Claiming His Secret Royal Heir

by Nina Milne

  She inhaled an audible breath. ‘You’re right. I’ll call my grandmother and prepare her.’

  Pulling her phone out of her bag, she rose and walked to the opposite end of the room.

  * * *

  Frederick watched as Sunita paced the width of the room as she talked, her voice low but animated, one hand gesturing as the conversation progressed.

  It was impossible not to admire her fluidity of movement, her vibrancy. At least she hadn’t blown the marriage idea out of the water. But he’d known she wouldn’t do that—for Amil she had to consider it. What woman would deprive her son of a crown? Yet unease still tingled in his veins. Sunita might well be the one woman who would do exactly that.

  Ironic, really—his chief advisor had a list of women who wanted to marry him, and he’d proposed to the one woman who didn’t even want to audition for the part of bride.

  No matter—he would convince her that this was the way forward. Whatever it took.

  His conscience jabbed him. Really? Whatever it took? Maybe that was how his father had justified the custody battles.

  Abruptly he turned away and, pulling his own phone out, set to work making arrangements.

  He dropped his phone back in his pocket as she returned to the table. ‘How did your grandmother take it?’

  ‘With her trademark unflappable serenity. I think she suspected—she may even have recognised you earlier and put two and two together. She’ll have Amil ready.’ Her chin jutted out at a defiant angle. ‘I’ve asked Sam and Miranda as well.’

  She really didn’t trust him. ‘Do you really think I will take Amil from you by force?’

  Silence greeted this and he exhaled heavily.

  ‘If you can’t trust my morality then at least trust my intelligence. I want you to marry me—kidnapping Amil would hardly help my cause. Or garner me positive publicity in Lycander. You hid Amil from me for two years. I have more reason to distrust you than vice versa.’

  ‘Maybe it’s best if neither of us trusts each other.’

  She had a point.

  ‘Works for me. Whilst we are away Amil will be in your grandmother’s charge, with Sam and Miranda as your back-up. But they remain based in the hotel, and if they go anywhere one of my staff goes with them. Does that work for you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Good. Once they are safely here I’ll announce it to the press. We’ll leave for Goa tomorrow, after my visit to the school.’

  ‘Whoa! Hold on.’ One elegant hand rose in the air to stop him. ‘This is a joint operation. So, first off, I want to make the announcement. And we are not mentioning marriage.’

  She drummed her fingers on the table and he could see her mind whir. This had always been her forte—she’d used to play the press like a finely tuned instrument, and had always orchestrated publicity for maximum impact with impeccable timing.

  ‘Prince Frederick and I are delighted to announce that fourteen months ago our son Amil was born. Obviously we have a great deal to discuss about the future, which we will be doing over the next few days. My press office will be in touch with details of a photo opportunity with the three of us tomorrow.’

  ‘Photo opportunity?’ Three of us...? The words filled him with equal parts terror and anticipation.

  ‘Yes. Better to arrange it than have them stalk us to try and get one. And I assume you want to spend time with Amil before we go?’ She clocked his hesitation before he could mask it. ‘Is there a problem?’

  ‘No.’ Liar.

  Her eyes filled with doubt. He racked his brain and realised that in this case only the truth would suffice.

  ‘I don’t want to upset Amil or confuse him just before you leave him.’

  He didn’t want his son to believe on any level that it was his father’s fault that he was losing his mother. Even for a few days.

  For the first time since his proposal she smiled—a real, genuine smile—and he blinked at the warmth it conveyed. If he were fanciful, he’d swear it had heated his skin and his soul.

  ‘You won’t upset him. Truly. How about we take him to the Hanging Gardens? He loves it there—the press can take their photos and then we can take him for a walk.’

  ‘Sounds great.’

  But the warmth dissipated and left a cold sheen of panic in its wake. What if the meeting didn’t go well? What if they couldn’t connect?

