The Prince's Baby

by McKenna James

  THE PRINCE’S BABY

  MCKENNA JAMES

  COPYRIGHT© 2019 The Prince’s Baby by Mckenna James

  All rights reserved. Except as permitted by U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without prior permission of the author. The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, establishments, or organizations, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously to give a sense of authenticity. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The Prince’s Baby is intended for 18+ older, and for mature audiences only.

  COPYRIGHT© 2019 The Prince’s Baby by Mckenna James

  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

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  EPILOGUE

  ALSO BY MCKENNA JAMES

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  CHAPTER ONE

  Alison

  Everybody in the world of politics wore armor. Metaphorically speaking, that was. For me, it was a very specific ensemble, curated and perfected over time. I suited up in a pair of four-inch stiletto heels that clicked loudly as I walked to warn my enemies of my approach. I donned a form-fitting black dress to catch unsuspecting men—and sometimes women—off guard, and I applied my battle colors in the form of bold black eyeliner winged sharp enough to cut. Tigers could keep their stripes. I had liquid lip stain in matte red.

  I arrived late—by fashionable design—through the massive double doors. A room full of eyes fell upon me as I gracefully made my way down the narrow aisle, nodding respectfully at fellow dignitaries from other nations as I passed by. Klaus Philips, my personal assistant, was sat in the front row. When he finally noticed me, he threw me a shy little wave. He was wearing his armor too—a bespoke navy-blue suit and red power tie gifted to him by his ex-husband—but he didn’t have the same level of confidence that I carried with me. As I took a seat behind the beautifully engraved name placard that rest just before me on the table, Klaus nervously readjusted his glasses.

  “I thought I ordered you a wakeup call,” he grumbled.

  “You did.”

  “Then why are you just getting here? Why haven’t you been answering your phone? Do you have any idea how worried I was?”

  I patted Klaus’ knee reassuringly and smirked. “Just breathe.” I chuckled. “I’ve got everything under control.” With a quick tilt of my chin, I indicated the group of diplomats huddled together on the other side of the grand atrium. Their group consisted of several older gentlemen in stiff suits, one of whom looked like he was more than ready for a nap. “You see them?” I asked.

  “Yeah. What about them?”

  “They’re annoyed.”

  Klaus rolled his eyes and scoffed. “Can you blame them? You had them wait almost an hour and a half.”

  “Do you know why that works in our favor?”

  My personal assistant frowned, bushy brows pulling together in concentration. “No,” he admitted, “please feel free to impart your wisdom at any time.”

  “They’re going to want to rush through their speeches. By wasting their time, I’ve actually saved us time. They’ll skip over the trivial parts of their presentations. And the sooner they finish speaking–”

  “The sooner you get to take the podium,” realized Klaus, eyes widening. “Ali, you’re a genius.”

  I shrugged a shoulder nonchalantly. “Tell me something I don’t know.”

  “Okay,” he sighed, “King Regis won’t be here today.”

  I frowned at this news. “What?”

  “Well, you took so damn long that the King decided to leave in order to take care of other business.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me this?”

  “I tried. You didn’t answer your phone. Don’t try to pin this on me, Smith.”

  I pinched the bridge of my nose and pressed my lips into a thin line. “Then who’s taking his place? One of his parliamentary representatives?”

  A mischievous twinkle flashed behind Klaus’ dark brown eyes. “Prince Sebastian the Fourth.”

  A boisterous laughter was about to escape my chest before I realized Klaus was being serious. I never knew him to make jokes, especially not while we were at work. I took a quick look about the room, making a mental note of where dignitaries had been assigned to sit. The representatives of more influential countries, such as my own, sat closer to the front. Diplomats from smaller, less consequential nations—though no one would dare point that out aloud—were positioned closer to the back.

  Taking a deep breath in through the nose, I finally leaned forward to murmur in his ear. “I thought he was off gallivanting in the countryside.”

  “That’s what I heard too. But I have it on good authority that King Regis is trying to force the Prince to take up more responsibilities.”

  “But he isn’t qualified in any way to be making those kinds of decisions. We’re talking about a water crisis here, not partying with supermodels on some big, expensive yacht.”

  Klaus clicked his tongue and sighed. “Which can mean only one thing.”

  “The government of Wyvernbank doesn’t care about the issue,” I hissed under my breath. I closed my eyes, seething quietly. “This whole thing’s for show.”

  “Obviously. What better way to keep up appearances on the international stage than hold a multi-national development conference?”

