A Royal Affair Book One: A paranormal, time travel, royal romance

by Christina George

  It was probably her dress, she thought. Still, it felt different. The feeling crept up her legs to her thighs, and then it happened. The light that had been threatening to envelop her, the shimmer from behind Peter, erupted again. The room started to spin slightly, and Emma closed her eyes and focused on the man who was holding her while she silently willed the shimmering to stop.

  . . .

  Emma’s dress felt tight, tighter than it had only moments before. In fact, it felt almost corset-tight. Light-headed, she kept her eyes closed, and the spinning sensation soon passed. Peter was still holding her, and they were still dancing, but Emma noticed the music had changed. A waltz? It seemed odd for this event.

  Her dress was way too tight. Maybe it was responsible for her erratic breathing.

  Then she heard a voice, Peter’s voice. It was, in a strange way, the same but different.

  “My darling wife, whatever are you thinking?”

  Wife? Emma’s eyes shot open and she looked up at Peter who, like the sound of his voice looked the same…but different.

  “Wh-what are you talking about, Peter?”

  “Peter? Who is Peter, my love?” He nuzzled her hair, “Are you referring to the stableboy? He does have his eye on you. If he keeps this up, we may have to send him to the Americas. I am Fitz, lovely, not Peter.”

  Emma’s stomach lurched. What the hell? Then she looked around, and the room was different. In fact, she was certain they weren’t even in the library anymore. It seemed to be a palace. She gripped Peter’s shoulder more tightly to stop her hands from shaking. The walls were stone, and all the lighting came from the candles adorning the walls.

  Peyton’s words throbbed in her brain: The story will find a way to show up, and likely at the least opportune time.

  Emma had experienced a few odd things when it came to past lives, but never anything like this, like a dream, but not a dream. A living, breathing step backwards in time.

  Her heart slammed so hard in her chest she was certain Peter, or whoever he was, could hear it. They were on a dance floor, and Emma studied the other couples. The women’s gowns appeared to be from the 1800s or so, which meant her step back in time had, in fact, been several steps back. Emma guessed possibly two hundred years or more.

  chapter 21

  Fitz held her tightly while they continued dancing, and Emma took a moment to study his splendid uniform, which she assumed was royal garb suited to this obviously special gathering. Fitz wore a black jacket with thick gold buttons down the center. The jacket had a high collar with gold braiding around the edges. He also wore a blue and gold sash.

  Her own gown was exquisite, albeit uncomfortable. The lace bodice pricked her skin slightly, and the corset was so tight she could scarcely breathe. Her mind raced to catch up with what was going on. Was she dreaming? If she was, what happened at the party she attended with Peter?

  But all of it was gone. She was no longer in 2017, but somewhere in the mid- to late-1800s. All around the perimeter of the dance floor, smiling people had gathered to watch them. While Fitz swayed with her around the dance floor, she could hear pockets of conversation. People discussing the weather, and politics, the new locomotive system, and rumors of an electrical light. Although Emma understood them, she was certain they weren’t speaking English.

  The dance ended, and Fitz stepped back, smiled, and gave a slight bow. Applause erupted from the audience.

  “My lovely wife, they adore you,” he cradled her hand, giving it a light kiss, and for a second Em became absorbed in the moment and the time, and the love she felt for this man.

  Her thoughts were interrupted by the approach of a formally dressed man. He bowed slightly and then said, “Your Highnesses, forgive the interruption, but the children have told their governess they refuse to sleep without seeing you both.”

  “Children?” Emma questioned, stunned again. Fitz wrapped his arm around her.

  “Of course, Garrison. We’ll be right up to wish them a good sleep.”

