Tempting the Prince (Sexy Misadventures of Royals)

by Christi Barth

  She’d pour herself into her work. And hope that eventually, like concrete filling a crack, the work would fill her days and cover over the deep wound in her heart.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Christian nodded at the footman stationed outside his father’s apartments. Poor guy. Considering the king never went in or out anymore, he must be bored off his ass. He’d be sure to speak to the butler to ask that anyone stationed there would rotate off in two-hour shifts.

  The man raised his hand to knock, but Christian shook him off. He’d resisted invading his father’s privacy for months.

  He was done with letting respect dictate his actions.

  He was done letting his father call the shots. Christian had given the man every chance to prove that he’d dig himself out of this hole.

  Today, Christian would be the bulldozer. He pulled the duplicate key from his pocket. Surprisingly—or not, given the events of the past few months—the head housekeeper hadn’t so much as blinked at his request for it.

  Just one more item of proof that it was past time to take the action he’d tried so hard to hold off on.

  Swiftly, he unlocked the door and entered. Without calling out or knocking. Christian needed to see just what the usual state of his father was while hidden away in here.

  The king wasn’t in the sitting room, or the office. Keeping his steps light on the thick rug with its swirling golden pattern of pinecones and peacocks, he slowly turned the handle on the door to the bedroom.

  “Oh, good, Christian. You’re here. That saves me the trouble of chasing you down.”

  His father’s greeting was as normal as if they still shared breakfast every day. As if he’d actually spoken a single word to Christian since they’d returned from their trip over a month ago.

  And for a flash of a moment, the normalcy was so damned nice.

  Aside from the pain in the ass of stepping into his father’s shoes without advance warning, the stress of covering for him without revealing that anything was wrong, the hardest part of the past few months was that he just missed the man.

  He’d missed his advice, his dry jokes, shared horseback rides—he’d missed his father.

  When you spent most of your life without a mother, your father took on an even larger role. And left an even larger hole when he disappeared.

  “Papa? What are you doing?”

  The king raised one eyebrow as he placed a fisherman’s sweater into an almost full suitcase. He was dressed in a brown suit, tie in its customary Balthus knot, hair combed, utterly presentable for an appearance.

  “Really? You can’t make the leap and figure that out from the clues?”

  The canopied bed was strewn with empty hangers. A toiletries case sat on the antique carved chest at its foot. Another suitcase stood by the door.

  Christian was not in the mood to be teased. The very attempt to do so lit the match to the banked coals of resentment and anger he’d kept tamped down all summer and fall.

  “Really? You want me to put clues together, after all this time? Okay. Here’s my guess.” He slammed the door behind him and began to pace the length of the room. “Your head is messed up. I don’t know the exact diagnosis, but you’re in some sort of deep depression. Or a version of PTSD that is finally manifesting over the loss of your baby daughter and wife, that was triggered by Kelsey’s surprise return six months ago.” He stopped, bracing a hand on the dark-wood poster. “I think you’re very, very ill, Papa. And you need help.”

  “See? I knew you’d get there.” As Christian ground his teeth together and quite possibly growled in frustration, Julian held up both hands. “Sorry. I thought a little humor might make an awkward situation more bearable.”

  “I don’t need humor, Papa. I need honesty.”

  “Fair enough.” He gestured to the pair of chairs at the window. “Sit with me.”

  This seemed…promising? Christian propped his arms on his thighs, letting his hands dangle. Not a confrontational pose, just engaged. “What’s been going on? Why won’t you talk to me?”

  After a long, deep sigh, Julian tapped his hands twice on the upholstered arms. “Because you’re right. I am sick. Which is not an easy thing to admit. To myself, let alone to my children. At first, I ignored it. Made excuses. Shrouded myself in denial while hiding in here like a coward. I’m not proud of my actions, Christian. Nor the consequences of you having to step in for me. I’m truly sorry.”

  It was the breakthrough—and yes, the total honesty—he’d been craving. He waved aside the apology. “Never mind that. I’m sorry that you’re not well.”

  “Stubbornness led me to insist that it was like the flu. Be patient, wait it out, and it passes.” His father scrubbed a hand across his face. “I was wrong. Worse, I knew better. Pride, ego wouldn’t let me accept it.”

  Still confused, Christian said cautiously, “You did so well on our trip, though.”

  “It was wonderful being with all of you.” Julian laughed. “A little disconcerting to see your friend Elias draped all over Kelsey. But I can see they care for each other.”

  Well, if they were being honest, he might as well drop that bombshell. “Elias is going to propose to her.”

  Julian snapped up, straight as an arrow. In full king mode, he haughtily announced, “Not without my permission.”

  Awkward

  Christian straightened, too. He spread his legs, splayed his palms across the chair’s arms, and with an equal measure of regalness, countered with, “He sought mine—and received it.”

  Deflating before his eyes, Julian said nothing. His lips compressed into a thin line, that in the past would’ve been a precursor to a serious I’m disappointed in you talk. But…oh, shit…was his father about to cry? His eyes squeezed shut.

  “Papa?”

