The Unknown Royal Heir

by Kimber Swan

  The determined set of his face assures me he means business. And if I have learned anything about this man, it is that he is a man of his word.

  “I will never speak to you like that if we are not alone.” His deep voice drops an octave.

  Between the reassuring squeeze to my thigh and his last statement, the butterflies in my stomach took flight.

  “Okay.” I smile. “How long are we staying in France?”

  “Not long, unfortunately. I promise to bring you back here someday. How’s that?”

  I pout. Inwardly, I’m happier than a pig in mud because that means we have a future. Or maybe I’m getting head of myself.

  “If you follow through on your promise.”

  His sexy smirk is my final undoing. I wish we were alone somewhere to finish where we left off back in the States.

  “We should be to my friend’s place in about twenty minutes.”

  The remainder of the drive is uneventful. Our conversation is a twenty questions game. I finally feel like I know him better. It has been enlightening car ride. At the speed Daniel is driving, we arrive at his friend’s flat less than fifteen minutes later. I would not have known what good time we made if he wasn’t so proud of himself.

  The flat is in the heart of Paris. Daniel opens the car door, assisting me out. He looks down at me, something sparking in his eyes. Slowly, his head lowers and just when I think he’ll kiss me, he turns his head at something crashing nearby, crushing me with his body. Suddenly on guard, looking around our surroundings, Daniel tugs on our clasped hands and precedes me into the flat.

  After settling his keys on the breakfast bar, Daniel provides me with a grand tour of the beautiful flat. The space is large, boasting three oversized bedrooms each with their own in-suite bathroom. A full-sized kitchen and dining room opens to a living space that is furnished with top of the line electronics and is modestly decorated neoclassic styles.

  Each bedroom is outfitted with a king-sized, four-poster bed overlaid with lavish silk quilts. The master suite is equipped with its own balcony separate from the one in the living room. These rooms are fit for a royal family, as richly decorated as they are. He finishes the tour out on the terrace that overlooks Eiffel Tower Park.

  “This is beautiful.” I say, absorbing my surroundings. “Oh, my God, is that the Eiffel Tower?”

  I point, as if he didn’t see it. He smiles down at me.

  “Yes. I would love to take you there sometime. There’s a four-star restaurant at the top I think you would love.” His hand rests comfortably at my waist. “Speaking of food. Are you hungry?” He asks, giving my waist a familiar squeeze before walking to the kitchen.

  “A little.” I yell back.

  My face flushes at the warm feel of his hand still on my waist although it is gone now. I shake my head to clear it of thoughts too dangerous to voice out loud.

  “Can we go to one of the café’s down the street for croissants and pastries? I have a weakness for pastries and would love to try some. I’ve heard people say how there is nothing like a French pastry.”

  “If you like butter, then yeah. How about we go tomorrow before we leave?” He says, leaning into the doorway to look at me.

  I close the terrace doors after catching a chill and walk to the kitchen, watching him move about the room with ease, collecting items as he goes. Daniel keeps surprising me at every turn. How it is a man like him, born into such wealth, would know how to cook and command such a space as the kitchen? His presence alone commands everyone’s attention when he enters a room, but to see him do such a menial task as cooking, boggles the mind.

  “We’re leaving so soon? Can’t we stay longer?” I say, accepting the water bottle he offers.

  The coolness of it slides down my parched throat.

  “No, we can’t. I’m sorry, but I need to get back to my estate as soon as possible.” He says as he removes a pan and an electric food press. “Do you like bacon?”

  “What American doesn’t?” I smile.

  “I figured the American classic with a French twist, BLTs on French bread, Panini style?”

  “Hmm, sounds delicious.”

  I lick my lips in anticipation and his eyes darken as he follows my tongue sliding across them. I bit on my lower lip, trying to stifle my moan but fail. He groans.

  Breaking the mood, I say breathlessly, “Are you going to tell me what’s going on yet?”

