Royal Babies: Claiming His Secret Royal Heir / Pregnant with a Royal Baby! / Secret Child, Royal Scandal

‘They will have no reason not to. Sunita has proved herself to be an exemplary mother. And she will be an exemplary princess.’

Marcus shook his head. ‘She is a supermodel with a reputation as a party girl. You have no idea what she may or may not do—she would never have made my list in a million years. She is as far from Kaitlin Derwent as the moon is from Jupiter.’

‘And look what happened with Lady Kaitlin. Plus, don’t you think you’re being a little hypocritical? What about my reputation?’

‘You have spent two years showing that you have changed. The reforms you are undertaking for Lycander are what the people want. You may have been a playboy with a party lifestyle, but you also founded a global business—Freddy Petrelli’s Olive Oil is on supermarket shelves worldwide. At least you partied on your own dime.’

‘So did Sunita. And her party days were over by the time we met.’

‘Sunita has spent two years hiding your son from you,’ Marcus retorted. ‘There is nothing to suggest she will be good for Lycander and plenty to suggest she will plunge the monarchy straight back into scandal. She could run off with Amil, file for divorce before the honeymoon is over...’

‘She won’t.’

He couldn’t know that, though—not really. He’d known Sunita for a couple of weeks two years ago. Doubt stepped in but he kicked it out even as he acknowledged the sceptical rise of his chief advisor’s eyebrow. ‘Or at least it’s a risk I am willing to take.’

‘It is too big a risk. The women on my list are open to the idea of an arranged marriage—they have been brought up to understand the rules. Dammit, Frederick, we had this discussion. We agreed that it was important for the Lycander bride to be totally unlike your father’s later choices and more in line with his first wife.’

Axel’s mother, Princess Michaela, a princess in her own right, had been a good woman.

‘We did. But circumstances have changed.’

‘Doesn’t matter. You plan to present your people with a bride who may well cause a scandal broth of divorce and custody battles.’

‘I have no choice—none of this is Amil’s fault.’

‘I am not suggesting you turn your back on Amil. Provide for him. See him regularly. But do not marry his mother.’

‘No.’ It was as simple as that. ‘I will be a real father to Amil and this is the way forward. I’m doing this, Marcus—with or without your help.’

Silence reigned and then Marcus exhaled a long sigh and sank into the seat opposite. ‘As you wish.’

* * *

Sunita surveyed her reflection in the mirror, relieved that there was no evidence of the tumult that raged in her brain. Frederick...discovery... Amil...Crown Prince...marriage...Goa...disaster.

There was potential disaster on all fronts—the thought of marriage was surreal, the enormity of the decision she needed to make made her head whirl and the idea of two days in Goa with Frederick made her tummy loop the loop.

A tentative knock on the door heralded the arrival of Eric, the Lycander staff member who had been dispatched to her apartment the previous night.

‘Good morning, Eric, and thank you again for getting my things. I really appreciate it.’

‘You’re very welcome, ma’am. The Prince is ready.’

She followed Eric through the opulence of the hotel, with its gold and white theme, along plush carpet and past gilded walls, through the marble lobby, past luscious plants and spectacular flower arrangements and outside to the limo. There Frederick awaited her, leant against the hood of the car, dressed casually in jeans and a T-shirt, his blond hair still a touch spiked with damp, as if he’d grabbed a shower on the run.

‘A limo? Isn’t that a touch ostentatious?’

The flippant comment made to mask her catch of breath, the thump of her heart. ‘I promised the children a limo after my last visit—they were most disappointed when I turned up in a taxi.’

He held the door for her and she slid inside, the air-conditioned interior a welcome relief against the humidity, with its suggestion of imminent monsoon rain.

‘They are amazing kids—they make you feel...humble.’

Sunita nodded. ‘I read up on the charity last night. The whole set-up sounds awesome and its achievements are phenomenal. I love the simplicity of the idea—using open spaces as classrooms—and I admire the dedication of the volunteers. I’ll do all I can to raise the profile and raise funds. Today and in the future.’

‘Thank you. Axel helped set up the charity and donated huge sums after someone wrote to him with the idea and it caught his imagination. I wish...’

‘You wish what?’ The wistfulness in his voice touched her.

‘I wish he’d told me about it.’

‘People don’t always like to talk about their charitable activity.’ She frowned. ‘But in this case surely he must have been pretty public about it, because his profile would have raised awareness.’

‘It didn’t work like that. My father was unpredictable about certain issues—he may not have approved of Axel’s involvement. So Axel kept it low-key. Anonymous, in fact. I only found out after his death because someone from the charity wrote with their condolences and their thanks for all he had done. I decided to take over and make it a more high-profile role.’

‘Didn’t your father mind?’

Frederick shrugged. ‘I don’t know. He and I weren’t close.’ His tone forbade further questions. ‘Anyway, in the past two years the number of schools has increased three-fold and I’ve hired an excellent administrator—she isn’t a volunteer, because she can’t afford to be, but she is worth every penny. The schools are makeshift, but that has saved money and I think it makes them more accessible.’

His face was lit with enthusiasm and there was no doubting his sincerity. Any reservations she’d harboured that this was simply a publicity stunt designed to show that Frederick had a charitable side began to fall away.

This continued when they arrived at the school and a veritable flock of children hurtled towards the car.

He exhibited patience, good humour and common sense; he allowed them to feel and touch the car, and then promised they could examine the interior after their lessons—as long as their teacher agreed.

A smiling woman dressed in a forest-green and blue salwar kameez came forward and within minutes children of differing ages and sizes were seated in the pavilion area and the lesson commenced.

Sunita marvelled at the children’s concentration and the delight they exuded—despite the open-air arena, and all the distractions on offer, they were absorbed in their tasks, clearly revelling in the opportunity to learn.

‘Would you like to go and look at their work?’ the teacher offered, and soon Sunita was seated next to a group of chattering children, all of whom thrust their notebooks towards her, emanating so much pride in their achievements that flipped her heart.

She glanced at Frederick and her heart did another turn. Standing against a backdrop of palm trees and lush monsoon greenery, he was performing a series of magic tricks that held the children spellbound. He produced coins from ears and cards from thin air, bringing gasps of wonder and giggles of joy.

Finally, after the promised exploration of the limo, the children dispersed—many of them off to work—and after a long conversation with the teacher Frederick and Sunita returned to the car for their journey back to the hotel.

‘Next time I’ll take Amil,’ Sunita said. ‘I want him to meet those kids, to grow up with an understanding of the real world.’

‘Agreed.’

The word reminded Sunita that from now on Frederick would have a say in her parenting decisions, but right now that didn’t seem to matter. This was a topic they agreed on.

‘There’s such a lesson to be learnt there—those children want to learn, and it doesn’t matter to them if they have computers or science labs or technology. They find joy in learning, and that’s awesome as well as humbling.’

‘All of this is humbling.’

He turned to look out of the window, gesturing to the crowded Mumbai streets, and Sunita understood what that movement of his hand had encompassed—the poverty that was rife, embodied by the beggars who surged to the limo windows whenever the car slowed, hands outstretched, entreaty on their faces. But it was more than that – you could see the spectrum of humanity, so many individuals each and every one with their own dreams and worries.

‘You really care. This isn’t all a publicity stunt...part of your new image.’