  I set my jaw and did my best not to outright pout. I’d spent months gathering up all the data, collecting first-hand testimonies, and speaking with experts on how to deal with the water crisis being experienced in the Belwald region of the Kingdom of Wyvernbank, located near the south of the country. Hundreds of thousands of people had been displaced, forced from their homes due to lack of safe drinking water. It had been several months since it had rained, and now the region was facing crop failure and famine. Since the region of Belwald lay a few hundred miles north of the borders of my own country, I’d been selected to liaison with the Wyvernbank government with regards to organizing an emergency response. But now that I knew King Regis was willing to pass off the conference to his egotistical, spoiled, and quite frankly pompous son, I knew all my hard work and impassioned words were about to fall on deaf ears.

  Prince Sebastian was an elusive figure. He always managed to stay out of the tabloids, pictures of the man a rarity in the media. But
the same could not be said about the stories surrounding him. I once heard he bought an entire village along the coast so that he could house his collection of expensive sports cars in every vacant garage. I also heard that he liked to party, with supermodels constantly bragging about spending time with the Crown Prince of Wyvernbank. In last week’s issue of Entertainment Sun, I happened to read about a particular investment venture made by the Prince that involved lobster, pearls, and cologne. I wasn’t entirely sure how all three of those things related to one another, but I had absolutely no interest in learning more.

  A flare of trumpets cut through the tense air, announcing the Prince’s arrival. I jumped in my seat, startled by the volume even though I saw the lone trumpeter step up onto the raised platform. Klaus hid an amused smile behind his hand, but not before I poked him in the ribs with my elbow. Everybody in the atrium stood as a man walked in through the atrium’s back entrance, dressed rather depressingly in black. From his leather shoes, to his fitted dress pants, to his button-down shirt and fitted blazer, Prince Sebastian looked more like a man in mourning than a royal attending to his duties. It was only when he took a seat in the large wooden chair at the front of the room that I managed to get a good look at him.

  The blurry pictures of him in gossip magazines, which was often obscured by a ball cap or large pair of sunglasses, definitely didn’t do him justice. I swallowed hard at the dry lump that had formed in my throat. There was a sternness about his face, a coldness I didn’t expect to see on someone so young. His light hazel eyes were serious, framed by a set of thick brows and high cheekbones. The Prince had a strong jaw and a round chin, face framed by short wavy brown hair. The point of his nose was sharp, and his lips were pressed thin thanks to the seemingly permanent scowl he wore. He seemed like a perfectly average man. If I ever passed him on the street, I’d probably walk right past him without a second thought. The only thing that distinguished him from the rest of the room were the badges he wore upon his lapel, along with the Royal Family’s crest embroidered in beautiful gold thread upon his breast pocket.

  Prince Sebastian looked about the room with general disinterest before waving his hand dismissively, his way of signaling to us that it was okay to resume our seats.

  “My father would like to express his sincerest apologies for being unable to attend,” he spoke clearly. His words were clipped, tone steady and sure. I hated to admit it, but I rather liked his voice. It was deep, but not grumbly. His voice sounded like how running one’s hand through warm water would feel. There was a lilt to his pronunciation, the result of several years of formal training behind palace walls. Prince Sebastian was far more put together than the tabloids had me to believe.

  But I shook my head and rid my mind of the echo of his voice. He wasn’t important, just a pawn to be used by his father to deal with distractions. I wasn’t about to let a man with a pretty face derail me from the reason why I was here. Even if King Regis didn’t take the water crisis seriously, I did. People’s lives were on the line, not just in Belwald, but the surrounding areas as well. If the situation worsened, there was no telling what kind of violence and turmoil the water shortage could bring. After all, desperation had a way of bringing out the worst in people. If the area didn’t see an immediate relief response, there was no telling how badly things would escalate.

  Prince Sebastian slumped in his chair, resting his chin on his hand. “Take a seat,” he ordered. “Let’s get down to business.” His eyes flitted over to the floor speaker; a woman dressed from head to toe in official Wyvernbank garb. “Let’s skip the pleasantries, shall we?”

  The speaker bowed her head and took her place at the front of the presentation hall, placing herself behind a standing mic. “Our first order of business today is to discuss tax imports on international salt trade. Now, if the representative from the honorable nation of Dulan could please–”

  I stood up before the Dulanian envoy had a chance. “Madame Speaker, if I may?”

  “Diplomat Smith,” the woman said slowly, frowning in confusion, “please take a seat. I’m afraid it’s not your turn. We’ll get to you eventually.”

  “This is important,” I stressed. I looked up at the Prince and held his gaze, glaring with all the strength I had. “People are literally dying of thirst, and you want to waste time talking about salt taxes?”

  “Miss Smith, you are not to address His Royal Highness directly,” snapped the floor speaker. “Have a seat. I will not repeat myself.”

  “The longer you sit on this issue, the more people–your people–are going to suffer for it,” I continued.