  Swallowing loudly, he replies. “Let’s eat first, and then we’ll talk.”

  Chapter Ten

  Our meal, though delicious, is rife with tension. Daniel’s shoulders are hunched, his forehead creased and his eyebrows drawn as if in deep thought. He finished his meal well before I did. I thought he would have started explaining the need for secrecy, but he hasn’t even engaged me in simple, polite conversation. When I drop the napkin on the plate, whether in frustration or anger I don’t know, Daniel finally looks up and what I see scares me.

  Standing up abruptly, almost knocking the chair back, I rigidly clear the table to give him more time to come to terms with whatever is bothering him and give me a chance to calm down. Since this journey began knowing that Daniel was at the end, strong and in control, a rock in this storm, has kept me calm, but seeing him this way makes me question him. He sighs as I leave the table.

  The cleanup is quick work and allows me the time I needed. As I stand at the sink wiping it down, Daniel comes behind me- his body flush against my back, his hand snaking around my waist pulling me in tight to him. With his nose at the nape of my neck, he inhales slowly then sighs. This is different. I can’t place my finger on what it is that’s different, but he’s never approached me like this before.

  “God, you smell like heather.” He whispers in my ear, seducing me with his voice. “Like home.”

  Then he whispers so softly I almost missed it, “Mine.”

  He’s called me his before, but never like this. With such raw emotion.

  If I wanted to move I don’t think I could, either by the sheer force of his grip or my lack of wanting, neither could make me move. His rich, musky, male scent fills my lungs bringing with it thoughts of what heaven should smell like. My head falls back to rest on his shoulder and simultaneously my eyes drift close. A moment of contentment washes over me, but the feeling is quickly pushed by the ambiguity of our situation. The last couple of weeks of wanting him, missing him, needing him and an array of more unnamed emotions, have stirred an unfathomable anxiety in me, leaving me breathless and wanting.

  “Everything you’ve been told has been a lie.” He says quietly.

  Surprised by his voice and words, my eyes pop open in rapt attention.

  “Hmmm.” I murmur not able to say more, afraid my voice will betray me.

  “I don’t know where to begin.”

  I shake my head trying to get rid of the Daniel induced haze. He drags his nose up the other side of my neck distracting me.

  “Beginning.” I sigh as a shiver runs through me.

  “You were born twenty-one years ago on the lands of Balwart.”

  He turns me around to face him, our foreheads pressing against each other. I get another good sniff of him. What did he say?

  “You were born Freya Daphne Bridget Sinclair. Your father’s name is Michael Edward William Sinclair, King of Farquadt.” He says matter of fact.

  “What?” I ask, lifting my head trying to step back, searching his face for understanding.

  He grasps my arms roughly pulling me closer, not allowing me to move.

  “You are Princess Freya, sole heir to the kingdom of Farquadt.” He says with more feeling.

  “What? I don’t understand. My mother… She….”

  I shake my head trying in vain to dispel the confusion and step away from him again, but his grip tightens, forcing me to look up at him. This can’t be true. I live in New York. My father is unknown.

  No this isn’t true.

  “Do you know what this means?” He asks me, but co
mprehending simple concepts is difficult.

  “I have to sit down, please.” I request when he still won’t release me.

  “Do you know what this means?” He shakes me gently.

  It can’t be. Why is he doing this to me? Daniel’s grip relaxes on my arms when my face pales. I feel a light sheen of sweat across my forehead and between my breasts. He steps away, giving me space to sit down.

  “I think I’m going to be sick.”

  I race towards the bathroom covering my mouth with my hand, but when I see the entryway to the flat, I make a run for it instead. Fresh air, that’s what I need. Daniel catches me by the waist as my hand lands on the knob, stopping any further movement. His body is solid against my back, sandwiching me between the door and him, trapping me. The way he holds me feels right, but everything is wrong, so very wrong. I try to wriggle out of his grasp.

  “Daphne, stop. Listen to me.” He pleads.

