Reunited with Her Surgeon Prince

by Marion Lennox

  Except somehow she knew he’d sense she was awake. Somehow she knew he needed to talk, that this wasn’t a social call.

  And somehow she knew she didn’t have a choice.

  She was wearing her faded nightgown, pink with grey and white spots. She’d scrubbed her face. Her curls were tangling every which way around her face.

  She’d gone to bed at ten but failed to sleep and that was what she looked like, but calling out to wait until she was respectable wasn’t going to work.

  Besides, Marc was... Marc had been her husband. He’d seen her in a nightgown before.

  He’d seen her in a lot less.

  And that was enough of thinking like that, she told herself as she stumped across the room. She’d do annoyance, she told herself. She’d tell him to go away. Make an official appointment. Anything that had to be said should be said in the far safer light of day.

  On that thought, she hauled open the door. And blinked.

  Marc.

  No. This wasn’t Marc. This was His Royal Highness, the Crown Prince of Falkenstein.

  The dinner he’d just attended had been a royal occasion. It would have been disrespectful of him to attend wearing anything less than monarchical splendour. His dark suit. The slashes of gold. The royal insignia. Even his face seemed darker, more regal.

  The new King of Falkenstein.

  It was all she could do not to slam the door and whimper.

  But he was already inside, setting her gently aside so he could close the door behind him.

  ‘I don’t... I don’t...’

  ‘It’s okay,’ he told her, hauling off his beautiful jacket and tossing it casually on the back of a chair. As if it wasn’t worth a month’s salary or more. ‘I’m not here to claim husbandly privileges. But we need to talk. Ellie, please stop looking at me like that.’

  ‘I feel like Cinders in her kitchen when the Prince came calling,’ she muttered. ‘And don’t tell me they lived happily ever after because I don’t believe it. Sure, he’d have carted her off to his castle but then he’d have headed off to his gold boxes or his royal meetings or his whatever it is all you kings do and she’d be left feeling stupid, sitting around all day in her glass slippers.’

  ‘I’ve already said if you stay we could organise you to work in the hospital.’

  ‘Why would I stay?’

  ‘Because we loved one another once. Because the pull’s getting stronger and we need to give us more time. You must feel it too.’

  ‘Is that what you came to say? Then don’t. If the pull’s getting stronger, all the more reason for me to leave.’

  ‘Ellie, what’s between us...’

  ‘Needs to be forgotten.’ She wanted to be a pink puddle, oozing downward in her spots, disappearing between the ancient floorboards. But what was between them had to be faced.

  He was watching her with those eyes she’d fallen in love with. With eyes that had seen into her heart—and maybe still did. It was so hard to say it, but she thought this was an honourable man. He deserved the truth.

  ‘That night in the kitchen...’ she managed. ‘We kissed. And I knew...’ At the look on his face she held her hands up, defensive. ‘But, regardless of how we feel, it means nothing. Or nothing for the future.’

  She looked down, focusing weirdly on Marc’s hands. They were good hands, she thought inconsequentially. Surgeon’s hands.

  ‘Ellie, all I ask for is another few weeks,’ he said. ‘You don’t need to make a decision about our future now, but you could work here for a while, think about us.’

  ‘How would that make it better?’ Her voice sounded as if it came from a long way away but she couldn’t help it. It was as if part of her was dissociated from herself.

  The Ellie of ten years ago would have reached up, taken his darling face in her hands and kissed that beautiful mouth. She would have melted into his body. She would have surrendered.

  But this wasn’t the Ellie of ten years ago. This was an Ellie who’d lived with choices, who’d seen the heartbreak that surrendering could cause.

  Marc had walked away. He’d had no choice, as she’d had no choice, but the pain...

  And that other choice that had lain before her—to give up her baby. If she’d gone down that road...

