Seduced by the Spare Heir
“What about the child?” the man pressed.
He felt a protectiveness build up inside him, his fists curling tight at his side. “I was unaware of the seriousness of his relationship with Ms. Fielding, but the matter of their child is their business, and I must insist that you respect their privacy.”
“Have you chosen a queen yet?” Another reporter shouted before he could take another step. From there, it was a rapid fire he couldn’t escape.
“Will she be a citizen of Alma or a member of a European royal family to strengthen trade agreements?”
“Did you leave a lover behind in America?”
Gabriel felt his throat close. He didn’t know how to even begin addressing these questions, but he was certain his required smile had faded.
“Please!” Serafia shouted, stepping in front of him and holding her hands up to the camera. “He’s been in Del Sol for five minutes. Let’s allow Don Gabriel to get settled in and perhaps coroneted before we start worrying about the line of succession, shall we?”
She took his arm and with a forceful tug, led him down the rug and inside the terminal. From there, security ushered them quickly out a side door to a black SUV with Alma’s flag flying on each corner of the hood.
The door had barely shut before the convoy was on the road. The inside of the vehicle was quiet. He was stunned by the turn of events. Serafia was stiff beside him.
“What the hell was that?” his father finally asked.
“I didn’t realize—” Gabriel began to defend himself to his father, but he realized he was looking at Serafia with eye daggers.
“You said there were to be no questions,” Rafael snapped. “Why wasn’t the press properly briefed?”
“They were,” she argued, her spine lengthening in defiance. “Hector assured me that they were told Gabriel wasn’t answering questions, but to tell them they can’t ask is suppression of free press. No matter what they’re told, reporters will ask questions in the hopes they can catch someone off guard and get an answer that will provide a juicy headline.”
“Unacceptable.”
Serafia sighed angrily. “I can assure you that I will work with Hector to have the offending reporters identified and will see to it that their press privileges are suspended.”
“Gabriel should’ve been briefed. If you knew the press might push him for questions, he should’ve been better prepared. That’s your job.”
“I’m an image consultant, not his press secretary. What kind of briefing does he need to walk down a rug and wave? I suggest that when we arrive at the palace, we arrange to meet with Hector immediately. He’ll need to be able to handle those sorts of things better in the future. There are more public appearances this week. We can’t risk that happening again. I’m sorry that—”
“Stop,” Gabriel said. He’d grown angrier with every apologetic word out of her mouth. There was no reason for her to ask for forgiveness. “You’ve done nothing wrong, Serafia. I apologize for my father’s harsh, inappropriate tone. I should’ve anticipated they would ask questions like that. I will be more prepared next time. End of discussion. For now, let’s just focus on getting settled in and prepared for our next event.”
His father’s sharp gaze raked over him as he spoke, the older man’s tan Mediterranean complexion mottled with red. He was clearly angry his son had shut him down, but that was too bad. The balance of power had shifted in the family. The moment Gabriel stepped off that plane, he was in charge. They weren’t in Miami anymore where his father ruled over the family with an iron fist.
They were in Alma now and Gabriel was going to be the king. His father had ruined his chance to be the boss when he divorced Gabriel’s mother without an annulment, so he’d better get used to the way things were going to be now. Gabriel was no longer the useless middle son who could be berated or ignored.
Gabriel was going to be king.
* * *
“It’s beautiful,” Serafia said as they entered the main room of the palace.
El Castillo del Arena was the official royal residence in Del Sol. Looking like a giant sandcastle, hence its name, it sat on a fortified wall overlooking the bay. The early Arabian influences on the architecture were evident everywhere you looked, from the arches to the intricate mosaic tile work. The inner courtyards had gardens that made a cool escape from the sun with lush trees, fountains and blooming flowers in every direction.
Clearly it wasn’t as grand a palace as it had once been: the Persian rugs had threadbare corners and the upholstery on the furniture was worn and dirty. Seventy years in the hands of a dictatorship had made their mark, but it still had the grand design and details of its former glory. It wouldn’t take long to restore the palace.