  He breathes heavily in my ear. Both of his hands are on either side of my head on the door. He’s using his body as an anchor, holding me in place.

  “You are the Princess of Farquadt.”

  “How? My mother was a drug addict. Far from any princess I know of.” I accuse.

  “Maybe, I don’t know. She was nobility in her own right. Please come sit down and I will try to explain it, as I know. I only just found out myself.”

  He gestures to the couch. Hesitantly, I precede him in a fog to the living room. Daniel wisely chooses the high back chair across from me instead of sitting next to me. I sink on the comfortable couch and fiddle with my hands. Daniel drags the chair closer. His thighs straddle my legs. I can’t look at him. He engulfs my hands with one of his and the other lifts my chin to look at him with the other. At any other moment in time, I would have loved his gentle touches, my skin crawls with it. I shift my head out of his grasp and his hand drops. It doesn’t matter what I’ve felt towards him. He’s destroyed my world in a few short words.

  “Let me start by saying that this does not change the way I feel about you.” He states reassuringly.

  “Seriously? That’s the last thing on my mind.”

  “I’ll start at the beginning. My private investigators came up with nothing on your family until the day you mentioned your birthmark. You see, there is a legend in our country that the royal family is branded at birth.” He laughs mirthlessly. “Well, I guess we now know it’s not a legend. It appears in fact that part of my family’s royal duty is to mark the royal infants at the time of their birth and my father marked you.”

  “What?” I wonder out loud.

  “After I spoke with my private investigators, I searched the family library. It was there that I found what I needed. I reviewed my father’s personal papers that were locked in a vault. Only the Duke and the Duke’s heir have access to this vault, not even the King has access. I’ve never had a reason to access it before now. For generations, the Dukes of Balwart have been responsible for placing the crown on the King’s head. We are the keepers of the crown not to mention logging all pertinent and sometimes not so pertinent, information relating to the crown. There were hundreds of journals by past Dukes, most were not dated nor signed. I searched day and night thousands of journals with my brother. It took me several days to find what I was looking for.”

  He moves to sit next to me.

  “When I found it, I had the private investigator look into the women the King was involved with twenty-two years ago. There was a Bridget Delaney MacMichels, a Duchess in her own right in Scotland.”

  I gasp.

  “She fascinated the King. It was whispered her spirit captured him, ruining him for any other woman. There were talks that they were married secretly, but it was never confirmed nor denied. She was a regular in his bed, despite if the rumors were true or not. It was ruled she could never be queen in the eyes of our laws because of the rumors. But they were married. My parents were present. And still the King never said anything to the nobility about their marriage, fearing for her safety.”

  “It has to be someone else. Not my mother.” I adamantly deny. “You said the King was gay.”

  He continues as if I didn’t utter a word.

  “My father had the documents to prove it. My father noted in his journal that they both felt it was better to keep their marriage a secret. By this point the King was slowly losing control, putting her in constant danger. Every time she was in the castle there were accidents involving her, mostly benign but still unsettling none the less. The opposing faction tried to force the King’s hand. To keep control of the kingdom and to the detriment of his marriage, he denied any involvement with her.”

  “What?” I ask, irate that a father, if I believe Daniel, mine, would toss my mother aside.

  “He sent her home. She returned to her lands in the highlands of Scotland, protected from our court, but not too far away from him. She was close enough for him to visit secretly, but far enough away to stop the rumors. My father, being a friend to them, helped. Her trips back to Scotland were not without peril. The attempts on her life by this time were more drastic. I’ll spare you what I read. My father noted in his journals that he started to see a shift in her mind. Once she was in the safety of her own lands, he kept in constant contact with her, fearing for her mentally. He was there just as much as he was here. It was a strain on my parent’s marriage initially. My mother questioned my father’s fidelity only once. Whatever he did or said to my mother was enough for her to believe him.”

  I look at him questioningly.

