing when they re-entered the main salon compartment, all plush upholstery and tasteful decor. Leandro, in the act of seating his mother and offering more encouraging comments, turned at the sound.

Elsie was smiling a wide glorious smile, smiling with her whole body, it seemed, at his friend. A smile with no shadow and no suspicion.

He caught his breath. The smile lifted her beauty to another glowing level. Elsie hadn’t smiled like that at him, but then had he given her cause to smile? He didn’t allow the guilt to solidify. Instead, he refocused his attention on his mother who, even after all his effort and coaxing, had seemed like a no-show. It had taken a lot of convincing, with a few untruths thrown in, to get her this far.

‘She’s here,’ his mother said. ‘Oh, you never said how beautiful she is, and tall… She doesn’t look nervous at all—she looks… Down, Mabel,’ she said as the little whippet curled up on the floor at her feet began to jump up.

His own gaze followed that of his parent to where Elsie was now walking in front of Franco. The laughter had faded from her face; it had now been replaced by a cool, composed mask that slipped for a split second as their eyes met. She sent him a sub-zero daggers stare as she pulled her shoulders back and lifted her chin, a pleasant smile pasted on her face.