Claiming His Secret Royal Heir

by Nina Milne

  Ever since the olive grove he’d been distant, as if he’d built a wall of transparent glass that she couldn’t penetrate. He was polite, kind and unfailingly courteous, and it made her want to scream. It also made her wonder what demon drove him to spend nigh on every waking hour in the council room, closeted with advisors, lawyers, education experts or engrossed in legal and constitutional tomes that dated back centuries.

  Her reverie was interrupted by the familiar knock on the door.

  ‘Come in.’

  Frederick entered and, as happened each and every day, her heart fluttered and she noted the lines of tiredness around his eyes and wished she could smooth them away.

  ‘Adadadadaa!’ Amil said, and if she’d blinked she’d have missed the smile that lit Frederick’s face—one of pure, unaffected joy—before his expression morphed back to neutral.

  ‘Good evening, Amil. And what have you got for tea today?’

  ‘He has lasagne with carrot sticks. Prepared by his very loving, very lovely potential new nanny.’

  Satisfaction pumped a fist inside her as she saw his eyebrows snap together—that had at least got his attention.

  ‘Nanny? You didn’t tell me you’d chosen one from the list I gave you.’

  The list that had chilled her very bone marrow—a list of extremely qualified, excessively expensive women.

  ‘That’s because she isn’t on the list. But maybe we could discuss this once Amil is in bed.’

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘Then let’s get tea underway.’

  She headed to the kitchenette and soon had Amil seated in his high chair.

  As she did every day, she asked, ‘Would you like to feed him?’

  He replied as he did every day. ‘No. I’m good, thanks. It looks tricky, and I don’t know how you manage to get more food into him than ends up elsewhere.’

  True enough, meal times weren’t the tidiest of processes—and equally true she had worked out a dextrous method of spooning in maximum food—but still... She wasn’t sure that his reluctance stemmed from fastidiousness. As for worrying that Amil wouldn’t get enough to eat, that didn’t ring true either—as she had pointed out, he could always have a second helping.

  Perhaps he didn’t like the idea of being watched and judged.

  ‘I can go into the lounge whilst you feed him, if you like?’

  ‘I’d prefer it if you fed him, if that’s OK?’

  ‘Of course.’

  Only it wasn’t OK. Not really.

  Just like it wasn’t really OK that Frederick didn’t engage in bathtime, didn’t take Amil onto his lap for his bedtime story. If it were any other man she would suspect that he didn’t care, that he was going through the motions. But that didn’t make sense. Frederick had fought tooth and nail to be a full-time father to Amil—risked his throne, defied all advice, was willing to take a less than ideal bride.

  ‘Say goodnight to Daddy.’

  The little boy gurgled happily and she walked over so that Frederick could give him a kiss.

  ‘See you in a minute.’

  Fifteen minutes later she tiptoed from Amil’s room and entered the lounge—then stopped on the threshold and cursed under her breath.

  Damn. She’d left her sketchbook open on the table—worse, she’d left it open, so she could hardly blame Frederick for sitting there and studying the page.

  ‘Did you do this?’

  ‘Yes.’

  There was little point in denial—it wasn’t as if he’d believe that Amil had drawn a ballroom dress or an off-the-shoulder top.

  ‘They’re good.’

  ‘Thank you—they’re just sketches...doodles, really. You know how much I love clothes.’

  ‘These look like more than doodles—you’ve written notes on fabric and cut. How many of these sketchbooks have you got?’

  ‘It doesn’t matter.’ No way would she confess the number. ‘I’ve always enjoyed sketching and I’ve always loved fashion. Ever since my mum took me on a photo shoot with her—I loved the buzz, the vibrancy, but most of all I loved the clothes. The feel, the look, the way they could totally transform a person. Sounds mad, maybe, but I think clothes have power.’

  His gaze returned to the sketchbook. ‘Have you ever thought about fashion design?’

  ‘No.’

  That might be a little bit of a fib, but she didn’t really want to discuss it. Her sketches were private—she’d never shown them to anyone and she wasn’t about to start now.