  Then he’d fake it. If he could close his emotions down—and he was a past master in the art—then surely the reverse would be true too. ‘My school visit is planned for seven a.m., so if we schedule the press for midday that should work.’

  ‘I’d like to come with you to the school. It’s a cause I’d love to be involved in, and now...now I can.’

  Her smile broadened and it occurred to him that, whilst he couldn’t condone what she had done, hiding Amil had impacted on Sunita’s life heavily. She’d lost her career, had to subdue her identity and become anonymous.

  Sheesh. Get a grip. Any minute now he’d start to feel sorry for her.

  The point now was that Sunita would be an asset to the charity.

  His phone beeped and he read the message.

  ‘Amil and your grandmother are in the hotel. So are Sam and Miranda. So let’s go and face the press.’

  And then he’d face the music. He had no doubt his chief advisor had set up a veritable orchestra.

  CHAPTER SIX

  ‘YOU’VE DONE WHAT?’ Marcus Alrikson, hot off a private jet, scooted across the floor of the hotel suite. ‘The whole existence of a secret baby is bad enough—but now you’re telling me you have proposed marriage!’ Marcus paused, pinched the bridge of his nose and inhaled deeply. ‘Why?’

  Frederick surveyed him from the depths of the leather sofa. ‘Because I have a son, and I want my son to live with me and his mother. I realise that flies in the face of Lycander tradition, but there you have it. I want Amil to inherit his birthright. The only way to achieve both those goals is marriage.’

  ‘If this marriage loses you the crown he won’t have a birthright to inherit.’

  ‘It won’t.’ Frederick imbued his voice with a certainty he was far from feeling—but he was damned if he would admit that to Marcus. ‘This is the right thing to do and the people of Lycander will see that.’

  ‘Perhaps...but that doesn’t mean they will accept Sunita or Amil.’

  ‘They will have no reason not to. Sunita has proved herself to be an exemplary mother. And she will be an exemplary princess.’

  Marcus shook his head. ‘She is a supermodel with a reputation as a party girl. You have no idea what she may or may not do—she would never have made my list in a million years. She is as far from Kaitlin Derwent as the moon is from Jupiter.’

  ‘And look what happened with Lady Kaitlin. Plus, don’t you think you’re being a little hypocritical? What about my reputation?’

  ‘You have spent two years showing that you have changed. The reforms you are undertaking for Lycander are what the people want. You may have been a playboy with a party lifestyle, but you also founded a global business—Freddy Petrelli’s Olive Oil is on supermarket shelves worldwide. At least you partied on your own dime.’

  ‘So did Sunita. And her party days were over by the time we met.’

  ‘Sunita has spent two years hiding your son from you,’ Marcus retorted. ‘There is nothing to suggest she will be good for Lycander and plenty to suggest she will plunge the monarchy straight back into scandal. She could run off with Amil, file for divorce before the honeymoon is over...’

  ‘She won’t.’

  He couldn’t know that, though—not really. He’d known Sunita for a couple of weeks two years ago. Doubt stepped in but he kicked it out even as he acknowledged the sceptical rise of his chief advisor’s eyebrow. ‘Or at least i
t’s a risk I am willing to take.’

  ‘It is too big a risk. The women on my list are open to the idea of an arranged marriage—they have been brought up to understand the rules. Dammit, Frederick, we had this discussion. We agreed that it was important for the Lycander bride to be totally unlike your father’s later choices and more in line with his first wife.’

  Axel’s mother, Princess Michaela, a princess in her own right, had been a good woman.

  ‘We did. But circumstances have changed.’

  ‘Doesn’t matter. You plan to present your people with a bride who may well cause a scandal broth of divorce and custody battles.’

  ‘I have no choice—none of this is Amil’s fault.’

  ‘I am not suggesting you turn your back on Amil. Provide for him. See him regularly. But do not marry his mother.’

  ‘No.’ It was as simple as that. ‘I will be a real father to Amil and this is the way forward. I’m doing this, Marcus—with or without your help.’

