Not Fit for a King?

Stephen’s leukemia.

His parents’ crash.

Tinny’s seizures.

No, control was everything. Which is why he’d trained so hard in his sport. He knew that if he worked hard, relentlessly hard, he would be successful. He knew he had talent, but it was his commitment that drove him to the top. And it hadn’t been by chance. His success was the direct result of drive, discipline and sacrifice.

He had put in the work and was rewarded.

He’d made the necessary sacrifices and earned peace of mind.

It was basic. Straightforward. Black and white.

But with Emmeline it was different. With Emmeline his emotions were chaotic. Primitive.

He felt wild around her. Fierce. As if he was barely clinging to control. Lately he wanted to grab her by the hair and haul her caveman-style to his lair and keep her there just for him. Even now he longed to lock her up, secure her, take away all the uncertainty.

Maybe then he’d be comfortable.

Maybe.

Hannah suddenly sighed, and murmuring something unintelligible in her sleep, pressed herself closer to his side, snuggling against the warmth of his chest as if that was the only place to be.

And just like that, he felt a hot, wrenching pain. How could he love her? How could he—even now—want to hold her?

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

IT TOOK Hannah just a moment after waking to realize she was alone. Stretching out a hand to the space near her the sheets were cool.

Zale had been gone for a while.

The realization sent her heart tumbling and she rolled onto her stomach and buried her face in her pillow. It was morning. Zale was gone. And she’d be leaving here now.

Sometime in the next half hour or hour, she’d pack her things and say her goodbyes.

The idea of saying goodbye to Zale, though, made her heartsick.

She loved him but would leave him.

How was this right? How was it fair?

And how would Zale say goodbye to her? Would he come to her room and say goodbye there? Or would he meet her at the door? Or would he refuse to see her, and say nothing at all?

Hannah’s heart contracted, her chest aching with the pressure and pain. But you can’t cry, she told herself. You must keep it together for Zale’s sake. You must stay calm until you ‘re gone.

And she would stay calm. She’d focus on the future, on returning to her life, her own life, the life of an ordinary twenty-five-year-old woman working to pay her bills, make her car payment and cover her rent.

She once liked being ordinary, and she’d always loved her independence and autonomy. She’d enjoyed working and then coming home at night to her apartment, and curling up on the sofa and watching her favorite shows and reading her favorite books.

She could do this, she repeated, throwing back the covers to face her day.

Hannah had barely finished her shower in her bathroom in the Queen’s Chambers when Lady Andrea came knocking on the door to discuss Hannah’s day with her.

“It’s going to be a busy day with the ball tonight,” Lady Andrea said, consulting her calendar with the scrawl of events and notes. “You’ll join His Majesty for morning coffee in his office, and then directly after you’ll have a fitting with Monsieur Pierre who has flown in this morning with your gown for tonight’s Amethyst & Ice Ball.”

So that’s how this would play out, Hannah thought, unable to speak. He was summoning her to his office where he’d say a few brief words and then have her shown to the door. How perfectly professional. How wonderfully regal. “Thank you,” she said. “I’ll dress quickly.”

“I’m not supposed to say anything,” Lady Andrea said, dropping her voice, “but I’ve seen the ballroom. The decorations are breathtaking. The entire room has been transformed into a winter wonderland with floor-to-ceiling ice sculptures.”

Hannah didn’t care about the ball. She wouldn’t be there. But she did care about Zale. She cared very much about saying goodbye, and handling herself right. She had to keep it together. Had to be as calm and controlled in Zale’s study as possible.

Twenty minutes later, Hannah found herself seated in Zale’s personal study, a room lined with floor-to-ceiling books that made her think of a library, sipping a cup of coffee in a chair across from Zale’s desk, wishing he’d speak.

He’d barely looked at her since she arrived a few minutes ago. Nor had he touched his coffee. Instead he stared at a spot on his desk, fingers drumming on the rich polished wood.

“Did you sleep well?” he finally spoke, breaking the unbearable silence.

She nodded. “Yes, thank you.”

“Yesterday I was very upset. I overheard you on the phone and felt betrayed—”

“It’s okay, Zale. I understand. I’m not going to make a scene—”