The Introvert's Prince (The Royal Wedding Book 5)

by Caroline Lee

  “No.” William stomped his foot and raised his chin, looking rather like a stubborn dachshund. “I’m not going to let you get away with this, Mr. Lindqvist.”

  “That’s Earl Lindqvist!” The snarl must’ve been frightening, judging from the way Stefan cringed. “And you will. Because you’ll be dead.”

  William threw his arms up in mock defeat. “What? What? You think I’m going to march over there and throw myself off that cliff just because you want me to? You think I’m the idiot?”

  Lindqvist’s voice dropped to a deadly low. “You will.” He pressed the gun against Stefan’s temple hard enough to make the boy twist and whimper. “Because if you don’t, I’ll kill your new best friend.”

  Marcia threw herself forward, but Viggo kept his arm locked around her, pinning her down. He couldn’t afford her to distract her father, not when there was a chance both of them could be hurt.

  William scoffed. “That’s your grandson, Lindqvist. He’ll be my grandson in—” he checked his watch on his shaking wrist, “—just a few hours. It’s a shame you feel the need to bargain with him.”

  “So noble,” spat Lindqvist. “I’m not bargaining with him, I’m bargaining with his life. And if you don’t get over there, he’s going to die.”

  The way Lindqvist was talking now, there was no doubt he’d do whatever he threatened, for whatever reason. Stefan whimpered in fear, and the sound ran straight down Viggo’s throat to his stomach, and squeezed.

  I’ll make him pay.

  The vow pumped in Viggo’s ears. He had to act. He rolled Marcia over so her wide, terrified eyes were staring up at him, and he swore he could see her pulse pounding frantically in her throat. She knew what was about to happen.

  “Stay here and update Johan,” he hissed as he thrust the phone into her hands. “I’m going to see if I can distract your father.”

  “No,” she whispered back frantically, whipping her head side-to-side. “No. I’ve got a better chance at distracting him, and you need to be the one who—”

  Viggo grabbed her chin and kissed her. Kissed her with all of the longing and desperation which had been building up inside him for so many years. Kissed her the way he hadn’t been able to on her birthday, out here beside these very bushes.

  Using his body, he pressed her against the dewy grass in the growing dawn, and tried to show her how much she meant to him.

  When he released her after far too short a time, they were both breathing heavily. He pressed his forehead against hers.

  “Stay here,” he repeated in a harsh whisper. “I won’t be able to concentrate with you out there.”

  “No,” she repeated quietly a third time. “I can help.”

  Stubborn woman. How had anyone ever thought her meek?

  Viggo smiled ruefully against her skin. “Maybe you can, but I’ll be useless if I have to worry about the two people I love most in the world out there with that madman.”

  She’d gone still.

  “Love?” she whispered.

  Ah. His secret was out. “I’ve loved you for years, Marcia Magnusson. And I’m selfish enough to marry you to get you and Stefan, and stubborn enough to make you live with me while I convince you to love me in return.”

  Then, unable to stand seeing her reaction to his confession, Viggo dropped one more kiss to her lips, and rolled off her towards the opposite end of the loganberry bushes. He had to save his son.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Marcia lay on her back in the grass, her head reeling and her heart pumping in terror and excitement. Viggo loved her? He’d loved her for years, he said! And for years, she’d been watching him, falling in love with the man he was with his son instead of the man he’d shown the rest of the world…

  And he had to wait until now to tell her he loved him too? Now, when Stefan’s life was in danger?

  Taking a deep breath, she rolled over to peer between the loganberry branches. Dr. Hayes had been convinced of the threat to Stefan, and was backing towards the rocks and the cliff with his palms patting the air placatingly. Father had turned—still holding Stefan—to face him, his back to Marcia.

  She hated that she couldn’t see Stefan. Hated that she couldn’t call out to him, tell him that everything would be okay. That his father would make it okay.

  But she couldn’t, not now. Viggo wanted her to stay here, and she’d do that right up until she saw a way she could help. For now, she’d check in with Prince Johannes.

  Holding the phone angled towards the ground, Marcia did everything she could to keep the light from reflecting up into her face. Of course, now that dawn was coming and Father was facing the cliffs, that was less of a concern.

