She whispered, “None, because I am already pregnant with the child of my husband, Raphael Mirabaud.”
She stood straight and regarded the alabaster crucifix, gazing back at her. The gray velvetwas silky under her palms as she steadied herself by gripping the kneeler. The doctor had indeed told her that she was pregnant, and they’d confirmed it with a test. She had already been a few days overdue in her menstrual cycle.
As she’d suspected, because they were in public, Pierre showed no trace of emotion, not a flush in his cheeks nor a tightening of his jaw. Though his face was frozenin the same expression as a few minutes ago, he seemed too serene to be angry.
The priests, wearing violet and black as it was Advent and Christmas was coming in a few weeks, filed around the casket. Incense smoke from their braziers infiltrated the air and cut the perfume of the multitude of flowers hanging on the walls, the ends of the aisles, and the columns of the church.
Pierre leaned in,whispering, “As per the contract, that will have to be terminated.”
“But you’re Catholic,” Flicka said. “Monaco is a Catholic country, and you still believe that whole Divine Right of Kings via Catholicism. You are entirely opposed to that sort of thing.”
He shook his head, maybe sadly. “That’s for little people, not people like us.” Pierre’s kind smile never wavered. “The Catholic monarchyis more important than mere Catholic politics. We’ll arrange for a doctor’s consultation tomorrow morning and schedule it soon after. Then we can begin to produce legitimate heirs for Monaco, many of them, until I am satisfied that you have produced enough.”
