His Majesty’s Bride Conquest

Excerpt

Chapter One

Isabeau Knight was finishing up her day when a message came through from her boss.

Can you stay late today? Olav asked.

She had been looking forward to a quiet night at home, but she replied, Of course. Shall I come up?

I’ll come to you on my way out.

He probably wanted to ask her to dinner again. She winced, still undecided about whether to accept.

Olav Zurlinder was the VP here at Banque du Zurlinder, a family-run private bank that specialized in wealth management for Europe’s most elite families. There were no tellers or drawers of cash, but there was a well-secured telephone and computer network, a handful of brilliant financial analysts, and a vault of safe deposit boxes that Isabeau had pointed out could be an untapped gold mine if it was upgraded—and a liability if it wasn’t.

My father won’t approve that expense, Olav had dismissed, then asked her to dinner.

Isabeau had put him off. There was a danger career-wise if she accepted, but she was lonely enough to consider it. She had been working in Geneva for two years and lived across the border in France, which had made it hard to form a sense of community in either place.

Not that she was terribly interested in community. She was hyper-independent, which she knew was a character flaw, but she had learned the hard way that she couldn’t count on anyone but herself.

She could do worse than a man like Olav, though. He was handsome in the classic sense, with dark blond hair and blue eyes. He had the trimness of someone who enjoyed casual sports and possessed a steadiness in his demeanor that projected reliability.

He made an appealing prospect for someone who had been merely a support payment to her father and inherited little from her mother beyond a disarming smile and some painful headlines.

Isabeau was not a romantic like her mother, but having a family was something she wanted eventually. Maybe it was time to start dating again. Maybe making a practical choice would keep her from falling into her mother’s type of despair.

“Isabeau.” Olav rapped his knuckles on the frame of her open door as he entered. “Thanks for staying. Meet Sylvain.”

She rose with a polite smile, looking past Olav.

The world stopped.

The man who entered radiated a quiet, magnificent power that had Isabeau subtly catching her breath and bracing a hand on the edge of her desk.

He was significantly taller than she was in her low heels. His build was more warrior than athlete, his naturally tanned face inscrutable. Neat black stubble framed his somber mouth and accentuated the cleft in his chin, turning his features rugged. His black hair was a shade too long, sweeping back from his forehead while his thick straight brows made a grave impression over piercing green eyes.

He looked thirtyish, but it was difficult to tell. His age didn’t show as lines in his face, but there was an air of maturity to him—a mix of experience and cynicism.

Everything about him caused her stomach to tighten while filling her with tendrils of wary excitement.

It was such a startling reaction—like skidding out of control on ice—she reflexively tried to tamp down on it, but didn’t succeed. All of her senses remained heightened. Her pulse was a thrumming force in her chest and throat and limbs. She felt like a tuning fork vibrating at a pitch that sought to match his.

“Sylvain is the president of Techno Security Europe,” Olav continued. “TSE specializes in biometric authentication and the like. I was telling Sylvain that his timing is perfect, since we’ve been considering an upgrade to the safe deposit boxes. Isabeau came on last year as our risk management specialist,” he informed Sylvain in an off-hand way.

Isabeau knew that was her cue to make some sensible comment, especially since it was news to her that Olav wasconsidering an upgrade, but Sylvain had knocked the wind out of her with his aura of contained intensity.

He swept his gaze over her in a flash of masculine approval she’d seen many times, but there was none of the familiar coveting or calculation. It was a simple, silent, Yes, and it nearly crumpled her knees.

She knew men found her attractive. Her mother had been a famous model and Isabeau took after her. She had a tall, slender build, brunette hair that fell in thick waves, and a complexion touched by gold. Thanks to her mother, Isabeau knew how to shop for quality clothing in thrift and vintage boutiques, then make alterations so they appeared tailored. She knew how to pair elegant, eye-catching accessories and how to walk with unhurried grace. She understood the power in a warm, all-encompassing smile.

Isabeau didn’t have her mother’s wide, Bambi-like eyes—hers were nearsighted and hidden by glasses—and she was thankfully less susceptible to male attention. Talia-Rose had loved to be admired and had yearned to be loved. She’d been easily manipulated by both.

Watching that throughout her childhood, Isabeau had grown a practical, protective shell around herself. She had taken a degree in economics so she would never look to a man for validation or financial support.