  Klaus placed a hand on my forearm and tugged, trying to reign me in. “Ali, what the hell are you doing?” he hissed under his breath. “We can’t help anybody if you get us kicked out of the conference.”

  The floor speaker beckoned to one of the security personnel standing to the left of the raised platform. With a curt nod, the man started over, turning up at my side with incredible speed. He took me by the upper arm firmly–not forcefully enough to hurt–and placed another hand on my opposite shoulder to try to steer me away. I struggled a bit against the pull, maintaining eye contact with the Prince for as long as possible. He hadn’t looked away yet, probably too stunned.

  “People are dying,” I shouted. “Men, women, children, and the elderly. King Regis has ignored the issue for far too long. And in favor of what? Taxes?”

  “Enough,” snapped the speaker. “Remove Diplomat Smith from the premises.”

  Another security officer joined the first, applying more pressure to get me to move. The two of them could have easily picked me up and dragged me out, but even they knew that was a terrible idea. Even without the ID badge slung around my neck by a red lanyard, they knew who I was. I was Alison freaking Smith, attaché of Sunyata like my father and his mother before him.

  To remove me from the conference through any method less than dignified would surely be seen as a slight against my country, something I knew for a fact the Kingdom of Wyvernbank could not afford. Our nations had a rocky history, centuries upon centuries of war written into the very lands we claimed. They needed to tread carefully when it came to me, and that was a weakness I was fully willing to exploit.

  Prince Sebastian raised his hand, sitting up straighter in his chair. “Stop,” he ordered calmly. Without hesitation, the security guards did so, releasing me from their hold. The Prince leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. Something akin to amusement ghosted across his lips. “I want to hear what she has to say.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  Sebastian

  I recognized her the moment I entered the room. She was kind of hard to miss, really. In an entire hall packed full of grumpy old men, she was a breath of fresh air. Alison Smith was undeniably dazzling in person, and far more intimidating than the private reports I’d been given could do her justice. She had her long black hair pulled up into an elegant bun, loose strands of hair curling gracefully at the sides of her face. Her bold makeup only served to compliment the distressingly bright blue of her eyes, as well as the plump form of her lips. But what struck me hardest was the sheer resolve that seemed to radiate off of her, almost like she breathed in determination and exhaled confidence.

  Patrick Laurent, who’d been standing just behind me, leaned forward to whisper in my ear. “What are you doing?” he questioned, voice only audible to me amid the ruckus that was the presentation hall. “This goes against protocol. There are several others scheduled to speak before her. She’ll get her turn.”

  I leaned back in my chair, studying her with intrigue. “Go on,” I urged.

  A brilliant glint of excitement flashed across her eyes as she took a big breath, likely relieved that I’d given her permission to continue. The woman extended a hand to the man sitting next to her, a timid thing in a suit and thick-framed glasses, and grabbed up the files he handed to her. Alison moved with purpose, just slow enough to give off a sense of grace. Once she plucked a single d
ocument out of the stack, she returned her attention to me. Patrick was right. This went against all protocol. What she really should have been doing was working the room, talking directly to the floor speaker. But instead, Alison Smith chose to work me.

  “As you’re probably well aware,” she stated clearly, hints of her gorgeous accent slipping through, “the region of Belwald has been suffering drought conditions for nearly five months. Rivers and water basins have completely dried up, leaving over a hundred thousand of your citizens without adequate drinking water. In addition, the agricultural sector in the area has experienced detrimental crop failure. The threat of famine has resulted in the migration of thousands toward the Sunyata border in search of refuge.”

  I crossed one leg over the other, chewing on the inside of my cheek in deep thought. I’d been warned that Alison Smith was more than just a pretty face. It was obvious that she had a sharp mind and a quick tongue, two tools more powerful than most weapons. I pinched the bridge of my nose in frustration, doing my best to keep up. My father had effectively thrown me to the wolves by having me act as his substitute, and now I was facing off with the fiercest of the pack.

  “Let me guess,” I grumbled, “you want to know what our response will be.”

  “No,” she said on the heel of my words. “I want to know why there hasn’t been a response at all.”

  I knew the answer. But I also knew I couldn’t say anything. One wrong word out of me could result in a disgrace. There was no way I could tell her that the Kingdom’s treasury was running low. There was no way I could tell her that they were running low because my father was a better shopper than he was a King. I’d seen the headlines, occasionally glanced at an online gossip article. It was no secret that the world thought I lived in the lap of luxury, partying whenever I had a chance to sneak away from my duties. If only they knew the truth, had my side of the story. Maybe then, Alison Smith wouldn’t be standing in front of me glaring me down like I was an inhuman, uncaring monster.

  “From an administrative perspective,” said Patrick on my behalf, “our hands are admittedly tied.”