  “I’ve missed so much in her life. I can’t believe I missed that, too. But what matters is that Elias asked the man who was acting as king. It shows his respect. Thank you for doing it.”

  “She’ll say yes, you know. Perhaps you can work toward being better in time to walk her down the aisle?”

  “Yes. That’s a good milestone.” He pinched the bridge of his nose, pulled himself back together. “To answer your question, the trip to Italy was amazing. And hard. Sort of like cliff jumping. Adrenaline sends you running off the cliff. But after, sitting on the beach, you realize the recklessness of what you just did, and the shakes set in.”

  “Let me guess. Mama talked you into that on your honeymoon?” Christian teased.

  “Ha! My first tour in the navy, actually. Being with all of you was too much. I thought I just needed to be alone to recover. But instead, I got worse. The thought of leaving my rooms at all paralyzed me.”

  “I wish you would’ve felt safe enough to tell us. But I understand being overwhelmed. You should’ve seen me at my first Privy Council meeting. I would’ve gladly traded places with a bag of chum in a shiver of sharks.”

  “I can’t promise that instinct will ever diminish.” Julian chuckled softly. But a frown quickly crept down his forehead. “After I missed the state banquet last night…well, I haven’t missed one in my entire life.”

  “I know,” Christian said softly. Then he pulled one foot back, the other forward, almost in a sitting version of the lunge to start a sprint race. Because he needed to physically brace himself to get out the next words. “That’s why I broke in here today. To confront you with the reality that you are no longer functioning as king.”

  Another long pause ensued. Long enough that Christian worried he’d pushed too hard, been too brutally frank when his father was so compromised.

  But then the king nodded. Slowly. “Ten minutes after the banquet began, when I should’ve been giving the speech. I knew it was time to face the music. Missing that duty was the final straw. It was time to get the help that my Serena never did. I
called Dr. Elonth. Not surprisingly, he already had a facility lined up and a room waiting for me. I leave in a few hours.”

  Thank God. “I’m very relieved.” So relieved, so light-hearted that Christian was surprised his butt didn’t float right up off the seat.

  “I need you to take my place.”

  Christian snorted. “Uh, I have been. For months now.”

  “No, I mean, for good.” Julian walked to his dresser and picked up four thick envelopes, each sealed in dark -purple wax with the king’s crest. He handed them over. There was one each for Christian, Genevieve, Kelsey, and the prime minister. “I’m giving the crown to you, my son. Those are letters explaining myself, and the formal articles of abdication for Zupan.”

  The announcement fell into his gut like a cannonball.

  Funny, he’d come in here prepared to ask the king to do just that. Prepared to fight for the good of the country. Something about Julian preemptively offering it, though, spun Christian back into defense mode.

  “You don’t have to do that,” Christian said with a ferocity that came from deep in his belly. His papa was finally taking steps to get better. Christian could continue to keep his seat warm until he was ready to come back. It’d be an extended sick leave. But then he’d be back, and rule for another thirty years.

  Julian patted his hand, then sat back down. “I do. Both for my own health, going forward, as well as for that of our country.”

  “You’re sure this is your decision? Zupan hasn’t been in here pressuring you?”

  “Christian. If I wouldn’t let my own children in, I certainly wouldn’t open the door to a politician.” The last word came out with a sneer. Huh. At some point, Christian would need to follow up and find out why Zupan left a bad taste in the king’s mouth. “I appreciate that you’re trying to stand up for me. It isn’t necessary. Now is the time for you to stand up for Moncriano.”

  “I will,” Christian pledged solemnly, hand over his heart.

  Because there would be a swearing in with the Privy Council. A massive coronation, months from now. But to Christian, this moment was the one where he officially became king.

  It was…disconcerting. Overwhelming. Sacred.

  On the silver lining side, it was nice to experience with his father, rather than while mourning his death.

  “I have the utmost faith in you, my son.” Julian cleared his throat, which sounded a bit choked up. “And you’re ready. Especially with the delightful Mallory by your side. Having a partner to keep you grounded in who you are aside from being king, that’s vital.”

  Christian should probably make a noncommittal noise and simply help his father finish readying to leave. After all, when a man admitted that he was in the throes of a mental breakdown, wasn’t it selfish to pile more onto his head?

  Still…he seemed to be doing well right now, in this moment. Taking this step forward toward recovering probably did wonders for his mental state. So Christian couldn’t resist turning to his father for advice, like he always had.

  “We broke up. Last night. And I have no idea how to deal with that. It’s the worst, Papa.” And now his words came out in a flood that he hoped didn’t drown his father. “She did it for all the right and wrong reasons. Now that it’s done, it feels wrong to my core. I love her. I love her, and she loves me.” Christian dropped his head into his hands.

  He missed her. It had been less than twenty-four hours, but God, he missed knowing that she was by his side. Missed knowing he could turn to her about anything. Missed her smile, her hugs, her willingness to jump into things with both feet. Her unflinching loyalty—even though said loyalty and concern for him had probably led to her decision.

  Christian hated being cut off from her. It was like the air hose had been cut on his scuba gear. Mallory gave him clarity. All of his decisions, all of his thoughts, were fuzzier without her in his life. She made him believe that he was good enough, strong enough, to rule an entire country.

