Reunited with Her Surgeon Prince

by Marion Lennox

  And then Ellie was with them and she was gathered too. Marc had them both in his arms, holding with a fierceness that was a declaration all by itself. And Ellie was weeping as she hadn’t wept for years, giving herself this moment, this one precious sliver of time, to let go of her precious control. To give herself over to the knowledge that Felix was safe and Marc had him in charge, and he had her too, and she was where she was meant to be.

  Or not, but that was for the future. For now, there was this one wonderful moment before the world broke in. One moment of stillness.

  One moment where her heart knew all the answers, and they were right here with this man.

  He kissed Felix, and he kissed her too, lightly, almost a kiss of wonder, but it was enough. It had to be enough.

  For then the world broke in, in the form of Marc’s bodyguards, bashing their way to them, looking frantic—they’d let their liege lord out of their sight and they were suffering. And the police commissioner was behind them. And more searchers were behind them.

  And Marc was settling Felix, lying him down again, turning his attention to his legs.

  Another broken leg? Reality was sinking back. How bad? After that first glorious moment of exultation Ellie’s heart was sinking again. With the bad leg not yet recovered, it’d be back to the wheelchair, back to months of frustration, back to...

  ‘Can you wiggle your toes for me?’ Marc asked and Ellie hauled herself away from the other end of the pendulum. Bliss to panic in moments.

  ‘My foot, I can’t move...’

  ‘Then don’t move.’ Marc’s voice was still commanding. He was unlacing Felix’s boot, easing it off. He set his hand hard against Felix’s heel. ‘Press. Just a little.’

  There was a moan but Felix tried and Ellie thought the moan had been in anticipation of pain rather than pain itself.

  ‘Now the toes,’ Marc ordered. ‘All the weight’s on my hand, Felix, so you won’t be moving the leg at all. Just a faint wiggle to let me know you can.’

  And Felix gritted his teeth—and wiggled. And Ellie could see them wiggle.

  Better and better.

  ‘I need a knife,’ Marc snapped and the police commissioner glanced at his watch and groaned with more agony than Felix had displayed. But in unison the bodyguards produced two wicked-looking knives, blades that had been cleverly disguised as cudgels.

  And Marc even grinned. ‘Let’s hope that’s the last time these are ever used,’ he said and took one and slit Felix’s jeans from hip to ankle.

  Displaying the whole leg.

  ‘You’re sure the braced leg is okay?’ he asked Felix, and Felix managed a nod. He was clutching Ellie, sweating with pain and effort.

  ‘When I felt myself fall... I twisted so I’d land on the good leg. But I was trying to hold Mer Noire, ’cos Louis said only the worst horsemen ever let go. And there must have been a rock ’cos it was super hard and it hurt like crazy.’

  ‘I can see that.’ Marc was doing a careful examination of the leg, all the way down. Hip. Thigh. Knee. Calf. His strong fingers gently probing.

  Ellie watched. This was her role, she thought. She was the doctor.

  Not now. The coronation was forgotten. Marc was all doctor.

  ‘It’s your ankle,’ Marc said and he lifted his hands away so Ellie could see. He’d sliced away Felix’s sock. She could see the whole leg now. There was a shallow gash and scrape on his ankle, and the entire area was red and swollen. Marc probed with care while Felix bit his lip and held her hard. He was still a little boy.

  And brave.

  He was so like his father.

  ‘It might only be sprained.’ Marc flashed her a relieved smile, knowing she needed reassurance more than her son. Felix wouldn’t have started to think of long-term consequences yet. Marc slit the second trouser leg as well, checking under the brace. Looking relieved. ‘Felix, is there anything else? Did you hit your head?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘You’re sure?’ Ellie was already checking. Never believe a child. In truth, never believe anyone after trauma. The mind did weird things. If Felix’s ankle was the major pain then ‘minor’ trauma could well be overlooked by the neural pathways, meaning lack of pain where pain was needed as a warning. But there was nothing to see. She gave Marc a reassuring nod and she saw him relax.

