Not Fit for a King?

Zale sat down abruptly on the windowsill, his legs no longer able to hold him. Can’t be. Can’t. Impossible.

“You shouldn’t tell tales,” he said roughly, hating Mrs. Sivka in that moment for torturing him like this when he had nothing left to go on. He needed to eat, needed to sleep, but most of all, he needed her, Hannah, his woman.

“I’ve never lied to you, Your Majesty. I wouldn’t start now.” Mrs. Sivka went to the door, opened it, revealing a wan-looking Hannah dressed in jeans and a white blouse, her hair loose and her stunning face scrubbed free of all makeup.

Hannah looked at him from across the library, blue eyes huge in her pale face. “Hello, Your Majesty.” Zale couldn’t breathe. Hannah. Here. Here.

And his. Princess or not. It didn’t matter. It would never matter. He’d gladly give up everything for a chance at a life with her.

Mrs. Sivka smiled broadly. “Your Majesty, may I present to you, Her Royal Highness, Hannah Jacqueline Smith.”

Zale didn’t know who moved first—he or Hannah—but suddenly she was in his arms in the middle of the study, her arms wrapped tightly around his neck.

“I never thought I’d see you again,” she choked out, voice wobbling as she looked up into his face. “And never is such a long, long time.”

“I know. I’ve been so angry this past month. I was going mad without you here.”

“I heard.”

“How?”

“I called the palace every day and talked to Mrs. Sivka or Krek, asking about you. It killed me to hear that you were so unhappy.”

He clasped her face in his hands. “My staff talked about me behind my back?”

“Yes. Sorry. But I badgered them until they told me the truth. I had to know.” Her eyes filled with tears. “And I’d lose it, absolutely lose it when I heard you were running fifteen, twenty miles a day and not eating. I wanted to jump on a plane and come see you but I was afraid that if I came, I’d never leave.”

“But you’re here now.”

She blinked, and tears fell in streaks. “Because I don’t ever intend to leave. Not unless you forcibly throw me onto the streets.”

Her blue eyes had turned aquamarine from crying and her long black lashes were wet and matted and her nose was pink and she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. “I need you here, Hannah. I can’t do this without you. I don’t even want to live without you.”

“That’s what Mrs. Sivka said when I called her on Tuesday. She said she feared for you, feared you’d become too self-destructive, and that’s when she told me who I was.” She bit into her lip to stop it quivering. “The name on my birth certificate is Hannah Jacqueline Smith. I always wondered where my father got the name Jacqueline. He never told me, not until this week after Mrs. Sivka told me everything.”

Zale turned to look at Mrs. Sivka. “I can’t believe you waited this long to tell her the truth! You could have cleared this all up weeks ago—”

“I’d made a promise, Your Majesty.”

“Ridiculous,” he muttered, adding something under his breath about old women and blood vows before clasping Hannah’s face in his hands and kissing her brow, her damp cheek, her salty lips.

Hannah laughed against his mouth. “Don’t be mean,” she whispered. “At least she told us.”

“I should fire her. Throw her out—”

“Zale!” Hannah drew back and gave him a stern look. “She’s your nanny!”

Zale gazed down into her eyes, his expression hard and then turning to awe. “And she knew you before I did. She was there at your birth. Incredible.” And it was incredible, he thought, drinking her in. Hannah wasn’t ordinary Hannah Smith, but Emmeline’s twin sister, and a true princess of Brabant. “It’s a miracle.”

“It is,” she agreed. “And my father supports Mrs. Sivka’s story. She did bring me to him when I was just a week old.”

“He must be stunned to discover he has another daughter.”

Hannah hesitated. “I haven’t told him that part yet. I thought I would, when he flies in for our wedding.”

The corner of Zale’s mouth slowly curved. “And when is our wedding, Your Highness?”

Hannah grinned back. “Mrs. Sivka and I were thinking maybe a week from today?”

Zale glanced at his beaming nanny. “You’re planning my wedding now, are you, Mrs. Sivka?”

“Why not? I used to change your nappies.”

“You may go, Mrs. Sivka,” Zale said with mock sternness.

“Yes, Your Majesty,” she answered, heading for the door. But Zale called to her before she could close the door. “Mrs.