  ‘It’s just a hobby. I think my forte is wearing clothes, not designing them.’

  Moving forward, she removed the sketchpad and closed it with a finality she hoped he would apply to the whole topic.

  ‘Anyway I wanted to talk to you about my nanny idea.’

  In truth, she wasn’t that keen on a nanny—but she could see that if she planned to model and fulfil her commitments as a Lycander consort then it would be necessary.

  ‘Go ahead.’

  ‘I want to give Gloria Russo the role.’

  Frederick frowned. ‘I thought she worked in the palace kitchens.’

  ‘She does. That’s where I met her. I went down there to sort out how it all works—whether I am supposed to shop, or food is delivered, how and where and when I can cook Amil’s food... Anyway, Gloria was really helpful.’

  Which had made a novel change from every other staff member.

  ‘She only joined the staff recently, but obviously she has been security vetted.’

  ‘So she used to be a nanny?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘All the people on my list have been trained as a nanny—they have extensive qualifications and experience.’

  ‘So does Gloria—she has four grown-up children. And, most important, Amil loves her already.’

  ‘Amil needs a proper nanny.’

  Frustrated anger rolled over her in a tidal wave—a culmination of being patronised all week and a need to make her own presence felt in a world she didn’t fit into. Again.

  ‘Will you get your royal head out of your royal behind? Gloria will be a proper nanny. She knows how to keep him safe and she knows how to provide love and security and fun. She makes him laugh, but she will also make sure he listens. At least agree to meet her and see her with Amil.’

  ‘As long as you agree to meet two people from the list. Then we will make the decision.’

  ‘Deal. You’ll like Gloria—I’m sure you will. She is kind and she’s down to earth and she’s fun. Fun is important.’ Something Frederick seemed to have forgotten. ‘You must remember that—you used to be the Prince of Fun.’

  ‘That was a long time ago.’ His tone implied a lifetime rather than mere months.

  ‘Do you miss it? That lifestyle?’

  When there had been a different woman in his bed whenever he wanted, and all he’d had to worry about was where the next bottle of champagne was coming from.

  ‘That life feels like it belonged to someone else. So, no, I don’t miss it.’

  ‘I know what you mean. My life before Amil seems surreal sometimes, but there are parts of it that I want to retain—I still love clothes, I’m still Sunita.’

  Whereas the Frederick of before—apart from the occasional glimpse—seemed to have vanished completely, remorselessly filtered out by grief and the weight of a crown.

  ‘I know that you have taken on a huge responsibility, and of course you need to take that seriously. But there are aspects of the old Frederick that you should keep. The ability to have fun, to laugh and make others laugh.’

  ‘I’ve had my quota of fun.’ He rose to his feet. ‘I have a meeting with Marcus now, so...’

  ‘You have to go.’

  Sunita bit her lip, told herself it didn’t matter. W
hy should it? Their marriage was an alliance made for Amil’s sake—any desire for his company was both ridiculous and clearly unreciprocated.

  ‘Don’t forget about tomorrow. We have a family day out scheduled.’

  ‘It’s in the diary.’ He looked down at her. ‘You are sure you don’t want to tell me where we’re going?’

  ‘Nope. It’s a surprise.’

  It was an idea she knew the press would love—the fiancée taking her Prince to a surprise destination with their son. A way of emphasising to the people that their Prince and his Princess-to-be had changed and their party lifestyle was well and truly over.

  She smiled at him. ‘It will be fun.’

  For a moment she thought he would return the smile, but instead he merely nodded. ‘Goodnight, Sunita.’

  ‘Goodnight.’

  There it was again—that stupid yearning to ask him to stay.

  Not happening.

  The door clicked behind him as her phone buzzed. Her agent.

  ‘Hi, Harvey.’

  ‘Hey, sweetheart. We need to talk.’