  She shuddered. ‘I loved you once,’ she whispered, trying to sort it in her own mind. ‘And it’s true, I love you still. But Marc, I gave you up for your country and that allegiance still holds. If Felix and I stayed here we’d fit in around the edges, wouldn’t we? You’re giving up your medicine, which is part of you. You’re giving it up for noble reasons, but it’s still a part of you that’s being ripped out. Felix and I can’t be yet another part that can be ripped out whenever it’s required. You can’t ask that of us.’

  ‘I’m not.’

  ‘You are,’ she said steadily. ‘And yes, maybe it’d be a noble calling, to be your wife again.’ She paused and blinked as the repercussions of that path crashed home. ‘For heaven’s sake, I’d be the Queen.’ And that was enough to make her even more sure. ‘Marc, no amount of time could make me accept that role. To stay here and take whatever slivers of time you have left, to know that Felix and I always come second, it would break something in me that was shattered ten years ago and has still only partly healed. Let me go home, Marc, to the medicine I love, to the people who need me.’

  ‘I need you.’

  ‘You don’t.’ Then she shook her head. ‘No, that’s unfair. It’s that you can’t need me. You know you can’t let yourself need me or need Felix because your country needs you more. We tried once, Marc, and we failed. Let’s leave it at that.’

  So that was that. No arguments. Nothing. He knew she was right. She could see it in the blank stoicism on his face.

  How much did this hurt? How much would it always hurt?

  His body was ramrod-stiff. He was holding himself as a soldier, but she saw loss, longing—love? All the things that made her want to reach for him, hold him, cradle him against her. He was a prince, a soldier, a surgeon, but he was so much more.

  It took all the will in the world not to reach out and hug him. To agree to whatever he wanted.

  ‘Attend the ball with me,’ Marc said, suddenly urgent, and she flashed a scared look at him.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because it’s the only time.’ He took a deep breath. ‘That’s what I came here to ask. Ellie, everything you’re saying is true, but do this one last thing for me. The palace will put pressure on me to marry again and that’s unthinkable. I already feel married. In your short time here, you’ve made an impression on the people. Your work at the hospital has been reported in the media. You’ll be going home to Australia to continue with your medicine and the media will respect that. They’ll see that you’re doing your duty. But, for this last time, we’re separating because we have no choice and I’d like to make that a public statement. Come with me, dance with me, be my wife one last time.’

  ‘I can’t...’ she said weakly and then, even more weakly, ‘I don’t have a thing to wear.’

  And his weary face creased into a smile. It was a resigned smile and, though it didn’t light his eyes, it was a smile just the same.

  ‘We can fix that,’ he told her. ‘Come to the ball and be a princess. Being royal is something I need to live with for the rest of my life but, for one night, Ellie, share my crown.’

  ‘For one night.’

  ‘Yes,’ he said steadily. ‘And then you can watch the coronation and go home.’

  ‘Marc...’

  ‘This one thing, Ellie. It’s all I’m asking.’

  And what was a woman to say to that? How could she deny him?

  ‘One night,’ she told him. ‘Like Cinderella, until midnight. But that’s it. Royal’s what you are, not me. I’ll see yo
u crowned and then I’m going home.’

  * * *

  His valet was waiting for him. Marc had never in his life thought he’d have any use for a valet. In truth, the day he’d moved into the palace he’d told Josef that Ernst should be retired.

  Ernst had served his grandfather and his uncle. He was creaky with age. He could no longer manage to pull on the hessian boots Marc’s grandfather had worn and Marc now needed to wear for ceremonial occasions. Indeed, there was little he could do.

  But on that first night, when the dignitaries had assembled for that interminable dinner, Ernst had adjusted the insignia on Marc’s chest, tweaked his clothes until he was up to snuff—and then gone through all the names Marc would meet that night. He’d started tentatively but, once encouraged, he’d spelt out, simply but with brutal frankness, a character assessment of each and what Marc should look out for.

