The Billionaire King’s Heir (European Billionaire Beaus 3)

Prologue

Salem, the man from Stolvenia’s intelligence agency who gave King Rafael briefings three days a week, seemed to dread this morning’s briefing. He kept pulling at his collar with subtle little movements Rafael couldn’t help but notice.

The man looked nervously down at the folder in front of him. “We’ve come to the last item on today’s briefing, and I’m afraid it’s a bit of a…” His voice trailed off and he reached up and adjusted his tie. “I’m afraid there’s not an easy way to—”

Rafael’s entire soul sighed. “Just tell me, Salem. I’m not going to dismiss you from palace service if you’ve got uncomfortable news. It wouldn’t be the first time.”

Of course it wouldn’t. His country might be small, but it had its share of problems. And when anything went wrong, where else were the people to look but to their king to make things right again? It didn’t matter whether or not the issue—social, political, economic, environmental—was his fault. It was always his responsibility. That’s what it meant to rule.

“Some news has come to light regarding Felicity Callard.”

Rafael’s heart stopped; he was sure of it.

“Say that again?”

“Details have…surfaced, and some of them…” Now Salem looked pale. “Some of them could be viewed as rather scandalous by the general public.”

His mind whirled. Felicity Callard had blown into his life like a hurricane nearly three years ago, and just when he thought they were going to tip right into a permanent union, she disappeared.

No—it was more accurate to say that she ran. One moment, she was with him in Stolvenia. The next, she’d had to go back to the United States to be with her sister, and had insisted on breaking all contact with Rafael. He’d thought she’d change her mind, that she’d reach out when she was ready. She hadn’t. So that had been that.

At least that’s what Rafael told himself, along with everyone else. He was over her. He had forgotten her.

Rafael cleared his throat, trying to school his face int

o a more neutral expression. “How was this discovered?”

Salem straightened his tie. “We have an informant in one of the opposition papers. They have the story, King Rafael. At least, they have part of the story. And it’s going to break.”

These days, Rafael badly needed to avoid scandalous breaking news, and for obvious reasons. An opposition group had taken root in Stolvenia claiming that all the nation’s problems could be solved by dissolving the monarchy. The idea had spread like a cancer, undermining the people’s trust in Rafael’s leadership. An upcoming referendum would decide the issue once and for all, and with the date fast approaching, any scandal could be fatal.

Polls currently showed a small majority of the country sided with the royals—thanks in no small part to the massive popularity of his brothers’ whirlwind romances. But that just made the opposition more desperate as they dug for a game changer.

Salem was hedging.

“What are you not telling me, Salem?”

The intelligence officer looked him in the eye, steeling himself.

“She had a child. Your child.”

Salem picked up a printed photo from the folder and slid it across the desk to Rafael. He took it in his hands. It was a photo of a little girl, maybe two years old, with blonde ringlets, huge blue eyes, and an infectious grin. She stood on a checked blanket laid out on the grass—a park or lawn somewhere. The sun caught in her hair, and she looked like she was laughing. Her small hands held a little bubble machine and the bubbles flew upward in front of her. Rafael could almost see the scene playing out in front of his eyes, almost hear her laughter ringing in his ears.

“My child,” he repeated slowly, emotions circling themselves in the pit of his gut. His child. Felicity had become pregnant with his child, and she’d hid it from him.

Why?

He looked back up at Salem, but the man looked more nervous than ever. Rafael’s stomach sank. “There’s something else, isn’t there?” He let out a harsh laugh. “What could be more scandalous than a king with a secret family?”

“It would be more of a blow,” Salem said cautiously, “if the opposition had reason to believe that the royal family had been…complicit…for generations.”

Hot indignation flared. “How could any other generations have been involved in Felicity Callard spiriting my daughter to the United States?”

“They have some kind of evidence that your mother, the queen, was involved.”

Rafael felt the blood drain out of his face. “My mother?”

Salem shifted his weight uncomfortably from foot to foot. “Signs point to some kind of payment, arranged between the queen and Felicity. It would explain…” He cleared his throat again. “It would explain her rapid departure from Stolvenia.”

“And hiding my child from me.” Rafael’s stomach churned. His mother had been dead for over a year, but that wouldn’t matter to the press. “Do we have our own evidence?”

“We’re working on it now, sir.”

In the meantime…in the meantime, he stared at the photo of the little girl, his mind racing down all the corridors of possibility and coming up against the same dead ends.

He had a daughter.

He had a daughter.

And he had never seen her.

He might be over Felicity. His feelings for her might be long gone, fled back to America with her. But a child changed everything—absolutely everything.

He folded his hands on top of the desk and put on his best poker face. He couldn’t let it show how much this was affecting him. Not here. Not now. Not ever. Being king meant he had to view every situation for the way it impacted his country. His personal feelings had to come last.

“Where is Felicity?”