LITMIR.BIZ

      CHAPTER ONE

      DR ELSA LANGHAM disappeared after a car accident four years ago. Mrs Elsa Murdoch took her place.

      The invitation had been sitting on the table all day, a taunting reminder of her past.

      The International Coral Society invites Dr Elsa Langham, foremost authority on Coral: Alcyonacea, to submit a paper at this year’s symposium in Hawaii.

      The ICS hadn’t kept up with her change in direction. Eight-year-old Zoe was asleep in the next room, totally dependent on her, and Dr Elsa Langham was no longer an acclaimed authority on anything.

      She read the invitation one last time, sighed and finally dumped it in the bin.

      ‘I don’t know why they’re still sending me invitations,’ she told the skinny black cat slinking out from under her chair. ‘I’m Mrs Elsa Murdoch, a mother to Zoe, an occasional student of starfish to keep my scientific hand in, and my cats need feeding.’

      She rose and took a bowl of cat food to the back garden. The little cat followed, deeply suspicious but seduced by the smell of supper.

      Four more cats were waiting. Elsa explained the terms of their tenancy as she did every night, fed them, then ignored five feline glares as she locked them up for the night. They knew the deal, but they didn’t have to like it.

      ‘At least you guys go free every morning,’ she told them. ‘You can do what you want during the day.’

      And so could she, she told herself. She could take Zoe to the beach. She could study starfish. She could be Mrs Elsa Murdoch.

      Until a miracle happens, she thought to herself, pausing to look up at the night sky. Not that I need a miracle. I really love Zoe, I don’t mind starfish and I’m incredibly lucky to be alive. It’s just…I wouldn’t mind a bit of magic. Like a rainbow of coral to appear in our cove. Or Prince Charming to wave his wand and take away my debts and Zoe’s scars.

      Enough. The cats weren’t interested in wishes, and neither was anyone else. She smiled ruefully into the night, turned her back on her disgruntled cats and went inside. She needed to fix a blocked sink.

      Where was Prince Charming when you needed him?

      The little boy would live.

      Prince Stefanos Antoniadis—Dr Steve to his patients—walked out of Theatre savouring a combination of triumph and exhaustion. He’d won.

      The boy’s mother—a worn-looking woman with no English, but with a smile wide enough to cut through any language barrier—hugged him and cried, and Stefanos hugged her back and felt his exhaustion disappear.

      He felt fantastic.

      He walked into the scrub room, sorely tempted to punch the air in triumph—and then stopped dead.

      This wasn’t fantastic. This was trouble.

      Two months ago, King Giorgos of the Diamond Isles had died without an heir. Next in line to the throne of the Mediterranean island of Khryseis was Stefanos’s cousin, Christos. The only problem was, no one could find Christos. Worse, if Christos couldn’t be found, the throne belonged to Stefanos—who wanted the crown like a hole in the head.

      In desperation he’d employed

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