But this man mesmerized her.

Sylvain’s steady eye contact told her he knew it. He wore his own physical appeal as comfortably as he wore his bespoke gray suit. When he offered his hand, it was a command. A magnetic force that pulled her away from her desk toward him.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you.” His deep voice seduced her. His grip over her hand electrified her blood.

“And you.” Men didn’t give her a case of the stammers, yet here she was, overwhelmed and aflutter.

She wouldn’t claim to ever hold the power in a room, but she always maintained her self-possession.

Not with Sylvain. His expression was darkly intent. Triumphant, even. As though he had already won some hidden game she didn’t even know she was playing.

Was he even a real man? Or some kind of god?

“I, um, didn’t realize you were serious about the upgrade.” She dragged her gaze to the safer, less enthralling Olav.

“The cost is prohibitive.” His gaze traveled between them and a small frown formed between his brows. “The task of switching clients and contents to a new system is also an issue, but Sylvain has suggested it could be done in stages. Convert one wall and see how customers react. If they’re drawn to the higher level of security, we’ll know it’s worth the investment to continue.”

Funny, that’s exactly what Isabeau had suggested, but she swallowed her irritation and said to Sylvain, “I’ve researched companies that offer this technology. I’m afraid I didn’t come across yours.”

Something about this whole thing felt off. Maybe it was simply her disconcertion at reacting to a man, and her ingrained apprehension at having such a reaction, but her intuition prickled a warning of potential danger.

“TSE was built on military innovations,” Sylvain said smoothly. “We’re at the initial stages of expanding into banking and commercial applications. I had time today so I asked a friend to set up my meeting with Olav.”

Dear lord, his eyes were a startling shade of green.

“Sylvain is only in Geneva today,” Olav said, forcing her to pull her gaze over to him again. “I have my meeting at the sailing club so I’m on my way out. I was hoping you would show him the vault before you go? I’ve already informed security.”

The thought of being alone with Sylvain made her pulse hammer loudly in her ears, but she said, “Of course,” and found her most disarming smile. She tried it on Sylvain, attempting to gain back a little of her composure.

There was a flash in his eyes. A flare of heat that lit an answering fire in her chest, billowing into her throat and cheeks.

“Thank you, Isabeau.” Olav’s voice broke past the rushing in her ears and his hand squeezed her arm, breaking her eye contact with Sylvain.

She jolted in surprise, snapping him a look that might have been affronted because he quickly pulled back his hand, expression tightening.

Sylvain narrowed his eyes on Olav in a way that made her heart swerve in her chest.

“I’ll catch up with you tomorrow,” Olav said briskly.

“Mm. Good night,” she murmured, still off balance from her reaction to Sylvain and what had seemed like possessiveness on Olav’s part.

Olav walked out, pointedly leaving her office door open, but as the silence thickened between them, Isabeau was freshly struck by the dynamic energy that crackled off Sylvain. It was a bold glint in his eye, a bunched strength in his shoulders, and a resolve in his expression.

“I’d like to proceed,” he said with cool command. “I have other commitments tonight.”

Nothing stopped this man when he wanted something. Nothing.

That instinctive realization provoked a fresh quiver of apprehension in her stomach even as the rest of her itched with an awareness that she was in the presence of a naturally dominant personality. Perversely, she wanted to both succumb and challenge him.

“Let me lock up.” She turned away to hide the blush climbing in her cheeks. “Clean desk policy.”

“I’ll check my messages.” He stepped to the window and tapped his phone. “Do you live here in Geneva?” he asked idly.

She lifted her head, surprised. She wouldn’t have taken him for someone who indulged small talk.

“I’m across the border. That’s why I don’t mind staying late. It gives the evening commute a chance to die down.” Accommodation was cheaper in Annemasse, but getting in and out of Geneva could be a headache, especially at rush hour.

“You don’t live with Olav, then.” He turned his head to look straight at her, making her pulse trip.

“No. I live with my cat.” Holding his stare took effort and made her deeply self-conscious.

She wore her typical office attire. Her dark blue pencil skirt had a short slit that offered a peek at the backs of her knees, but it was otherwise very conservative. The spring weather was still cool so she wore a knitted pullover with a collar that hung in two oversized triangles against the top of her chest. It hugged her torso and the sleeves ended in cute points on the backs of her hands. Her sable-brown hair was gathered into a simple, but sleek ponytail that fell down her spine. Square button earrings in gold completed the look.

