The Bodyguard's Bride-To-Be. Amelia Autin
that had been poured for Tahra. “That’s probably wise. Not easy for your fiancé, of course. Zakharian men are...” She cleared her throat. “A tad on the alpha side,” she said, tongue in cheek. “If you haven’t already discovered that for yourself.”
“A tad?” Tahra forgot for a moment she was chatting with the queen of Zakhar and answered the way she would have answered with one of her girlfriends. “Marek is über-alpha, not just a tad.” She snorted delicately. “And controlling. He thinks he knows best in everything.”
Juliana’s laughter pealed out. “Oh, tell me about it. Andre is just the same. It must be something in the blood. Zakharian men like to see themselves as masters of their fate, and Viscount Saint-Yves is no exception.”
A little chill ran down Tahra’s back, as if the name should mean something to her...but it didn’t. “Viscount Saint-Yves?” she repeated slowly, feeling as if something was right there on the outskirts of her memory, but try though she might, it wouldn’t appear. She shook her head in puzzlement. “Who’s he?”
Juliana’s mouth formed an O. After a pregnant pause she said, “I forgot you don’t remember.”
Tahra could add two and two. “Is Marek...Captain Zale...Viscount Saint-Yves? Why didn’t he tell me?”
Juliana cleared her throat. “That’s another thing about Zakharian men...most of them, anyway,” she explained. “Andre was that way when he was in the Zakharian National Forces, and woe betide anyone who addressed him as anything other than Lieutenant Marianescu when he was on duty! Zax, too. Prince Xavier,” she clarified. “Andre’s cousin, the head of internal security. He prefers his military title, Colonel Marianescu. So I’m not surprised Marek—Captain Zale—hasn’t mentioned it to you. Military service is a particular source of pride to Marianescus.”
Tahra gave up trying to eat with her left hand and laid her fork on her plate. “Wait,” she said with a mixture of bewilderment and denial. “What do you mean, military service is a particular source of pride to Marianescus? Marek isn’t a Marianescu.”
The queen hesitated. “Well...actually...he is. He has the Marianescu fingers, you know, and that’s a dead giveaway.”
Tahra just stared blankly. “The Marianescu fingers?”
“Hadn’t you noticed? It’s a slight genetic defect that marks many of the Marianescus—a crook in the pinkies of both hands. Andre has it. Zax, too. And my son inherited it from Andre.”
“But...”
“Apparently it’s a dominant gene, because it has come down through the centuries from the first Andre Alexei right through to the present day. Not every Marianescu inherits it. Princess Mara didn’t—her pinkies are perfectly straight. But Marek did.”
“But...” Tahra couldn’t seem to process that the man she thought was merely a captain in the Zakharian National Forces, and the head of the crown prince’s security detail, was in fact a viscount and related to the king.
“Marek’s grandmother on his father’s side and Andre’s grandfather on his father’s side were brother and sister. She married the Count of Mortagne, whose family name is Zale. Which makes Marek... Let me think.” The queen touched a finger to her lips as she tried to figure the exact degree of relationship. “If Andre’s father and Marek’s father were first cousins, that makes Andre and Marek second cousins? I think that’s right, because they share great-grandparents.”
“You mean I’m engaged to...royalty?”
Juliana shook her head. “Not exactly. Royalty doesn’t follow the female line, not in Zakhar. So Andre’s sister, Mara, bears the courtesy title of princess, but her son and daughter aren’t considered royalty and aren’t in the line of succession. The same goes for Marek. While one of his grandmothers was a royal princess, he inherited no title from her and he’s not in line to the throne.”
“But he is a...a viscount, you said. Right?”
“Right. He’s the oldest son of the current Count of Mortagne, and as such bears the title Viscount Saint-Yves.” Tahra’s confusion obviously showed on her face, because the queen smiled. “You’ll get the hang of it eventually. Who married whom, the role Zakhar’s nobility played in its history, et cetera.”
“You mean—”
“When you marry Marek, of course. But don’t worry about it now, just remember what I said. His military title is more important to him than his inherited title. The first one he earned. The other was merely a gift of fate.”
Tahra couldn’t take it all in. Had Marek told her all this before? Was that what he’d been referring to when he said he’d explained what mariskya meant at some point during the missing eighteen months of her life? His words replayed in her mind. “The first time I called you mariskya you asked me. But I would not tell you because you would not have understood. Not then. Only later, after I... That is, after we...”
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