Claimed: Secret Royal Son

by Marion Lennox

  She found herself grinning, shoving the unease aside. Do it, she told herself.

  She parked. Her grey shadow parked two cars up, and two grey-suited men climbed out.

  She emerged from the car and waved to them. They looked taken aback.

  ‘Can one of you guys unfold my stroller?’ she called, hauling it out of the trunk and looking at it as if it were a weapon of mass destruction. How could a stroller be so complicated?

  The men hesitated. Clearly they’d been told to stay in the background.

  ‘Are you guys paid to look after me or not?’ she demanded, and they looked at each other and finally the oldest shrugged.

  ‘Yes, ma’am.’

  ‘Hooray,’ she said, unclipping Michales from his car seat. ‘Then we’d appreciate some help. His Highness, Prince Michales, has no transport until his stroller is erected.’

  Two minutes later she had Michales in his stroller. She was wandering along the shop fronts.

  Everyone was looking at her.

  She wasn’t half obvious, she thought dryly. Young mum taking baby for a walk, with two beefcakes following about three feet behind.

  She stopped. She turned. ‘Do you guys ever back off?’

  ‘We’re not permitted to let you out of our sight,’ one said.

  ‘Fine,’ she said and glowered and, before they knew what she was doing, she’d pushed the stroller back to them. ‘I’m off to buy a newspaper and then find somewhere to buy a coffee. You can stare at me through the café window if you must. Take care of His Highness.’

  She’d meant it as a joke. She was going to buy herself a newspaper and then return to Michales before she bought her coffee.

  Only…Only…

  Thanks to her father’s love of scholarship, she could read Greek. Not well, but enough.

  The photograph caught her eye before she’d even purchased the paper. She picked it up numbly.

  Grey Suit Two was suddenly beside her, pulling out his wallet. ‘We pay,’ he said.

  ‘Like hell you do,’ she muttered, still staring in horror at the front page. But then she realised she had no choice. She’d had not a moment since she’d arrived on the island to arrange currency conversion. ‘Okay. Pay for them all,’ she said, motioning to the array of newspapers on the counter. ‘I’ll pay you back later. And, while you’re at it, kindly give me enough money for a coffee. Then leave me alone. Look after Michales and don’t come near me.’

  And then she thought she sounded like Mia. She winced. Royal arrogance was so not her thing.

  ‘And buy yourselves coffee,’ she called after him. ‘And something to eat. Whatever you fancy. I’ll reimburse you for that, too.’

  Feeling a tiny bit better, she found a coffee shop. It looked nice and dark in its recesses—a Diamond Isles version of Ye Olde Nautical Coffee Shoppe. The patrons were shadows. It was so gloomy the girl behind the counter didn’t recognise her.

  Which was excellent. She was starting to crave anonymity.

  She found a seat at the furthermost table and started reading the papers.

  And stopped feeling better.

  The girl brought her coffee. She swallowed the first mouthful so fast she burnt her mouth.

  She had three papers spread out around her now. Their headlines shouted, in sequence:

  ‘My Triumph: Two Royal Daughters.’

  And:

  ‘My Clever Lily—Taught to be a Princess From Birth.’

  And:

  ‘Alexandros Never Stood A Chance Against My Princess Lily.’

  Here it all was, laid out for the world to see. Her mother’s naked ambition. Her mother’s connivance, her ruthlessness, her fight to get the glory for her daughters that she felt she’d been cheated of herself.

  Her mother was the second daughter of the second daughter of a princess. If only she’d been the first son of a first son of a king…She spelled it out. Her anger and humiliation at being raised as second-rate royalty. Her betrayal by her husband, who should have been richer, should have enjoyed the limelight his aristocratic birth entitled him to. Her fight to get Mia to where she should be in the world and her pride that Mia had gone from being Queen to being fabulously rich as well.

  And now…and here was the implication…through incredible planning, forethought, cunning, here was Lily, her second daughter, claiming the throne in turn. Not as Queen but Crown Princess. Almost as good as her sister.

