His Majesty's Mistake

“It’d be the best thing for you.”

“But not for the baby!” she flashed hotly, color suffusing her cheeks. “And I know you don’t like Alejandro—”

“This has nothing to do with him,” he interrupted sternly. “And I’m not a proponent of abortion. But I think you have to be very practical right now, think hard on your choices. You are Princess Emmeline d’Arcy and the world holds you to a different standard.”

“Perhaps. But I could no more abort the pregnancy than amputate an arm or leg. I love this baby, and I want this baby and am prepared to make the necessary sacrifices to ensure that he or she has the best possible life.”

Makin regarded her steadily, torn between admiration and concern, aware that the road ahead of her would not be easy. But life wasn’t about making the easy decision, it was about making the right decision, and if keeping the baby was the right thing for her, then he supported her one hundred percent. Life was fragile and precious and full of unknowns.

Makin was all too familiar with the fragility of life. He’d known since he was a teenager that he’d never be able to have children due to the gene he’d inherited from his father. And so at twenty, six months after his father’s death, Makin had elected to have a vasectomy to ensure that he couldn’t carelessly or accidentally impregnate his partner. He simply could not take the risk of passing on such a fatal, painful disease to his children. It had been bad enough watching his father suffer. He couldn’t imagine his own children suffering the same fate.

“Then you need to be strong,” he said to Emmeline at length. “You need to hold tightly to your convictions and do not let anyone sway you from what you believe is right and true.”

They traveled in silence for nearly forty minutes and then the captain announced that they would be starting their descent momentarily.

Emmeline looked out the window and then at Makin. “We’re still flying over desert.”

“We’re stopping in Nadir to refuel. We’ll only be on the ground fifteen or twenty minutes.” He paused, studied her brown hair, aware that it wasn’t her true color. “Do you have a personal hair stylist?”

“Yes. She’s in Raguva with Hannah.”

“Which means she could be anywhere.” He saw Emmeline’s expression and clarified, “Hannah’s no longer in Raguva. She left the palace early this morning and should be on her way back to Dallas now.”

“So King Patek knows?”

“He discovered the truth last night.”

“My parents must know then, too.”

“I did send word we were on the way and had to stop and refuel. They aren’t expecting us until midafternoon.”

“It’s going to be pretty ugly when we get to Brabant,” she said slowly.

“You have to face your family sooner or later.”

“Then later seems preferable.”

“Right now, maybe. But it’s always better to confront problems head-on. I act as soon as I can. It saves heartache down the road.”

“That’s why we’re on the plane now. Better to get me home quickly than delay and risk more trouble.”

“Exactly,” he agreed, and then realized how it must sound to her. He tried to soften the blow. “My father taught me not to sweep things under the carpet or play ostrich by burying your head in the sand. People will think you’re ashamed or have something to hide.”

“But I do feel shame. I’m not proud to be a single, unwed mother. I’ve made so many appearances trying to educate young girls, wanting them to be smart and careful, and yet I’ve failed to do the very thing I preach.”

“As you said, you made a mistake.”

“A terribly stupid one.”

Makin’s insides tightened, his chest knotting with sensation, and he realized now it wasn’t Hannah he’d wanted to send away yesterday. It was this person, this woman. Emmeline. Not because he disliked her, or because she’d failed him in some way, but because she was making him care. Not about grand or important things like politics and economics, but about something very small and personal. Her.

He did care for her. He was glad he was accompanying her home, if only to lend his moral support. “What’s done is done,” he said. “You can’t go back. All you can do is go forward.”

“Yes.”

“But I don’t think you should go home like this.” He indicated her hair. “Not as a brunette. Since your stylist isn’t available, I know someone who could help. She can meet us at the airport and board the plane when we refuel.”