  Silence reigned and then Marcus exhaled a long sigh and sank into the seat opposite. ‘As you wish.’

  * * *

  Sunita surveyed her reflection in the mirror, relieved that there was no evidence of the tumult that raged in her brain. Frederick...discovery... Amil...Crown Prince...marriage...Goa...disaster.

  There was potential disaster on all fronts—the thought of marriage was surreal, the enormity of the decision she needed to make made her head whirl and the idea of two days in Goa with Frederick made her tummy loop the loop.

  A tentative knock on the door heralded the arrival of Eric, the Lycander staff member who had been dispatched to her apartment the previous night.

  ‘Good morning, Eric, and thank you again for getting my things. I really appreciate it.’

  ‘You’re very welcome, ma’am. The Prince is ready.’

  She followed Eric through the opulence of the hotel, with its gold and white theme, along plush carpet and past gilded walls, through the marble lobby, past luscious plants and spectacular flower arrangements and outside to the limo. There Frederick awaited her, leant against the hood of the car, dressed casually in jeans and a T-shirt, his blond hair still a touch spiked with damp, as if he’d grabbed a shower on the run.

  ‘A limo? Isn’t that a touch ostentatious?’

  The flippant comment made to mask her catch of breath, the thump of her heart. ‘I promised the children a limo after my last visit—they were most disappointed when I turned up in a taxi.’

  He held the door for her and she slid inside, the air-conditioned interior a welcome relief against the humidity, with its suggestion of imminent monsoon rain.

  ‘They are amazing kids—they make you feel...humble.’

  Sunita nodded. ‘I read up on the charity last night. The whole set-up sounds awesome and its achievements are phenomenal. I love the simplicity of the idea—using open spaces as classrooms—and I admire the dedication of the volunteers. I’ll do all I can to raise the profile and raise funds. Today and in the future.’

  ‘Thank you. Axel helped set up the charity and donated huge sums after someone wrote to him with the idea and it caught his imagination. I wish...’

  ‘You wish what?’ The wistfulness in his voice touched her.

  ‘I wish he’d told me about it.’

  ‘People don’t always like to talk about their charitable activity.’ She frowned. ‘But in this case surely he must have been pretty public about it, because his profile would have raised awareness.’

  ‘It didn’t work like that. My father was unpredictable about certain issues—he may not have approved of Axel’s involvement. So Axel kept it low-key. Anonymous, in fact. I only found out after his death because someone from the charity wrote with their condolences and their thanks for all he had done. I decided to take over and make it a more high-profile role.’

  ‘Didn’t your father mind?’

  Frederick shrugged. ‘I don’t know. He and I weren’t close.’ His tone forbade further questions. ‘Anyway, in the past two years the number of schools has increased three-fold and I’ve hired an excellent administrator—she isn’t a volunteer, because she can’t afford to be, but she is worth every penny. The schools are makeshift, but that has saved money and I think it makes them more accessible.’

  His face was lit with enthusiasm and there was no doubting his sincerity. Any reservations she’d harboured that this was simply a publicity stunt designed to show that Frederick had a charitable side began to fall away.

  This continued when they arrived at the school and a veritable flock of children hurtled towards the car.

  He exhibited patience, good humour and common sense; he allowed them to feel and touch the car, and then promised they could examine the interior after their lessons—as long as their teacher agreed.

  A smiling woman dressed in a forest-green and blue salwar kameez came forward and within minutes children of differing ages and sizes were seated in the pavilion area and the lesson commenced.

  Sunita marvelled at the children’s concentration and the delight they exuded—despite the open-air arena, and all the distractions on offer, they were absorbed in their tasks, clearly revelling in the opportunity to learn.

  ‘Would you like to go and look at their work?’ the teacher offered, and soon Sunita was seated next to a group of chattering children, all of whom thrust their notebooks towards her, emanating so much pride in their achievements that flipped her heart.

