Felix and the Prince (Forever Wilde 2)

“Tell Mari hello for me,” she murmured with a nod, acknowledging that at least one of my parents knew the place of my heart.

It wasn’t the hunting cottage in the French countryside. It was Gadleigh Castle, far away in the North Sea.

The green grass around the island was patchy with snow as the small jet came to a wobbly landing on the small runway. A sport utility vehicle sat ready to transport my small crew of guards and luggage to the castle itself.

Stepping onto the island was like exhaling for the first time in months. The bite of the salty air, the gray-green chop of the North Sea all around us, the whip of the wind against my clothes, and the crumbly stone outline of the keep in the distance all came together to make me feel like I’d finally arrived home.

Thank fuck, I thought to myself as my shoulders relaxed. Since Gadleigh sat on an island, there were no paparazzi, no hidden media cameras, and no meddling family members popping in without prior notice.

It was heaven on earth, and I planned to make the most of it for the next couple of weeks. Too bad I hadn’t been able to sneak Iggy away for a last hurrah. But this was a time for coming to terms with a life that would never be mine— having the throne while still being able to enjoy a man in my bed.

I was at Gadleigh to let go of the daydream. It was a shame I didn’t have a warm body to sink into while doing it.

“Good afternoon, sir.” A familiar face came into view, stepping out of the shelter of the vehicle and approaching me with a hand outstretched.

“Bert, great to see you. How is your family?” I asked with a grin.

“Mari has all but ignored me in favor of you, sir, as well you know. I’ve gone half-starved these few days since word of your arrival hit her ears. Now that you’re here, maybe she’ll allow me some scraps from your table.”

I couldn’t hold back the laugh that bubbled up from my chest, and we shared more barbs back and forth as the luggage was loaded. Arthur scurried around, making sure I had my coat and scarf, making sure the luggage was treated with proper respect, and making sure to scowl at the wind coming off the sea as if it was downright offensive. He fussed at Bert as if the man had never picked me up from the tiny airport before. I caught Bert’s eye and winked at him.

Gadleigh’s house manager had been with our family since he’d been an under butler in the central palace. Once he was experienced enough to take charge of a royal estate, he’d requested consideration for Gadleigh. Since then, he and his wife, Mari, had made a home here and had cared for the island and its people as if they were their own.

Once we made our way through the small village and onto the estate grounds, Mari was waiting outside one of the castle’s side doors with a comforting squeeze.

“Och, my Lior,” she tutted. “You’re a sight for sore eyes. Come to the kitchens, and I’ll make you some chocolate by the fire. Arthur, stop fussing and sit your arse down.”

I followed her through the stone entry, noting with relief that absolutely nothing had changed since I’d last been there a couple of summers before. Once we were in the huge open space of the main kitchen, I gravitated toward the set of rocking chairs bracketing the massive fireplace.

“It’s good to be home,” I told her holding out my hands for warmth from the flames. “But I forgot how cold it is here in December.”

“Pfft,” she scoffed. “Nothing but a fact to get yourself used to.”

“Mother said to tell you hello,” I told her over my shoulder. “She knew right away where I was running off to after… everything.” So far, the official story of why the king had cancelled some public events, was his suffering from exhaustion. No doubt his publicist was hoping that story would imply what a hardworking ruler he was, always looking out for the people of Liorland.

Just the thought made me want to roll my eyes. Selfish fucking prick.

“Of course she did. A mother knows her son.” I heard her gathering the ingredients for the warm chocolate drink she always made me, and I wasn’t surprised when a plate of homemade stroopwafels appeared in front of me.

“Oh god,” I groaned, grabbing one and biting into it. “You’re the best.” The caramel-flavored sugar wafer was light and crisp on my tongue. I settled into the seat by the fire, enjoying the hot drink and sweets. When I was done, I peered over at Mari, who’d taken the other chair beside me.