Born Royal

After her mother hung up, she had crouched on the floor, her head in her arms, alternately sobbing her brother’s name and begging God to let him live. “Lucas, oh, Lucas! Please, God, please, no!”

She’d thought she’d faced the possibility, been prepared for the worst ever since learning that Lucas’s plane had gone missing. She saw now what an illusion that was. Now, when all her hopes came crashing down around her, she could see how wildly she had been hoping, how she had staved off any real acceptance that the worst might happen.

She was crouched in the gloom, sobbing wildly, when a hand touched her shoulder.

“Please go away,” she hiccuped desperately, hiding her face in her hands. “Please.”

“I can’t do that,” said a voice. “I can’t leave you here like this. Come.” The voice was strong with masculine authority, and perhaps it was because she felt lost without Lucas in the world, felt as if her sheet anchor was gone, that she took comfort from his presence.

He drew her to her feet, and she allowed him to do it, then buried her face in a strong, comforting shoulder as he held her and gently stroked her hair. “My brother,” she sobbed. “My brother—”

She was swept by another bout of inconsolable weeping, and her knees collapsed. He caught her as she slumped, and without a word bent and swung her up in his arms.

His hold was strong and sure, like her father’s when she was a child. He strode down the corridor and stopped by a door, and she heard the sound of a key in the lock. In another moment she was inside in deep darkness. He bent and she felt something soft under her back. A bed. He tried to straighten, but she clung to him. “Hold me,” she begged. “Just hold me for a minute, please.”