Shock Heir For The Crown Prince. Kelly Hunter
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stand in that doorway as his daughter awoke, he’d returned to the living room—now minus the babysitter, who had been dismissed. He needed to put some physical distance between them so he could prepare himself for the moment. How to introduce himself to a six-year-old girl who thought her father dead? A child whose life would never be the same now that he’d claimed her as his?
Ana watching him from the doorway to the living room, a child’s backpack in hand. He remembered that part.
‘There’s still time to change your mind,’ she’d said. ‘You could walk out that door and never look back. You’d never hear from me again. Whatever we had, whatever we once did...it never happened. I will take it to the grave.’
‘She’s mine.’ He’d spread his hands wide. ‘She’s in danger because of me. What kind of man would I be—what kind of father would I be—if I simply stepped back and let it happen?’
I am not my father.
Therein lay the crux of it.
And here they were on the plane. Ana getting the little one buckled into a seat for take-off. The child sleepy and wary of everything and everyone, the mother equally wary, her attention divided wholly between her daughter and him. There was a bedroom on the jet. A supper room if anyone was hungry. There was comfort here, and luxury. He didn’t know whether to be relieved or concerned that Ana seemed to have no care whatsoever for the trappings of royalty or the security team that now surrounded them.
She’d brought the child to him in the living room of her house, both her and the girl hastily dressed in clothes for travelling. Jeans and a soft green pullover for Ana. Jeans, a teal T-shirt and a soft pink jacket cinched at the waist for his daughter. Sophia’s ponytail had been slightly lopsided, her amber eyes still bleary with sleep and she hadn’t reminded him of his sister at all in that moment. She hadn’t reminded him of anyone he’d ever met and that was as it should be.
It had allowed him to breathe.
She was a skinny little thing, this child of his, but she’d met his gaze fearlessly.
He’d crouched down, one knee to the ground, and held out his hand for her to shake it. ‘Hello.’ No way he’d been able to get his voice to come out smooth so he’d settled for gruff in the hope that it would hide some of the emotion welling in his chest at the touch of his daughter’s hand.
‘Sophia, this is His Royal Highness, Prince Casimir of Byzenmaach. He’s an old acquaintance,’ Ana had said. ‘And a prince.’
‘And your father,’ he’d said. Like ripping off a Band-Aid. Get it done, get it over with.
The girl had flinched and looked to her mother for confirmation.
‘Not dead,’ Ana had said somewhat helplessly, and left it at that, and his daughter’s wary gaze had returned to his face.
‘Your eyes are like mine,’ she’d said.
‘Yes.’
‘Maman says you have a castle,’ the girl had said next.
‘Yes.’ Yes, he did, and he wasn’t above using it to impress. ‘Would you like to see it?’
‘No,’ she said.
‘And we have puppies,’ he’d said.
‘What kind of puppies?’ She was hard to impress, this daughter of his.
‘Wolfhounds.’ He’d wondered if a six-year-old would know what that meant. ‘They’re big and shaggy and built to protect the animals in their care. Wolfhounds are almost as big as ponies, which we also have.’
‘Nice try,’ Ana had murmured, but, hey. Whatever worked. He wanted his daughter to arrive in Byzenmaach with castles, ponies and puppies on her mind rather than fear in her heart for the unknown.
Ten minutes into the flight he turned on his phone to find three urgent messages waiting, all of them from Rudolpho. ‘Flight time is five hours,’ he said to Ana as foreboding washed over him. ‘There’s food, a bed through there with a television screen on the wall. Children’s movies.’ He’d even stocked up on those. ‘Make yourselves comfortable.’ He stood and nodded towards the sole woman on his security team. ‘Katya will see to your needs.’
Ana eyed Katya with the deep distrust one might afford a rabid dog. ‘And what will you be doing while we make ourselves at home?’ she asked finally.
Casimir wasn’t used to having his movements questioned, but for her he made an exception. ‘I have some calls I must attend to. There’s an office area at the rear of the aircraft.’
‘I still have questions,’ she said.
‘Rest now.’ He wished he had that luxury. ‘There are some books on Byzenmaach in the bedroom if resting or television doesn’t appeal. English editions. Arabic editions.’ He’d offer books in his native language now that he knew she could read them. ‘You’re the mother of a royal bastard and you’re about to gain unparalleled access to me and Byzenmaach’s most trusted advisors. I want you knowledgeable when it comes to our history, our customs and our politics. I need you to be aware of the political battles in play around you and because of you.’
Not for Anastasia the kind of life his mother had led. Sidelined. Stripped of her voice and unable to influence even the most basic household decisions. Not for Casimir the choices his father had made.
‘You expect me to inhale all this knowledge in five hours? From a pile of books?’ she said.
‘Well, I hear you’re very smart and I did choose the books rather carefully,’ he offered, deadpan. ‘It’s a start. I’m arming you with the tools you’ll need to navigate my world. Knowledge that will prevent you from becoming a pawn for the ruthless. I want you to think for yourself. I need you to be able to protect yourself and our daughter. I will never deny you knowledge or a voice.’
She looked at him, and there was something wholly vulnerable in her gaze. A tiny break in her defences against him. ‘Is this who you really are? No pretence?’
‘This is me.’ His world and his choices exposed. Sometimes self-serving, sometimes in service to the crown, sometimes in need of an anchor he didn’t have but, heaven help him, he tried to be a fair and just man. And if he could be that for strangers he could sure as hell try to be that for her.
‘Okay,’ she said quietly.
‘Okay,’ he echoed, and fled before the sudden sizzling tension in the air between them got too much for him.
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