If she had known she was meeting someone, she would have freshened her lipstick, but otherwise she was as put-together as she could get. Still, this man made her feel a decade younger than her true twenty-five. Decades more adolescent than her spiritual age, which was ancient.

She finished closing out her laptop and removed her lanyard with her fob and desk key.

“Do you mind if I store your phone with mine? It’s procedure. There’s a landline on the vault level for emergencies, but they don’t allow devices on that floor.”

He wordlessly turned off his phone and brought it to her.

Their fingers brushed and she thought that might have been deliberate on his part, since his gaze was waiting for hers when she shot a look upward.

She swallowed and tucked his phone against her own, next to her purse, then locked the drawer and replaced her lanyard around her neck.

“Why don’t you walk me through your protocol,” Sylvain said as she led him into the hall. “I assume everything is online?”

“All the signature cards and records were digitized years ago, yes.” She cleared her throat, brain barely managing to remember to pull her door closed and ensure it locked. “We’re not one of those anonymous vaults, either. Anti-money laundering laws require customers have an account with us. We ask they maintain a minimum balance to ensure we collect fees on time.”

A coworker passed them, calling a cheerful, “Good night.”

“Does that mean you wouldn’t know immediately if the owner of a box died?” Sylvain asked. “The rent would continue to be withdrawn from the account?”

He couldn’t possibly be interested in this sort of minutia so why—

He’s chatting me up! she realized, heart stalling.

No. She didn’t believe that. Lots of men flirted with her, but Sylvain was too confident in his own skin to put effort into charming a woman.

Did that mean he really wanted to know? If he worked in security, and wanted into this field, he should know all of this. Shouldn’t he?

“The next of kin typically claims the contents before we’re aware a client has passed, yes,” she answered through her muddled thoughts. “We did have one case last year where the account had gone stale and the rent fell in arrears. We reached out to the owner and, once the family provided a copy of the death certificate and the will, we allowed them to remove the contents.”

“Did they find anything exciting?” His brow lifted in curiosity.

“They were smiling when they left,” she said.

They passed another pair of fund managers. The woman glanced from Sylvain to Isabeau and her quirked lips said, Lucky Duck.

Isabeau glanced away and led Sylvain deeper into the building.

“Do you have any relics?” Sylvain asked. “Boxes that were rented years ago and no one has accessed in decades?”

“Some, yes. The vault itself was replaced in the nineteen-eighties and was very cutting edge at the time. The door has since been upgraded to require a hand print, but today’s customer expects more than a simple key to protect their valuables. That’s why I suggested Olav look at upgrading the boxes to biometric.” Yes, she was petty enough to assert that it was her idea, not his.

“What about after-hours access?”

“By appointment, similar to my taking you down there like this.” She waved her fob to call the elevator, explaining, “My access into the elevator will be logged automatically. The vault level requires both my fob and hand print. Same for the door into the emergency stairwell.”

“Is the vault door on a timer?”

“No, but it also needs dual verification to get in and out. A security guard patrols the building after hours and we have CCTV cameras throughout.” She pointed to the tinted dome in the ceiling. “Overall, the security procedures here are very tight, but I’m sure there’s always room for improvement.”

“I could give you twenty recommendations off the top of my head,” he said dryly.

She smiled, but also experienced another prickle of something being askew as they stepped into the elevator.

“How did you get into this line of work?” She set her hand on the reader and pressed for the vault level.

“My uncle was in the military. His wife was a bio-scientist. They paired up when he returned to civilian life. They raised me so it was a natural fit for me to go into the business.”

What had happened to his parents, she wondered? Sylvain had the bearing of someone who had been trained for the military himself. His posture was straight and watchful, his shoulders wide beneath his iron-gray suit.

He caught her studying him.

Fresh apprehension tingled through her. It was a sting in her nostrils that she put down to one of those moments when a woman realizes she’s alone with a man, but this was fine. Sylvain was the owner of a top-level security company. Olav had vetted him himself. They were under the watchful eyes of the CCTV.

“Do you usually pitch clients yourself?” she asked as the doors opened.

