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She smiled vaguely at the two men accompanying him, one brow arched in query.

Franco introduced them and Elsie immediately forgot their names but noted that their firearms were not concealed.

‘Part of your security detail, Princess,’ he explained, adding as both men bowed, ‘sorry I should have said earlier. The sooner you have your own staff, the better, but we thought you would prefer to be part of the interview process.’

‘I have a security detail?’ she said faintly. ‘I have been assured that there won’t be anyone leaping out from the shadows to stab me in the back,’ she added, trying to cling to what was left of her sense of humour. Then, as the two men faded into the background with an ease that suggested they were not new to the job, added, ‘Part? Just how many are there?’ she yelped in dismay.

‘It’s OK, Franco, I can take it from here.’

Leandro, his hand supportively under his mother’s elbow, allowed his gaze to travel from his aide’s rueful face to the flushed face of his bride-to-be and waited until the other man was out of earshot before suggesting, ‘You giving Franco a hard time?’

The presence of Queen Sophia, the Dowager, made her moderate her response to a mildly aggressive, ‘No, I was saving the hard time for you.’

He laughed and opened the door of the limo that had drawn up beside them, the flag bearing the Soares arms alongside the national flag fluttering in the light breeze.

A uniformed figure who looked more like a full-size version of a toy soldier than a chauffeur got out and saluted. Though there was nothing very toylike or ceremonial about the weapon visible in the holster under his jacket. The man in the passenger seat in a dark suit stayed where he was.

Leandro saluted back, minus the heel click, before helping his mother, who had been a silent observer to the interchange, into the car before turning back to Elsie. She ignored the supportive hand offered and got into the limo, making sure she took the seat next to the Dowager, who had covered her knees in a soft cashmere throw.

The woman was very pale and trembling almost as much as the little whippet tucked under her arm.

‘You’re cold?’ Elsie had found the air warm and pleasant when they’d stepped out of the air-conditioned building.

‘I’ll be fine.’

Elsie smiled at the stoic rebuttal, ashamed that she had been so caught up in her own problems that she had forgotten how much more traumatic this must be for Queen Sophia.

She stroked the little dog and tensed as Leandro joined them, taking the seat opposite her. His long, outstretched legs rubbed at the side of her calves and despite the innocent expression in his heavy-lidded eyes, or because of it, she suspected the action was not accidental.

‘Sit between us, Leandro, there is plenty of room,’ his mother coaxed.

‘It’s not going to do my freshly reclaimed reputation any good to be seen cuddling up to two beautiful women.’

While his mother laughed, Leandro leaned in, his mouth brushing Elsie’s ear and setting up a cascade of tingles as he whispered, ‘You can breathe now.’

Refusing to meet his gaze or reveal her rosy cheeks, Elsie kept her head down while he continued, pitching his voice so that his mother was part of the conversation.

‘It’s literally a five-minute transfer; we are going through the old town walls now.’

Elsie turned her head to gaze out through the tinted glass and saw they were passing through a massive open arch in a tall wall built in the same golden-toned stone she had seen from the aerial view of the Palace.

‘This is the old part of the town, basically continuous to the Palace.’

‘It’s not what I was expecting.’ She had seen photos of a very different approach, long broad avenues lined with palms and a mixture of gleaming buildings both ancient and modern, boasting high-end retail outlets, eateries and art galleries, certainly no cobbles.

‘Not grand enough for you?’

She thought of the leaking roof at home and strategically placed buckets and laughed.

‘This is by way of being the servants’ entrance,’ he explained as they approached a massive pair of metal gates boasting gargoyles and mythical beasts that were more daunting than the uniformed figures, all tassels and blue and gold, standing guard either side of sentinel boxes.

Or maybe not, she thought, noticing the ornamental guns slung over their shoulders.

The gates swung inwards, an event that caused several phone-wielding tourists to start happily snapping, making Elsie suspect this was a rare event. The cobbles continued and the road beyond rose sharply.

‘Some servants’ quarters,’ she mumbled, turning to the woman beside her. ‘What…?’ she began and stopped.

The older woman was sitting there like a marble statue with her eyes squeezed tight shut, her clasped hands bone-white.