  She glanced at Frederick and her heart did another turn. Standing against a backdrop of palm trees and lush monsoon greenery, he was performing a series of magic tricks that held the children spellbound. He produced coins from ears and cards from thin air, bringing gasps of wonder and giggles of joy.

  Finally, after the promised exploration of the limo, the children dispersed—many of them off to work—and after a long conversation with the teacher Frederick and Sunita returned to the car for their journey back to the hotel.

  ‘Next time I’ll take Amil,’ Sunita said. ‘I want him to meet those kids, to grow up with an understanding of the real world.’

  ‘Agreed.’

  The word reminded Sunita that from now on Frederick would have a say in her parenting decisions, but right now that didn’t seem to matter. This was a topic they agreed on.

  ‘There’s such a lesson to be learnt there—those children want to learn, and it doesn’t matter to them if they have computers or science labs or technology. They find joy in learning, and that’s awesome as well as humbling.’

  ‘All of this is humbling.’

  He turned to look out of the window, gesturing to the crowded Mumbai streets, and Sunita understood what that movement of his hand had encompassed—the poverty that was rife, embodied by the beggars who surged to the limo windows whenever the car slowed, hands outstretched, entreaty on their faces. But it was more than that – you could see the spectrum of humanity, so many individuals each and every one with their own dreams and worries.

  ‘You really care. This isn’t all a publicity stunt...part of your new image.’

  ‘This is about a continuation of Axel’s work—no more, no less. Don’t paint me as a good person, Sunita. If it weren’t for Axel I would never have given this so much as a thought.’

  The harshness of his voice shocked her, jolted her backwards on the seat with its intensity. ‘Perhaps, but you were hardly duty-bound to take over—or to come out here and interact with those children like that.’ She couldn’t help it. ‘Axel didn’t do that, did he?’

  ‘Axel couldn’t do that—he needed to be the heir my father wanted him to be.’

  With that he pulled his phone out of his pocket in a clear indication that the subject was well and truly closed.

  Sunita frowned, fighting the urge to remove the phone from his grasp and resume thei
r conversation, to make him see that he was wrong—in this instance he was a good person.

  Back off, Sunita.

  Right now she needed to remain focused on whether or not she wanted to marry this man—and what the consequences of her decision would be for Amil. And in that vein she needed to look ahead to the photo call, which meant an assessment of the recent press coverage. So she pulled her own phone out of her pocket.

  A few minutes later he returned the mobile to his pocket.

  ‘OK. We’ll fly to Goa late afternoon, after the photo call and the trip to Hanging Gardens. As you requested I’ve sorted out a room near your suite for Sam and Miranda.’

  ‘Thank you. I appreciate that.’

  Goa! Sudden panic streamed through her and she pushed it down. She was contemplating marriage to Frederick, for goodness’ sake—so panic over a mere two days was foolish, to say the least. She needed to focus on Amil.

  She glanced across at Frederick, wondering how he must feel about taking Amil out. Perhaps she should ask, but the question would simply serve as a reminder of the fact that he had missed out on the first fourteen months of his son’s life.

  So instead she faced forward and maintained silence until the limo pulled up outside the hotel.

  * * *

  Frederick stood outside the hotel bedroom door. His heart pounded in his chest with a potent mix of emotions—nervousness, anticipation and an odd sense of rightness. In two minutes he would meet Amil. Properly. Terror added itself to the mix, and before he could turn tail and flee he raised his hand and knocked.

  Sunita opened the door, Amil in her arms, and he froze. He didn’t care that he was standing in the corridor in full sight of any curious passers-by. All he could do was gaze at his son. His son.

  Wonder entered his soul as his eyes roved over his features and awe filled him. His son. The words overwhelmed and terrified him in equal measure, causing a strange inability to reach out and hold the little boy. His emotions paralysed him, iced his limbs into immobility, stopped his brain, brought the world into slow motion.