The Unlawfully Wedded Princess

“Exactly. And third, he’s a stickler for following the letter of the law. He doesn’t micromanage his country. Interfering with the Ministry of Family’s normal course of business isn’t his style.”

“You’re saying you won’t even try?”

“No, I’ll give it my best shot. But I think we should see him together, present a united front. It’s the best chance we have.”

Exactly what Eleanor had suggested.

“We should probably bring the children with us, too,” Amelia continued. “It couldn’t hurt for Easton to see you all together, as a family.”

“Let’s do it, then.” He stood up, anxious to get his audience with the king over with. The sooner he got this mess straightened out, the sooner he could get his kids back home to the peace and quiet of Montavi, the little mountain town where he was building a new life for himself and the children. And the sooner he could get away from this woman who’d lied to him but still made him tingle in uncomfortable ways.

Amelia laughed. “We can’t just walk in on him. We’ll have to make an appointment. Fortunately, your sister is the one who can set it up.”

“I’ll talk to her, then.” Hell, he’d pulled Josie out of school for this trip, thinking it wouldn’t hurt her to miss a couple of days of first grade. But now it looked as if she might miss a week or more, and she was already a year behind because of the language problem.

“I’ll show myself out.” He turned and headed toward the terrace doors, wondering where he might find his children in this monstrous penthouse.

“Nick?”

He stopped, turned.

“For what it’s worth, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you who I really was. But not even the ICF knew my true identity back then. If the truth had gotten out, it could have created a security nightmare. Keeping my identity secret is second nature to me. But you’re right, I should have explained before I…before I married you. I didn’t think through the possible repercussions, and I’m truly sorry.”

He was surprised by her candor and seeming sincerity. He’d expected her to be different than he remembered her. A year ago, she’d just been a dedicated volunteer who never complained about physical hardships. He’d even seen her give away her own dinner more than once.

He’d had a hard time reconciling that selfless, friendly woman with a Korosolian princess. But now that he’d seen her again, she seemed much the same as before—a fact that was dangerous to his peace of mind. Saying goodbye to her the first time had been torture. And unless he wanted to go through it all again, he’d better harden his heart.

Chapter Two

Amelia had run out of nails to bite as she, Nick and the children cooled their heels in an anteroom at the Korosol embassy. Her grandfather had agreed to see them the day after Nick’s arrival in Manhattan, but he’d chosen the embassy as the venue, even though it was Saturday. It was less personal than his quarters at the penthouse would have been—not a good sign. He was treating them like any other subject who wanted his time, but King Easton was not one to give preferential treatment to anyone—not even the future queen.

She had worn her best, most dignified outfit—a gray wool suit with a black silk blouse, silver stockings and gray pumps. She’d even made an attempt to subdue her hair into a tame twist, and at CeCe’s urging had actually worn makeup.

Nick, for his part, had cleaned up pretty nicely. He’d been a savagely handsome man back in Palemeir, filling out his camouflage clothes in intriguing ways. His wild, sun-bleached hair, deeply tanned skin and scruffy beard had added to his dangerous image. And Amelia was a sucker for dangerous. She’d always felt smothered by the protective cocoon she’d been raised in—bodyguards, exclusive schools, tinted-windowed limousines. The adventure and excitement of traveling to third world countries under a false identity had held appeal for Amelia as much for the danger as for the chance to help children.

Nick still looked dangerous, but with a sheen of class. He wore a sober suit and tie, the coat taut across his broad shoulders. His hair was a darker blond now, the short, military cut having gotten rid of the sun’s highlights. But that didn’t stop Amelia from wanting to run her fingers through it, something she’d had to resist since meeting him. She could have ill afforded to fall in love with him a year ago, even less so now.

He was clean-shaven, and his tan had mellowed to a burnished gold. His hands looked strong as ever. She could still see them gripped around his old M16 as he ushered the refugee caravan across a dangerous bridge. But his nails were now clean and clipped neatly.

The children looked adorable, too, in spanking-new clothes, faces scrubbed, hair combed. She hardly recognized them as the same terrified, ragamuffin orphans she and Nick had rescued.

Josie, entirely too somber for a seven-year-old, sat in a wingback chair with her hands folded in her lap, casting cautious glances at Amelia. She was mistrustful of everyone but Nick and Jakob. But the terror of a year ago had left her eyes.

She did not instinctively seek Amelia’s comforting embrace as she’d done before. Amelia realized Nick was right—she had disappointed Josie, who had trusted her in Palemeir. Josie showed no outward signs of hostility, but she might never again trust Amelia—a sobering thought.

Jakob, on the other hand, was a little monkey. After thoroughly investigating everything in the waiting room, including some priceless prehistoric artifacts pulled from Korosol caves, he’d crawled into Amelia’s lap. A year ago he’d spoken only a few words, but now he chattered like a magpie. He did not remember his birth parents—nor much of anything about his previous life. He did seem to remember Amelia, though, which warmed her heart. She loved children and had always planned to adopt some orphans when she was ready to settle down. The world was just full of children who needed love.

Her status as future queen changed all that. She would not be allowed to adopt, and would in fact be expected to bear a child herself—after she married some stuffy aristocrat. The thought of a loveless marriage “for the good of the country” repulsed her.

“So you really don’t know the king?” Nick asked.

