Dearest Ericka,
Your father and I grew up together in Connecticut and were roommates at West Point. He was the finest of men, the bravest of soldiers, and I was proud to call him my closest friend. Either of us would have given his life for the other, but I am getting ahead of myself.
I always felt a great loyalty to my parents’ country, Vashmira. Perhaps because my family comes from royal blood, I felt a great sense of duty to my people. I returned to Vashmira to aid my country in our fight for independence. Out of loyalty to me, your father took on my cause.
Our fight succeeded in freeing my people, but the cost was high. During the fiercest of battles, your father suffered a grievous wound while guarding my back. Before he died in my arms, we pledged to one another that our firstborn children, Nicholas and Ericka, would one day wed. It is my most fervent wish that our children fulfill a man’s promise to his dying friend.
Sincerely,
His Royal Highness of Vashmira, King Zared I
Dear Reader,
My parents took our family on fabulous vacations: skiing in New Jersey and Vermont, sailing in the Bahamas and the Caribbean, horseback riding in the Catskills and camping in the Pennsylvania mountains. As a result, I’ve developed a lifelong love of travel. After college I visited Canada, Europe, Asia and much of the United States. I still find meeting new people and experiencing new cultures fascinating.
So what could be better than creating my very own country for readers to share with me? Or writing about that country’s royal family? THE CROWN AFFAIR trilogy begins with Royal Target and King Nicholas Zared, a man determined to hold his country together—even if the price is marrying American Ericka Allen. As danger swirls around the couple, neither of them is sure whom to trust.
I hope you’ll get caught up in their romantic story enough to drop me a note. I love to hear from readers, and you can reach me at my Web site www.SusanKearney.com.
ROYAL TARGET
SUSAN KEARNEY
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Susan Kearney used to set herself on fire four times a day. Now she does something really hot—she writes romantic suspense. While she no longer performs her signature fire dive (she’s taken up figure skating), she never runs out of ideas for characters and plots. A business graduate from the University of Michigan, Susan writes full-time. She resides in a small town outside Tampa, Florida, with her husband and children and a spoiled Boston terrier. Visit her at http://www.SusanKearney.com.
Books by Susan Kearney
HARLEQUIN INTRIGUE
340—TARA’S CHILD
378—A BABY TO LOVE
410—LULLABY DECEPTION
428—SWEET DECEPTION
456—DECEIVING DADDY
478—PRIORITY MALE
552—A NIGHT WITHOUT END
586—CRADLE WILL ROCK*
590—LITTLE BOYS BLUE*
594—LULLABY AND GOODNIGHT*
636—THE HIDDEN YEARS†
640—HIDDEN HEARTS†
644—LOVERS IN HIDING†
682—ROYAL TARGET**
CAST OF CHARACTERS
King Nicholas Zared II—The King of Vashmira must announce his engagement before his coronation ceremony. But his choice could cost him his heart—and his life….
Ericka Allen—An American reporter promised by law to the King of Vashmira, a darkly handsome ruler whom she has never met and has no intention of yielding to….
Princess Tashya Zared—She’s worried about her eldest brother. Someone is out to kill him…and maybe the entire royal family, too.
Sophia Varna Zared—The king’s stepmother seems to be mourning her husband’s death, but is she as sincere as she appears?
General Levsky Vladimir—He has the Vashmiran military in the palm of his hand, but is his loyalty to the crown?
Ira Hanuck—Who better to carry out an assassination attempt than the Chief of Palace Security?
Larissa Belosova—She was once Nicholas’s lady friend and seemed destined to rule by his side. Has she accepted his decision to marry the American beauty, or is she out for revenge…?
For Vivan Ducas
a special thanks for your creative vision.
Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Epilogue
Prologue
“It’s time you married the bride I chose for you, Nicholas,” King Zared I said, as he raised his sharp gaze from the documents on his sixteenth-century antique desk and scowled at his son.
Not again. At least once a year his dad summoned Nicholas to his royal office and pressed him to marry. Annoyed by his father’s persistence, Nicholas refrained from rolling his eyes at the ceiling, and instead glanced back at the man with whom he found it so difficult to argue.
At fifty, hair black as midnight but short and neat, his shoulders still broad and firm, Zared looked every inch a king. But it was more than his height, his regal demeanor and a sharp wit that had won the admiration of Vashmira’s loyal subjects; Zared was the hero of their revolution.
Not only had the king attained hero status during his lifetime, he had earned the love and respect of his family. Zared always meant well and because Nicholas loved his father, he found it difficult to reject the request, but he fully intended to hold his ground again. “I should be working.”
“So should I.” His father grinned, the charm that mesmerized millions of their people softening his words. “Although making you to listen to me is the hardest work I’ve done all year.”
Nicholas didn’t argue with the exaggeration. His father could outwork most farmhands, dance the night away like a Cossack and still run five miles with elite palace security officers in the morning. Unwilling to overreact, Nicholas concentrated on remaining composed and looked out the palace window into the private courtyard.
