“It’s about time you got here!” he added as he hurried across the room to pull his brother into a fierce hug. “I was so worried about you. Thank God you’re all right.”
Shane embraced Marcus gratefully, laughing as he did so, slapping his brother’s back a few times for good measure. “Sorry it took me so long,” he said as they pulled apart. “I got a little distracted.”
“By the Black Knights, no less, from what I hear. That group has caused more trouble to this country lately. You’re lucky you made it out with your shirt.”
Actually, Shane wanted to say, the Black Knights hadn’t been the biggest distraction. That, of course, had been Sara Wallington. And he really didn’t want to comment on the part about making it out with his shirt. Seeing as how he hadn’t. But that was a story best saved for later, when the two brothers were alone and could share everything they’d both been through over the last couple of weeks. Shane especially wanted to hear more about the new woman in Marcus’s life. He’d received a call from his brother a couple of weeks before the one that had led him to Penwyck, and the conversation then had been cryptic at best. Now, of course, Shane knew that Marcus had uncovered the strange details surrounding their births at that time, but just hadn’t known what to tell his brother. And the woman in Marcus’s life, Lady Amira Corbin of Penwyck, had been the one to fill in those pieces.
She’d also set Marcus on his ear, Shane had realized during that conversation. But his brother had been evasive about Amira during his last call, before Shane left L.A., and had instead focused on the royal twin-swapping escapade. As soon as the opportunity arose, however, he intended to pin Marcus down once and for all about the lady.
“It was, without question, the worst flight of my life,” Shane agreed. “And the food wasn’t very good, either. So what the hell has been going on here, anyway?”
Hastily, Marcus filled him in on what had been happening in Penwyck since the royal jet had been hijacked, about the ransom call the queen had received, demanding an end to the alliance with Majorco in exchange for the safe return of the possible future monarch. While Her Majesty had stalled for time, the RII had set about trying to follow the hijackers’ trail from where the royal jet had last been tracked on radar. They’d managed to make it as far as Maria Lupe in Spain, but the trail had gone cold there, until they’d received Sara’s call early that morning.
“Pretty lucky being kidnapped with a woman who’s studying to become a member of the RII,” Marcus observed. “But then, you’ve always been the lucky one, haven’t you?”
That, Shane thought, was a topic of debate, depending on one’s point of view. To his own way of thinking, though, yes, in this case at least, Shane had definitely been the lucky one. And not because Sara had been an aspiring member of the RII, either. But simply because Sara had been Sara.
“Look, do you know what happened to her? Where they took her?” Shane asked his brother. “Because I really need to talk to her.”
Marcus shrugged. “I imagine she’s with the RII, telling them about what happened. They want to talk to you, too, of course, but Queen Marissa has insisted she see you at once. And only after you’ve had a chance to freshen up. I told them to bring you here, to my room, so I could see you first.”
Shane expelled a long, exasperated breath. “Oh, man, we have got so much to talk about,” he said. “But right now, all I want to do is sleep for about ten weeks.”
“You can’t,” Marcus told him. “You’re scheduled for a command performance for Queen Marissa.” He glanced down at his—very expensive—gold watch. “In about twenty minutes, as a matter of fact. And it’s going to take us ten minutes to get to her room because she’s in the opposite wing of the palace.”
Shane blew out another weary sigh and picked at his shirt. “All right. But at least let me get out of these clothes. I hate plaid.”
Marcus laughed. “I anticipated that,” he said. He jutted a thumb over his shoulder, toward another door. “They put you in the room next to mine, right through that door. You have everything you need in there. I did some shopping for you when I heard you were on your way back to Penwyck. Levi’s, Shane,” he added meaningfully. “Button fly. Do you know how hard it is to find those in Penwyck? But Amira knew just where to go.”
“Yes, let’s talk about Amira when we have a chance, okay?” Shane asked with much interest and a big smile.
