Not Fit for a King?

by Jane Porter

  “I don’t know. She never told me. She just said she needed to take care of something and she’d be back in a few hours.” Hannah laced and unlaced her fingers. “But she never returned that day. Or the next. So here I am.”

  They never returned to the ballroom. The Amethyst & Ice Ball finished without them.

  Instead Zale had Emmeline escorted back to the Queen’s Chambers, his tuxedo jacket still draped across her shoulders. He headed to the parapet where he walked the tower for half an hour.

  He didn’t believe her. Couldn’t.

  Emmeline wasn’t Emmeline but an American secretary named Hannah Smith? Impossible.

  There weren’t two Emmelines in the world, and Emmeline d’Arcy was such a rare beauty, so distinctive that there couldn’t be another woman who looked like her.

  Or moved like her.

  Or smiled like her.

  Which meant that Emmeline wasn’t well, and he needed to get her away from Raguva, away from the pressures of the palace, far from the wedding preparations and all the attention that came with both.

  She needed rest and medical care and he’d make sure she got the help she needed.

  Back downstairs he gave instructions for his jet to be prepared for an early morning departure. He sent for Krek and told his butler that he needed a suitcase packed. “I’m not sure how long I’ll be gone … one week, two. See to it that Her Highness’s maid packs for her, too.”

  Krek stood there a moment looking confused. “Pack another suitcase, Your Majesty?”

  “No, Krek. She just needs one.”

  “But Her Highness went downstairs with a small suitcase a little while ago. Her maid found this on the floor in the living room. She must have dropped it on the way out.” The butler reached into the pocket of his black pin-striped trousers and withdrew Emmeline’s phone. “Perhaps you could give it to her when you see her?”

  Zale took the phone, turning it over in his hand. The infamous phone. The source of so much tension.

  Silent, gut hard, chest tight, Zale flipped the phone open to scroll through her in-box. Text from Emmeline.

  Text from Emmeline.

  Text from Emmeline.

  His chest squeezed tighter. He drew a rough, unsteady breath as Krek quietly left. For a moment Zale wanted to hurl the phone across the room but instead he sat down in the nearest chair to read the messages. He went back to the very beginning and read them all, incoming as well as outgoing since he had time, because Emmeline, or Hannah, or whoever she said she was, wouldn’t be going anywhere. The palace gates were always locked, and no one came or went without Zale’s knowledge and permission.

  Just as Krek said, Hannah had packed a suitcase, and changed into traveling clothes, but she couldn’t get out of the palace. The gates were locked. The palace guard stood at attention. They refused to even make eye contact with her. She tried to persuade one guard and then another to open the gates but each one stared straight ahead as if she wasn’t even there.

  Hannah gave up pleading and sat down on the palace’s front steps. It was a clear night, a cool night, and she was growing cold but she’d rather freeze to death on the steps than go back inside.

  She was beginning to think she’d freeze to death, too, when Zale’s very deep voice spoke on the top step behind her. “Hannah Smith, you have some explaining to do.”

  Her stomach plummeted. Goose bumps covered her arms. Slowly she rose knowing that this next conversation with Zale would be horrendous.

  She was right. He grilled her for hours, repeating the same questions over and over. It was three-thirty in the morning now and Zale was growing angrier by the minute.

  “It’s illegal what you’ve done,” he said harshly after she finally fell silent, worn-out from talking, exhausted from trying to make him understand. “You’ve broken too many laws to count. You didn’t just impersonate Princess Emmeline, you committed fraud as we well as perjury.”

  She stared at him dry-eyed, her body trembling from fatigue. “I am sorry.”

  “Not good enough.”

  “How can I make amends? I want to make amends.”

  “You can’t,” he answered brusquely. “And the more I think about it, the more certain I am that I should have you arrested. Locked up. Let you sit in jail for a couple of years—”

  “Zale.”

  But he couldn’t be placated. “What sort of person are you? Who does what you did?”

  “I was never supposed to come here. I’d never agreed to come—”

  “But you did.”

  Hannah’s shoulders twisted helplessly. “I kept thinking that any moment Emmeline would show up. Any moment she’d return and we’d switch places again and that would be that.”

  “What you did was a crime! It’s a serious offense to enter the country under false pretenses, use a fake identity, interfere with state business. Any one of those would earn you a stiff prison sentence, but all three together?” He shook his head. “How could you do it?”