A few moths fluttered close to the golden-hued lamplights above iron-studded gates. Mosquitoes buzzed incessantly and recycled water gurgled in the fountains. The sweet aroma of scarlet pelargoniums wafted through the air.
Calmed, he faced his father again and responded mildly to his complaint. “I always listen.”
“And then you do exactly what you want.” His father slapped his palm onto his desk, scattering documents. “It’s high time you and Ericka Allen meet, fall in love and marry.”
Nicholas identified his father’s obstinate I-am-the-king-so-obey-me parenting technique. Avoiding the unpalatable topic of his arranged marriage wasn’t going to work. He slipped into a well-worn leather chair, laced his fingers behind his head and tried not to express his frustration. As heir to the throne of Vashmira, he willingly fulfilled most of the obligations required of him, accepting that he would be asked to meet the needs of his people in numerous capacities—but marrying a stranger pushed the limits of loyalty and duty to country.
Nicholas strove to sound reasonable. “Just because her father died saving your life doesn’t mean she’ll want to have anything to do with me or the contract you cooked up with your old friend.”
“Her father was like a brother to me.”
Nicholas looked out a window and watched the wind brushing a tufted box shrub against the ivy-covered brick of the inner courtyard. The shrubs needed trimming. Nicholas loathed the subject of their conversation so much that he was willing to distract himself, however, with watching the shrubs’ shadows shift against the wall.
While he ad
mired his father’s devotion to his old friend who’d died protecting him, he understood both the advantages and disadvantages of marriage to an American. An American-born princess bride could almost assure his country of increased economic aid from the United States and favorable loans from the International Monetary Fund, especially if the American was Ericka Allen, a highly respected correspondent for a major newspaper who had access to many powerful men in her government. However, stronger American connections would find disfavor among many of his people who preferred the old ways.
On a personal level, he was fairly certain that Ericka Allen was not in favor of their union, and the last thing he wanted was an unwilling bride. Over the years his father had sent her family funds and kept tabs on the woman. Although she had known about the contract since her eighteenth birthday when his father had written her, she had never bothered to contact them—which stung his pride a little. Obviously, she wasn’t interested, a fact he’d mentioned to the king before—to no avail.
Grimly, he reminded himself there was some wiggle room. The lady could back out. So could he—but at the risk of destabilizing his country. If he chose another woman, many political factors would come into play. Some as simple as which language dominated Vashmira’s communications and trade. Born of noble Russian parents who’d immigrated to the United States, King Zared I spoke English, Russian and Arabic, the three official languages of Vashmira, and he’d insisted that his children learn them, too. Many of their citizens resisted learning all three languages, contending the rest of the country should convert to their preference.
Just as different languages separated Vashmira’s people, so did the three main religions of Christianity, Judaism and Islam. Religious leaders would evaluate and assess Nicholas’ wife with their own partisan agendas in mind. He had to select his queen with caution, insult no one—but the best way to accomplish that task was to adhere to his father’s wishes, since Zared was beloved by all factions. Nicholas was caught in a bureaucratic trap of his father’s creation.
Unfortunately, nothing Nicholas said seemed to make one iota of difference in changing his father’s mind. Nicholas secretly hoped if he simply delayed long enough, Ericka Allen would eventually marry another man and let him off the hook.
However, he kept the thought to himself. “I understand arranged marriage contracts are prohibited in the United States.”
“Last time I checked, we live in Vashmira, where such marriage contracts are legal. Since I am the king, and I uphold the laws, and you are a citizen, you will obey them. Invite her over for a visit.”
“No.”
“Fine. I’ll ask her myself.”
“Next week would be good. I’ll be in Cairo then for the Mid-East peace talks.”
His father leaned forward and crossed his arms over his chest. “Why are you fighting me?”
Nicholas knew better than to give a political reason as an answer. “You of all men should understand. You married my mother for love. After she died, you married Sophia for love. I simply wish to do the same.”
His father’s eyes twinkled. “There is no reason you cannot love my friend’s daughter.”
Nicholas groaned and shoved to his feet. Retreating might be his best bet. Quarreling with the king was always complicated, especially when his father used his own singular brand of logic and charm. “You never give up, do you, Father?”
“I never stop fighting for our people. An alliance with the West is critical to our survival. Without the hard dollars of American currency, we cannot feed and educate our children. I’m hoping Ericka Allen will do for Vashmira what Princess Grace did for Monaco and what Queen Noor did for Jordan. Her illustrious political connections will prove invaluable to us. A woman in her position will know the ins and outs of the congressional system, how best to acquire economic aid and loans. An American princess will put our country on the map.”
“Father, I really have work to do.” Nicholas strode out of the office, the heat of his irritation chilled by his father’s persistence and the knowledge that his arguments did have political merit. However, surely the discussion was over for another year?
Nicholas strode through the royal foyer, and the palace guards closed the doors behind him. He had not yet departed the outer reception area when the loud crack of a gunshot sounded behind him.
