Argyros, circa eighteen hundred. It was almost enough to jerk her out of the emotional mess she’d just landed herself in.

It was almost enough to make her stop thinking about Nikos.

The palace was built of the stone used throughout these islands, whitewashed once but mostly faded to its original soft grey. It was two storeys high in the centre, with long single storey wings at either end. The garden was overgrown to the point of riot. Vast wisteria vines gnarled their way over the buildings like great knots on ancient gift wrapping. There were olive trees, bougainvillea, wild daisies and clumps of blue and yellow irises-a riot of colour. The palace looked half buried by garden-a fantastic wilderness.

And behind the castle was the backdrop of the sea. As a child she’d heard the palace had the best swimming beach on the island, but who knew?

She’d never been in these grounds. The castle had been protected by vast stone walls for as long as she could remember. Guard dogs were said to roam at night.

Giorgos had hardly ever come here but he’d deemed it his. What was his he held, fiercely.

‘So who does this belong to now?’ she whispered to Nikos as she stood in the forecourt, feeling stunned, feeling the warmth of the Mediterranean sun on her face, hearing the wash of the sea under the cliffs.

‘The Crown,’ Nikos said briefly. ‘That would be you. Unless you abdicate. Then it goes to Demos. He’s been staying here since Giorgos died-since he phoned you and you told him he could have it. I told him you were coming back and he had to vacate.’

She gulped. ‘I hadn’t thought…’ she whispered. ‘Demos must hate me.’

‘He hates me, too,’ Nikos said, but he touched her arm lightly, in a gesture of reassurance which was supposed to be steadying-and strangely was. ‘But we needn’t feel guilty. Somehow he wheedled his way into the King’s favour. Giorgos left him a personal fortune. Sadly for Demos, a fortune will never be enough.’