“Of course,” he said in a hollow voice.

It seemed that as he avoided one pitfall another opened at his feet. His conscience was troubling him more every minute. But he had no choice. At all costs, he had to get Dottie to Elluria, or his country would be at Harold's mercy, and that mustn't be allowed to happen.

“We can be married at once,” Dottie was murmuring, almost to herself. “Oh but look, it's nonsense. Things don't happen like this. We have to be realistic.”

“Perhaps you can be too realistic,” Randolph pointed out. “Take the chance life holds out to you.” The cunning of the serpent made him add, “Just think how mad Brenda will be when she finds out! Of course, by then it will be too late.”

“Oh, if only I could be there to see her face,” Dottie breathed.

“But you won't,” Randolph reminded her. “You'll be in Elluria, with Mike.”

“Let's go,” Dottie said at once. She jumped to her feet, her face shining with joy. “Oh Mike, Mike!”

She threw her arms about him and they hugged each other exuberantly. Randolph suddenly looked away. When he looked back he found Dottie regarding him, and he could have sworn there was accusation in her eyes.

Like all crown princes of Elluria, Randolph had spent some time in the army. There he'd learned lessons about tactics, strategy and intelligence gathering that stood him in good stead now.

Certain things were simple, like arranging two diplomatic passports. Sorting matters with Mike and Dottie's employers were tasks for embassy attachés. But keeping his two quarries in protective custody without arousing Dottie's suspicions further, demanded the skills of a policeman, a magician and a mother hen, and taxed Randolph's ingenuity to the fullest.

Whatever organizing skills Dottie displaying at the café seemed not to carry over into her personal life. Her packing was an exercise in chaos, and the number of times she stopped to remember, “just one more thing,” drove Randolph nearly demented.

Finally she made her appearance dressed for traveling in what she called “comfortable clothes.” These turned out to be a pair of short shorts which would give her future prime minister heart failure, were he to see them. Luckily Randolph had prepared for this disaster by having suitable clothing waiting on the aircraft.

At last he had them in a car on the way to the airport, and their attention was occupied by the excitement of the trip.

“What happens when we get there?” Mike asked.

“We get married,” Dottie said firmly.

“What, today?”

“It will take a few days for the paperwork to be complete,” Randolph said hastily. “In the meantime, why don't we celebrate with champagne?”

He produced glasses and a bottle of Bollinger from the car's mini bar, and the moment slid past. At the airport they were whisked through their passport checks with the minimum of fuss, and then onto the small luxuriously appointed aircraft, with its soft armchairs in a pale biscuit color.

“Where are the other passengers?” Dottie asked.

“You are Elluria's honored guests,” Randolph informed her. “This is a special plane, part of our hospitality.”

It was, in fact, the royal plane, which had been on standby, ready to leave at his command.

Dottie regarded him wryly. Something about this was all wrong, and she was growing more uneasy by the minute. But once they took off she became entranced with gazing out of the window at the sea, and then the coast as they reached France.

“Hey, look at that,” she breathed to Mike. Receiving no answer she turned and found Mike missing.

“He's in the cockpit,” Randolph explained, coming to sit beside her. “Knowing that he was interested in things mechanical, the captain invited him.”

“You fixed that,” Dottie said. It wasn't a question. She already knew that this man was a great fixer.

“Yes,” he admitted. “I needed to talk to you alone. Please Dottie, it's very important.” Having created his chance he found he couldn't use it, and was silent a long time.

“So important that you can't find the words?” she suggested.

“Exactly that. What I have to tell you is so extraordinary that at first you may not believe it. In fact, you won't believe it.”

“If I'm not going to believe it, it doesn't matter what words you use,” she said, trying to be helpful.

“Oh it matters. A lot hangs on this. You may blame me for…for various thing-”

“Well, I have a few things to blame you for, haven't I?” she said quietly.

She couldn't name the obscure sense of hurt that had troubled her since this morning. Nor would she say aloud that he'd deluded her with false magic, but the unspoken reproach was there in her eyes, and he colored.

“Please hear me out before you judge me,” he said.

When she didn't reply he took out a copy of Royal Secrets and put it into her hands. “Read page 8,” he said.

Frowning she opened at the page, and the first thing she saw was a large picture, captioned, Prince Randolph, The Deposed Heir.

At first she didn't believe what her eyes told her. It was impossible for this to be the man sitting opposite her. But gradually the truth of the likeness became impossible to ignore.

“But…you're Mr. Holsson.”

“I'm afraid he doesn't exist. I am-I was Crown Prince Randolph of Elluria. Until recently I was heir to the throne. Then it turned out that my father had never been properly married to my mother. In short, I am a bastard, and incapable of inheriting.”

“But what's that got to do with me?”

“Let's say you did your grandfather an injustice. Those tales weren't just the drink talking. You're a direct descendent of the royal house of Elluria.”

“Oh, get away with you. This is a windup, isn't it? Any minute now a bloke's going to start filming me for Candid Camera.”

“Dorothea, I am trying to be serious. This is not a 'windup.' Your royal descent goes back over a hundred years, to Duke Egbert, who was the king's brother. He married an English lady and went to live in England. They had one child, Dorothea, who married a man called Augustus Hebden, and you're their great-great-great-granddaughter.”

“So we're both called Dorothea. It's a coincidence.”

“It occurs in every generation, and we've had two Queen Dorotheas. It's a common name in the Ellurian royal family, and in yours I believe?”