  There were three little dots blinking under Viggo’s last text. Johannes must be typing, despite being told not to. It was probably okay now.

  It’s OK to respond now. My father is threatening Stefan’s life to get Dr. Hayes to kill himself. Send.

  Johannes’s reply was immediate.

  Father?

  Marcia, is that you?

  Wait, what? Kill himself???

  Her fingers flew across the screen, keeping one eye on William, backing towards the cliff. Where was Viggo? She was terrified for him and for her baby.

  Yes. Send help please. Send.

  Police have been deployed. I’m at the yacht already with Mother, but I can be there ASAP if you need me.

  Police were on their way. Marcia’s hands shook—in relief? Or fear?—as she typed.

  Will keep you posted.

  Now, no matter what happened in the next few minutes, help would be here soon. She clutched the phone to her chest and prayed they’d get here in time to save Stefan.

  And Viggo, before he did something stupid.

  Viggo slithered around the last loganberry bush in the row, hoping that he was far enough away from Marcia to draw attention from her. Of course, her father was looking in an entirely different direction—William was still backing towards the cliff—so she should be safe. Viggo tried to calculate the odds of success if he just rushed at Lindqvist right now and dragged Stefan out of the man’s grasp.

  No, too risky. Not with that gun pointed where it was.

  Taking a deep breath, Viggo pulled himself upright, then got to his feet when no one seemed to notice him. He was even able to take a few steps towards the cone of light—almost unnecessary now with the sunrise imminent. After all the sneaking around they’d been doing, this seemed almost anticlimactic.

  Well, here goes nothing.

  “Pops, hang on a second.”

  At his call, both William and Lindqvist swung around to face him, the latter dragging Stefan with him. Viggo kept his attention on Lindqvist, who just stared in shock, but it was William who called out.

  “Viggo, my boy! So glad you could join us. We’re having a party, as you can tell.”

  “Did he hurt you or my son?” Viggo glared at the man holding Stefan, and knew if the answer was yes he’d hurt Lindqvist beyond recognition.

  But William sighed and dropped his hands. “He hasn’t hurt Stefan. Just scared him.”

  And he was right. Under the gun’s barrel, Stefan was staring at Viggo with wide grey eyes. Eyes which looked so much like Johan’s that Viggo ached.

  “Don’t worry, buddy,” he said quietly, taking another two steps forward. “Don’t worry. I’m here now.”

  “Stop!” Lindqvist screamed, and shuffled backwards, pulling the boy with him. “Just don’t move. What the hell are you doing here?”

  “You thought you could kidnap my son and I wouldn’t come after him?” Viggo asked incredulously.

  “I didn’t kidnap him for you,” Lindqvist insisted, and jerked his chin towards William. “The bastard’s just here to make sure that idiot does what he needs to do.”

  “Oh, yeah,” Viggo said sarcastically, edging forward a few steps without seeming to. “And that was going to make me feel better? That you kidnapped my son to make my new stepfather kill himself? So you didn’t h
ave to get your hands dirty?” He scoffed. “You’ll threaten a little boy—your own grandchild—with death, but you won’t just shoot William?”

  “Pops,” William corrected, not too helpfully.

  “Right, sorry.” Viggo nodded to Lindqvist. “Pops. At least Stefan’s got one grandfather who cares about him.”

  “Stop calling him that!”

  Lindqvist shook Stefan with his free hand, making the boy stumble and the gun waver. Viggo kept his eye on that gun, knowing as soon as it was pointing anywhere besides Stefan’s head, he would leap across the space and pull his son out of danger. While Lindqvist was yelling, Viggo edged closer.

  “Calling William ‘Pops’ you mean? It’s just a dumb nickname.”

  “An American nickname! And he’s not this cripple’s grandfather! He’ll never be your stepfather, because he’ll be dead. And you’re only the boy’s legal father because my slut of a daughter talked you into marrying her for custody.”

  Viggo blinked at Lindqvist’s deranged rant. “You’re calling Marcia a—Holy crap.” Viggo glanced at William, then back to Lindqvist. “You mean you never figured out who fathered your only grandkid?”

  “My Rebecca was a saint!”