  This, according to her mother, was the culmination of a family dream. She was travelling now to be with her. Her clever daughter.

  Lily felt sick.

  The girl came up to collect her coffee cup. She stared at the papers and then she stared more closely at Lily.

  ‘It is,’ she breathed.

  ‘It is what?’ Lily said dully.

  ‘You’re her.’ The girl pointed to a picture of Lily, inset on a much larger picture of her mother looking triumphant. ‘You’re Princess Lily.’

  ‘I’m not a princess.’

  ‘Oh, but you are,’ the girl breathed. ‘I’d love to be a princess. I read the papers after your wedding. There was a picture of you on the beach with your baby, and I thought you looked lovely. You looked like it could even be a marriage for love.’ She sighed theatrically. ‘But now your mother tells us how it really is…’ She clasped her hands over her heart. ‘My Carlos is a fisherman and he’s poor, but even if a prince offered, I’d give him up for my Carlos. Your prince has to marry you for honour. I see that. But my Carlos will marry me for love.’

  She carried away Lily’s empty cup with her moral high ground, and Lily was left feeling even more sick.

  She went back to the papers.

  There was no condemnation of Alex. Alex was seen as virtuous for having done the right thing under extraordinary circumstances. He was morally fine.

  Michales remained heir to the throne. He was okay, too.

  But she wasn’t. Lily was now being portrayed as another of these women who sold themselves to the highest bidder.

  There was resigned acceptance. Alexandros was a good man, the editorials advised. An honourable man. The country was counselled to put their distaste for Lily and her family aside and get on with life.

  Outside, Bodyguard One and Bodyguard Two were pacing the pavement with the stroller, taking smaller and smaller circuits of the shopping strip. They were staring in at her with increased hostility.

  Had they read the newspapers as well?

  This was what they expected of her, she thought dully. That she might abandon Michales, too?

  She read on, feeling worse and worse. At the end of the last editorial was a comment, almost an aside:

  This newspaper has heard rumours that Prince Alexandros has been asked to take part in a prestigious gardening project in the US. If Alexandros decides to leave any of his royal duties to this woman, we wish to register a very strong protest. Princess Lily has made an extremely advantageous marriage. Let her be content with that. We note the Prince has not brought this woman to the palace. So be it. Let this woman and her objectionable mother stay out of our lives.

  And finally…There was a picture of three rings—the caption labelled them the rings of the Diamond Isles. The Sappheiros ring was sapphire with three diamonds. The Argyros ring was silver with three diamonds. The Khryseis ring was gold, again with three diamonds.

  Apparently they’d been locked in a bank vault for generations, only for use by the Crown Princess of each country.

  They were…exquisite.

  The editorial went on:

  Let the women who wear these rings be truly deserving of the honour. They’ve sat in the bank vaults since Giorgos’s forebears dissolved the principalities. We note Alexandros did not use the Sappheiros ring on the occasion of his marriage. Now we understand why.

  She stared down at the plain gold band on her finger for a long time—then twisted it off and shoved it to the bottom of her jeans pocket.

  Her cellphone rang. She answered it absently, still st
aring at a full face photograph of her mother. Her mother? The woman who smirked up from the photograph didn’t deserve the title.

  ‘Lily?’

  Alex. Of course it was Alex. She was out in the public eye, disobeying orders. It was a wonder her phone had stayed silent this long.

  Let this woman and her objectionable mother stay out of our lives.

  ‘Have you seen the papers?’ he demanded.

  ‘I’m reading them now. What “prestigious gardening project”?’

  ‘That’s nothing. Your mother…’

  ‘Is being objectionable. Of course. What project?’

  ‘Can you ask her to shut up?’

  That was it. No apology. No thought that this might hurt.

  ‘I haven’t spoken to my mother for five years.’

  ‘She’s still your mother.’

  ‘So she says.’

  He got it then. The anger. She heard him register, regroup. Even turn placatory. ‘What she said…it doesn’t make any difference,’ he told her.

  ‘Of course it makes a difference.’

  ‘If she’s nothing to do with you…’

  ‘I’m still her daughter. One of her two daughters, both of whom are on the take. Do you think I’ll sit back and let your country think that of me?’