  “When your mother found out she was pregnant with you, my father was the only one who knew. His visits increased. My mother questioned him again about his fidelity only offered to help.” He continues. “You’re father never knew. My father snuck Bridget back into the country a couple of weeks before your birth. For you to inherit the crown, you had to be born on Farquadt lands, but since no one knew about you, your mother and my father thought it best to keep it that way. It was too risky to bring in someone to assist with the delivery. So, my mother who had some training as a mid-wife assisted with your birth. It was risky but the alternative was too high a price pay.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  My mind isn’t absorbing the information Daniel is throwing at me. Everything I have ever known has been a lie. The only part that I understand is that my father never knew about me. I feel my eyes start filling with tears. I have a father.

  “Where’s Dante? I need him.” I ask, the tears starting to leak.

  Dante is the only real thing right now. My body starts to shake uncontrollably and noises are coming from me that I’ve never heard before. Daniel looks at me with worried eyes.

  “Sweetheart, Dante can’t be here. It isn’t safe. But-”

  “What do you mean it isn’t safe?” Cutting him off, I ask losing what little self-control I have left.

  “When the private investigators started looking for your father and my father was no longer alive to squelch any inquires, the opposing factions heard there may be an heir. They are turning over every lead imaginable. Our guys have been working around the clock to cover up what they found, but not fast enough. They have gotten close.”

  “The guy when we left the apartment? The guy with a gun?”

  Now it is all making sense. The guards, the “Milady’s”, all of it. He squeezes my hands.

  “Don’t you see? You’re a threat to them.”

  “Please Daniel, I need Dante. Does he know any of this?”

  I desperately need something normal. For Dante. For something that has nothing to do with Daniel, the King, my mother, or anything to do with my life in the last two hours.

  “He should know by now. If I could get him on the phone, would that be okay for now?” He asks gently.

  I nod vigorously as he takes out his phone.

  “Neil, how are things?”

  Neil?

  After a few minutes, Daniels says, “Did you lose them?”

  “Good,
did you explain things to Dante?” He asks.

  He listens intently to what Neil says, but is watching me.

  “Okay put him on the phone. The Princess needs to speak with him.”

  The princess? My heart picks up its pace when I realize that’s me. What mess have I involved myself in?

  “Dante?” Daniel asks. “Hey, sorry about all the confusion and secrets. As you heard-”

  Daniel pauses. “Yes, I know. Things are a lot different now.”

  He pauses again, nods his head and closes his eyes. “I agree and we can discuss that later.”

  He pauses again and turns his back to me.

  “I would not change anything I have done so far.”

  He starts to walk away. I can hear him starting to raise his voice.

  “Dante, right now Daphne needs you. The rest isn’t concerning to me. It isn’t safe to bring her to you or you here.” He pauses. “Yes, I know I should have but there wasn’t time. The Princess is my priority.” He pauses. “No, not just because of that, but as my fiancée.”

  “WHAT!!” I yell in my head, stunned.

  I start pacing, pulling on my hair. Holy fuck! Holy fuck! Not only am I a princess, which I have not even begun to deal with but I’m engaged? I can’t stay here. I need air. I need out now.

  Chapter Eleven

  With Daniel distracted, I race to the door, making it out and down the stairs without being noticed. Once outside the building, I start racing down the street blindly.

  “Daphne! Stop!” Daniel yells at me from a distance.

  Picking up my pace, I turn down the first available block I see, but it is a dead-end alley behind a bunch of stores. The buildings are all brick with forbidding metal doors, offering no refuge. I try a few doors, hoping that by the off chance one will open. As I turn to the last one, I look at the head of the alley and see Daniel standing there looking like an avenging angel, dark and brooding. My step falters in retreat.

  Daniel catches me before I fall to the ground. His arm wraps around my waist securely. His other hand cups the side of my face under my hair. His thumb grazes my lower lip. My head leans into his large hand, absorbing the comfort being offered. He cradles it like an infant’s head. We stare into each other’s eyes. The world stops and for the first time I see with absolute clarity. I see a future with him.