The Stolen Princess (Fated Royals 1)

I felt embarrassed by being in such disarray in such lofty company, and tried to smooth my hair in order 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.

“She seems better,” Bors said for me, smiling a little 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 a whole lot like you.”

“I am so very sorry for all you have suffered,” the King said. His eyes, shaped like mine, but bronze where mine were green, grew misty with tears as he ran his hand 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.”

There was not an ounce of bitterness in my heart for all that had happened. “There’s nothing to forgive, father,” I said. “I’m grateful for the life I have had, and I’m grateful to be here with you now.”

“Thank you, my dear,” he said, looking up. “I am so grateful as well.”

Though I meant what I had said to my father, I said in part because I felt so embarrassed by the king weeping over such a simple, insignificant girl. It was all so incredibly overwhelming. In a matter of days, my life had been turned upside down in every which way. I had fallen in love, I had seen the death of the man I had thought was my father, I’d almost met my own end, and now here I was, in the company of King Rowan, surrounded by such riches and extravagance that I felt unworthy to even look upon it all, never mind touch or enjoy it.

All I had known was gone, replaced by a world in which I felt I did not belong. I felt like I was standing on the shore while the sand was swept out from under my feet. I held onto Bors’ hand and locked eyes with him. I didn’t know what to say or how to say it, but somehow, he knew it all without my uttering a word.

He pressed my fingers to his lips, never looking away from me. In his eyes, I saw light and fire, love and adoration: all the things I had never imagined I would have—all the things I now knew I could never live without. He took time with the kiss and said finally, “I love you. I’m not going anywhere. I’ll be with you always.”

With all my heart, I hoped that could be true. But looking at him here, this scarred clan warrior in a place of such luxury and finery, I wasn’t sure what would happen to our love. And right then, I wasn’t strong enough to do more than simply pray that we could find a way.

I regained my strength quickly and the doctors were pleased at how well I was healing. Although the knife wound did much damage, they assured me I was young and recovering well. They said I would not suffer any lasting consequences for the attempt on my life. I was relieved to hear it, but still had one important question that I was unsure how to ask. When I was left alone with my nursemaid, I finally asked her what was on my mind. “But tell me truly. Will I still be able to bear children?”

She turned to face me over her shoulder, her eyes soft and warm. She was kindly and aged, like the grandmother I had never known. “Yes, you will, child. And I hope you bless our kingdom with dozens of daughters and sons just as lovely as you.”

The next few days passed dreamily and happily. I spent long hours with Bors and my father; we enjoyed all of our meals together and talked for many, many hours. My father and I especially had much to catch up on.

He wanted to know the details of everything I could remember, about my childhood, my upbringing, the man I had known as my father and many other things. What I did not know from my own experience, Bors was able to fill in for me, about Bardo and the Queen’s Guard, sharing what he knew or gathering information from contacts he made in the castle.

“I’m very grateful to you for returning her to me,” my father said to Bors, one afternoon at my bedside.