Prince's Secret Baby

by Riley Rollins

  The information desk. I've seen that before. It's down in the basement, next to the gymnasium.

  When I get down there, there's a pleasant-looking young guy working the desk. It's kind of funny to me that a royal palace has an information desk, but I guess even royal palace-goers have daily information needs.

  "Can I help you?"

  "I need to place a call to the United States of America."

  He shakes his head. "Can't help you with that. You'll need to file a request with the Secretarial Office of the King."

  The King's office. Damn. It'll be a cold day in hell before the King's office approves my request. And honestly, I don't even know if the King knows I'm here again. I certainly don't want to call attention to myself.

  It looks like my only option is to ask Nikolai directly, which I've been trying to avoid. I can't let him find out about the baby. Not yet, at least. Part of me still really wants to tell, but I just can't trust him. Not yet, at least.

  But there's no choice. My motherly instincts are stirring and I feel like I'm going to go into a frenzy if I don't see my baby soon.

  I have to get in touch with Ashley, even if it means going through Nikolai.

  Nikolai said earlier that he'd be busy in his quarters, and that we would dine together tonight. But I can't wait any longer.

  I go to his quarters. Two royal guards with tall, English-style bearskin caps guard the doorway.

  "I need to see the prince," I say.

  "No admittance," one says. "He is not to be disturbed."

  Okay. Time to play the trump card and see if it works.

  "I'm Jenna Duval. I'm… seeing him."

  The guards exchange glances, their stiff military stances faltering for a moment.

  "Very well." The guard knocks on the door.

  Ten seconds later, the door swings open forcefully. Nikolai emerges, wearing only a pair of short shorts. God, he's fit. His midsection is cut, his defined abs forming a shapely "V" that travels downward, obscured only by the waistband of his shorts. I can clearly see the outline of his cock through the black fabric, and I can't help thinking back to our afternoon together on the hammock. Even when I'm angry with him, I can't stop thinking about how he sets my body on fire.

  "What is it?" he demands angrily of the guards. Then he sees me, and the anger on his face softens.

  "Is everything alright?" he says.

  "I need to make a phone call. To home."

  "A phone call?" He scoffs. "I told you I was busy." He stares at me disapprovingly.

  "No," I say firmly. "It's urgent."

  "There's an unmonitored phone in my quarters. Tell me what this is about and I shall consider your request."

  I shake my head. "I can't."

  One of the guards cocks his head toward us, a little too interested in the conversation. Nikolai eyeballs him, and then grabs my hand to pull me inside. "Get in here," he commands me.

  I scurry inside and he slams the door shut behind us.

  "You test my patience," he says, staring into my eyes intently. One is blue, the other hazel-green. I hadn't noticed that before. Both irises are perfectly dark and seem to pull me in. Between that face and that body, he's like a magnet for me.

  "Let me get this straight," I say to him, my voice rising. "You steal me away from my home, but me asking for a phone call is too much?"

  "It's simply a matter of security," he shoots back. "Tell me what this is about. Then you may make the call. I will monitor it."

  "No," I exclaim. "You can't listen in. People need privacy."

  "People want privacy," he corrects me, "but what they need is an entirely different matter."

  He hasn't changed a bit. He's everything and more that I'd expect from a spoiled, totalitarian prince. No freedom for his people, and no freedom for the woman he claims to be obsessed with.

  "You say you want what's best for your people. If that's true, start with me, my prince." I say it sarcastically, and he curls his lip at me.

  "So be it. Make your call. I'd not grant this privilege to another soul in this kingdom."

  "How do I know you won't listen?"

  He smirks. "I thought trust meant taking a person at their word."

  Damn, he's infuriating. And so is his perfect face, so arrogant and cocksure. I hesitate, but I can't come up with a legitimate counterargument. When it comes down to it, he has no more reason to trust me than I do him.

  "Fine," I say. "Where's the phone?"

  "In the study." He points to a door on the side of the room.

  "Cover your ears and go in the closet."

  He scoffs at me. "Rich. That a prince should cover his ears like a little boy and hide in his own closet."

  I shrug. "Prove that you mean what you say."

  His face is a cross between a frown and a pout, and it's actually kind of cute.

  "Very well," he says with a huff. He puts his palms over his ears, his fingers wrapped behind the back of his head, his elbows sticking out like wings. He walks into the closet, hooks his foot around the door, and pulls it shut after him. It closes with a thud. Behind the door, I hear him whistling.

  I shake my head.

  In the study, I pick up the receiver and listen. It sounds good. Not hollow, like I'd expect a tapped phone to sound.

  Of course, I have absolutely no idea what a tapped phone actually sounds like. I really do have to take him at his word.

  I dial 1 for the country code, then Ashley's number. I breathe a sigh of relief when she answers on the fifth ring.

  "Jenna? Is that you?"

  I lean back in my chair and unsuccessfully try to stifle a burp as I stare at the array of empty dishes in front of us. Splinters of cracked crab legs litter my plate, and splashes of red cocktail sauce dot the white table cloth. There's a suspiciously large pile of shrimp tails on my plate, perhaps even bigger than the one on Nikolai's plate.

