The Lost Princes: Darius, Cassius and Monte

She rose and began to pace restlessly. Where to begin? She’d thought this visit was going to be pretty straightforward, but now that she was here, it seemed much more complicated. The trouble was, she didn’t know all the sorts of facts a man like this was going to want to know. She’d acted purely on instinct, grabbing Cici and heading for London on barely a moment’s notice. Panic, she supposed. But under the circumstances, she had to think it was understandable. She’d done the only thing she could think of. And now here she was.

She closed her eyes and drew in a deep, shaky breath. She’d come to this man’s apartment for a reason. What was it again? Oh, yes. Someone had told her he could help her find little Cici’s father.

“Do you remember meeting a girl named Samantha?” she asked, her voice cracking a bit on the name. Now it was going to be a chore just to keep from crying. “Small, blonde, pretty face, wore a lot of jangly bracelets?”

He swayed just a little and looked to be about at the end of his tether. She noticed, with a bit of a start, that his hands were balled into tight fists at his side. Another moment or two and he was going to be tearing his hair out in frustration. Either that or giving her shoulders a firm shake. She took a step backward, just in case.

“No,” he said, his voice low and just this side of angry. “Never heard of her.” His brilliant blue eyes were glaring at her. “And never heard of you, either. Though you haven’t provided your own name yet, so I really can’t say that, can I?”

“Oh.” She gave a start and presented herself before him again, chagrined that she’d been so remiss.

“Of course. I’m sorry.” She stuck out her hand. “My name is Ayme Sommers. From Dallas, as if you couldn’t tell.”

He let her stand there with her hand out for a beat too long, still looking as though he couldn’t believe this was happening. For a moment, she thought he was going to refuse to respond and the question of what she was going to do next flitted into her head. But she didn’t have to come up with a good comeback, after all. He finally relented and slid his hand over hers, then held on to it, not letting her go.

“Interesting name,” he said dryly, staring hard into her dark eyes. “Now tell me the rest.”

She blinked at him, trying to pull her hand back and not getting much cooperation. She was suddenly aware of his warm skin and hard muscles in a way that stopped the breath in her throat. She tried not to look down at his chest. It took all her strength.

“What do you mean?” she said, her voice squeaking. “What ‘rest’?”

He pulled her closer and she gaped at him, not sure why he was playing this game of intimidation.

“What is your tie to Ambria?” he asked, his voice low and intense.

She gasped, her eyes wide, and gazed at him in wonder. “How did you know?”

He inclined his head in her direction. “The Ambrian shield on your earrings pretty much gives it away.”

“Oh.” She’d forgotten. Her mind was full of cotton right now. It was amazing that she even remembered who she was. She touched one ear with her free hand. “Of course. Most people don’t know what it is.”

His eyes narrowed. “But you do.”

“Oh, yes.”

She smiled at him and he winced, and almost took a step backward himself. Her smile seemed to light up the room. It was too early for that—and inappropriate considering the circumstances. He had to look away, but he didn’t let go of her hand.

“My parents were from Ambria. I was actually born there. My birth name is Ayme Negri.”

That sounded like a typically Ambrian name, as far as he knew. But he didn’t really know as much as he should. This girl with the shields decorating her ears might very well know a lot more than he did about his own country.

He stared at her, realizing with a stunned, sick feeling that his true knowledge of the land his family had ruled for a thousand years was woefully inadequate. He didn’t know what to ask her. He didn’t know enough to even conjure up a quick quiz to test her truthfulness. All these years he’d had to hide his identity, and in the process he hadn’t really learned enough. He’d read books. He’d talked to people. He’d remembered things from his early childhood. And he’d had one very effective mentor. But it wasn’t enough. He didn’t know who he was at his very core, nor did he know much about the people he came from.

And now she’d arrived, a virtual pop quiz. And he hadn’t studied.

Her hand in his felt warm. He searched her face. Her eyes were bright and questioning, her lips slightly parted as though waiting for what was going to happen next and slightly excited by it. She looked like a teenage girl waiting for her first kiss. He was beginning to think that the alarm, which had gone off like a whistle in his brain, was a false one.

