Free The Gift: A Novella by Sandra Marton Page B

if it had been chiseled from stone.
    “You will come to my rooms in one hour,” he told Rostov.
    Rostov laughed. “Do you think I will take orders from you?”
    “Lighthorse Investments,” Kaz said, very, very softly. “Waterside Funding Company. Sardovia Gold Mines, Incorporated. You hold large stakes in them all.”
    Rostov went a little pale. “What is your point, Savitch?”
    “My point,” Kaz said, “is that you will appear in my rooms in one hour, or the investors in those companies are in for some distressing news.”
    He turned to Katie, threaded his hands into her hair, lifted her face to his and kissed her. She hesitated, but only for a heartbeat. Then she put her arms around his neck and kissed him back.
    Rostov said something ugly.
    The crowd of dignitaries gasped.
    “I love you,” Kaz said softly.
    He knew that he would never forget the look on Katie’s face.
    “I will never forget you, Kazimir,” she whispered.
    One last, sweet kiss. Then Kaz turned to the minister of state and said, “Take me to the king.”
    Was that a smile on the minister’s normally-stern lips?
    No. After all, what was there to smile about?
    Katie was weeping. Kaz caught one of her tears on the tip of his finger and brought it to his lips.
    Then he followed the minister to the big black Bentley that awaited them.
    * * * *
    To Kaz’s surprise, the king met him not in the throne room but in the small, far less formal chamber that adjoined it.
    Except for a guard in ceremonial dress who stood stiffly at the doors to the throne room, the king was alone, seated at the head of a rectangular table.
    He motioned Kaz to the chair beside his.
    “Kazimir. How was your flight?”
    “Grandfather. Let’s not waste time.” Kaz settled into the chair and looked at the king. “Your plans for Ekaterina must be changed.”
    The old man’s bushy white eyebrows rose.
    “This is the twenty-first century,” Kaz said. “Marriages are not arranged by kings or councils.”
    “What about parents? It is the Rostovs who proposed this alliance, Kazimir. We thought about it, considered it—”
    “And decided it was appropriate. Well, it is not. Katie was not—”
    “Katie,” the king said with a faint smile.
    “Exactly. Katie was not consulted.”
    The king shrugged. “That is a secondary issue.”
    “It is the only issue,” Kaz said, shoving back his chair and shooting to his feet. “And, for your information, Grandfather, it was not both the Rostovs who came up with this idea; it was only Gregor. His wife, Katie’s mother, is terminally ill. Rostov made this sound like a dream match. He knew that she’d approve if he did, and that she would make its fulfillment her dying wish.” He leaned over the table, slapped his hands against the gleaming surface and looked into the king’s eyes. “We both know it isn’t a dream match. We know what Dmitri is like. He gambles, he drinks, he whores. He is my father all over again.”
    The king folded his arms.
    “Go on, Kazimir. You have more to say? Say it.”
    “Free Ekaterina Rostov from the obligation you have put upon her. Tell Rostov you have withdrawn your blessing from this union.”
    “And?”
    “And, what?”
    “And, if I do, what becomes of her mother? A dying wish, you said.”
    “Her wish is to see her daughter safely wed to a man who will take care of her, love her, provide for her.”
    “But if she does not marry your uncle—”
    “She will marry me.”
    The king’s face was expressionless.
    “You would make this sacrifice to save the girl?”
    Kaz took a deep breath.
    “I would make no sacrifice, Grandfather. I love her. And I have every reason to believe that she loves me.”
    Silence descended over the room. Then, slowly, the king rose to his feet.
    “And if I do not agree to this?”
    Kaz’s face hardened. “Gregor Rostov is to meet me in ten minutes. I will tell him that he must withdraw from the agreement he has made with you.”
    “It is not wise to