  He raises an eyebrow after I belch. "In some cultures," he says, "burping after a meal is a sign of respect." He tilts his head down and stares into my eyes. "This is not one of those cultures."

  "Sorry," I groan. "I'm stuffed."

  His side of the table is way cleaner than mine, and he even managed not to get food stuck in the gorgeous beard coming in on his face.

  Our dinner, served to us in his private quarters, was absolutely delicious and probably cost more than my car.

  Part of me wants to pounce on Nikolai and have him for dessert. Now that I know my baby is safe with Ashley, it feels as if a great weight has been lifted from my shoulders. I'm still dying to be reunited with Josh, but I'm not fretting as much.

  And it seems like Nikolai told the truth about not listening in on my phone conversation. Because if he had, there's no way he'd have been able to hide it at dinner.

  He definitely doesn't know about the baby.

  His mind must be in the same place mine is, because he walks around to the back of my chair, putting his strong, thick hands on my shoulders. He rubs them, then runs them down my arm, the tips of his fingers caressing the sides of my breasts on the way down. But after the distraction of filling my belly is over with, more serious matters float to the top of my mind, and I shrug away from his touch.

  I twist my body around in the chair and look up at him. "Last time I was here, you promised you would do something for the people of North Molvania."

  He raises an eyebrow. "I did. I've considered, and I've decided that things are going swimmingly."

  I shake my head. "But you just told me the other day that—"

  He turns away from me, irritated, and paces across the room. "I chose to forgive you for filling my ears with such nonsense. I cannot believe your audacity—"

  I cut him off. "Bull," I exclaim. He's getting me angry again. This is the way it always seems to go. I get all hot and bothered for him and I forget all about the things I hate, until the next time he makes me mad. “Lies. You're taking the cop-out again." Then I add, "How can I trust a guy who doesn't take care of
his own people? If you can't take care of them, you can't take care of me."

  He stops pacing and crosses his arms. "You are exaggerating the conditions—"

  I cut him off again. "You're just in denial. If you're so sure everything is peachy, then let's go out there and take a look."

  He looks shocked at the suggestion. "Why, a prince does not mingle with the commoners."

  "You seemed to like 'mingling' with me just fine."

  He's silent.

  "Come on," I say. "Let's go out there. Incognito. And see for ourselves. If there's no problem, then I won't mention it again."

  He thinks for a moment and then replies. "Very well. Since you insist, I shall have no choice but to prove you wrong."

  "Good. Do it. Prove me wrong."

  "Tomorrow," he says. "Meet in my quarters at eight sharp tomorrow and we shall go survey the people. And you will see."

  I do as I'm told, showing up at Nikolai's quarters the next morning at eight sharp. The same pair of guards from last time are on duty, and this time they let me in immediately.

  Inside, Nikolai stands in the doorway wearing a long brown trench coat, a fedora, and a pair of shades. Wayfarers, it looks like. I'm dressed in jeans and a t-shirt.

  I shake my head. "You have no idea what incognito means, do you?"

  He looks insulted. "It is called a disguise."

  "You stick out like a sore thumb," I say. I stand on my toes and pluck the hat off his head. A lock of hair spills into his eyes. I brush it back into place, and my hand lingers against his face a little longer than it needs to.

  He notices it too.

  I feel like he might try to kiss me, and I pull back before he can do it. I'm still not ready for that.

  "Ditch the coat, too," I tell him. "Put on a hoodie. And a beanie."

  "Oh, this is rich," he says, but he shrugs off the coat like I tell him to. "A commoner American girl giving me orders in my own palace."

  A faint smile crosses my face. "Well, you looked ridiculous."

  "Bollocks," he says, "The clothes don't make the man. It's the other way around, and you know it." He digs around in the bottom of the closet for something more casual, mumbling to himself. He pulls a Chicago Bulls hoodie over his head, and slaps on a plain black baseball cap. "Better?"

  "Better."

  He wants to travel with a motorcade, but I protest and eventually prevail upon him to take a single plain-looking armored car. I want him to see the country in its natural condition. I don't want people to see us coming and cover up the evidence before he can see it.

  We drive through Caprion on our way, and even I have to admit it's an impressive city. At least on the surface. "There," he says, pointing to a railcar traveling alongside the street. "An above-ground transit system. I headed the project committee. A tremendous success. Ridership is up. Ninety-nine percent of stops are on time."

  I look at him, and see he's beaming at the railcar. God, he's handsome when he smiles. "You did well at that. You're clearly competent at what you do."

  "I know that."

  A few minutes later, we take a freeway entrance to leave the city limits, and the ride turns bumpy.

  "Hmm," he says, peering down at the road through the window. "These roads need repair."

  "What did I tell you?"

  "You haven't proved a thing. Even in America there are bad roads."

  "Yes. But take us to a small village. Somewhere away from the rich city."

  "Very well," he says. "Driver." He knocks on the glass partition separating us from the driver's compartment.

  The window rolls down. "Take us to Lampara."