  * * *

  Frederick checked the weather forecast as he approached Sunita’s apartments. A sunny and cloud-free day—a typical late-summer day in Lycander, perfect for a ‘family day out’. The words had an alien twist to them—family days out had been few and far between in his childhood. And now both anticipation and an irrational fear tightened his gut.

  Fear at the level of anticipation, and the knowledge that too much of it was tied up in Sunita, was mixed with the fear of messing it up with Amil. Somehow he had to get these fledgling emotions under control—work out which were acceptable, which he needed to nourish to be a good father and which he needed to stifle before they got out of hand.

  He could do this—he was a past master at emotional lockdown and he would work it out. He would achieve the balanced, calm marriage alliance he wanted.

  Pushing open the door, he entered. Sunita smiled at him and his breath caught. Beautiful—there was no other word to describe her. She was dressed in flared, delicately embroidered jeans and a simple dark blue sleeveless top, sunglasses perched atop her head and her hair tumbling loose in a riot of waves. Her vibrancy lit the room—a room that she’d made home.

  Clutter without untidiness gave it a feeling of relaxed warmth, as did the overstuffed armchairs and sofas that she had commandeered from somewhere in the palace to replace the antique showcase furniture.

  ‘You ready?’ he asked.

  ‘We’re ready—aren’t we, Amil? Look, it’s Daddy.’

  Frederick turned his head to look at Amil, who waved his favourite toy cat at him in greeting. And then he twisted, placed his hands on the sofa cushion and hauled himself up so he was standing. He turned and—almost by mistake—let go, tottered for a moment, found his balance, and then took a step...and another step...and another until he reached Frederick and clutched at his legs for balance.

  He looked down at his son—his son who had just taken his first steps. Amil had a look of utter awe on his face, as the life-changing knowledge had dawned on him—he could walk! Frederick’s chest contracted with pride and wonderment as Amil turned and tottered back, with each step gaining confidence, until he reached the sofa and looked to Sunita for confirmation of his cleverness.

  Sunita let out a laugh of sheer delight and flew across the room, scooped Amil up and spun him round. ‘What a clever boy!’ she said as she smothered him in kisses, before spinning to a halt right in front of Frederick.

  Something twisted in his chest as he looked at them—a strand of emotion almost painful in its intensity. Sunita’s face was slightly flushed, her tawny eyes were bright with happiness and pride, and it filled him with yearning. Like a boy locked out of the sweetshop for ever—doomed always to gaze at the sweets he could never, ever taste.

  He forced a smile to his lips and hoped it didn’t look as corpse-like as it felt. ‘He is a very, very clever boy.’

  Amil beamed at him and that strand tightened.

  Frederick cleared his throat, turned slightly away. ‘So, what’s the plan?’ he asked.

  ‘First up we’ll do a little press conference.’

  ‘How can I do a press conference if I don’t know where I’m going?’

  ‘You’ll have to let me do the talking.’ She grinned at him. ‘Don’t look so worried. There are a million royal duties I am not equipped for, but I am good with the press.’

  The words, though casually stated, held a shade of bitterness, but before he could do more than frown she had headed for the door.

  Once in the palace grounds, with a knot of reporters, Amil proudly demonstrated his new ability and she seemed totally at ease.

  ‘Hi, all. I’ve decided the Prince needs a day off—because even a ruler needs some down-time. So we are off on a family day out—I promise I’ll take some pics, which I’ll pass on to you. As I’m sure you all appreciate we are still a new family, so we’d appreciate some privacy.’

  ‘And what about you, Sunita? Do you deserve a day off? Isn’t it true you’re headed back to the catwalk?’

  ‘That’s the plan—but I’ll let you know more about that when I know the details.’

  ‘Don’t you feel you should focus on your role as Princess, like Lady Kaitlin would have?’

  Frederick felt her tense, sensed her palpable effort to relax. ‘Lady Kaitlin and I are two different people, so we are bound to approach the role differently.’

  He stepped forward. ‘Hey, guys, any questions for me? I’m feeling left out.’