  Rebecca had been far from a saint. Viggo hadn’t been her first lover, although she’d been his, and being with her had set him on a path towards becoming The Playboy Prince. The fact that he’d never acknowledged his son—had kept Stefan close to his heart, instead of allowing the media to consider the boy just a casualty of his lifestyle—suddenly seemed stupid.

  “It was me,” Viggo said quietly, meeting Lindqvist’s eyes. “I was Rebecca’s lover when she got pregnant.”

  Lindqvist scoffed, although there was a manic hint to it. “Never! She would’ve told me if she’d birthed a royal.” He shook Stefan so hard the boy stumbled, but yanked him back against his body. “Even a cripple like this.”

  And in that moment, Viggo realized it didn’t matter what Lindqvist believed about his beloved daughter, or his second daughter, or even his grandson. What mattered was what Stefan believed.

  Viggo met his son’s identical eyes, and tried to smile. “It’s me, buddy. I’m your father. I always have been.”

  And, miracle of miracles, his words seemed to reach through the haze of fear in the boy’s expression. He slowly nodded, his hands clutching at Lindqvist’s hand across his chest.

  Stefan’s answering smile was as weak and watery as his father’s. “You’ve been my dad the whole time. I’m glad.”

  “Me too, buddy.” Viggo choked on the words. “Me too,” he repeated in a whisper.

  A loud honk jerked everyone’s attention to William, who blew his nose again on his handkerchief, then waved it in Lindqvist’s direction. “Oh, this is just wonderful.”

  Lindqvist lifted the gun towards William, a snarl already forming on his face. Viggo, seeing his chance, started for the pair…only for Lindqvist to realize what was happening, and jerk the gun down towards Stefan once more. Viggo froze, only two arms’ lengths from the maniac holding his son hostage.

  “Get on with it, Hayes,” Lindqvist growled. “Go over those cliffs, or I’ll relieve the world of one crippled royal bastard.”

  William shoved the handkerchief back in his pocket and met Viggo’s eyes. “Okay,” he said quietly. “Okay. Stefan is pretty darn special, you know?”

  He was about to sacrifice himself to save Stefan, and Viggo’s frustration clawed its way up his throat. If William died, Mom would be devastated. The nation would be devastated. That couldn’t be the only way to save Stefan…

  It wasn’t.

  Like an avenging angel in the dim dawn light, Marcia rose from behind the loganberry bushes. She held something clasped in her hands, her arms extended straight in front of her like she was in one of those American cop dramas, her stance as far from the introverted little Earl’s daughter the rest of the world always saw.

  Even though her expression was in shadows, Viggo knew she’d be frowning in concentration. This was the Marcia he loved; fierce when she believed in a cause, loyal, determined.

  Don’t cross the mama bear.

  Her voice didn’t sound at all timid when she commanded, “Let my son go, Father.”

  “Mara?” asked Stefan in a tiny voice at the same time Lindqvist scoffed.

  “You would dare to confront me?”

  “I’d dare a lot of things, when you’re threatening someone I love.” She shifted her grip on the item in her hands. “Now, let him go.”

  Viggo knew she didn’t have a gun—he didn’t know what that object was, but it wasn’t a gun. Still, her stance, her tone, her surety made that hard to remember. If he couldn’t be sure, then Lindqvist couldn’t, either.

  Sure enough, the older man hesitated, then pulled the gun away from Stefan’s forehead to point it towards Marcia…and the world seemed to slow down.

  This was the moment Viggo had been waiting for; a distraction to pull Stefan out of danger. But he would’ve never sacrificed Marcia for that reason—it was why he’d commanded her to stay where she was, for his own sanity.

  But she’d made the decision. He wasn’t going to waste this moment any more than he’d put her in danger.

  Other men might’ve roared, but Viggo’s heart had climbed up his throat and fear was making it hard to breathe. He wasn’t a hero—he was just a father.

  In two strides he reached Lindqvist before the gun came to bear on Marcia. Viggo dropped his left shoulder and slammed into the older man’s side, pulling Stefan away and shoving him in William’s direction.

  Oh God, Oh God, Oh God.

  He was praying again, but wasn’t sure what for.