“No, but this was an opportunity I couldn’t ignore. I won’t keep you long,” he promised as he waved for her to leave the elevator ahead of him.

This was all above board, she reassured herself as she led him to the reinforced door of the vault.

She used her fob and applied her hand print to the reader. The door lock clicked and whirred.

Sylvain helped her pull it open, which wasn’t necessary. The size made it seem heavy and ungainly, but it was cantilevered and moved smoothly with little effort.

The inside of the vault was a nondescript room of two meters by five. There were two light panels in the ceiling and three walls were lined by the gleaming steel plates that fronted the boxes. A wheeled, mahogany cart sat in the middle of the tiled floor.

If Sylvain had been a client, Isabeau would have brought a pair of white gloves. She would assist him with removing his box, set it on the cart, and wheel it into the privacy room between the vault and the elevator, all under his supervision. Then she would stand outside the door until such time as he was ready to return the drawer to its slot.

He withdrew something from the inside pocket of his jacket and stepped into the vault.

She briefly glimpsed the red line of a laser pointer, which he aimed at the camera in the corner of the ceiling. Somehow, he affixed the pointer to the wall inside the door of the vault.

“What is that? A measuring device?”

“Don’t look into it.” His tone became uncompromising. “Or touch it.”

He had just told her not to look at it, but she reflexively stepped forward to peer around the vault entrance to see it.

Sylvain looped his arm out, drawing her into the vault while catching at the handle on the vault door, pulling it closed behind them.

“What are you doing?!” she cried, backing into the cart in her hurry to put space between them.

The cart clattered against the wall behind her.

“A brief act of larceny. You’re perfectly safe, provided you don’t get in my way. Stand over there.” He nodded toward the back corner of the vault.

“Are you kidding? No.” She tried to get around him, but he side-stepped to block her and nodded toward the back wall.

She knotted her fists as she retreated as far as she could while glancing at the telephone hardwired into the wall by the door. There was an emergency button beside it that would only take one smack to bring the police.

When she swung her attention back to Sylvain, he was watching her. He seemed bigger. More daunting and lethal.

“Be wise, Isabeau,” he said in a quiet voice that rumbled with warning. “Stand there nicely while I do what I came here to do.”

She would not freak out. Or cry. But a ball of terror in her chest pushed wild heat into her eyes.

What could she do? It couldn’t be nothing.

 

Chapter Two

This was not the way Sylvain would have chosen to be alone with Isabeau Knight.

Time was of the essence, but even amid his hurried research on Banque du Zurlinder earlier today, he’d been arrested by the images of the bank’s risk management specialist.

He hadn’t allowed himself to linger beyond scanning her basic info, but when Olav had said, “Let me see if Isabeau can stay late,” a disturbingly tight fist of satisfaction had closed over Sylvain’s vitals.

Her photos had not prepared Sylvain for how truly beautiful she was. Or how subtly fierce.

She might be shaking with fear and pale with shock, but her chin was set at a defiant angle. Behind her glasses, her golden-brown eyes were alight with fury and her mouth was pinched with resolve.

He was not in the habit of frightening women. His initial plan had been to come down here with Olav and ‘demonstrate’ how easily his vault could be robbed.

All of this was happening on the fly, however. It had taken precious time to find a connection who would get him a meeting with Olav. When Olav had said he had a commitment and had tried to brush him off, Sylvain had had to improvise.

Was there not someone else who could take him into the vault? As TSE’s first commercial account, Zurlinder stood to set a new standard in security. They would enjoy substantial savings and preferential treatment.

It was all a lie that Olav had eaten up with a spoon. The greater irony was that Olav hadn’t brought Sylvain to Isabeau to accommodate Sylvain’s schedule or for those benefits Sylvain had mentioned.

No, Olav had introduced them so he could show off his extremely beautiful executive, implying a deeper relationship than they had. Olav’s vanity had backfired in his face, though. Chemistry had exploded between Isabeau and Sylvain.

Sylvain was an experienced man. He’d seen the flare of Isabeau’s pupils and the flush under her skin. He knew what it meant and so had Olav.

But indulging that attraction would have to wait.

Sylvain unrolled his leather case of lockpicking tools onto the top of the cart.

“Are you serious?” Isabeau cried.