  “I don’t know.” Hannah felt horrible, beyond horrible. “And there isn’t a good excuse. I was stupid. Beyond stupid. And I knew I was in trouble once I got here but I didn’t know how to put a stop to it. I liked you immediately. Fell for you hard—”

  “Please don’t go there.”

  “It’s true. I fell for you at first sight. And I knew you weren’t mine. I knew you belonged to Emmeline but she wouldn’t come, and yet she wouldn’t let me leave.”

  “So you decided to just stay and play princess, thinking no one would ever find out the truth?”

  She bit her lip, unable to defend herself. Because yes, that’s what she’d naively hoped.

  Stupid, stupid, Hannah.

  The silence hung between them, tense, agonizing, and then Zale turned away, making a rough sound in his throat. “To think I nearly fell in love with you. A fake. An impostor! My God, I even took you to my bed—”

  “You can’t blame me for that. You wanted to sleep with me, too!”

  “Yes, because I thought you were mine. I thought you were to be my wife. I had no idea you were an American girl getting her thrills pretending to be my fiancée.”

  “It wasn’t like that. I didn’t want to betray you or Emmeline—”

  “But you did, and you did come to my bed, and you enjoyed it.” He went to her, tangled his hand in her hair and forced her face up to his. “Didn’t you?”

  Her jaw tightened and she stared up at him in mute fury. Zale saw the blaze of anger in her eyes and he welcomed it. Good, let her be angry. Let her hurt. Let her feel a tenth of his pain and shame.

  To be tricked like that.

  Played for a fool.

  He’d never forgive her. Never.

  Zale released her, disgusted with her, him, all of it. “So where is Emmeline now?” he demanded, taking a step away. “Why isn’t she here?”

  Hannah shook her head. “I don’t know. She never said.”

  He turned his back on her, walked across the room toward the windows. The drapes had not been drawn against the night and the lights of the walled city twinkled below. “I have to call her father. Tell him what’s happened. We’ll need to let our guests know the wedding is off.”

  She knotted and unknotted her hands. “Can I do something?”

  “Yes. You can go.” He spoke without turning around, keeping his back to her. “I want you gone first thing in the morning, and I never want to see you again.”

  Hannah left before daybreak. This time the palace guard allowed her to leave and she walked through the palace gates and out onto the cobbled streets, her footsteps unsteady.

  The worst had finally happened. Zale had found out the truth. He knew who she was now, knew Emmeline wasn’t coming, and now she was free to return to her own life, resume her work, see her friends.

  This is what she’d wanted. This is what her goal had been. And yes, she was sad now—shattered, actually—but eventually she’d be okay. Hannah knew she was tough. Resilient. And maybe one
day if she was lucky, she’d fall in love again.

  Reaching the old city center, Hannah went to the train station to purchase a ticket and discovered she didn’t have enough money to get across Raguva much less out of the country as she’d left her credit cards in her hotel room in Palm Beach. She’d need her father to wire her money and get one of the secretaries at the office in Dallas to overnight her passport to her.

  Hannah reached into her coat pocket to call her dad but her phone was missing. She searched the rest of her pockets before opening her small suitcase to check there. But no, nothing, which meant she must have left the phone at the palace or dropped it while walking into the city center.

  Her heart fell as she imagined returning to the palace, only to be confronted by Zale.

  She couldn’t handle seeing him again. Couldn’t handle his disappointment and anger.

  Last night she’d felt like Cinderella at the ball—a beautiful princess dancing with the handsome king—and just like the fairy tale, today she was no one. She’d been tossed into the streets.

  Exhausted, Hannah closed her suitcase and got to her feet and stood in the middle of the train station, wishing she had a fairy godmother who could come wave a magic wand and make everything good again.

  But fairy godmothers didn’t exist, and real life women like Hannah Smith had to sort out their problems and mistakes on their own.

  Only her plight hadn’t gone unnoticed. An old gentleman working at the station ticket counter left his booth and approached her, speaking a mixture of broken English and Raguvian. “Do you need help?”

  She nodded, hating the lump in her throat. “I need to find a hotel, something cheap, for a night or two until my father can send money.”

  He pointed to a building across the street. “Nice and clean,” he said, with a sympathetic smile. “And not too much money. Tell them Alfred sent you.”