  ‘It’s nonsense. Lily, they’ll see you’re different.’

  ‘While you go back and forth to Manhattan and keep on with your very prestigious project. That you haven’t talked to me about.’

  She heard a sharp intake of breath. Then…‘Lily, I need to organise…’

  ‘Of course you need to organise,’ she cut in. ‘I don’t need an explanation.’

  ‘Lily, what is this? The guys tell me you’re sitting in a public café. Can people hear?’

  ‘Of course they can hear,’ she said, looking around as she spoke and realising that every person in the café was listening. The waitress had turned off the radio. Her words were being broadcast to an audience.

  Whatever she said now would be carried from one end of the island to the other by nightfall, she realised. So be it. If she was intending to be resolute, the time was now.

  ‘I’m on my way to Spiros’s boatyard,’ she said, speaking distinctly in Greek so every occupant of the café could understand. ‘And then I’ll talk to the local realtors. I need a house somewhere down by the harbour.’

  There was a stunned silence. Then, ‘Lily, what are you talking about?’

  ‘My future. As a boat-builder.’

  ‘We’ll be living in the palace.’

  ‘You’ll be living wherever you want to live, but I want a home for me and Michales. I’m not talking money. A bedsit will do fine. I’m not my mother’s daughter, Alex, no matter what the press says.’

  ‘I never said you were.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter what you said. It’s what the islanders believe. But I’m not her daughter.’

  She was getting loud. Good. She felt like yelling. She felt like picking up chairs and flinging them through windows.

  For the last few days she’d been exploring this wonderful new sensation of having a life. A future. Michales and Alex both.

  But marriage to Alex was a fairy tale. She’d been kidding herself. Fairy tales were for children’s books. What Alex was planning for her was no fairy tale. Living in the palace as a princess, with the islanders hating her and Alex coming and going as he pleased. Or being left in his hideaway while he did…whatever he wanted to do.

  ‘I’ve married you so Michales can stay as your legitimate heir, and so you can govern,’ she said, feeling cold and sick but knowing she had to say this. ‘But that’s all. I’m not a princess. I’ll live in a house by the harbour. You can have all the access you want to Michales, as long as he comes home to me every night. But the royalty bit is yours. Do whatever you want but don’t factor me in. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to find Spiros. We have a future together. You and I don’t.’

  Alex had another meeting scheduled, in what…three minutes? Nikos couldn’t handle this alone.

  He needed to get down to the docks and talk to her.

  ‘She can build her boats while she lives here,’ he muttered but he knew this was a deeper problem.

  The butler entered, carrying iced water in an exquisite crystal glass on a silver tray. The elderly servant raised his brow in a question, thinking he’d been talking to him.

  ‘Sir?’

  Hell, he had to talk to someone. ‘The Princess Lily,’ he snapped. ‘She stays here.’

  ‘Of course,’ the man said. ‘Will her mother be staying here, too, sir?’

  ‘No!’

  ‘Queen Mia’s mother has her own apartment here.’

  ‘Board it up,’ Alex snapped. ‘It won’t be needed. That woman comes here over my dead body.’

  ‘And…the Princess Lily?’

  ‘She’s saying the same thing about herself,’ he growled. ‘Which is a nonsense.’

  ‘The country wouldn’t mind if she didn’t live here,’ the man said diffidently. ‘The islanders understand this is a marriage of convenience.’

  ‘That’s what she thinks.’

  ‘It’s what everybody thinks,’ the man said, and then gave a discreet cough and glanced at his watch. ‘Your meeting, sir.’

  ‘Damn my meeting.’

  ‘It’s the bankers from Switzerland. They hold the titles to…’

  ‘I know damn well what they hold the titles to. Nikos can take over. I need to go…’

  ‘To the docks?’ the man said, raising his brow politely again.

  ‘Yes. And I won’t need a chauffeur,’ he snapped. ‘This is between Lily and me.’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ the man said woodenly and stood, waiting.

  ‘What are you waiting for?’