  Then he winked at Emma, “My darling Anna-Maria, did you also forget we have two adorable children?” God, he looked almost exactly like Peter, but maybe she’d wake up from this dream and find out it was, in fact only a dream, and not a quirky past life reenactment in the middle of a gala at the New York Public Library.

  chapter 22

  Emma followed Fitz upstairs, admiring how regal he looked in his uniform. She, however, felt anything but regal. The dress was heavy, and the corset made it almost impossible to breathe properly. As she watched him walk, she wondered whether he was still a Prince, or was he the King? She had no idea. How on earth was she going to find out? But did it matter? Actually, depending on how long she was stuck here, it might.

  A shudder ran up her spine. What if the punishment for ignoring Peter’s past life was to be sent here to relive it? Could it actually happen? At the moment, she’d give up the expensive shoes Peter had gotten her to be able to call Peyton. Her cousin would know what to do, and Em should have paid attention to her warnings.

  Fitz held her hand as he walked her down the long hallway, “People wonder about us, you know,” he said. “About how we can still be so in love after all these years of marriage.” He kissed her sweetly on the cheek while they continued walking. Em wondered how long they had been married. Another question for another time, since there certainly was no one here she could ask.

  They approached a well-lit room, and Emma could hear giggling.

  Her children.

  Or someone’s children. Her children from a past life. She could hardly wrap her mind around it.

  Fitz peeked his head around the door, and his face lit up when he spotted his son and daughter.

  “Mamma, Papa!!” the young boy squealed. Emma guessed him to be around four or five. He ran over and threw his tiny arms around them, grabbing Em’s skirts and Fitz’s pant leg.

  “Noah, my darling boy, you and your sister need to go to sleep.” Fitz lifted the child in the air, and Emma wanted to hug them both.

  Her son. Their son.

  A girl around seven years old fidgeted while her brother squealed and giggled, pigtails swinging, splotches of red on her cheeks, which Emma recognized as temper. “Mamma, I am not tired!” she insisted. “And I should be able to stay up later than Noah, now I’m seven years old.” There was a glimmer of something in this girl’s manner that reminded Emma of herself when she was little.

  Fitz went down on one knee and opened his arms wide, and the girl ran up and hugged her father before wrapping her arms around Emma’s waist and hugging her, too.

  “Fleur, my darling child, it is past time for you and Noah to be abed,” Fitz said, ignoring Fleur’s renewed complaints while he shooed the children towards their bedroom.

  Noah and Fleur. Fleur was flower in French. Such a sweet name.

  Were they in France? Emma felt a desperate desire to know exactly where she was.

  A large woman dressed in a plain, dark gown entered the room from the adjoining door, which Emma could see led to the children’s bedroom. The woman had a soft but stern face, and when she saw Emma she raised her eyebrows and smiled fondly at the children.

  “I do apologize, Your Highness. I was unable to get them to sleep without their good-night kisses from you both.” She gave a small curtsy.

  “I understand completely,” Em said, trying to steady her voice and avoid saying anything completely out of place. This must be the children’s governess.

  “After you, m’lady,” she gestured toward the door, and Emma walked inside, still holding hands with Fleur.

  “Are you well, Mamma?” Fleur asked, while she clasped Emma’s hand, smiling anxiously.

  “I’m fine, darling,” Emma said, trying to sound less terrified than she actually was. “Come, let’s tuck you two into bed.” Em looked around a big, gorgeous room, with two narrow be
ds on opposite walls and toys collected neatly at the foot of each bed.

  “Soon, children,” Fitz said, setting down his son, “we’ll be able to put you in separate rooms, as soon as the threat has passed.”

  Noah looked up at him and said, “You mean the bad men who want to take us, the ones you warned us about?”

  Emma’s stomach lurched again. Bad men? Who? She had to find out. Fitz took Noah and tucked him into bed. Emma did the same for Fleur. Then she kissed the girl, and Fitz came over and kissed the child as well.

  “Mamma, I still need my good-night kiss!” Noah yelled from his bed. Emma walked over and sat on the edge, stroking his dark hair. The same color as Fitz’s. She hesitated for a split second, wondering what the child might expect from his real mother. A butterfly kiss, perhaps? A kiss on the cheek? She was overcome with a certainty she knew could only come from being absorbed into their life, and without a word she bent and kissed him on the cheek.

