by Kim Karr
I stare at my screen saver—the one of Gigi and I on the Ferris Wheel. I want to get to her, but I’m not sure I can.
The pain is searing.
I close my eyes.
Lightheaded and cold, I slap my own face to stop from falling asleep. I can’t pass out. Not yet.
Still, sleep calls to me, and I find myself fading. But I can’t. I know I can’t. I need to keep moving. Get back on that road, but go where? That’s just it. Right or left? Where is the town?
I glance down the dirt path but see nothing but land. I have no idea how far away the house is.
Can I make it if I try?
Will anyone be there?
Will they have a phone?
Time passes so slowly. I fade in and out. I need to move. I get up. Fall down. Try again. I’ve taken one step, two, when I find myself on the ground once again.
Then I hear the whaling sound of police vehicles in the distance, and I almost cry in relief because I don’t have to go any further.
Rolling onto my back, I glance down and can feel the blood soaking my shirt. Nausea rises inside me and that same dizziness strikes, just harder this time.
When the sirens get close, closer still, I jerk my head up at the realization that they’re close but won’t be able to see me over the wall.
Forcing myself to my feet, I somehow make it back and practically fall over the barrier. All I can do is pray that they see me laying here on the grass against the stone fence through the rain because I can’t move another inch.
And they do.
In a matter of minutes, a small army ascends on me.
Paramedics.
Police.
Detectives.
Everything’s a blur.
Just as I’m being wheeled into the ambulance to be taken to the nearest hospital, I call one of the police officers over.
“Yes, Prince Maximus,” he addresses me.
For once, I don’t hate being called by the title bequeathed upon me at birth. I am not ordinary. I never will be. Time to accept that. Perhaps I should have taken better care of my title and I wouldn’t have ended up here.
Finding my voice, I manage to tell him, “There’s a man and a woman out there. Kendra and Gabriel. They’re both hurt. They’re the ones who kidnapped me. You need to find them.”
Since I slashed the vehicle’s tires back at the farmhouse, the only place Kendra and Gabriel are going is on foot, which will make catching them so much easier.
Nodding, he assures me his team is on it. “We will find them, Your Royal Highness.”
Again, I don’t dispel the title.
It’s who I am, after all.
The ambulance doors close. One paramedic applies pressure to the knife wound at my side while another takes my pulse and a third asks me if I am in pain or having trouble breathing. However, the only thing I care about right now is her.
“Gigi,” I breathe. “Make sure Gigi stays safe.”
Making my demand known, I allow myself to close my eyes and again, find darkness.
FOUND
The Casanovia Conquest
Breaking News
THE PRINCE WAS KIDNAPPED
By Ian Wesley
Just confirmed—the Prince was kidnapped but has been found and is alive.
Details are sketchy about the incident but two people in connection with his kidnapping have been apprehended in a small town in Southern France and are being held for questioning.
One kidnapper has been identified as Prince Maximus’s bodyguard.
His accomplice, Kendra Walters, appears to have ties to Sir Isaac Brantley, the now-deceased Prime Minister of Alexandria, and also Queen Victoria’s maternal uncle. The only thing we know right now for certain is her mother was personally employed by the former Prime Minister, although we don’t know in what capacity.
His last words, Gigi.
I will report breaking news as it comes.
WHO ARE YOU?
One private jet and a motorcade of three bulletproof vehicles later, and I’m finally sitting in the waiting room at 6 Rue Désirée Clary in Marseille.
This is the closest hospital with a helipad to where Max was found, so it is where he was taken.
I’m surrounded by two bodyguards and Hunter and Ava are at my side.
Hunter is hunched over in the hard plastic chair, his elbows on his knees. Ava is beside him, exhaustion clear on her beautiful face.
I’m a wreck.
All we know is that Max was brought in through the ER and taken to the operating room.
We don’t know why.
How bad it is.
If he’ll live or die.
Doctors come in and out but not one for us. No one to tell us anything. Until the door opens and Queen Genevieve strides in, dressed as if she’s about to walk the runway.
The Queen’s heels click on the linoleum floor as she prances toward us. Hunter jumps to his feet. “Queen Genevieve, I didn’t realize you were here,” he says.
“Of course, we’re here.”
We’re?
Ava and I also stand. The woman looks at us in our jeans and hair up in messy buns with disgust on her face.
I attempt a curtsey. “Queen Genevieve, do you know how Max is doing?”
Daggers arrow from her pupils right into mine. “You may address me as Your Royal Highness, and Max,” she chokes on the word, “is Prince Maximus of Casanovia.”
Hunter runs a hand down his face and then attempts to navigate the situation. “Queen Genevieve, could you please tell me how he’s doing?”
Just then the door opens again and this time Princess Beatrice strides in, dressed also as if she’s about to stroll down the catwalk.
We’re.
Beatrice is the we’re.
“He’s out of surgery,” the Queen tells him as Beatrice kisses him on the cheek. “The doctors are worried that he’s lost a great deal of blood, though,” the Queen goes on.
“What happened to him?” I blurt out.