“Are you serious?” he mocked. “You allowed me to walk in here with these. I had a contingency plan if I was searched, but good God.” He rolled his eyes and selected the twisted tension tool and the half-diamond hook. “There ought to be a welcome mat outside the door.”

He glanced around to find box number 142, which was at his eye level.

Before he could start, Isabeau lurched forward and snatched up a tool.

He sighed and turned to face her. “I don’t have time to flirt, Isabeau.”

Her name rolled off his tongue like velvety soft bubbles in fine champagne.

She brandished the makeshift shiv as she tried to edge along the opposite wall toward the door.

He nudged the cart with his knee, sending it across the vault to block her path.

“What are you going to do with a lock rake? Hmm? Stab me? The first rule of a knife fight is to hide the fact that you have a knife. The second is to know what to do with one when it’s in your hand.” He showed her the two implements he held. “Unlike you, I have an idea where to put these to do real damage. All you’ll do is break that thing on my ribs and test my patience.” He took a step toward her.

“Don’t!” She tried to shove the cart into him.

He already had his leg in the way and ignored the smarting crack when it hit his shinbone.

She released a noise of anger and jiggled it, smacking his shin a few more times before she leaned her weight fully into it.

He resisted until she went red in the face, then shoved it out of the way, sending her stumbling toward him.

He easily caught her while she was off balance and, in two steps, had her pressed into the wall of door plates. He pinned her there with his weight, holding her hands trapped on either side of her head, both of them dropping their lockpicking tools so they pinged off the floor.

Damn, she smelled good. Like spring and wildflowers and the indescribable fragrance of her personal essence. She was tall and lithe against him, twisting with anger and surprising strength. She was not voluptuous. Her breasts were actually very delicate, her pelvis narrow, her thighs spaced so he felt the tautness of her skirt fabric like a wall against his knees.

He wanted this fight from her, he realized. It was an excuse to touch her. A reason to unleash the conqueror that had always lived in him. The one that had surged to the fore in the last few days. Sylvain wasn’t like her overbred golden-boy of a boss. He had been forged by his uncle into an iron fist. A scepter. A man who could wrest control from treacherous hands. One who could rule, yes, and exact revenge for a life that had been lost too soon. For the life that had been denied to him.

Isabeau’s softness beguiled him, though. It made him forget the bloodlust on his tongue and the ticking clock in his head.

She didn’t turn her face away in rejection or drop her gaze in submission. She glared straight into his eyes. Her pink lips were a perfect bow-shape with a plump graceful bottom lip and a top one defined by two sharp points with feminine arcs draping toward the corners.

He wanted to kiss that mouth. Cover it and claim it and do filthy things with it. His tongue sizzled with anticipation for her taste.

He almost did it. He heard her breath catch as he dropped his head, then felt her twitch as he veered to her cheek at the last second.

“Playing will have to wait, dulzura,” he told her. He brushed his nose against her cheekbone, drinking in her scent and thrilling at how still she became. Not frightened or compliant. Gripped. She felt this thing between them and that was what she was resisting. “But I can tie you up if you want me to. Would you like that?”

She tried to buck him off and called him a very rude name, telling him where he could go. She began to struggle in earnest.

He stretched her arms higher and pinned her wrists in a single hand, then used his weight to crush his hips against her abdomen, keeping her exactly where he wanted her while he reached to loosen his tie.

“I wore this for this reason.” Restraining Olav wouldn’t have been nearly so titillating.

“Don’t,” she gasped, lashes quivering and mouth trembling in genuine fear.

He felt the barest stir in his conscience. She was only trying to defend herself. In another life—on any other day—he would teach her how to protect herself properly.

Hell, in another life, they would be horizontal while he held her like this, putting the sensual in consensual restraint.

As it was, he had this life and he hadn’t even lived it to its fullest extent. Not yet.

“Will you behave?” He drilled into her gaze with his own.

Rebelliousness and dread warred in her expression.

“You will not get another chance if you lie to me,” he warned. “I have to do this, Isabeau. Give me your word that you will not interfere. I’ll let you watch,” he added dryly.

“I can’t stand here and watch you commit a crime,” she sputtered.

“Then close your eyes and think of England.”

She tsked and tried to thrust him off again.

God, he couldn’t stand it. He grasped her jaw and tasted all that fire. Once.

Her flavor spilled through him, potent as fine whiskey, rich as dark chocolate.