“I saw him once in my life before this current visit, when I was a small child. I barely remember it. It’s a sore point with my mother—the fact that Easton didn’t do something to help her sort things out after my father died, at a time when she needed him most. But I guess he had his own grief to deal with.” She paused. “He’s grieving now, too. It’s been little more than a year since Uncle Byrum died in that terrible jeep explosion.”

Nick grimaced. “A terrible thing for Korosol, given what Byrum’s death means in terms of succession. I can’t think of a man less fit to rule than your cousin.”

Nick was referring to Byrum’s son, Prince Markus, the apparent heir to the throne since his father’s death, though Amelia knew better. For whatever reason, King Easton did not favor Markus. Since an ancient charter allowed the Korosol king to choose his own successor, Easton intended to do just that.

It would be something of a scandal when he announced that Prince Markus would not succeed him on the throne. Neither would Easton appoint his youngest son, James, a thrice-married Wyoming wildcatter who had proved himself most unsuitable for the throne, not to mention unwilling.

Amelia sighed. “In thinking about the country, though, it’s easy to lose sight of the human aspect. The king has lost two of his three sons now. That’s the saddest thing, I think, to lose a child.”

Nick’s face hardened almost imperceptibly. Had she said something wrong? She’d been rattling on, probably because of nerves. Maybe he just didn’t like prattling women.

The double doors on the far end of the room whispered open, halting all conversation. Eleanor Standish, Nick’s younger sister, appeared. Though Amelia didn’t know the king’s secretary well, because Ellie had been in America only a few weeks, the two women got along well. Ellie had pitched in to help with CeCe’s spur-of-the-moment wedding, proving herself efficient and flexible, not to mention sensitive to CeCe’s feelings. Everyone who met her, liked her. However, her frumpy clothes and thick glasses made her look more like a schoolmarm than a trusted member of the royal inner circle.

She certainly didn’t remind Amelia of Nick in any way, and Amelia had been shocked a couple of weeks ago when she’d learned the two were siblings. Sometimes it amazed her how truly small Korosol was.

Eleanor and Nick embraced warmly, and the children both ran up with kisses and hugs in abundance for their aunt Ellie. Amelia felt a moment of jealousy that Josie hadn’t shown her similar affection.

Ellie studied Nick for a moment. “Nicky. You look very…very civilized.”

Nick raised one eyebrow in question. “I don’t think I’m being complimented.”

“Of course you are,” Ellie argued. “I’ve never seen you in a suit, that’s all.”

“You’ve seen me in a dress uniform,” Nick pointed out. “That’s not much different.”

A dress uniform? So Nick had been in the official Korosol military, then. That surprised Amelia. Ellie had said something about her parents disapproving of her brother. Amelia had this impression that Nick had always been a drifter, offering his unique skills to whoever could afford his price. But she supposed he would have had to acquire those skills somewhere.

Nick lowered his voice. “So, how’s the wind blowing?”

“With the king?” Ellie thought for a moment. “Hard to say. He wasn’t pleased with the quality of his sweet roll this morning. But if anything can cheer him up, these two can. His Majesty loves children. He’ll see you now. I should warn you he has another engagement in fifteen minutes, so you’ll have to talk fast.”

Fifteen minutes. Could they convince the king in such a short time how important it was to keep these children with Nick? How could Easton possibly understand the conditions in Palemeir, the unbelievable risks Nick had taken to honor his promise to Josie and Jakob’s mother?

EASTON CARRADIGNE, king of Korosol, threw a handful of pills into his mouth and washed them down with a swallow of bitter coffee just as the door opened to his temporary office and Eleanor entered. She gave him a little curtsy, which she did every time she saw him no matter how many times he told her such an archaic practice was unnecessary. Secretly, though, he enjoyed the gesture of respect.

“Her Highness, Princess Amelia,” Eleanor announced. “And Nicholas Standish. Oh, and Josie and Jakob Standish, too.”

Easton couldn’t believe it. They’d brought the children with them? Did they think he was some doddering, softhearted old man who could be swayed by a couple of moppets?

Well, okay, they were sort of cute, especially the little girl, who moved with such grace and quiet. The little boy, hardly more than a toddler, entered the room like a small hurricane.

“Don’t touch that,” Easton and Eleanor said together when Jakob tried to peer into the top of a sixteenth-century vase. Nicholas immediately corralled the boy before any harm could be done, and the four of them stood before Easton, waiting for him to acknowledge them. He should have come out from behind his desk to shake their hands, maybe give the little ones some candy, and kiss his granddaughter, the future queen, on the cheek. But he was more tired than usual today. All this business with Amelia’s secret, illegal marriage bandied about in the press had worn him out. Especially coming on the heels of CeCe’s very public scandal. He hoped Amelia’s predicament could be resolved as quickly as CeCe’s was.

“You can be seated,” Easton said as he took his own chair—a huge, thronelike thing. Ellie had chosen it for him, and he heartily approved. He relished the pomp and circumstance surrounding his station, even more so these days. Funny how one took so many things for granted until one was about to lose them.

Nicholas and Amelia sat in the wingback chairs that faced Easton’s desk. The little boy crawled into Nicholas’s lap, while Eleanor fetched a small slipper chair for the girl—what was her name? He’d already forgotten. Was memory loss one of his expected symptoms? Or was he just getting old? Some would say that at age seventy-eight he’d already been old for some time.