  “Good night, my love,” she whispered, and her heart warmed with love for these children she met only moments ago.

  Emma stood up and caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror above the small dressing table off to the side. Her heart stopped. Except for the gown and her hairstyle, she looked exactly the same.

  How can that be? God, this has to be a dream. Nodding to the governess, Fitz took her hand again as they left the children’s room and headed down the hall.

  “I suppose,” he quirked a smile at her, eyebrows raised, igniting an urgent longing inside her, “we must return to the party, yes?”

  Emma wasn’t sure of anything, but she nodded. “Yes, I believe we should, especially since you haven’t yet been cornered for a discussion with the railroad consortium.” Before she could help herself, she added, “This threat you spoke of to the children, the bad men…”

  Fitz pulled her to him. “We haven’t had a threat in weeks, my love. I’m sure the danger has passed. All the same, I will feel more at ease if the children are in the same room, right next to ours, for at least a while longer. You understand, yes?”

  Emma nodded encouragingly, because she needed to know more. There was something about this threat that set off alarm bells.

  “Do you think it was real…the threat, I mean?”

  Fitz looked surprised, “We have discussed this, Anna-Maria. You know it is real. Are you still not sleeping, darling?” He caressed her face with his fingertips.

  “I…I…” Em began, but Fitz interrupted.

  “We believe the danger is all but over, since we now know who has been threatening us. All our sources agree they want the crown, and they want Belgium. My generals are sure the threat comes from Spain again, but we have been unable to confirm it thus far. However, whatever happens, we are safe here, I promise you. You know how devoted Liam is to the safety and welfare of you and the children.”

  He kissed her then, a deeply passionate kiss, and it felt exactly like kissing Peter. The same fire in her belly, the same tingle up her spine.

  Now she understood why Peter seemed so familiar to her—because he was.

  They returned to the party, Emma’s mind whirling with the implications of how much she must have loved this man. While nothing about this place was familiar, her deeply committed love for him blossomed and deepened every time he touched her or looked at her.

  And their children…my God, they were beautiful, sweet cherubs.

  They were a family, a close, loving, happy, royal family.

  The party ended around midnight, and after they saw the last guest off, she and Fitz ambled hand-in-hand up a grand staircase to their room.

  “My love, you were amazing tonight, irresistibly charming as always.” When they entered their room, he stopped abruptly and said, “Tonight is a full moon. Would you indulge me for a while?”

  Emma wasn’t sure what he meant, but she nodded, and he selected a blanket from the cedar chest at the foot of their sumptuous bed while she gazed around the gorgeous room. Then they hurried back down the stairs, whispering and laughing like naughty children.

  He took her out a side door, and they stepped outside into a sweet-smelling, warm summer night. Fitz rested his warm hand at her waist and escorted her across the grass to an open area, where he spread out the blanket.

  “Please make yourself comfortable, my love.” He held out his hand to assist Emma as she sat down as gracefully as she could in the confining dress and undergarments.

  After Fitz joined her on the blanket, he leaned back on his hands, looking up at the sky. It was clear, and the stars were spread across the sky in a creamy sweep, while an early moon cast a faint glow on everything it touched.

  Emma noticed how quiet it was, and how dark. Without traffic and electricity, it seemed like another world, which, she realized with a start, it truly was.

  “I love this, the night, the sky, and how peaceful it is.” Fitz lay back, and Emma lay next to him, her head on his shoulder, his arm around her. “My love, we are so fortunate. If I were no longer King, and I had only you and Noah and Fleur and a small plot of land, and summer nights, I would still feel blessed. A man needs nothing more than this.”

  He kissed her hair. Emma wanted to ask him all kinds of things—silly, personal things, like how they met, and what he liked to eat for breakfast. But of course she couldn’t. Instead, they gazed up at the stars while she listened to Fitz talk about his plans for the monarchy and the things he wanted to change for the better now that Belgium was well into its independence.