  The crack of the gun going off seemed exceptionally loud, beside his ear as it was, and the following crack from the direction of the tree behind Marcia took forever.

  But when the two men hit the ground with a loud oof, time sped back up again. Viggo slammed his fist in Lindqvist’s face, and even from the awkward angle, the older man’s head flew back. He rolled, trying to escape, but Viggo wouldn’t let him.

  From his position on top, Viggo pinned Lindqvist’s right forearm to the ground with his left, and hit the older man again with his free hand. As police sirens sounded in the distance, Lindqvist’s free hand clawed at Viggo’s face, but the gun stayed pinned.

  Lindqvist helplessly pulled the trigger, and the retorts made Viggo wince. Right now the barrel wasn’t pointed at anyone, but that could change if Lindqvist got an extra burst of strength.

  Heaving himself up, and hearing the rip of his jacket across the back, Viggo ground one knee into Lindqvist’s hip as he lunged for the gun with both hands. Maybe he took the older man by surprise, or maybe he was just stronger…whatever the reason, it was a relatively easy endeavor to wrench the gun from Lindqvist’s hand and toss it in the direction Marcia had been standing.

  Oh God, Oh God. Viggo prayed she was still standing there.

  With the gun out of the picture, Viggo swung himself towards Lindqvist’s torso once more, not wanting to give the man a chance to recover. The sirens growing closer screamed that help was on the way.

  Viggo slammed his fist into Lindqvist’s face once more, and ended up straddling him, kneeling on the man’s shoulders to keep him pinned. The old man bucked and writhed beneath him, snarling up at Viggo with a look of absolute hatred.

  But Viggo’s son was safe now, so he wasn’t going to let Lindqvist go anywhere.

  Behind him, there was screeching and grinding of tires on gravel as the police cars swung to a stop, their headlights all focused on the two men on the ground. Members of Johan’s special task force spilled out, all yelling at once.

  Viggo slowly raised his hands and climbed off Lindqvist, knowing the police had him covered, and when no one made a move to stop him, stepped away from the prone man.

  As the police converged on Lindqvist, Viggo turned to find William cradling Stefan against him, the boy’s head tucked into his chest. Ev
en with his life in danger, Aegiria’s soon-to-be royal consort had thought to keep Stefan from seeing more violence.

  He’d been willing to die to protect a boy he barely knew, and to Viggo, that made him worthier of Mom’s love than anything.

  The two men—two fathers—met each other’s eyes over Stefan’s head. And Viggo knew—knew—that William Hayes would be the grandfather Stefan deserved. The father Viggo missed. They were family, now, regardless of royal marriages.

  Stefan pulled away from William. “Dad?” he asked tentatively, and when Viggo opened his arms, the boy threw himself at him.

  Viggo caught his son, wrapped his arms around his tiny body, and buried his face in the boy’s neck. As he inhaled that sticky-soft scent—sweat and fear overlaying the boy’s usual bubblegum and soap—Viggo thanked God for listening to his prayers.

  Well, for listening and figuring out what the hell he’d been asking for.

  “Stefan!” Marcia’s cry rang out above the commotion around them. “Stefan!”

  Still clutching their son, Viggo turned to see Marcia pushing through the bushes and stumbling towards them. A police officer grabbed her around the waist, obviously thinking she was a threat, and she screamed in frustration as she was lifted off the ground.

  Viggo started towards her. “Marcia! No, she’s with me,” he said to the officer holding her.

  The man lowered Marcia, but didn’t let her go. “Your Highness, stand back. She’s Earl Lindqvist’s daughter.”

  And Viggo smiled, meeting her eyes. “No, she’s not,” he said, full of confidence. “She’s my wife.”

  Maybe it was his words, or maybe it was shock, but the officer loosened his grip on Marcia. She threw herself across the intermediate space, and wrapped her arms around Viggo’s neck, squashing Stefan between them.

  Viggo loosened his hold on their son long enough to pull her against them with one arm, and then he wrapped them both in his love and strength.

  When he felt a touch on his arm, he looked up to meet William’s eyes, and smiled at the older man. “Thank you,” he whispered. Thank you for keeping my son safe. Thank you for enduring what you endured for him. “Thank you.”