“He was stabbed,” she replies haughtily, as if I should know this for some reason.
Stabbed.
My heart stops.
Stabbed.
Oh, God. Max.
“Were any major organs hit?” Hunter asks, concerned.
She shakes her head. “I honestly don’t know.”
Hunter asks a few more questions to understand his condition more thoroughly, but I can’t seem to hear the words as dimness floats around me.
Stabbed.
Is he going to die?
Letting a smirk ridge her mouth as she glares at me, Beatrice says to Hunter, “He hasn’t woken up, yet, and the doctors are worried about that, too. Since the security here is dismal at best, the Queen has arranged for him to be airlifted to Casanovia.”
“Is that safe?” Again, I blurt it out.
And again, the Queen looks at me like I’m dirt on the floor, but I honestly don’t care. I only care about Max. “Of course it is or we wouldn’t be doing it.”
The tears that leak from my eyes can’t be stopped. “Can I see him? Please? Before he leaves here.”
“Absolutely not,” Beatrice retorts.
“Jesus, Beatrice,” Hunter huffs, “He’s not yours.”
The Queen clears her throat. “No, but he is part of my family, Prince Hunter Tigress, and I am not authorizing any visitors for security reasons. I’m sure you understand.”
Hunter shakes his head but maintains the cordiality he’s managed to hang on to. “Of course I do.”
Just then Hunter’s phone rings and when he turns to take it, the Queen glares at me. “You really should go home, Gigi. Prince Maximus can’t ever be with you. He’s to be King, and royalty must marry their own.”
Pain pierces me, a straight shot right through the center of my heart like I’ve also been stabbed. I try to hide it, but I know they see it.
Ava places her hand on my shoulder and gives me a comforting squeeze. There’s nothing either of us c
an say because the Queen is right—Max is a would-be king.
Even Beatrice says nothing. Once the Queen is done staring at me, she pivots on her heels and gives me her back. Beatrice follows behind her like an obedient dog.
As soon as the two women leave the room, Hunter mutes the phone. “This is Maximus’s brother, Prince Leopold, I’ll be off in a minute.”
I nod, leaning into Ava for support because my knees are so weak. That woman just annihilated me, and she doesn’t even know it. Yet, she isn’t wrong. I can’t be with him.
Not ever.
And now I know what I have to do.
When Hunter hangs up, he tells us, “We’re not going to be able to see Maximus. He’s already in the helicopter.”
Right then I look out the window and see one in the air. My heart fists and threatens to fail.
I take a deep breath.
Goodbye, Max.
SMOOTH OPERATOR
I open my eyes and find myself staring into the sunlight, which streaks like orange daggers through the blue sky.
Right away I know where I am.
Home.
I’m in Casanovia.
As pieces of the past few days start coming together in my mind (the helicopter ride, my father and brother waiting for me, the talk the three of us had about love) the door swings open.
“Oh, my God, you’re awake. You’re finally awake,” comes from a female voice that makes me cringe.
Slowly, I roll my head in that direction and try to keep the curse words from flying out of my mouth.
But I can’t.
They escape, a flood of them that I know I shouldn’t be saying. “What the fuck are you doing here?” are the expletives I’m shouting when my brother comes striding in.
Leopold.
Older than me.
Sicker than me.
But always the one to handle me.
Whereas I look more like our mother, Leopold looks more like our father. With his short blond hair, styled and polished, and his lean frame with more muscle packed on it than I ever recall him having, he puts an arm around Beatrice. “Darlin, I don’t think the doctor has cleared my dear brother for visitors yet.”
With her pouty lips in a pucker she says, “I’m not really a visitor, though. Prince Maximus and I are going to be married.”
I cough, maybe choke, and my brother, with all his discord and chaos neatly tucked away, gives her that arrogant smirk of his. Then in that most polished way he has about him, he says to her, “About that—it’s just not going to be happening. You see my brother is in love with another woman, so he can’t possibly marry you.”
Beatrice scoffs out a harsh laugh. “It doesn’t matter who he’s in love with—the King had decreed it to be and the Queen is more than excited about the union.”
Leopold looks at her, then me, and then her again. “That’s just it, darlin, it does matter. I think you might have missed the memo.”
I think I did too, but I don’t say anything.
Surprise flashes across her face, although I hide mine. And then she nervously tucks a piece of her hair behind her ear. “What are you talking about?”
My ears perk up, straining to hear this. “Why the letter sent by the King this very morning.”
“What letter?”
“The one informing you that the arranged marriage decree between you and my brother has been dissolved.”
“No, it can’t be.”
“But it can. You see you violated your N.D.A., and that is due cause for dissolution.”
That’s my brother for you—such a smooth talker but his point is always made—very clearly.
Her voice sing-songs with bitterness. “I did no such thing.”
Quick to the draw, Leopold pulls his phone out and begins showing her a video. I can’t see what it is, but my guess is that it’s her being loose-lipped and discussing our engagement and my brother’s condition at the fashion show. Our fake engagement since I never did ask her to be my wife.
High five, brother.
She gulps, glares at him, then at me. “Maximus? Is this true?”
