LITMIR.BIZ

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      The skin was prickling at the back of Nikolaos’s neck. It was the sort of prickling he usually had on the eve of battle. His instincts were trying to warn him … of what? Danger. Danger to him? No, he did not sense that the danger was to him. To the Princess? That did not seem possible, yet his instincts had not let him down before.

      He looked at the groom. ‘My thanks, Paul, that is all. I shall walk back. Take Hercules back to his stall, would you? Elias, you are with me.’

      ‘Yes, my lord.’

      ‘Something’s wrong,’ Nikolaos murmured, once the groom had taken the horses and was well out of earshot. He followed the route the groom had taken, turning into the street that led past the Hippodrome, back to the Palace.

      ‘I agree,’ Elias said. ‘It seems extraordinary that after sending several messages, you have received no response from Princess Theodora.’

      The walls of the Palace loomed over them. ‘The former Emperor appeared keen, even eager, to promote my marriage to Princess Theodora,’ Nikolaos murmured, thinking aloud.

      Elias, probably realising that this remark did not require a response, said nothing.

      Nikolaos let his thoughts run on, thoughts which he was well aware a few weeks ago would have bordered on treasonous. He had not held the previous Emperor in high regard. Emperor Nikephoros had been weak and ineffective—unscrupulous courtiers had wasted no time in manipulating him. With little strength of will, and almost no understanding of military matters, the man had made a disastrous head of state. Which was why Nikolaos had supported Alexios Komnenos in his bid for the throne. The Empire needed a strong hand at the reins.

      With regard to his marriage to Princess Theodora, Nikolaos had been led to believe that Emperor Alexios would honour the arrangement made by his predecessor.

      The guards at the Palace gate jumped to attention, saluting as they passed through and entered the first of the courtyards.

      ‘What will you do, my lord?’

      ‘I have had enough of delays and evasions.’ Nikolaos grinned at Elias. ‘I shall visit the Princess’s apartment myself.’

      Elias flung him a startled look. ‘You would go to the women’s quarters in person, my lord?’

      Nikolaos lifted his shoulders. ‘Why not?’

      Elias began to splutter. ‘But, my lord, you cannot … not the women’s quarters! They … they are sacrosanct … only a close relative may enter … and the Princess … a cousin of the Empress …’

      Smiling, Nikolaos waited for his manservant to stutter to a halt which he did, with a final ‘My lord, you cannot visit the women’s quarters, particularly not those of the Princess.’

      Nikolaos sighed. ‘Elias, these days it is almost impossible to gain an audience with His Majesty. Ever since the coronation, he has either been deeply involved in affairs of state, or else he is doing penance for seizing the throne.’

      ‘I had heard about the penance. Forty days of fasting and sackcloth and ashes.’ Elias pulled a face. ‘How much of the penance is left?’

      ‘A little over three weeks. The polo tournament comes towards the end of it. Until then, it is possible to arrange an audience with His Majesty only for the most pressing of matters. I must resolve the question of my marriage myself.’ Niko gestured ahead of him. ‘Lead on, Elias, I am hazy about which staircase leads where in the Boukoleon.’

      ‘My lord, you do recall that Princess Theodora’s apartment is watched over by Varangian Guards?’

      Nikolaos lifted a brow. ‘I remember. And I am sure they have sworn allegiance to Emperor Alexios and are as loyal as they have always been. As I am. May I remind you that my own regiment supported His Majesty? I doubt I will be questioned.’

      ‘Yes, my lord, I know. But … but … she is a princess.’

      By now Nikolaos and Elias had left several courtyards behind them and had passed the stables and the lighthouse. An imposing building rose before them, with walls like cliffs. The Boukoleon Palace. On the upper levels, Nikolaos could see the stone balustrades where terraces overlooked the gardens and courtyards. On the other side of the Boukoleon, the balconies looked out over the Sea of Marmara.

      Nikolaos and Elias reached a columned portico where a broad flight of marble stairs led upwards. ‘The women’s quarters, Elias?’

      His manservant’s throat worked. ‘This way, my lord.’

      Some hours earlier, Theodora’s galley had docked at the Imperial harbour. By the time the sun began to sink, she and her entourage were busy exploring the Princess’s apartment at the top of the Boukoleon Palace.

      It was a magnificent apartment and had been reduced to chaos by their arrival. Slaves and servants ran in and out of the great double doors, laden with packing cases and trinket boxes. Others bore ewers of water and linen cloths. Trays of refreshments were set out on side-tables for travel-worn ladies. There was something to suit all palates—goblets of wine; milk sweetened with honey; cold meats and soft cheeses; shelled hazelnuts, almond cakes, dates. The gleaming marble floor was hidden under untidy heaps of baggage; ladies’ cloaks were strewn over gilded chairs, across inlaid tables and painted screens. Braziers had been lit to lift the chill from the air; and there, on another side-table, perfumed smoke wreathed from a golden globe—roses and the rich scent of incense mingled with the slight tang of salt blown in from the sea.

      The time had come for Theodora to end the deception. She must stop pretending to be a lady-in-waiting and become, once again, Princess Theodora Doukaina. The transition from lady-in-waiting to Princess would be tricky, though. There was much to take account of … sins both real and assumed.

      ‘It is time, Sophia,’ Theodora murmured as they stood in the light of a large window.

      Martina was held fast in Sophia’s arms. Filmy purple drapes hung from ceiling to floor, silk hangings that shifted in the breeze coming off the Sea of Marmara. Imperial purple. Theodora bit her lip as guilt rushed through her. Theodora had not herself been ‘born in the purple’. This meant that she had not been born in the Purple Chamber, the great birthing room in the Palace that was lined with purple marble and set aside for the confinement of an Empress. Notwithstanding this, she had been allocated this wonderful apartment decorated with the Imperial purple. It was a great honour.

       It is an honour I do not deserve, I was not born in the Purple Chamber. Worse, I have deceived everyone. Worse still, I have every intention of continuing to deceive them.

      Theodora was as heavily veiled as a Princess of Persia, her gown was voluminous and hid her shape. Until she had successfully reclaimed her place as Princess Theodora Doukaina, she would have to go on hiding behind shawls and veils. Until she found Katerina, the maidservant she had sent on ahead to impersonate her, she must continue to conceal her identity.

      Theodora and Katerina were completely unrelated and it was by chance that they might be taken for twins. They had the same dark hair, the same dark eyes, the same slight frame. Some of the ladies had said the Princess and her maidservant were as alike in features and build as two peas in a pod. And until Theodora was once again in her own shoes, until she knew what had been happening in the Palace in the past few weeks, she was not prepared to be seen by anyone save her ladies.

      But, Holy Mother, what a mire she had walked into! Katerina seemed to have vanished and so, too, had Lady Anna of Heraklea. Lady Anna was the lady-in-waiting Theodora had sent to accompany Katerina. Theodora had charged Lady Anna with ensuring Katerina had everything she needed to convince the Court that it was she who was Princess Theodora Doukaina.

      ‘Where do you think Katerina and Anna have got to, Sophia?’ she asked, conscious of the Varangian Guard standing by the great polished doors, watching them. She edged away from him. ‘Why is that guard staring at us? Do you think he knows where they are?’

      Sophia gave the Varangian a surreptitious glance. ‘You

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