  ‘To collect your glass.’

  ‘How much are these glasses worth?’ Alex said, in a voice his friends would have recognised as dangerous.

  ‘They’re antique,’ the man said. ‘Priceless.’

  ‘So if I tossed it into the fireplace…’

  ‘You could well create a scandal.’

  ‘Use plastic ones.’

  ‘Pardon?’

  ‘Or, better still, jam jars. I can smash jam jars.’

  ‘I don’t know if…’

  ‘Of course you have jam jars,’ he snapped. ‘You have jam for breakfast, don’t you?’

  ‘King Giorgos favoured smoked salmon.’

  ‘Well, here’s my first household order as new ruler,’ Alex growled, sounding like a man driven. ‘I want jam for breakfast. In jars. This might be a palace but it has to be a home as well.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ Not a muscle quivered. ‘But, sir, the meeting…I don’t believe Nikos can…’

  ‘I don’t believe Nikos can either,’ he said and sighed and set his glass—carefully—on the silver tray. ‘I’ll deal with the titles. It’ll take hours but they have to be sorted. But Lily straight after.’

  ‘Yes, sir. I’ll tell them you’re ready.’ He walked out of the room in stately style—but paused at the entrance. ‘And the Princess Lily’s mother? She’s contacted the staff to say she’ll be here on the afternoon ferry. Did you…er…mean it about your dead body?’

  ‘I guess not.’

  But then he hesitated. Something told him he needed to get this right. Lily’s mother. He thought for a minute. He thought of what this woman had done. Lily’s mother? Did she deserve the title?

  ‘Or maybe…yes,’ he said slowly. ‘Maybe I did mean it. Where is it that Mia’s living now?’

  ‘I believe she’s still in Dubai.’

  ‘Dubai.’ He grimaced. ‘Damn, I don’t have time…’

  The man coughed. Discreetly. This discretion was like another language.

  Maybe he ought to listen.

  ‘Yes?’ he said.

  ‘If I may venture a suggestion, sir,’ the butler said. ‘If you’re under pressure…There are some things you can’t delegate but you have a full
staff here waiting to serve you. Until now you’ve used us reluctantly. But…’ he met Alex’s gaze square on ‘…but it would be a privilege for us to actually serve you.’

  Alex stared at him, bemused.

  A full staff…waiting to work for him.

  He was royal.

  It would be a privilege for us to actually serve you.

  He hadn’t figured it until now. Until right now.

  It cut both ways.

  ‘I have a palace secretary,’ he said slowly.

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Giorgos’s man?’

  ‘I believe he would wish to serve you,’ the man said, still discreet but his message was crystal clear. ‘As you wish to serve the islanders.’

  ‘And the Princess Lily?’

  ‘If she’s truly to be your wife, then that service would, of course, extend to her.’

  ‘Then send him in,’ Alex said slowly. ‘Tell the Swiss guys I’ll be with them in ten minutes…Give them something stronger than water in those ridiculous glasses—and yes, I’ll need a fast car and a chauffeur as soon as the meeting finishes. But dammit,’ he added, ‘I meant what I said about the jam.’

  The man’s wooden countenance cracked, just a little. He allowed himself an infinitesimal echo of a smile.

  ‘Yes, Your Highness. Certainly, Your Highness,’ he said and left, closing the door carefully after him.

  It took five hours.

  Five hours spent beginning to sort out the mess that was the island’s financial affairs might not seem long, but they were the longest hours Alex could remember. But finally he was free. Finally he could drive down to the harbour. Or be driven. Fast. By a driver who looked as if things were finally slotting into the natural order.

  But Alex didn’t have time to think about order. He strode into Spiros’s boatshed and stared in astonishment.

  Lily was underneath a boat.

  He’d had this place set up for Spiros. It was a great little shed, right on the main Sappheiros harbour. Last time he’d seen it, it had been empty, waiting for its new tenant.

  Now it contained six men, two women and one baby. They were clustered around what he recognised as his boat. He could see where it had been towed in—sand and bits of rotten timber had trailed in its wake.