‘Julianna looks royal.’

‘You think?’ Erhard asked, with a wry smile. ‘There’s no proof of that either, and no one dare suggest DNA. So we turn to the lawyers. There’s an international jurisdiction-legal experts chosen for impartiality-set up by the four Alp principalities for just this eventuality. They decide who has best right to the crown. Rose, I told you in the letter, Julianna has married Jacques St. Ives and they’re making a solid play for the crown. Their justification is that Julianna is the only one of the three of you who lives in the country, and moreover she’s married to a citizen who cares about the place. You, Rose, walked away almost fifteen years ago. Regardless of your birth, your absence by choice sits as an implacable obstacle. The panel will decide in Julianna’s favour, unless they’re given an alternative.’

He hesitated. He looked as if he didn’t want to continue-but it had to be said, and they all knew it. ‘Rose, if there are questions about your parentage there are also questions about Julianna’s,’ he said softly. ‘Regardless of DNA testing, the panel acknowledge that. Your parents’ marriage was hardly happy. You remain the oldest. And behind you both there’s Nikolai, whose mother was definitely royal. I’ve thought and thought of this. The only way forward is for the two of you to present as one. Together you must outweigh Julianna’s claim. A married couple-the questioned first and the definite third in line-taking on the throne together.’

Whatever Erhard had said in his letter, Rose must have been forewarned, Nick thought, as she was showing no shock. The idea had stunned him, but she was reacting as if it was almost reasonable. She sat and stared at the bubbles in her glass for a while, letting things settle. She wasn’t a woman who needed to talk, he thought. The silence was almost comfortable.

‘A marriage of convenience,’ she said at last, as if the thing was worthy of consideration.