Page 100 of Modern Romance May 2026 Books 1-4
At this point, on the other end of the line, Poppy had been aghast, her mouth wide open. It wasn’t as if she didn’t know how royal marriages worked, but she’d never heard it laid out with such brutal cynicism.
She’d been tempted to put the phone down on such arrogance but Stephen, who’d been there, had shaken his head silently, cautioning her not to be too hasty. She’d swallowed her hurt pride and had let him make it known that they were now ready to take the call.
Caius’s tone had changed of course. To prince charming. But at least she hadn’t been fooled. They’d been civil and she’d agreed to seriously consider an engagement. At one point she’d said, ‘You don’t seem to think it’s necessary to meet?’
There’d been a pause on the other end of the phone and then Caius had sounded more like the man she’d heard at the start. ‘Look, we both know how these things work. It’s not as if we have much room to manoeuvre. We’ll do what’s required and get on with our lives. Come together for formal occasions when necessary. But as far as I’m concerned you and our…children can still live in Valdere while I remain primarily in Sadat Sur Mer. Once we’re married any interest will die down anyway.’
Poppy had been tempted to retort that interest would die down a lot quicker once he stopped courting attention and sleeping with every supermodel the world had ever known.
She’d put the phone down finally and looked at Stephen and shaken her head. ‘No way. He is not going to be the father of my children and live a separate life. I will not put them through what I experienced, a life of painful rejection and neglect from their father.’
‘Don’t be too quick to judge,’ her advisor had counselled. ‘I don’t need to remind you that you need to marry to become queen, and you can’t bring in any substantial changes until you are queen. Maybe a marriage that allows you to get on with matters of the state with minimal interference isn’t such a bad thing.’
He’d then pointed out, ‘As far as choice goes, you’ve already ruled out many of the contenders.’
Poppy had grimaced. It wasn’t that she was being difficult about choosing a potential king consort, but the available bachelor royals hadn’t been appealing enough to entice her. They were either too conservative, or too partial to drugs, or one in particular who was looking for a new monarchy to feather his nest after being summarily cast out of his own for rumoured sex offences. No. Way.
So, actually, Caius Mansur de Roche, even with his playboy reputation, wasn’t the worst choice, and Stephen had a point. If he was willing to leave her alone to be queen of her country, maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad thing.
Poppy had had to concede that wanting to have a king consort who would also be a fully committed and loving father to his children might well be hoping for too much. After all, they would have her and she would ensure that they never felt unloved or unwanted. She’d already put plans in place to change the rules of inheritance so that if her firstborn was a girl, she could become queen.
Stephen had continued wryly, ‘He had a point about that picture of you.’
Poppy had winced. The photo in question had been commissioned by her father before he’d died and she’d been styled and made up by a team who’d made her look as if she were from another era. Older than her years and unbelievably staid.
Thankfully, since her father’s death, she’d been able to hire her own team and had undergone something of a makeover. She’d always loved fashion and was enjoying experimenting with different looks.
Then Stephen had said, ‘You’ve been invited to that masked ball in Paris. Caius will undoubtedly be there—it’s in aid of one of his charities. You should go, see him in person and then decide if you want to shut the door.’
Well, she had gone to that ball and he had been there and to say it had changed her life was an understatement.
Stephen’s phone rang now, scattering Poppy’s thoughts. He answered it and she went over to the French doors in her bedroom that opened out onto a terrace overlooking the small but impressive city of Valdere—it was a fairy-tale image with the mountains behind the palace and the city spread along the shores of a sparkling lake.
There was an island in the middle of the lake that housed another royal residence. A romantic chateau built by one of Poppy’s ancestors for one of his mistresses. In plain sight of the main palace. A timely reminder of the reality of a royal marriage.
A lot of the buildings dated back to the 1800s when the main industry had been textiles and wealthy merchants had been influenced by their travels to places like Morocco and Asia.
Poppy could see the spire of the medieval cathedral soaring over the terracotta rooftops but she wasn’t seeing the view. Her mind was inwards. Unconsciously her hands went to her belly, where the burgeoning swell of her abdomen had been cleverly disguised as much as possible by her new stylist.
She couldn’t blame the baby in her womb for this scramble to get married. She could only blame herself and the monumental weakness she’d displayed when faced with the world’s most notorious playboy king who had since fallen from grace and become a mere prince again.
The worst of it was, she knew that even if she went back in time, and was faced with the same scenario again, she couldn’t truly say she would have behaved any differently…
Paris, four months ago
It wasn’t hard to spot the man Poppy was looking for in the crowd. Not only did he stand head and shoulders above most of the other guests at this masked ball, he carried himself with the authority and innate privilege that came with being more than a mere mortal. A king. King Caius Mansur de Roche, to be specific.
Even with the black mask that covered half his face he was recognisable. The high forehead. Dark slashing brows. Thick dark hair, just this side of messy. Strong jaw covered with short dark beard. The formidable physique more suited to an athlete than a pampered member of the royal elite.
As crown prince, Caius had blazed a trail through the world’s most glittering hot spots and had never been without a beautiful woman on his arm. They’d rarely lasted longer than one or two public outings though. He was known to be an inveterate playboy and finding him here in the thick of this glittering exclusive masked ball only confirmed what Poppy already knew. He was in no real hurry to settle down—because he didn’t have to, like her, even if her country wasstrategically attractive.
She frowned under her own mask now. She’d come here to see him up close. To try and get the measure of the man who she’d spoken to on the phone only a few days ago to discuss the suitability of a marriage match.Afteroverhearing his unflattering opinion of her. That she looked ten years older than she was and needed a serious makeover.
She hated to admit it but part of her coming here had to do with her piqued feminine pride that he thought her so inconsequential. It had stung somewhere very vulnerable. Thanks to her new stylist, she could now come to a party like this in Paris and not feel like a wallflower.
But she was in disguise because she wanted the luxury of observing King Caius in his natural environment to see just how debauched he really was.
So she’d coloured her distinctive auburn hair with a wash-out colour of dark brown and was wearing dark contact lenses to hide her green eyes. Not that Caius would even have recognised her anyway.Not his type.She didn’t like to admit it but maybe a part of her was still afraid of rejection even if he saw the new, improved version of herself.
