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      ‘We should be okay. I’m due on tomorrow.’

      ‘Should be okay?’ He gave a savage shake of his head.

      ‘I’m not an expert, but I’m certain I’m way past the ovulation stage of my cycle. And I’m always regular,’ she added, trying to reassure him even while the image of a dark-haired baby wrapped in vine leaves filtered into her mind. ‘I’ll know within a couple of days if we have a problem.’

      The pulse in his jaw was working overtime. ‘Make sure to tell me the minute you know.’

      ‘I promise.’ She hesitated before asking, ‘Talos, what’s wrong? You’ve become so distant.’

      He gazed back down at her, and for a moment she was certain he was about to talk. Instead, he pulled his arms away and took a step back.

      ‘Nothing’s wrong. I’m a little stressed about the gala, I have a few minor problems with work, a lack of sleep...the usual.’

      ‘I’m sure the rehearsals tomorrow will go better,’ she said, trying to inject positivity into her tone. ‘At least I was able to play it today.’

      Even if it had sounded like a cats’ chorus ringing out, and even if the members of her orchestra had been gazing at her with something close to horror.

      He raised his eyes to the ceiling and shook his head, before jerking it into a nod. ‘I’m sure you’re right.’

      And in that moment she knew he was lying.

      He wasn’t merely concerned.

      He didn’t believe she could do it.

      Panic took hold in her chest.

      Up until that point Talos’s conviction that he could fix her had taken root in her head, allowing her to believe that she could overcome her fear in time. But if her warrior prince had lost faith, what did that say? Where did that leave her? Where did that leave them?

      ‘I need to go to Athens first thing in the morning,’ he said, rubbing the back of his neck. ‘I’ll collect you at seven for dinner with my grandfather.’

      Was this his way of dismissing her?

      ‘Okay...’ she answered uncertainly. ‘Are you certain it’s informal dress?’

      ‘My grandfather insists. He wants it to be a relaxed occasion, where you can both talk without formality.’

      ‘That sounds good,’ she said. ‘Are you coming back to the cottage with me?’

      Instinct had already told her his answer, but she had to ask. She wouldn’t presume to invite herself to stay here at the villa with him—even if it wasn’t so obvious he wished her gone.

      ‘Not tonight. I’ve an early start. I’ll only disturb you if I stay over, and you need a good night’s sleep as much as I do. I’ll walk you back.’

      His words made sense. That didn’t stop them feeling like a knife plunging into her heart.

      She forced a smile to her face and leaned up to kiss him, pretending that nothing was wrong when it was blindingly obvious that he was steeling himself to end their relationship.

      Not that what they shared was a relationship, she scolded herself on their silent walk back to the cottage. It had always had an end date attached to it; she had accepted that. She just hadn’t considered that he would tire of her before the end date. She hadn’t considered that he would lose faith in her.

      * * *

      Amalie strove to hide the shock that meeting King Astraeus Kalliakis evoked.

      With Talos’s hand in the small of her back, they had been escorted by a courtier to the King’s private dining room—a space a fraction of the size of the Banquet Room but every bit as sumptuous.

      The pictures she’d seen of the King had depicted a tall, handsome man. Even at his eightieth birthday celebrations, with his ebony hair having thinned and turned white, he’d exuded vitality. That was the man she had prepared herself to meet.

      ‘Forgive me for not rising to greet you,’ he said, his voice weak. ‘If I could get up I would kiss your hand.’

      She had no idea what possessed her, but when she took the unsteady hand he offered she was the one to place a kiss on the paper-thin skin, rather than giving the curtsy she’d practised earlier.

      He smiled warmly, then indicated for his nurse to wheel him to the table.

      Amalie tried to catch Talos’s eye but he was avoiding her gaze, just as he’d avoided any conversation other than the usual pleasantries on their drive to the palace. He hadn’t even mentioned her phone call early that morning confirming that her period had started.

      As masochistic as she knew it to be, she’d felt a definite twinge of disappointment when she’d spotted the telltale signs of her period. She’d never even thought of having children before. Not once. But for less than twelve hours there had been the smallest of chances that she might have conceived and her imagination had taken root. Any initial concerns about what a disaster it would be, seeing as she was in anything but a loving relationship, and it would affect the career she longed to reclaim, had fallen by the wayside as she’d imagined what it would be like to have Talos’s child.

      It had felt almost dreamlike.

      She had no idea if she would be any good as a mother, but instinct told her he would make a fantastic father. She sighed. It was something she would never know, and it was pointless to allow her thoughts to run in such wayward directions, not when there were so many other things occupying her mind.

      When she’d given Talos the news his response had been a distant, ‘That’s one less thing to worry about.’

      And now she knew why he’d been so distant. He had been thinking of his grandfather.

      Why hadn’t he told her his grandfather was ill? And not just ill, but clearly dying. It was there in the gauntness of his features—he must have lost half his body weight since those pictures had been taken at his eightieth. And it was there in the sallow yellow complexion of his skin, the hollowness of his eyes... It was everywhere. She could feel it.

      ‘You must be curious as to why I wanted to meet you,’ the King rasped, once their first course of tomato and basil soup had been served.

      ‘I assumed you wanted to meet the woman who will play your wife’s final composition.’

      As she spoke, her skin chilled. Today’s rehearsal had been a step backwards.

      It had started well enough. Christophe, the orchestra’s conductor for the gala, had found a screen for her to hide behind, so she could actually play in time with the orchestra. It had worked beautifully. Then the screen had been removed and she’d found herself breathing in and out of a paper bag in an effort to stem the panic attack clawing at her.

      Christophe was on the verge of his own nervous breakdown, freaking out so much he’d contracted a hypnotist to fly over to Agon for her.

      She’d searched in vain for Talos, waiting for him to step through the practice room’s door and give her confidence with a simple smile. But he’d been in Athens. If he was by her side she would be able to get through it; they’d already proved that. With more practice, and with Talos and his calming presence, she might be able to do the score the justice she gave it when they were alone.

      ‘Indeed.’ Watery brown eyes held hers. ‘Tell me about yourself, despinis.’

      ‘My career?’

      That would be a very short conversation.

      He waved a hand. ‘I want to know about you. The music you enjoy, the books you read, the films you watch.’

      And so they fell into easy conversation, Amalie doing most of the talking and the King making

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