  Without her by his side? He was fucking miserable.

  Cowed by her bravery, too. Her dead sure sense of right and wrong. He’d been too weak to pull the plug himself, even though it was the only course of action after the PM’s shocking news.

  Now all he could think about was how wrong they’d both been. How being this unhappy couldn’t be the right choice.

  Even though he knew it was the only choice.

  “Get her back,” Julian said calmly.

  Right. As if it were that simple. Of course, he’d left out the key linchpin to the story. “The thing is, Mallory can’t have kids. Can’t physically bear children. Because of being shot, here, on the steps of our Parliament.”

  Wasn’t that just ball-breaking irony? That his country had caused her infertility, which thus rendered her unable to be his queen?

  “Ah.” Julian steepled his fingers, tapped them against his chin. He stared out the window. “Does that matter to you? More than she does?”

  “Of course not.” As much as he’d pushed against it, though, Christian knew the king had to marry and produce heirs. That was no longer an ephemeral item on his to-do list. Not now that he was king. As his one job, he could not screw it up, could not let his country down. “But it matters to Moncriano. The line of succession.”

  A bark of a laugh erupted from his father. “You mean the one that we’re upending right now? I’m not supposed to abdicate. I took a vow to stand for this country until death. And while I may feel like death warmed over some days, I’m nowhere close to embracing it. I plan to live on, to watch you rule, for decades.”

  “Papa, the circumstances aren’t the same. You’re ill. I am healthy. Therefore, I have to provide the next king to rule Moncriano. The people expect it of me.”

  “Do they?” His father stood. “Come with me.” He led Christian out, past the sitting room, to his study, where he could work without any courtiers or advisors bursting in on him. Then he opened the closet door and motioned with his head for Christian to enter.

  Weird. It held more books, big tomes that he really didn’t want to know what they were for. A filing cabinet. A safe. “I don’t understand. I mean, I may be king now, but I’m not going to make you clean out your office before you go for treatment.”

  “Look on the wall.”

  Oh. Oh.

  What looked like an illuminated manuscript page was in an ornate gilt frame. Christian had seen it so often as a child that he’d dismissed it as akin to wallpaper.

  But it wasn’t.

  It was the Coronation Oath his father had taken. The one he would take.

  “Read it,” Julian commanded. “Read everything on there you will vow to do as king, and tell me what isn’t listed.”

  Govern. Execute law and justice in all judgments. Protect and care for his subjects.

  That was it.

  Spinning on his heel, Christian gaped at his father. “It doesn’t mention children.”

  “Of course not.” Julian snorted, leaving the doorway to stand in the center of the room, beneath the wrought iron chandelier. “You can’t make someone promise to procreate. It’s one of those unwritten rules that evolved due to primogeniture and the divine right of kings…and monarchs wanting to protect themselves from coups,” he finished with a shrug. “Absolute power does tend to corrupt absolutely.”

  “You’d condone my being with Mallory? A commoner? An American? Who can’t bear children? Because as much as I worry about letting the country down, I most of all can’t let you down.”

  “You will be a wonderful king. And those around you should do everything possible to help you live up to that potential. Sharing your life with the person you love? That will make you a better man, and thus a better king.”

  “I don’t know if she’ll agree. Mallory can be stubborn. I’m not sure she’ll take me back.”

  His father tugged off the hea
vy gold signet ring bearing the king’s sigil—a crown superimposed over a peacock feather—and pressed it into Christian’s palm, closing his fingers tight around it. “She’ll have to. You’re the king now.”

  “I’m not her king,” he reminded Julian. “Stubborn, independent American, remember?”

  “All that matters is if you’re the king of her heart.”

  It was good to receive counsel from his father. Christian wasn’t altogether sure, though, that the rest of the country would see things the same way.

  Was the Coronation Oath truly the solution to his problem? Or were the obstacles keeping him apart from Mallory too big to be overcome even by the power of a king?

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  The clatter of stilettos on marble almost stopped Mallory in her tracks. But then she realized the clatter was getting louder and closer, which probably meant they were coming for her.

  And she didn’t want to talk to anyone.

  Which was already a hard thing to accomplish on the day of a two-hundred-person gala. Mallory was tempted to run. She was wearing sneakers, after all, and could no doubt escape.

  She was also a rule follower. No running in the palace had been one of the first decrees from Sir Evan. It was disrespectful. Also panic-inducing to the staff, who’d feel obligated to rush after her and ask what was wrong.

  Accepting the inevitable, she stopped and turned around. And did appreciate the silliness of the picture the two women presented. Genevieve was in a mauve satin dress with a diagonally pleated sash and, of course, taupe stilettos. Kelsey wore an equally fancy ivory dress with a pattern of watercolor brown flowers spiraling down it—and brown platform pumps. Their arms pistoned back and forth and their identical blond half-updos swished.

  “Princess protocol is not to run in public. Speed walking’s even worse. You two are a disgrace to your titles,” she teased.

  “My palace, my rules,” Genevieve said, panting a little.

  Kelsey shot her more than a little side-eye. “It was the only way to catch you. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’ve been hiding.”