Stolen (Royally Hot 1)

“Bors,” I said finally, and reached out for his hand. “Are we dead?”

His expression changed instantly, and as he looked up at me his worry melted away.

“You’re awake. Oh, thank God for you. No, sweet princess, we’re both alive. Very much alive.”

Alive.

Alive.

“What happened?” I whispered. My voice was hoarse and my throat was dry. Iplaced my hand on my stomach, where I felt a thick pile of what must be bandages under my nightdress.

Bors didn’t answer, but instead hurried to the big door on the far side of the room and called for the doctor, who appeared at once.

He was an elderly gentleman, with a long white beard, kind eyes, a full belly and a soft smile that calmed me.

Saint Nicholas himself, I thought, a giggle croaking from my dry throat.

He took my pulse and placed a cool, soft hand to my forehead, speaking gentle words of encouragement. Once he had checked my bandages and assured himself I was well, he stepped aside, smiling.

“I believe she’s out of danger.”

Bors resumed his seat beside me, pouring me a glass of cool water and holding it to my lips.

“You almost did die,” he said, setting down the glass for me. “Thank God we were in the palace. The doctor was able to get to you right away. If we had been anywhere else, you…” He stalled, and his eyes filled up with tears as he cleared his throat and steadied himself.

“Shhhh,” I said, and clutched his hand. “I’m sorry I frightened you. Look, I’m better now, you can stop worrying.”

With his thumb and forefinger, he swept his tears away and nodded, smiling. It made me love him all the more, seeing this softness beneath his gruff exterior. Knowing that I was the woman capable of drawing it out of him made me feel like the queen herself.

The queen.

As if I had been thrown into a frigid lake, it all rushed back to me—Queen Beatrice, her guards, the horrible events of my imprisonment. My pulse quickened and I gripped the edge of the embroidered coverlet that was spread across the bed.

Now it was Bors’ turn to soothe me, as he saw me looking with panicked eyes, side to side across the room.

“The queen is in chains, awaiting trial, though I don’t think she’s in any doubt about her fate. She’s in the same dungeon where she tried to keep you, with the King’s men guarding the door day and night. It’s all over.”

It was hard for me to sigh with relief, given the pain in my stomach, but at the very least the stress started to lessen in my shoulders.

“I’m safe?” I asked, just to be doubly sure.

“You are. I fucking swear it.”

Suddenly, a thought hit me and I gripped his hand hard. “Bors, the war. Angelica. We have to send for her—”

“No we don’t.” He smiled and shook his head. “There won’t be a war between the clans, that’s been seen to. Clan Johnston won’t dare attack us now, not while we’re under the protection of the king.”

“What? I don’t understand. What happened?”

He opened his mouth to speak, but a soft knock at the door interrupted us. When the door swung open, Bors stood, though he did not let go of my hand.

“Your Grace,” he said, lowering his head.

There, standing in a patch of sunshine from the open window, stood a man who had to be King Rowan. His hair, though graying now, had clearly been the same color as mine in his youth, and his clothing was the finest I’d ever seen.

His magnificent gold grown, emblazoned with emeralds the color of my eyes, sat straight and steady on top of his head. His face was the face of a man who led his people from the front. Handsome, strong, and weather-worn.

I felt embarrassed being in such disarray in front of him, and tried to smooth my hair to look a tiny bit more presentable, but the King raised his hands, kneeling beside my bed.

“Please, don’t trouble yourself, my dear. How are you? How is your pain?”

I stared at him in astonishment. My dear. This term of such affection from the most powerful man in the land left me speechless, mouth hanging open as I tried to form words remembering the man who pretended to be my father for the entirety of my life.

“She seems better,” Bors answered for me, grinning at my embarrassment before he leaned down to my ear. “He’s just your father, you know,” he said sweetly, with a friendly and warm glance at the king. “I’ve spent a lot of time with him. He’s not a bad guy, for royalty.”

“I am so very sorry for all you have suffered,” the king said. His eyes were shaped like mine, but bronze where mine were green. They grew misty now, as he pinched the bridge of his nose in sorrow. “My beautiful daughter. I made so many terrible choices that led to your kidnapping. I was blind to the truth of those around me. And you suffered for my arrogance. Please,” he said, lowering his head as if in shame. “Please forgive me.”