Marcus smiled back, and it was the smile of a man who had just uncovered the greatest treasure of all. And seeing as how Marcus was one of the wealthiest men in the world, that must have been some treasure. “I want you to meet her later,” he said. “She’s incredible, Shane. I never thought I’d meet a woman like her.”
Shane’s smile grew broader, and he felt the first ripples of genuine happiness he’d felt since… Well, since that morning with Sara, he realized. “So, then I should be preparing myself to wear a tuxedo here before long?” he asked, joking.
But much to his surprise, Marcus nodded in response.
Holy cow, Shane thought. He really had only been joking when he said that, since Marcus had never shown any more inclination toward getting married than Shane had. But here was Marcus, talking about a wedding as if it were the natural next step with the woman in his life.
“Are you serious?” Shane asked. “You’re really getting married?”
Marcus nodded again. “And look, I know you break out in hives just at the thought of putting on anything other than denim, but just this once, bro? For me?”
Shane shook his head, smiling even more. “Yeah, yeah, yeah. If it’ll make you happy.”
“Actually, Amira is the one who’ll make me happy,” Marcus said, beaming. “But I’d still appreciate it if you’d wear a tux when you’re my best man.”
“For you, Marcus, anything.”
And he damned well expected his brother to do likewise for him when it came time for Shane’s wedding.
Whoa. Hold up there. Rewind.
Shane’s wedding? Now there were two words he’d never expected to find used in the same zip code. By anyone, least of all himself. Yet here he’d just thought the phrase in his own head as if it were the most natural thing in the world for him to think about, too—and without any sort of provocation or threat being used. Amazing. What was even more amazing was that where just a week ago he would have been terrified by the merest suggestion of such a thing, now, suddenly, it didn’t seem scary at all. In fact, it seemed kind of—
Oh, man. Oh, man, oh, man, oh, man.
“Shane?”
His brother’s voice halted whatever further thoughts he might have had on the subject of weddings, his own or anyone else’s, because he realized Marcus must have been speaking at length, and he’d heard not one word of what the other man had said.
“What?” Shane asked. “Did you say something?”
Marcus laughed, but there was something anxious in the sound. “Guess being kidnapped does sort of make a person a little distracted for a while. I told you you might want to change clothes before you meet Queen Marissa. Put on the suit I bought you, and save the blue jeans for later. There are certain rules to be followed in this country, and you don’t wear jeans to meet the queen.”
Rules, Shane thought. He wondered if maybe that was why Sara had balked at the idea of the two of them being together. Her grace and refinement suggested she had grown up among the wealthy class, and when he considered the way she’d dressed—his bandages had been pure silk, and designer to boot, he reminded himself—there was every reason to believe she was still thriving in those upper echelons of society. And Shane had made no bones about his own very working-class existence. Still, she didn’t seem like the kind of woman who would let superficialities like that stand in the way. Then again, Shane had given her no reason to think there was a “way” to stand in front of.
Too much to think about right now, and not enough time to do it, that was his problem. He pushed all thoughts of Sara aside, promising he’d mull it all
over later when he was alone, and talk it all out later with Marcus. To his brother, he said, “Yeah, I’m ready to meet the queen. Just give me a few minutes to clean up.”
The queen’s receiving room was in keeping with the rest of the palace—lush, lavish, opulent, sumptuous, extravagant and every other word you might find in a thesaurus if you looked up the word luxurious. The queen, however, struck Shane as being very no-nonsense. She appeared to be in her early fifties, was of medium height and slender build. She was a striking woman with her dark hair carefully arranged in some kind of bun, and penetrating blue eyes that seemed to see straight inside a person. Her attire, too, was no-nonsense—a plain navy blue dress with a discreet gold pin affixed to its collar, matching gold earrings in her ears and flat navy shoes on her feet.
It was almost, Shane thought, as if she were doing her best not to stir up controversy with her personal appearance. And succeeding very well, as far as he was concerned.