  She shot him a grateful smile. “I will, thank you.”

  He nodded and watched her hurry across the plaza to the small hotel tucked into the stone building on the other side of the cobbled street.

  The woman at the front desk seemed to be waiting for Hannah at the front door. She ushered her in and got her registered at the small reception desk in minutes before personally showing Hannah to her room, explaining through gestures and smiles how the small ancient television and room thermostat worked.

  When Hannah told her she needed a phone to make a collect call to the United States, the woman handed Hannah her own from her dress pocket.

  But the phone operator couldn’t reach Hannah’s father for him to accept the collect call. They tried twice before Hannah gave up.

  “You can try again later, as many times as you need,” the front desk clerk assured her. “I will be here all day.”

  Hannah did try three more times, but each time she had the operator try to place the collect call, her father’s answering machine picked up.

  By the end of the day, Hannah had resigned herself to the fact that she’d be stuck in Raguva at least another day. If not longer.

  For the first twenty-four hours after Hannah left, Zale wanted revenge. He fantasized about hunting Hannah down and making her suffer as he was suffering.

  He was still angry the second day after she’d left, and plotted her downfall, but now when he imagined doing something to her, he was doing something to her body. Something … pleasurable.

  He hated himself for even thinking of her, much less desiring her.

  The fact that he could imagine taking pleasure in her body baffled him after everything that had happened.

  Why was he even thinking about her? How could he want her? She’d manipulated him and played him and he should hate her.

  He didn’t. He couldn’t. Not when he loved her.

  Zale ran a hand through his short hair, knowing he’d only been in love once before. It’d been six years ago when he’d lived in Madrid. She had been young, brilliant and vivacious, a breathtaking Spanish beauty, but when his parents had died he’d retired from football and ended their love affair, moved back to Raguva and never once looked back.

  Zale knew how to move on without looking back. He knew how to be ruthless, relentless, hard.

  And he’d force himself to be ruthless and hard now.

  She was gone. And there would be no forgiveness. No second chances.

  But when he pictured Hannah, he didn’t want to be ruthless and hard.

  On the third day Zale woke, even more angry and frustrated than when he went to bed.

  He would find her. He would. He’d take her in his hands and make her pay.

  But first he had to find her.

  Zale spent the morning making inquiries before turning to Krek at noon. Turns out he should have started with Krek as his butler already knew where Hannah could be found. “The Divok Hotel, Your Majesty, under the name of Hannah Smith.”

  Zale tried to hide his irritation. “How did you know where she was?”

  “Her Highness is distinctive. Word quickly spread.” “No one told me.”

  “Everyone knew you were unhappy with her—” “Does everyone know why?”

  Krek shrugged vaguely. “Lovers’ quarrel, something of that nature.”

  “They are aware the wedding has been called off?” “Yes, Your Majesty, but they’re all hoping that you’ll come to your senses and forgive her so the wedding can be on again.” “It’s not going to happen.” “Whatever you think is best, sir.”

  “Krek, I know you heard us fighting. I know you and half the palace must know the truth. She isn’t Emmeline d’Arcy. She’s an American impostor.”

  “Yes, Your Majesty.”

  “Krek.”

  The butler bowed. “Will you be going out, sir?” Zale glowered at him. “Yes.” “Very good, sir.”

  Zale was annoyed that he’d be showing up at the unassuming Divok Hotel with full escort, but he couldn’t very well go alone. He was a king. There was protocol. And safety was always an issue, even in his own country.

  Zale waited in his armored car as his security guard checked out the hotel, securing the front and back entrances before allowing him inside.

  The front desk clerk’s welcome was effusive. Beaming and bowing, she showed him and four of his bodyguards up to the top floor, which was where she’d given Hannah Smith a room. “It’s one of our best rooms,” she said, “and every day I make sure she has fresh flowers.”

  Zale thanked the clerk for the kindness she’d shown Hannah Smith, and knocked on Hannah’s door.

  He waited a moment, gut tensing, and then knocked again. Finally she opened the door a crack and peered out, her long hair messy, her face pale with deep shadows beneath her eyes. The interior of her room was dark with the blinds still drawn although it was almost noon.

  She blinked at him, obviously stunned but sleepy. “What are you doing here?”

  “I don’t know,” he answered grimly before gesturing to her room. “May I? The hallway isn’t the most private place for us to talk.”