Her homeliness hadn’t mattered to Willy. Although far from beautiful, when she smiled she was pleasant-looking and he’d never been stirred by any woman’s beauty other than by Ella’s, and neither did he expect he ever would be. Dona’s dim-wittedness hadn’t mattered, either. Instead he’d counted it one of her advantages, for the last thing he’d wanted was a fiercely intelligent woman who would meddle in political affairs, as his mother constantly did. All he’d wanted from his marriage was a wife who would be dutifully submissive, would bear him strong sons and, as a future empress, would look the part – and although she was plain, Dona did carry herself with impressive dignity.

He sighed heavily. In that she was submissive beyond reproach and, in three years of marriage, had given birth to three strong boys – the last only days ago – she had certainly fulfilled all he’d thought he wanted. What he hadn’t taken into account was that she would love him so cloyingly; that she would expect so much of his time and attention and that, God help him, she would bore him to such an extent there were times when he thought his nerves would give way under the strain of enduring it.

His way of coping had been to spend as little time with Dona as possible. They breakfasted together and then, making courteous insincere apologies about not being able to spend more of the day with her, he speedily departed for regimental headquarters, where he ensured that his duties as colonel and commander of the Hussar Guards kept him away from the palace not only for the whole day, but every evening as well.

Spending time with his regiment was no hardship. It was what he lived for. He had always felt far more comfortable with men than he had with women. Riding with his fellow officers, parading with them and, in the evenings in the officers’ mess, drinking and enjoying practical jokes with them gave him a sense of completeness that he never experienced at any other time. The regiment was his safe harbour and refuge.

That safe harbour and refuge belonged, though, to the pretend Willy, not the real Willy. The real Willy was buried so deep that even he only recognized the person he really was when – as now, in the aftermath of a nightmare – all pretence was stripped away.

The sun was rising. The swans were completing a second lap of the lake. The palace was stirring. Knowing he would not be disturbed until he chose to be, he remained at the window, pondering whether, as an adult, he had ever interacted as the real Willy with anyone.