  They talked for over an hour, and in an hour, Em realized why she’d fallen in love with him. He was a passionate man, a kind and intelligent leader, and a loving father and husband. He seemed, in fact, very much like Peter.

  chapter 23

  “Darling! Darling! Are you all right?”

  Emma pushed through a heavy fog, so heavy it was almost impossible to penetrate. She found her way to the surface, and then felt the fog ease her back down again. She could hear a voice, Peter’s voice, beckoning her, wanting her to wake up, but she couldn’t manage to open her eyes.

  Scattered images of her life, the life with Fitz, floated through her mind. Happy Christmases, the children’s birthday parties, the four of them on holiday in France. Emma couldn’t glean full pictures, only scattered images, like a handful of photographs tossed into the air. As they fluttered to the ground, she could see a face here and there.

  A voice called to her again, begging her to wake up.

  “Someone call an ambulance!” It was Peter, and clearly she was back, but why couldn’t she wake up? Maybe there was more to tell. But Emma had seen enough for one night. Enough to know she and Peter had a long, lovely history—but there was something else, something so painful she couldn’t bear to stick around and watch it happen. Something terrible had happened. She wasn’t sure what, but she knew it was very, very bad.

  She could feel a hand touch her shoulder, and the fog began to dissipate. Her eyes fluttered open, and she saw a very pale Peter. For a split second she saw Fitz again, standing regal and proud in his uniform.

  That’s who Peter had been. King of Belgium, and no doubt a great king, if the plans he shared with her materialized.

  A surprising emotion gripped her heart. Emma ached to see their children again. Noah and Fleur. She wanted to be sure they were okay—silly, she knew, since they’d lived two hundred years ago.

  Still, part of her longed to see them again. To see her family. Hug them. The images and feelings she’d experienced during her journey to the past continued to float inside her brain as she struggled to find her words.

  “I-I’m fine,” she whispered, her voice hoarse. “Please don’t call an ambulance. I’m fine.”

  “Thank God, Em.” He gripped her hands so tightly she could feel him shaking.

  “What happened?” she managed.

  “You collapsed on t
he dance floor, and we’ve been trying for quite a long time to wake you. Can you sit up, darling?”

  Emma pushed herself up onto her elbows and looked around. They were in a small room, probably an office, and she was lying on a narrow couch. As she sat up she felt clearer, but the images of her family were still as vivid as if she were still there.

  “I’m fine, Peter, but I think I’d like to go home.”

  “I think you should see the doctor,” Peter insisted.

  “No, please, let’s go to your place. I think I must not have eaten enough today.”

  Peter kissed her softly on the lips, “I will abide by your wishes, my love, but I will watch you tonight like a hawk. If I see even the slightest indication you still aren’t well, you’re going to the doctor straightaway. Is that understood?”

  Em nodded and felt her mouth quiver. She would not cry, even though they truly were the same man, and she loved them both so very much.

  While she and Peyton explored their psychic abilities, they learned such a thing wasn’t entirely outside the realm of possibility. She’d seen many past lives and knew sometimes a soul’s mission continued from one life to the next, until whatever it was they sought to accomplish was finally achieved.

  And other times, when there was no possible resolution, she’d seen people who were heartbreakingly burdened by their past life baggage. Like the woman who could not stop collecting dolls, because a child she tragically lost in a past life had loved them so much. Or like the driver she met recently, the one who was an executioner in a past life. Now the man was making up for it in a way he would never understand. It was karma, yes, but there was more to it, a level few people understood. She sometimes wished she didn’t, either. People like to say life keeps sending you lessons you need to learn, and it was truer than most people realized. Karma plays a far bigger role in our lives than most people believe.

  But, in all of Emma’s years of “seeing” into the past, had she ever encountered such similarities in both looks and personality.