But who was she really and why was she here? She seemed so open, so free. He couldn’t detect a hint of guile in her. No assassin could have been this calm and innocent-looking.

It was pretty hard to believe that she could have been sent here to kill him.

Chapter Two

“AYME NEGRI,” he repeated softly. “I’m David Dykstra.”

He watched her eyes as he said the name. Was there a slight blink? Did she know it was an alias?

No, there was nothing there. No hint of special knowledge. No clues at all. And it only made sense. If she’d wanted to finish him off, she’d had her chance while he was sleeping.

Still, he couldn’t let his guard down. He’d been waiting for someone to arrive with murder on his mind since that dark, stormy night when he was six years old and he’d been spirited away from the rebellion in Ambria and across the countryside in search of a safe haven.

The palace had been burned and his parents killed. And most likely some of his siblings had died as well—though he didn’t know for sure. But he’d been rescued and hidden with a family in the Netherlands, the Dykstras. He’d been spared.

All that had happened twenty-five years ago, and no one had ever come to find him, neither friend nor foe. Someday he knew he would have to face his destiny. But maybe not today.

“Ayme Negri,” he said again, mulling over the name. He was still holding her hand, almost as though he was hoping to gain some comprehension of her motives just by sense of touch.

An Ambrian woman, raised in Texas. That was a new one to him.

“Say something in Ambrian,” he challenged quickly. At least he had a chance of understanding a little of the language if she didn’t get too complicated. He hadn’t spoken it since he was a child, but he still dreamed in his native tongue sometimes.

But it didn’t seem she would be willing to go along with that little test. Her eyes widened and a hint of quick anger flashed across her face.

“No,” she said firmly, her lovely chin rising. “I don’t have to prove anything to you.”

His head reared back. “Are you serious? You break into my apartment and now you’re going to take on airs?”

“I didn’t break in,” she said indignantly. “I walked in, just like everybody else you had here to your party. I…I sort of melted into a group that was arriving and no one seemed to think twice.”

She shrugged, remembering how she’d slipped into the elevator with a bunch of boisterous young city sophisticates. They seemed to accept her right to come in with them without a second thought. She’d smiled at a pretty young woman in a feathered boa and the woman had laughed.

“Look, she’s brought a baby,” she said to her escort, a handsome young man who had already had much too much to drink. “I wish I had a baby.” She turned and pouted. “Jeremy, why won’t you let me have a baby?”

“What the hell, babies for everyone,” he’d called out as the elevator doors opened, and he’d almost fallen over with the effort. “Come on. If we’re going to be handing out babies, I’m going to need another drink.”

Laughing, the group had swelled in through the door to this apartment and left her standing in the entryway. No one else had noticed her. She’d seen the host in the main room, dancing with a beautiful raven-haired woman and swaying like a man who’d either fallen in love or had too many rum drinks. She’d sighed and decided the better part of valor was to beat a hasty retreat. And that was when she’d slipped into the media room and found a drawer she could use as a bassinet for Cici.

“I don’t remember inviting you,” he noted dryly.

“I invited myself.” Her chin lifted even higher. “Just because you didn’t notice me at the time doesn’t make me a criminal.”

He was ready with a sharp retort, but he bit his tongue. This was getting him nowhere. He had to back off and start over again. If he was going to find out what was really going on, he needed to gain her trust. Making her defensive was counterproductive at best.

And he did want to know, not only because he was plain curious, but because of the Ambrian connection. There had to be a reason for it. Young Ambrian women weren’t likely to just appear on his doorstep out of the blue. In fact, it had never happened before.

“Sorry,” he said gruffly, turning away. Taking a deep breath and calming himself, he looked back and his gaze fell on the little child. There had been a period, while living in his huge adoptive family, when he’d spent a lot of time with babies. They didn’t scare him. Still, he could take or leave them. They were often just too much work.

But he knew very well what happened when one of this age was woken from a sound sleep, and the results were never very pretty.