  And Marc knew the unspoken truth that such a service hadn’t been provided for his uncle or his grandfather. That Ernst, as well as most of the kingdom, was imbued with a sense of hope.

  So Ernst stayed, his stooped yet dignified figure waiting now to assist Marc to remove his uniform and take it away to places unseen to polish and clean and press.

  Marc was accustomed to the old man’s presence now; in fact he almost found it a comfort. Ernst seemed to know when to speak and when not to speak.

  Tonight he looked at Marc’s face and stayed silent. He gathered Marc’s uniform, gave a small formal bow and would have left. Marc stopped him.

  ‘Ernst?’

  ‘Yes, sir?’

  ‘Could you tell—? Hell, I don’t know who you tell, but could you tell someone that Dr Carson will be requiring a ball gown?’

  The old man’s face lit up. ‘We can have a dressmaker here first thing in the morning—or after Dr Carson gets back from the hospital. This is good news, sir.’

  ‘She’s only staying until the coronation. I’d like her to stay afterwards, but it’s impossible.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ Ernst’s face was once again inscrutable. He paused as if considering. ‘If I could ask, sir...why?’

  ‘She’s a doctor. She has her own life.’ And then he thought, Why not say it like it is? ‘I had to leave her ten years ago because of the war,’ he confessed. ‘How can I promise never to leave her again? There are demands on my time everywhere.’

  Ernst hesitated. ‘Your uncle, your grandfather, they never allowed their royal duties to interfere with what they thought was important.’

  ‘And look where that got the country.’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ Ernst said softly, and he opened the door and turned to leave. ‘But you, sir, will be a very different monarch to those who came before you. It will be up to you to decide what’s important, and what isn’t.’

  He left. Marc headed to the great canopied affair that served as the royal bed. He lay and stared up at the ornate room, lit by the moonlight still flooding in the windows.

  This bed was huge. Dumb.

  He was destined to sleep in it for ever.

  And Ellie? She was sleeping in a bed just as big, but hers was temporary. In the morning she’d have breakfast with Felix and then head to the hospital.

  He’d have meeting after interminable meeting, all of which were important.

  He thought of Ernst’s words. It will be up to you to decide what’s important.

  Ha.

  Ellie knew what was important, he thought. She’d made the decision to raise Felix herself. She’d fought to make it through medicine, to do the work she loved.

  Lucky Ellie.

  Desirable Ellie. Beautiful Ellie. Ellie, the woman he wanted to hold, for as long as we both shall live.

  They’d made that vow.

  So keep it!

  And drag Ellie into this goldfish bowl? Assure her there’d be no more crises? Assure her his country would always come second after his marriage?

  He swore, threw back the covers and headed for the window. Here he could see the distant moonlit mountains. His country. Full of his people. People he’d helped until now with his hands, with his medicine, but people he needed to help now with so much more.

  He ached to be at the hospital. His fingers ached to be doing the job he was trained for.

  And along the vast palace hall was Ellie. And his son. His family. He ached to be there too.

  To have and to hold. That was what he’d promised. But to hold in this place, knowing there were no guarantees? That life could rip them apart again?

  How could he ask Ellie to share a life he loathed?

  CHAPTER TEN

  THE PROBLEM WITH coronations was that they involved parties. Not just for the royal family and those in close proximity, but for the entire country.

  And with parties came trouble.

  Some of the hardest times in a hospital emergency department were Christmas afternoon, with its gut traumas from overeating and its appalling injuries from trying out new ‘toys’, and New Year’s Eve when it seemed the whole world set out to get drunk.

  The coronation of the King of Falkenstein was like a combination of both these events—only bigger.

  Two days had been deemed public holidays—the day before the coronation and the day of the coronation itself. The theory was that the country could party hard the day before, then watch the coronation, take a wee nap and get on with life.

  The day before the coronation Ellie headed to the hospital as usual. She had the ball that night, but it had her so nervous she was glad she had work to block it out.