She stood near an ornate desk tucked into the corner of the room, flanked by a group of people whose functions Shane could only guess at. Various heads of state and secret-police types, he thought, only half-joking. Certainly they all looked to be of a serious bent.
“Mr. Cordello, we meet at last,” Queen Marissa said, smiling warmly, but formally, as she approached him.
Shane stood where he was, but bowed as she drew nearer, because that was what Marcus had told him he was supposed to do. He also waited to see if she would extend her hand, because Marcus had told him to do that, too—to not offer to shake hands unless she did so first. She did, and Shane took her hand in his. Instead of shaking, though, she only gave his fingers a brief, subtle squeeze before dropping his hand. Then she gestured toward a long, oxblood leather sofa near the fireplace, where a small fire provided more ambience than warmth.
“Please do sit down,” she told him. “You and your brother both.” At this, Marcus joined Shane on the sofa, seating himself on the other side from the queen. “I am anxious to hear about your experiences with the Black Knights,” she continued, “but I know that the RII insist on speaking to you about that first.”
She lifted a hand with two fingers slightly extended, and immediately, she was surrounded by a quartet of men dressed in a variety of business suits and military uniforms. They hovered around the opposite arm of the sofa, none standing more than a foot away from Her Majesty, as if they were intent on guarding her with their lives, even in her own private domain. Queen Marissa seemed not to notice their arrival, didn’t even turn around to see if they were there, as if she took for granted the fact that they would be. And, of course, they were.
“In fact, I’d like to introduce you to some of the higher-ranking members of the Royal Elite Team,” the queen went on, “who will want to be present during your interview with the RII. Admiral Monteque, Colonel Prescott, Sir Selwyn Estabon and His Grace Carson Logan.”
Each of the men nodded in acknowledgment as the queen spoke his name, and Shane immediately forgot who was who and which was which, so profound was his nervousness about this entire meeting. So he greeted them as a group when he said, “Hello.”
That single word was evidently the only encouragement the men needed, because they immediately launched into questions Shane had thought would come later, during his more formal interview with the RII.
“Mr. Cordello, can you give us a physical description of the two Black Knights who hijacked Her Majesty’s jet and are still at large?”
“Could you possibly find the house again, Mr. Cordello, where you and Miss Wallington were held captive, if given the opportunity to do so? It could provide some useful clues.”
“Did you hear any of the Black Knights say anything suspicious, Mr. Cordello, anything at all?”
“Did any of them perhaps mention diamonds, by any chance, Mr. Cordello? Or a diamond-smuggling operation? That’s how they’re financing their treasonous activities, you know.”
“Gentlemen!” the queen interjected in a voice that brooked absolutely no argument. Immediately the questions ceased, and the men relaxed their aggressive postures. “There will be time later for you to speak with Mr. Cordello,” she told them. “Right now, I wish to speak with him myself.”
But instead of speaking, she studied him intently in silence for a moment, gazing first at his eyes, then his nose, then his mouth and then back again. She seemed to be looking for something specific in his countenance, and Shane had no idea what to do except sit still and let her do it. Then she turned her attention to Marcus and inspected his face with the same scrutiny. And then, for several moments, her gaze flew between Shane and Marcus, as if she were trying very hard to discern something very important.
“It is clear,” she finally said, “that the two of you are indeed brothers. Your resemblance to each other is remarkable. However, I see no hint of Penwyck heritage in either of you.” She sighed mildly, her features softening. “But perhaps that is only because I don’t wish to see a hint of Penwyck heritage. The thought that you might be my sons, and that this is the first time I’ve met you…” Her voice trailed off. “Well, I just can’t accept that it might be true. My sons…” She halted again, then shook her head, as if she had imparted much too personal an observation. “We shall perform the DNA tests as soon as possible,” she said. “And we shall let that be the deciding factor.”