When her lips softened like crushed rose petals against his own, receptive and inviting, victory went to his head and thundered in his chest and rushed heat to his groin. Hunger and lust and savage need consumed him. He ravaged her mouth, drowning for timeless seconds in all that was her.

He wanted. Craved. He stood on the precipice of throwing everything away because she was too much to resist.

But resist he did.

He jerked his head up and warned her in a rasp, “Be good.”

Then he pushed away and bend to pick up his tools.

She touched her mouth, eyes wide in shock, then rubbed her wrist as though he’d abraded her skin. He knew damned well she was only trying to rub away the same sensation that was lingering in his own palms and at every other point on his body where they had touched.

He replaced the lock rake into its pocket and aligned the cart so it was at hand again, then inserted the tension tool, keeping his radar alert for sudden moves behind him.

“Do you happen to have the guard key on you? It would save me some trouble.”

“No,” she scoffed. “I wouldn’t give it to you if I did. I’ll lose my job if I let you do this.”

“You are what’s known as collateral damage, Isabeau.” In the back of his mind, he was adjusting his plans, recognizing what her witnessing this meant for him, but it was too soon to reveal any of that. She really would put up a fight. “I’ve accepted it. You should, too.”

“That’s—”

“Do not move,” he warned as her foot scraped against the concrete. He shot a glance over his shoulder.

She tightened her mouth and folded her arms, glaring hatred at him.

“Who does that box belong to?” she asked in a sullen voice.

“You don’t know?” He found the first pin and lifted it.

“There are six hundred boxes in here. How could I?”

“Not even if I threatened your life?”

“Are you threatening my life?” She was trying for bravado, but her voice was unsteady. When he glanced over his shoulder, she was blinking rapidly behind her glasses.

She looked a little like someone who’d nearly been knocked from the bow of a boat by a rogue wave.

Perhaps he was projecting, though. In this moment, he was barely clinging to what passed for his own foundations while he stared into the heart of a storm.

She was not part of his plan. Not at all.

“Maybe don’t tell anyone what I’ve done and you won’t lose your job.” He bit back a curse as one of the pins he’d lifted promptly dropped. He finagled it back up and nodded as the guard lock released. He shifted his tools to the renter lock.

“Counteroffer,” Isabeau said hotly. “I’ll pretend this didn’t happen if you stop what you’re doing and let me leave right now.”

“Stop at ‘just the tip?’ Are you saying that if I don’t go all the way, you can claim this didn’t happen?”

“Don’t be gross! How do you even expect to get away with this?” she hissed. “The security desk will notice the camera is out. A guard will be here any second.”

“Olav told the security desk that I would be taking measurements down here. They won’t wander all this way for that. If they notice the camera is out, they’ll wonder first if we’re having a quickie. Either way, they’ll will try the red line first.” Sylvain elbowed toward the telephone. “You’ll tell them we’re safe and that we’re leave shortly.”

“I’ll tell them I’m being held hostage. That’s a crime here in Switzerland along with breaking into vaults. Is it not a crime where you’re from?”

“You don’t have a scratch on you. You’re not even scared anymore, judging by all this sarcasm. Be quiet a moment. This side is tricky.” He winced as he applied a little more pressure on the tension tool. “These locks are sophisticated even for today. The keys have two rows of bittings which make them a little more challenging.” He maintained the tension and reached back to the cart for a single-hook.

“Do you really believe I’ll let you waltz out of here with whatever you take from that box? I have to report you,” she said stridently.

“I think I can persuade you otherwise.” He sent her a look over his shoulder.

A guilty blush rushed into her cheeks. She dropped her gaze and her brow crinkled in consternation.

“Even if you leave me in here, dead, people will know it was you,” she muttered. “There is no way you’re getting away with this.”

“Here is how I— Damn it.” Another pin dropped, but he was able to quickly nudge it back into place. “Here is how I weighed the risk. Olav will be too embarrassed to involve the police. If he reports a theft, the bank will lose customers and their insurance premiums will increase. Also, his father will be angry. He strikes me as the kind of man who worries about that sort of thing. Now if you report it, whether he believes you tried to stop me or not, he will use you as his scapegoat.”

This tool wasn’t working. If he’d had time to practice, this would have gone faster, but here he was. He switched to the deforest diamond, which had a deeper reach, and worked on the final pins.