  The tactic worked and fifteen minutes later he wound the meeting down. ‘OK, everyone, fun though this is, we need to head off.’

  Sunita delivered the parting shot. ‘Amil, wave to the nice reporters. That would be that one...that one...and that one.’

  Not the one who had brought up Lady Kaitlin.

  Laughter greeted this, and Sunita smiled. ‘Have a great day—and, as I said, the pics will be with you soon!’

  Once they were alone, Sunita nodded towards one of the palace cars. ‘Hop in. We’re off to Xanos Island.’ She paused. ‘I hope that’s OK? Marcus suggested it.’

  That surprised him. ‘I’d like to take Amil there. Eloise used to take us. Me and Stefan and Axel, and Marcus as well, because he and Axel were best friends.’

  ‘Eloise is Stefan’s mother, correct?’

  ‘Yes. She came after my mother, and she truly tried to be a good mother to Axel and me.’

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘Same old story. My father decided to divorce her and it all disintegrated into an awful custody battle. It ended up that she was allowed occasional visitation with Stefan, and only if she agreed not to see Axel or me.’

  ‘That must have been tough on you and Axel.’

  ‘Yes.’

  The comprehension that he wouldn’t see Eloise again, witnessing Stefan’s fury and pain—it had all hurt. The emotions had been painful, until he’d locked the futile grief down, figured out that love could never be worth this type of loss. First his mother, then Eloise—never again.

  ‘But let’s not spoil the day—I want to make this a happy memory for Amil.’

  ‘Then let’s do that.’

  Her smile lit the very air and he forced himself to turn away from it before he did something stupid. Something emotional.

  The car slowed down at the small Lycandrian port, and minutes later they boarded the motor boat that would ferry them across. Frederick watched Amil’s curiosity and joy at this unprecedented adventure, listened to Sunita as she broke into song and encouraged the Captain to join in.

  Closing his eyes, he inhaled the salty tang of the sea breeze, absorbed the sound of her song and the cry of the curlews as they soared in the turquoise blue of the unclouded
sky.

  Once at the island they alighted and headed over the rocks to the beach, where Sunita produced buckets and spades and a large tartan blanket that she spread out over the sun-bleached sand. Amil sat down and waved a spade with energetic abandon and Sunita grinned as she handed another one to Frederick.

  ‘Right. I thought we’d try and do a sand replica of the Lycander palace—but I think the hard work may be down to you and me.’

  The next hours skated by, and Frederick knew he would add this to his list of happy memories. Preventing Amil from eating sand, building turrets and digging moats, the good-natured bickering over the best way to make the walls secure, Amil walking in the sand, eating the picnic prepared by Gloria—it was all picture-perfect.

  ‘We need to consider Gloria for the role of royal picnic-maker as well as royal nanny.’

  ‘So you really will consider her? Give her a fair chance?’

  ‘Of course. But in return I’d like you to do something.’

  Tawny eyes narrowed. ‘What’s that?’

  ‘Put a portfolio together and send it to a fashion design college. Or talk directly with an actual fashion house. You said to me that Gloria doesn’t need formal qualifications to do the job—maybe you don’t either.’

  The sketches he’d seen the previous day showed talent—he knew it.

  ‘Those sketches had a certain something about them that I suspect is unique to you—I think you should get them checked out.’

  ‘I’ll think about it,’ she said, in a voice that was clearly humouring him as she pulled the picnic basket towards her. ‘Mmm...chocolate cake.’

  Frederick raised his eyebrows. ‘Are you trying to change the subject?’

  ‘How did you guess?’

  ‘I’m bright like that. Come on, Sunita, why not send them off? What have you got to lose?’

  She looked away from him, out over the dark blue crested waves that sculled gently towards the shore, towards the horizon where a ferry chugged purposefully.

  Turning back to him, she shrugged. ‘I could lose something precious. Those sketches kept me sane—they were my own private dream growing up. They represented hope that I wasn’t totally worthless, not utterly stupid. I don’t want to expose them to anyone. I’ve never shown them to a soul.’