  Felix was busy—he was having a last practice on his horse with Pierre. ‘You should see my uniform,’ he breathed to Ellie at breakfast. ‘They’ve even made the trouser leg wider so it can hide my brace. If only I had a bigger horse, I’d look beeyootiful.’

  ‘You’ll look beautiful anyway,’ Ellie told him as she left. She watched with a mixture of pride and worry as he scooted off with Pierre to learn to be a prince.

  The hospital was the only place where worry could take a back seat to need.

  The morning was quiet but the workload soon built. She usually finished by two, but by then there was already a rush. A warm summer’s day, too much alcohol, too many kids doing stupid things...

  A teenager arrived with a slashed arm from a broken beer bottle just as she was about to go off duty. He was drunk and belligerent and there was no one else to control him.

  She sent a message to Hilda and Felix and set about quieting the kid down so she could stitch him.

  And tried not to think of Marc.

  What would he be doing now? Practising his dance steps? Polishing his speech?

  ‘There’s no need to be bitter,’ she told herself, and somehow she’d said it out loud.

  ‘I’m not bitter,’ the kid she was treating declared. ‘I’m pissed.’

  ‘And lucky,’ she retorted. ‘A fraction to the left and you’d have sliced a vein.’

  ‘I’d have bled for my King and country,’ the kid boasted.

  Yeah, right.

  And then, of course, the appalling happened, as it did so often in the emergency departments of hospitals around the world. A family party. Accelerant used to boost the barbecue. The container left open and too close to the fire. The inevitable.

  Eight children and fifteen adults with burns from the flash explosion.

  The hospital was running on a skeleton staff anyway—something about extra pay rates for the public holiday. An emergency call went out for doctors to come in. Two responded, which meant they were staffed with four doctors, including Ellie.

  Major burns.

  ‘Maybe we could ring M... His Highness,’ she said tentatively as she realised the enormity of the need, but the director wouldn’t hear of it.

  ‘Distur
b His Majesty on this of all days? He’s at parliament right now, taking the official oaths. Tomorrow is the crowning but today is just as important. To drag him away...his priority must be his country.’

  ‘At least let him decide,’ Ellie muttered but the director shook his head.

  ‘His Majesty is no longer a doctor. He’s our King and all the people here would agree that he’s needed as our leader.’

  And so he was, Ellie thought. She was splitting her time between two patients, a girl of three and a boy of six. The blast had been low and spread upward. The kids had been playing close so they both had vicious burns to their legs. The rest of their bodies were blessedly unmarked but it’d take all her skill and more to prevent amputation.

  She had both kids in an induced coma and that worried her too. She needed a specialist anaesthetist.

  She wanted Marc. She wanted his skill, but she also realised that she wanted his authority—to call in specialists, to kick butt to get things done.

  He was being sworn in by parliament so that long-term he could fix this mess, she told herself.

  And as she worked on through the long afternoon and evening something settled inside her. This was an emergency and yes, it would be great if he was here, hands-on, but how many emergencies were being played out around the country right now? How many hospitals were understaffed? How many children like the little girl whose leg she was dressing needed skilled doctors? The only way they could be provided was if someone—Marc—accepted that he couldn’t be here now.

  But she was here. She worked on, oblivious to outside needs. Hilda would be caring for Felix. He had Pierre, he was used to medical imperatives, he’d be okay.

  And Marc? She’d promised to attend the ball, but if Marc didn’t understand medical need no one would.

  At nine at night Ellie finally emerged from the wards to speak to the relatives of the kids she’d been working on. Aunts, uncles, grandparents were all burdened with unspeakable anxiety.

  ‘She should be okay,’ Ellie told the little girl’s family. ‘It’ll be a long road to recovery but we’ve relieved the pressure. There’ll be scarring, she’ll need specialist attention, but we’re confident she’ll recover. Her parents are sleeping in chairs by her bed, so maybe you could go home and do the same? The family will need you in the long road ahead.’