“If you choose to skip reporting me to the police and only tell Olav— What do you see in him, by the way? This?” He nodded upward to indicate the bank.

“Don’t be crass.”

“Well, it’s not sex. You’re not sleeping with him. That’s why he was so jealous when all I did was shake your hand. Wait until he hears that I kissed you.”

“Assaulted,” she snapped.

“Was it?” he asked skeptically. Her recoil from Olav’s touch on her arm had been obvious, whereas she’d melted like candlewax under his kiss. Her lips had pulled hungrily at his.

Her jaw worked as though she wanted to deny it, but she looked away instead of lying about her reaction, which he found very interesting.

“Olav’s insecurity works in my favor, too. No matter how much you tell him, he’ll wonder if you were helping me. Even if he lets you keep your job, he’ll never trust you again. Once again, your best option is to keep quiet.”

“I can’t. This theft will come out eventually. The owner of that box—”

“Is dead.” The second lock released. Finally. “With luck, this won’t be noticed for years.” He highly doubted that. He expected this box to be opened with its key in the next hour. That’s why he was going to such drastic measures to get into it first. “This is your chance to name the price for your silence, Isabeau.”

“The contents of the box, obviously,” she said with heavy irony.

“It won’t do you any good.” He guided the long flat drawer out of its slot. “I hope this is the right one. We don’t want to be here all night, do we?”

“Hilarious.”

He set the box onto the cart, then lifted the lid all the way back.

In his periphery, Isabeau craned her neck to peer at the contents.

It held only a green ledger with the words, Santa Maria de Sentaga embossed in gold across the leather cover. In smaller block letters it read, Record of Marriages, in the Helarizian dialect.

As Sylvain picked it up, the book naturally fell open to the last written entry. There, tucked between the pages, was a white envelope.

A strange sensation washed over him. He glanced at the names on the last line in the book: his mother’s name was under ‘bride.’ The man who was purported to be his father was listed under ‘groom.’

His heart drummed in hard, painful beats that resounded in his ears.

He hadn’t believed it. Not really. Who would?

He set the book down and removed the document from the envelope.

The form was titled Registration of Marriage. It had been tucked away from heat and light for more than thirty years so it had barely yellowed. Every field was completed, including the signatures of two witnesses—his uncle and another man. The priest’s signature was on the bottom.

It was ready to be submitted to the government for official registration of the marriage, but had never been sent.

Sylvain’s self-perception of himself was profoundly altered as he stared at this form. It felt like a physical transformation. This vault was the chrysalis. He had come into this room as a disenfranchised bastard. He was leaving it as something else entirely. Someone with an entirely different life ahead of him.

He was leaving it as the person he was always meant to be.

“A marriage registration?” Isabeau sounded understandably baffled.

“I was told all my life that my mother had run away from my father.” Abuse, Sylvain had been led to believe. It had been a heavy burden to carry. His father was the source of this darkness within him, Sylvain had surmised. He had hated that cold-hearted part of himself even as he learned to harness and wield it.

“Last year, I learned the truth.” Despite holding the proof in his hands, he was still struggling to believe it. “It was my father’s family who threatened my mother when they learned of the affair. She ran away, fearing for her life. When my father found her, he married her in secret, even though he was engaged to someone else. She died hours later, giving birth to me. To maintain the peace, my father hid the marriage and my existence, and went through with the marriage that had been arranged for him.”

“Is that true?” Isabeau searched his eyes. “Because I understand not wanting to cause family strife, but that was very cruel of your father to erase you from his life that way.”

The pained astonishment glittering in her eyes stood directly on his oldest unhealed wound, forcing him to look away so he wouldn’t feel the searing depth of it.

“It was a very advantageous marriage,” he said with a curl of his lip. “And would have caused more than ‘family strife’ if he’d refused. I didn’t even know who my father was until my uncle passed away last year. He left me a letter in his will, explaining what really happened.”

“Who was he? Your father?” She came to his side to read the document he held.

Sylvain could have snapped the book closed, but he hadn’t risked imprisonment today so he could continue hiding who he was.

“Renaud Velasco?” She lifted astounded eyes to his. “Your father is King Renaud? Of Helariza? The one who just died?”

“Yes.” He was Renaud’s successor, the King of Helariza.