CHAPTER THIRTEEN

      A MONARCH’S death left behind a void that must be filled quickly for the safety and stability of the kingdom and its people.

      At first, all was confusion.

      Despite Aegeus’s illness, his death had been sudden. The king’s private physicians tried every possible means to revive him but to no avail. The Karedes family clustered around the king’s lifeless body; the palace, filled with guests for the queen’s birthday celebration, buzzed with rumors. Andreas comforted his sisters. Sebastian, who as eldest son would, within hours, be named the Prince Regent, was immediately surrounded by guards whose duty it was to protect him, especially in times of turmoil. Alex held his mother in his arms.

      Through it all—the loss of his father, his mother’s tears, his sister’s sobs, the stunned reactions of his brothers and his own shock—through all that, Alex found himself looking over the heads of those who’d crowded into the room. Where was Maria? He needed her. And, surely, she needed him. She’d been alone with his father at the moment of his death.

      She needed his comfort. His arms. And he, God, he needed her.

      A reporter and a couple of photographers had somehow slipped into the room; two of the guards were hustling them out. Had those guards, in error, forced Maria aside?

      He was desperate to find her but Tia was distraught. He couldn’t leave her, not until she was calmer. He told himself not to worry. His Maria was smart. She was resourceful. She’d find his car, have his driver take her home. Or she’d wait for him in a quiet corner of the palace.

      Soon, he’d be alone with her. And he’d tell her what he now knew had been in his heart for weeks. He loved her. He adored her. He could not imagine life without her.

      He didn’t just want her to stay here, on Aristo, as his lover.

      He wanted her to become his wife.

      One thing about death, he thought as he led his mother from the room. It had a profound way of making a man see what really mattered.

      And what mattered, the only thing that mattered, was Maria.

      In the face of a nation’s grief and loss, tradition became its solace.

      Aegeus would lie in state for three days. The Accession Council would meet to formally name Sebastian the Prince Regent, though by tradition coupled with the decades-old decree of Christos, there could be no coronation of him as king until the missing half of the Stefani diamond was returned to the Aristan crown. The Privy Council would meet, too, so its members could certify the succession declaration.

      Andreas took on the coordination of those meetings. Sebastian immersed himself in policy conferences. It fell to Alex to finalize plans for the royal funeral. And yet, as he raced home just before dawn, his thoughts were not on any of those things. He was consumed by worries over something far more important.

      Maria.

      She hadn’t been waiting for him in the palace, not in the public rooms or in the royal apartments. His driver was waiting, in the courtyard, and in response to Alex’s questions the man could only shake his head and say that he had not seen Ms. Santos.

      Alex checked his cell phone. Again. He’d already done that a dozen times but maybe, now, she’d left a message… She hadn’t. He’d phoned her endlessly and been connected to her voice mail, where he’d gone from leaving messages telling her he would break away as soon as he possibly could to increasingly terse ones asking her to contact him.

      By the time he reached the house on the bay, he was frantic.

      “Maria?” he shouted as he burst through the door. “Maria?”

      No answer. He ran up the stairs to his bedroom, flung open the door. The room was dark. Empty.

      “Maria,” he said again, and flew down the stairs, almost stumbling over Athenia who stood at the bottom wearing a housecoat, her hair in curlers.

      “Your Highness. Our hearts are filled with grief. We are all so sorry for you—”

      “Yes. Thank you. Where is Ms. Santos?”

      Athenia bit her lip. Shook her head. Alex cursed in frustration—and then breathed a sigh of relief. He knew where Maria would be. In the guesthouse. He knew her habits. She was probably losing herself in work.

      But the guesthouse, Maria’s workshop, stood as silent and empty as his bedroom. Something about that silence made his heart rise in his throat. He ran back to the main house, took the steps two at a time, flung open the bedroom door, this time switched on the light…

      And knew, instantly, that Maria was gone.

      The room felt cold. Not just empty but barren, as if the very life had been stripped from it. He went to the dressing room, stepped inside. Her suitcase was gone. The beautiful clothes he’d bought her hung from the racks like mournful reminders of the past.

      “Maria,”