Nicholas’ heartbeat galloped and he broke into a sweat. The shot sounded as if it had come from his father’s office! Adrenaline and fear spurring him, he rushed past the guards into the royal office. They followed close on his heels. No one else was there—except his father—who lay on the floor in a puddle of blood.
So much blood.
“Find the man who did this,” Nicholas ordered, outrage hot upon him even as he searched for a pulse. But his father’s bright blue eyes had already turned glassy. His heart no longer beat.
In shock, Nicholas cradled his father, rocking him, unable to shed the tears scalding his eyes and constricting his throat or release the sobs bottled in his chest. As his father’s body chilled, he vowed to find his killer.
From deep inside, he drew on a strength he’d never known he had. It took enormous effort to force his fingers to uncurl and disengage from his father’s body. Finally, he shoved to his feet, struggling with the weight of guilt and grief and the burden of new responsibilities. With a heavy heart, he went to inform and console his stepmother and siblings.
Their king was dead.
Chapter One
One Year Later
“I’m sending you to Vashmira.” Larry Hogan, Ericka’s boss, senior editor and friend at the Washington Herald, strode into her cubbyhole of an office and beamed at her, looking as if he’d just assigned her the scoop of the century. His smile gleamed almost as brightly as his bald head and his green eyes sparkled with humor.
At the mention of Vashmira, Ericka Allen stiffened, her lungs deflated like a popped balloon. She’d known the name of that country before she’d learned the Pledge of Allegiance. “I can’t go there.”
“Of course you’ll go. We’ll send the photographer over later for Nicholas Zared II’s coronation ceremony. You’ve got an exclusive interview with him.”
Hogan had just slotted her the assignment of a lifetime. Despite her need to refuse, for a moment she couldn’t tamp down her excitement. This was a one-in-a-million opportunity. Her private take on the coronation for the American public would shape the thoughts of millions of readers. AP and UPI would pick up a story of this magnitude, and her byline would be splashed across every newspaper in America.
Still, when her editor tossed the round-trip airline ticket to Vashmira on her computer keyboard, Ericka arched a suspicious eyebrow. “Why do we rate an exclusive interview?”
“Our paper is owned by the Randall Foundation.”
Which, Ericka knew, included a conglomerate of newspapers, television and radio stations and several publishing companies. “The Randall Foundation has ties to Vashmira?”
“Apparently we’re thinking of launching communication satellites from Vashmira. Zared wants our business.”
Ericka nodded, still not convinced her exclusive hadn’t been orchestrated for other purposes. Although a few stories had very occasionally fallen into her lap, it didn’t happen often, increasing her suspicions. “Who chose me for this assignment?”
“I did.” Hogan nudged the ticket into her lap. “Say, thank you.”
She should say no.
Ambition warred with an inherent caution. While Ericka coveted the exclusive interview, her instincts screamed to run fast and hard and without stopping in the opposite direction. This assignment wasn’t due to some foreign politician requesting her to interview him because he liked her prose. Although she wasn’t above accepting assignments that came her way due to her hard work, intelligence and courtesy and had no compunction about using connections that she’d carefully built up over the years to obtain a story, she sensed Vashmira’s newest leader might want her for reasons other than her
work.
“I can’t go.”
“You’re kidding, right?” Hogan’s eyes narrowed to emerald chips of glass. “You used to beg me to send you on assignments from Baghdad to war-torn Bosnia. You’ve covered every two-bit dictator and most heads of state in Europe and Asia during the last ten years, and now, you don’t want to go?”
“No.”
“You’re sick?”
“No.”
Hogan glared at her. “Pregnant?”
“Don’t be silly. I’ve been covering our presidential election.” As she’d moved up the career ladder, she’d willingly paid the price for success and had never looked back. Her personal life had suffered, and she’d lost track of most of her old friends. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had a date. “For months now, I haven’t been in one city for more than a night at a time.”
“Last I heard, it only takes one time.”
Exasperation entered her tone. “Hogan, I am not pregnant.”
“Fine, then. Have a good flight. I’ll see you after you return.” His pager beeped, his cell phone rang. He started to take the call as if the conversation was over.
Ericka stood and placed her hand over his. “Can you keep a secret?”
Curiosity burning in his eyes, Hogan frowned at her and ignored his call. “What have you done now?”
“Look, I have ties to Vashmira that go back almost three decades. It may not be safe for me to…”
Like any good newsman, Hogan could smell a hot story a mile away. And hers was a doozy. “What kind of ties?”
“My father died saving King Zared’s life during the war for Vashmira’s independence.”
Her mother had told the story like a fairy tale, with great flair and drama, but she could not change the fact that her husband had run off on an adventure, risking his life and virtually abandoning his wife and baby daughter. Ericka told herself for the thousandth time that her father had expected to come back to them, but as an adult she still couldn’t banish the old hurt from her childhood or the feelings of abandonment.
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