  They’d come out of this so much better than she’d feared. She felt almost sick with relief and she watched Marc’s face and knew he felt the same.

  ‘Felix, we’re going to have to get you off the mountain, down to hospital where we can X-ray that ankle and see what’s what,’ he said. ‘But if I had to guess, I’d say there’s no fracture. But I bet it hurts. We’ll find something to help that now.’ He turned to the police commissioner. ‘We brought medical supplies—they’re back at the junction. Could one of your men...?’

  ‘Go,’ the police commissioner barked at his subordinate. Then, almost pleading, ‘Sir, the time...if the boy only has a sprained ankle... It’s not just the dignitaries I’m thinking of but everyone lining the route, everyone about to turn their television on. We could take over from here. Sir, please...’

  Marc looked at her.

  He was obviously torn.

  But Ellie’s mind was clearing. This wasn’t the decision he’d made an hour ago—coronation or a son in peril. Nor was it a decision as hard as the one they’d made all those years ago. To walk away from each other.

  This might almost be a decision made by parents throughout the world.

  My son has sprained his ankle but I’m needed elsewhere. The hospital facilities are adequate. My husband/wife can stay with him.

  Need was weighed against need.

  Here the decision was obvious and it wasn’t heart-rending.

  But still Marc gave her the choice. He rose and looked down at Ellie, who was still holding Felix in her arms.

  ‘If you want me to stay I will,’ he told her. His gaze met hers and held. ‘Nothing’s more important to me than you and Felix.’

  ‘Tell him to stay,’ Felix said urgently. ‘Mum, tell him. I don’t want him to be a king.’

  ‘Felix, we don’t have a choice.’ Her eyes didn’t leave Marc’s. ‘Sometimes there isn’t a choice—and there’s no choice for your papa now. Your papa is the King, and he needs to accept his crown. The people are waiting. Go, Marc, and go with our love.’

  * * *

  He rode down the mountain, trying to come to terms with what had just happened. Trying not to think of what he’d left behind.

  The medical kit had arrived before he’d left. He’d injected morphine and seen Felix turn from hurting to sleepy. Ellie was staying until the stretcher bearers arrived. They were both safe.

  He ached to stay with them but there was truly no need—apart from his desire.

  Desire... He wanted them so much it was like a physical hurt. To walk away from Ellie...

  To be crowned. To accept a life she’d want no part of.

  The police commissioner was barking orders into the phone as they headed down the mountain. ‘Notify the Royals at the reception. The parade will start fifteen minutes late. Have the PR people brief the media on what’s just happened—no, the boy didn’t run away; he obviously went for an early morning ride and his mount got away from him. Brief the security contingent. Let the cathedral know. Have His Highness’s clothes at the stables—there’ll be no time for niceties.’ The orders seemed endless.

  Riders were emerging from the forest, men and women in full ceremonial garb who’d been diverted to search for one small boy. There’d be some urgent brushing, removal of twigs, fast grooming of horses, but smiles were everywhere.

  The drama was over. Marc could take his proper place.

  Except it didn’t feel like his proper place.

  He knew what
he was leaving behind.

  They were clattering into the stable yard. The household staff emerged as a fast, efficient team. Brushes, soap and water—this was efficient chaos. The coronation would go on.

  As Marc’s personal valet, Ernst had time with him. He looked Marc over with a critical eye. ‘There’s blood on your shirt. No matter. I have another.’ He started helping Marc strip it off. ‘Sir, is the boy indeed all right?’

  ‘He is,’ Marc said gruffly and Ernst gave him a sharp look. In the midst of the fuss around them, he found time for a little reflection. Maybe he sensed Marc needed it.

  ‘It must have been hard to leave him,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘His place is with you at the coronation.’

  ‘It can go ahead without him.’