Trying to sit up, I ignore the pain that slices through me and force myself to get my grace on. “Beatrice, it was never going to work out for us. You should accept Prince Rainer’s offer for marriage. I think he’ll make you very happy.”
Her gaze narrows at me.
I nod.
In all honesty, I really tried my best to force the words from my tongue without all the darts of sarcasm. However, the way my brother’s lips are twitching in amusement, I’m not sure I did a very good job.
Stomping her foot, she allows a small scream to escape her throat. Then she turns on her heels and storms away. “We’ll see what Queen Genevieve has to say about all of this.”
My brother stands there, crossing his arms, his gaze going from the spot she vacated to me. “You owe me, brother. I just saved you from one wicked ride in life. She’s the real devil in Prada.”
Amusement ripples across my own lips. “Dude, you got that right.”
Leopold strides toward me with his hands in his pockets. “I’m serious. I expect payback.”
“Name it and it’s yours.”
He holds up a finger. “I already know what I want.” He pulls out his cell and taps it. “Petunia,” he says to his new wife, “come on up to Maximus’s room.”
Payback involves his wife—interesting?
He grins. “Yes, the coast is clear.”
I wince in pain as I howl with laughter. Sweet Petunia is probably as terrified of Beatrice as she is Genevieve.
“Your Royal Highness, you’re awake.” I look up at the sound of the stern voice and see Dr. Earhart, our family physician.
“Yes.”
Leopold hangs up and leans against the wall. He’s very used to Dr. Earhart poking and prodding him. I, on the other hand am not.
The doctor smiles and comes closer. “You were very lucky. No major organs were struck…”
I listen as he tells me I’m to restrict my movements and take it easy. Any pain I’m to call immediately.
“So basically, I’m okay?” I say when he finishes checking me out.
He laughs. “Not exactly, but you will live. As I said, I recommend that you take it easy…”
Blah, blah, blah.
I let him finish talking. Let him tell me about the dressing changes and the ointment to apply and the antibiotics to take and the rest I need for the next few weeks, and then I thank him, and finally he exits the room.
Sighing, I press myself back further into the pillow. “That in itself was exhausting,” I joke to my brother.
“I have to put up with that every week,” Leopold informs me. “I’m sure the nurse will be in the next time, so prepare yourself to get the same lecture.”
I glance over, my mood plunging. “How are you? I was worried after our texts that Father was summoning me home because your condition has worsened, but you look great.”
“I am great. I feel fine.”
Making like Popeye with my arms, I wince again in pain. Shit, I need to remember to remain still. “You look better than fine.”
He shrugs. “Figure I might as well put the time I have left into my physical condition while I can, you know?”
I did know.
I really did, and I hated it.
His time on this earth is running on a shorter meter, and I need to remember that, spend more time with him.
“So the summons from Father is about me, then?”
The soft knock makes us both smile.
“In a way it is,” he says cryptically.
Confusion lines my face as I call out, “Come on in, Petunia.”
When the door opens, she swooshes in like an angel. She’s petite and dark-haired, a raven beauty. Kind. Quiet. Sweet. She hurries to my bedside to kiss me on the cheek. “Maximus, I’m so very happy to see you awake and sitting up. How are you feeling?”
Sweet Petunia.
Sitting up is overexaggerating a bit, but still I am close to achieving a prone position. “I’ve felt better,” I tell her honestly.
Leopold puts his arms around her and looks over her shoulder at me. “Well, we have news that is going to make you feel much better.”
I roll my eyes. “Please don’t tell me Father has decided—”
“We’re pregnant,” Petunia blurts out.
I stare at them.
Blink.
Stare some more.
Leopold had been so adamant that he would not embark on fatherhood knowing he was going to die at a young age. That he didn’t want to leave his children the way our mother left us.
“You’re…you’re…” I stutter, unable to get past the lump of emotion stuck in my throat. “How…”
“Now, Maximus,” Leopold says, “We’ve gone through this. The penis goes in the vagina—”
Petunia covers her ears. “Enough with the dirty talk, Leopold. Your brother knows how babies are made.”
Still in shock, I stare at her belly. She places her hands on it, and Leopold covers them, and then he says, “First of all, if you would have answered Father’s summons, you would have been informed much faster of the news. We couldn’t risk the information getting out yet, so we needed to tell you in private.”
“But I thought—”
Again he cuts me off. “We decided that with the time I have left, we could make it okay or spectacular, and why not make it spectacular, you know?”
“Like the special times we had with Mom,” I whisper.
He nods, his eyes glassy with unshed tears. “Yeah, just like those. So now for the payback,” he says the last part more heartily.
I raise a brow. “Go on.”
“Maximus, Petunia and I want you to be the baby’s Godfather, and when I leave this earth, we want you and this woman you keep going on about to help Petunia make sure the child is ready to take his or her place on the throne.”
I stare at him in shock, emotion clogging my throat. “Leopold.”
His hand goes up. “Just say yes, brother. I need to know someone will be here to help my son or daughter navigate this chaos. Act as Regent as must be.”