“If it’s any help, Your Majesty,” Shane said quietly, “I don’t think we’re your sons, either. It just doesn’t…” Now it was his voice that trailed off. “It just doesn’t feel right,” he finally said. “No offense, ma’am.”
She smiled. “None taken, I assure you.”
He had opened his mouth to say something else, though, honestly, Shane wasn’t sure what he could say that might make the situation less awkward, when, without warning, the door to the queen’s receiving room crashed open, framing a woman who was very attractive, and looked to be in her twenties. She also very much resembled the queen with dark hair that was pulled back from her face, and in the shape of her eyes—though they were green instead of Her Majesty’s blue. The woman was also clearly pregnant, and dressed in a simple maternity dress of forest-green that was as no-nonsense as the queen’s attire.
Her demeanor, however, was in no way no-nonsense. No, the woman was clearly agitated about something, and judging by the way her gaze darted anxiously from one person to another, obviously distressed to find so many people gathered in her mother’s quarters.
“Princess Megan,” Marcus whispered from his place beside Shane.
For a moment, Princess Megan only stood at the door, gripping it fiercely with one hand and looking panicky. Then, “Mother!” she shouted as she darted across the room toward the queen. “You must come quickly! Father has regained consciousness! He’s coming out of his coma! He’s going to be all right!”
Eleven
Shane sat in his room at the palace, feeling as morose as he’d ever felt in his life and wondering what the hell was going to happen now. And not where King Morgan was concerned, either, though, granted, he’d been as caught up as anyone in the commotion that had broken loose in the queen’s quarters earlier that day. When Princess Megan had crashed the gathering with her news that the king was coming out of his coma, everybody in the room had jumped up and started clamoring incoherently, to the point where Shane hadn’t known what any of them were saying.
Which hadn’t seemed to matter, because after that, no one had seemed to be overly concerned with his presence anymore anyway. Queen Marissa had graciously excused herself and told Shane they’d talk later, then she and the members of the RET to whom he had been introduced had fled behind the princess. He and Marcus had been left alone, and retreated to the guest room assigned to Shane to catch up on all that had happened. In the interim, they’d received a report from Princess Megan that the king was fully conscious, but still a bit disoriented. The royal physician, however, was predicting that His Majesty would make a full recovery, though it would be a long process
. And, unfortunately, the princess had added sadly, King Morgan wasn’t going to be in a fit state to rule his kingdom, and would have to quickly make a decision about his predecessor. With that in mind, she had told the brothers that the DNA testing had been scheduled for the following day.
Surprisingly, however, their possible future as kings of Penwyck hadn’t been what Shane and Marcus had spent the afternoon talking about. No, they’d been far more concerned with far more important matters: namely, the women in their lives.
“You have to tell her,” Marcus said now from where he stood beside the window. “You have to tell Sara how you feel.”
He was dressed in the suit he’d worn earlier, as was Shane. But where Marcus’s was still faultless and businesslike, Shane’s had pretty much decomposed. His tie hung unfettered from his collar, and the top two buttons of his shirt were unfastened. His jacket and trousers looked crumpled and unkempt, and he marveled at how Marcus was able to maintain the unsullied comportment that totally eluded Shane. In spite of what the queen had said earlier about their resemblance to each other, few people would ever have taken them to be brothers, let alone twins. But then, that was one of the great things about their relationship—they loved each other in spite of their many differences.
“But tell her what?” Shane asked. “I don’t know how I feel.”
Marcus smiled. “The hell you don’t.”
“I don’t,” he insisted.
Marcus sighed. “Four letters. One syllable. Rhymes with shove. Which is what I’m going to do to you if you don’t admit how you feel.”
Shane swallowed with some difficulty. “But how do I know I…love her? I mean, maybe it was just the circumstances, you know? Maybe it was one of those things where two people are thrown together in an extreme situation, and they just naturally sort of turn to each other because there’s no one else. How can I know for sure if it’s love?”
Taming The Prince (Crown & Glory Book 8) Page 16