“Well, there was my great Aunt Dot… How did you know?”

“Because I've checked the Hebden family and there's no mistake.”

“So if I'm descended from a duke, how come I'm running a greasy spoon?”

“Egbert was a spendthrift. He got through his wife's money, but managed to marry his daughter to a wealthy man on the strength of his royal connections. Then he spent his son-in-law's money, too. After that it was downhill all the way. And you are not running a greasy spoon. That's in the past. Now you are Her Royal Highness, Princess Dorothea, heiress to the throne of Elluria, and my fifth cousin.”

“We're related?”

“Very distantly.”

She stared. “You're serious aren't you? You staged this whole thing-”

“To get you to Elluria. Don't expect me to apologize. Without you the next heir is Harold of Korburg, and it makes me go cold to think of what will happen to my country if he gets his hands on it. Elluria is rich in minerals and Harold is greedy. He would sell the ground out from under us, and spend nothing on the people. You must become the queen. Anything else is unthinkable.”

“For you, maybe. Who gave you the right to kidnap me?”

“I didn't-”

“Oh yes you did. Don't play word games with me. You talked me onto this plane with a pack of lies.”

“Yes, I did,” he admitted. “That's how desperate the situation is. Dorothea-”

“Don't call me that. I'm Dottie.”

“Not anymore. For the past ten minutes we've been in Ellurian air space, and in this country you are Princess Dorothea.”

“Then listen to me, buster. Princess Dorothea demands to see the British consul.”

Randolph had grown pale. “Her Royal Highness's commands will be obeyed as soon as we land. In the meantime, I've arranged for some more elegant clothing to be on board. May I suggest that you attire yourself suitably for your first appearance before your people?”

Dottie looked at him and a hint of mulishness crept into her eyes. “You've got a nerve, dictating my clothes for me. I'll arrive as Dottie Hebden, because that's who I am. And if that's not good enough for you, the sooner you send me home, the better pleased I'll be.”

A steward appeared and addressed Randolph. “Sir, the captain says we'll be landing in a few moments.”

Randolph thanked him, and as soon as he departed said urgently, “There isn't much time. Please put the dress on. I promise you, it'll suit you. And your people will expect you to look the part.”

“Meaning that I don't look the part now.”

“No,” he said, suppressing a shudder.

“Good. Then they won't get any ideas about my staying here. I'll go as I am.”

“But Dottie-Dorothea-”

“Dottie will do. Shouldn't Mike be coming back here if we're landing?” She heard Randolph's sound of exasperation and said, “It wouldn't work, honestly. I couldn't carry it off. Giving people orders-”

“Is this the woman who wanted to be 'Authority with a capital A'?”

“In that tatty café, yes, but I couldn't give orders in real life.”

Before he could reply Mike returned from the cockpit, full of the things he'd seen and eager to share them with Dottie.

“Yes, love,” she said kindly. “We'll talk about it later. I want to tell you what this joker's up to.” Briefly she outlined what Randolph had told her, but with an ironic tone, managing to imply that only a madman would believe a word of it.

“We're going to be landing in a minute,” she said, “and there'll be all sorts going on.”

“What are we going to do?” Mike asked.

She took his face between her hands. “Mike darling, don't say anything. Just leave the talking to me.”

As she delivered the order she caught Randolph's ironic eye on her.

To Dottie's relief their arrival passed off quietly. The plane came to rest in a discreet corner of the airfield, steps were rolled up, and she descended, firmly holding onto Mike, straight to a waiting limousine. As soon as Randolph had joined them the journey began.

The light was fading and she could see little through the car's darkened windows. Even so, the sight that met her eyes after twenty minutes was breathtaking.

“That's the royal palace,” Randolph said, following her gaze.

The classically elegant building was nearly a quarter of a mile long, and was reached by a long avenue of ornate fountains. Two Z-shaped staircases led up the front. Wherever she looked Dottie saw windows filled with faces, proving that her arrival was already known. It was a relief when the car swung around to the side of the building, and a more discreet entrance. To her awe a footman stepped forward and opened her door, bowing slightly.

This was her, Dottie Hebden, being bowed to. Any minute she would wake up.

She allowed Randolph to lead her into the building, and had advanced some yards before she realized something was wrong.

“Where's Mike?” she demanded.

“My aide is looking after him. I give you my word, he'll come to no harm.”

“As long as he's ready to leave, with me, first thing tomorrow morning,” she said with more firmness than she felt.

As he spoke they were rising in a small elevator.

“It's the quickest way up to the state apartments,” he explained.

Dottie set her chin but said no more. When the elevator stopped she found herself in a small corridor, with three dark oak doors leading off. Randolph opened the largest.

“This is the rear entrance to your apartment.”

She found herself in a set of luxurious rooms that took her breath away. There was the royal reception room, the royal bathroom, the royal dressing room and the royal bedroom. This last one was like a small cathedral, with a ceiling that soared high above them.

“I'll bet this is murder to heat properly,” Dottie muttered.

“My mother always said the same thing,” Randolph agreed. “That's why you'll be glad of the four poster bed. The drapes keep out drafts. Now, allow me to present your maid, Bertha.”

A strongly built young woman with a cheerful face advanced and, to Dottie's horrified fascination, dropped a curtsy. Confused and distracted by this, Dottie obeyed the dictates of good manners and curtsied back. Bertha was aghast.

“I shouldn't have done that, should I?” Dottie muttered.

“Never mind,” Randolph whispered back.

“Can't you make her go away?”