But Blake didn’t see that. No one did. He himself decided it was dumb, and as a week passed without seeing Rose he thought, okay, he was being a romantic fool. This was hardly a romantic wedding. It seemed more like a military operation, and he had to treat it as such.

Erhard was on the phone constantly, organising every tiny detail-when they’d arrive, when the wedding would take place, accommodation, transport, meetings with the council to take place as soon as the wedding was over, the ascendancy claim. The legal documents Erhard faxed for signature made even Nick’s eyes water.

What was Rose thinking? But he couldn’t know.

‘I have a mountain of organisation to get through before I leave,’ she’d told him in their one brief phone-call. ‘I’m dealing with mass hysteria here. You sort the legal stuff. I know it’s dumb, but I’ll sign whatever needs to be signed. I have to trust you on this, Nick. You and Erhard.’

A later phone call elicited a bit more background. Instead of Rose, his call was answered by her mother-in-law.

‘You have no right to do this,’ the woman hissed down the phone. ‘The whole town depends on her. She’s saying the district will have to join the vet co-operative in the next town. She says with the money they pay we’ll be well off, but we don’t want money. My poor son would turn in his grave. How dare that man tell her she has no choice? How dare…?’

She became almost venomous, and in the end Nick had put down the phone, and thought he could understand another of Rose’s conditions. She didn’t want any press release until she was out of the country.

Erhard agreed with that reluctantly, but Nick thought that was fine. The juggernaut that was royal ascension rolled on.

Then, in the last few days before he and Rose were due to fly out, Nick’s contact with Erhard had faltered. There was one stilted phone-call. ‘Nikolai, things are in place for you to take over. I need to fade into the background. Good luck to you and to Rose.’