  ‘I know that, sir,’ Ernst said gently. ‘But, if I may say so, it’s a lonely role you’re taking on. A man needs his family.’

  ‘I can get by without one.’ Ernst was helping him into a fresh shirt, followed by his magnificent coat. ‘I have you.’

  ‘Yes, sir, you do,’ Ernst said softly. ‘And you’ll manage the role with skill and with honour. I’ve served you less than two months and I already know that about you.’ He stood back and eyed his handiwork and then tutted as he saw a twig caught in Marc’s dark hair. ‘But even I have a wife, and I need her.’

  ‘Ernst?’

  ‘Yes, sir?’

  ‘Don’t make it harder than it already is.’

  The old man’s face softened. ‘No, sir,’ he told him. ‘But my heart goes out to you. As, indeed, do the hearts of every person in the country.’

  And isn’t that the crux of the matter, Marc thought as he finally mounted and readied himself for the parade to begin.

  Too many hearts...

  I just need one, he said to himself but there was no time for regrets.

  The leaders were ready. A slow drumbeat started. The massive gates of the palace were flung open and Dr Marc Falken turned his face to his country.

  He turned to become the King.

  * * *

  X-rays had been taken. The ankle was indeed sprained. Felix would have a few uncomfortable days but there was no drama.

  Normally he’d be sent home but, in deference to who he was—and at the insistence of the bodyguards still with them—he was wheeled into a private ward to sleep off the effects of the painkillers.

  A ward which just happened to have a television. A large one.

  So Ellie watched as Felix slept. She watched the interminable parade. She watched as Marc rode at the head of the vast contingent representing every section of this country.

  He wasn’t on Mer Noire but on a horse almost as grand, black as night, as regal as its rider.

  Marc looked magnificent. There was no other way to describe him.

  He also looked regal. Imperious. Breathtaking.

  Solitary.

  And she thought of his face while he’d searched for Felix. She thought of his agony.

  He’d known Felix for barely two months. How could he love him?

  And yet that decision made all those years ago was suddenly all around her. That email...

  ‘Do you want your name on his birth certificate?’

  And his answer.

  ‘I can’t be there for him. I have no right to be his father.’

  Adoption had been a decision they’d made together, but blessedly she’d been free to change her mind. Marc, though, had been given no choice.

  And now she watched the cheering crowds acclaiming their King, embracing him, taking him as their own, and she knew Marc still had no choice.

  But maturity had made her see the cost.

  ‘Felix, you need to wake.’

  For the procession had stopped and Marc was entering the cathedral. The trumpets sounded out their triumphant blast. The coronation had begun.

  This would be watched in millions of homes throughout the land and recorded a thousand times over. Felix would be able to watch it time and time again. But right now it seemed important—no, it seemed imperative—that they both watched this in real time.

  That, wherever they were, Marc knew his family was with him.

  As Felix woke and watched, as Ellie held her son and knew that one day he, too, would kneel where Marc was kneeling and have the great crown placed on his head, something settled inside her.

  Family.

  Once upon a time she’d made the decision to have her baby adopted. She’d changed her mind. Life had been hard in consequence, but she wouldn’t give away a moment of what she’d had.

  And if she changed her mind about Marc? If she took on a royal role?

  There’d be imperatives she’d hate—she knew there would. There’d be moments, days, maybe even years where choices weren’t theirs to make.

  But what was the alternative?

  ‘He looks like a king now,’ Felix breathed as Marc rose, crowned, facing the future, facing his country. ‘He doesn’t look like my papa.’

  ‘But he is your papa,’ Ellie whispered. ‘And maybe, maybe, if we had the courage, he could be so much more than just the King.’

  * * *

  The day of the coronation was a day of dignity, pomp and splendour—and reverence.

  The pre-coronation ball the night before had held all the pageantry any right-thinking royal could desire. Tomorrow there would be receptions, banquets and a series of lesser balls which Marc would be required to attend, if only briefly. After that, there was a list of regal appointments stretching as far as he dared check his calendar.

  For tonight, though, there was a moment of peace. At ten, the dinner for the most important dignitaries was over and Marc was escorted to the chapel.

  For this was in his diary as well. Ten to midnight, chapel royal, time set aside for royal reflection.

  Actually, Marc hadn’t checked his diary this far ahead. He’d been acting on autopilot ever since he’d left Ellie. Oh, he’d demanded updates of Felix’s progress through the day. The ankle was indeed sprained, Felix was safely in bed in the hospital and would stay there overnight on the off-chance there were any after-effects. His mother was with him. They were okay.

  He’d even been given a message from Ellie herself. Tell His Majesty that Felix and I watched the coronation with pride. And with love.

  Now, at ten o’clock at night, he was in the chapel staring at his bodyguards.

  ‘Tell me why I’m here.’

  ‘Orders are that you’re supposed to be here,’ the older of the bodyguards told him.

  ‘It’s custom,’ Josef said, coming in behind them. ‘The coronation programme has stayed the same for hundreds of years. This two hours is scheduled time for reflection.’

  ‘You’re kidding.’

  Marc stared around at the exquisite palace chapel, the private place of worship for generations of royals, and he thought at another time he might have been glad of this respite.

  The silence was almost overwhelming. All day, the shouts of the crowds, the music, the trumpets, the drums, the amassed bands, the noise at the reception, they’d battered him. But here in this place was silence, prescribed, ordered, and he knew what he’d do with it.

  ‘Take me to the hospital,’ he ordered.

  ‘Sir!’ Josef sounded horrified. ‘The agenda...’

  ‘Does it say anywhere that I can’t be King if I don’t follow the blasted agenda?’

  ‘No, but...’

  ‘But what?’

  ‘The media’s gone home,’ Josef moaned. ‘This is your prescribed quiet time. If you go to the hospital now, the nation will miss it.’

  There was a deathly silence, a silence that rebounded over and over from the walls of the ancient place of worship. And, at the look in Marc’s eyes, Josef to
ok a step back.

  And so did his bodyguard.

  ‘My life is not prescribed by the media,’ Marc said, in a voice so low it was almost a whisper. It wasn’t a whisper, though. It had the men taking another step back. ‘Nor is my life prescribed by any agenda. My life is prescribed by priorities. My priorities. My first priority today was my son. Then it was accepting the throne. But now—’

  ‘But if you go to the hospital the media will learn of it.’ Josef was still struggling to hold line. ‘They’ll say the palace held information back.’

  ‘And so it did,’ Marc said, and he tugged the great ceremonial sword from its scabbard and handed it to Josef. It had no place in the chapel anyway, and it certainly had no place where he was going. ‘But there was no failure. The palace gave the media everything it needed to know about His Majesty, King Marc of Falkenstein. But the King has just decreed he’s off duty. Agenda closed. Take the sword, Josef, and put it safely away. I’ll take it up again when it’s required, but now my need is to be Felix’s papa. My need...’

  He hesitated, but why not voice what his true need was?

  All he could say was what was in his heart.

  ‘My need is to see Ellie.’

  * * *

  The junior nurse assigned to sit by Felix’s bedside was almost asleep. She should have been off duty hours ago but people were celebrating, doing dumb things, and patients kept streaming in.

  She’d been due to leave at eight but the nurse manager had pulled her aside.

  ‘I know you’re exhausted, but we can’t leave the little Prince alone. He’s such a high-profile patient. Could you stay for a couple more hours?’

  So here she sat, watching a child sleep. A child who’d one day be King.

  Who’d have thought? she asked herself. She’d been sad to be rostered to work through the coronation, thinking she’d missed the chance to watch the procession and see real royalty. Yet here she was, watching royalty—although this pale-faced, bruised little boy sleeping soundly didn’t seem the least bit royal.

  And then the door swung open to reveal...her new King!