  "Yes, my prince." The window rolls back up.

  "What's in Lampara?"

  "Lampara," he says, "is the village in which my mother was born."

  We arrive in Lampara around ten o'clock in the morning. Nikolai hasn't said much during the last hour. We've been traveling mostly on dirt roads, and the ride has been rough.

  I suspect he didn't even realize the awful conditions of the infrastructure outside of Caprion.

  Maybe he's starting to have doubts. I hope so.

  As we approach Lampara, I see that it's a settlement of one or two hundred huts on a riverbank. There are several wooden rafts, made of lashed-together logs, floating on the surface of the river. Men are holding poles, casting fishing lines into the water and tossing their catches into metal pails.

  "See," says Nikolai, pointing to the men. "These men are the salt of the earth. They are working hard. They are happy. You shall see."

  The driver stops the car at the edge of the village, and we get out and walk. The ground is soft brown earth with lots of clay mixed in, and my feet leave deep depressions in the ground behind me. Nikolai walks next to me, and keeps looking down at his feet. The shoes he's wearing look expensive and they're getting very dirty.

  We walk to the edge of the riverbank, which is thick with wild grasses and flowers. "Oi!" Nikolai yells to the men on the rafts. "Come here."

  I lean up and whisper into his ear. "That's rude," I say, "You're incognito. Not a prince right now."

  "Oh, give me a break." I get a whiff of his breath, and it's not bad at all. It smells of the strawberries we snacked on before leaving the palace this morning.

  One of the men grabs a rope and yanks it, pulling his raft back to the shoreline. When he's on solid ground, he approaches us. Nikolai stands at least a foot and a half taller than him. I notice that the clothes he's wearing are worn and tattered, full of holes. I wonder if Nikolai notices that.

  "You," Nikolai says, "What is your name?"

  "They call me Goose." He eyes Nikolai with suspicion. "Who are you? Why you bringin' that polluting machine into our village?"

  "I am a… government inspector," says Nikolai. "Tell me about your life here."

  The man looks unsure of himself. Then he speaks. "Fishin's tough this year. The salmon, they ain't repopulatin' like they supposed to."

  "Do you sell your fish at market?"

  "Market?" The man laughs. "This is Lampara, buddy. We barely get by on what we dredge up outta this dead earth."

  "What do you mean?" asks Nikolai sharply. He cocks his head at the man.

  "Mister, you sure got some funny manners."

  Nikolai takes a menacing step toward the man, but I reach out and tug on his sleeve. He stops short.

  "Do you not receive your monthly rations from the royal government?" Nikolai's voice sounds less cocksure than usual. Normally his questions sound like commands, but this one actually sounds like a question.

  The man laughs. "Buddy, we ain't had a subsidy from the government since more'n fifteen years. Matter of fact, them tax collectors been takin' a third of the rice from our paddies each season."

  I look up at Nikolai. His royal, perfect face is so out of place here.

  "What do you mean?" he asks again.

  "You born yesterday?" says the man. "Military ain't got enough cash to feed and house the troops. They take our harvest as they please."

  I expect Nikolai to continue grilling the man, but he's quiet. I can see his eyes from the side, behind his sunglasses. He's looking around the village.

  "Where is your hospital?"

  "You tryin' to make light of what we don't have? We don't appreciate that around here."

  "No," says Nikolai. "This is just… an inspection."

  "We ain't got no hospital. My brother. He's been laid up in my house for near six weeks now. Sick as a dog."

  "What's wrong with him?"

  The man shakes his head sadly. "Ain't no one knows. Ain't got no real doctors in the town. That's the way it goes around here."

  "I see," says Nikolai. "Thank you."

  "You gonna tell those fat cats in the government to lay off us? And maybe build us a hospital 'n a school?"

  Nikolai sounds surprised at the request. "Of course," he says stiffly.

  The man returns to his raft, pushing himself out into the water. He puts a bait on hi
s line, and casts it back into the water.

  Nikolai walks along the river bank, and I trail behind him. I want to grab him, shake him, and shout, "See?"

  But I don't. I want to see how he'll react.

  I want to see if he's the kind of man I can trust with my little boy.

  Then, he stops in his tracks and turns to me. "I want to see another village."

  We return to the car. He orders the driver to head twenty miles west and to stop at the first village we come to after that.

  The next village is in even greater squalor than Lampara. This one used to have running water, but the main pipe burst a few years ago. Now, the streets are lined with trash, and the river runs brown with sewage. The entire village smells like a latrine in the midday heat.

  The sun beats down overhead, and although I don't have a watch, I guess that it must be noon by now.

  When we get back in the car, Nikolai's mouth is a grim line, and he looks green. "You alright?" I ask him. I've never seen him look so affected by anything. He was so out of touch that it only took a morning-long tour of a couple villages to see just how bad things are in his country.

  He pulls a handkerchief out of his pocket and wipes the sweat off his face. The interior of the car smell like the sewage outside.

  He raps on the glass partition again, and the driver lowers it. "My prince?"

  "How long is the drive to the south?"

  "Five hours. Four, at best."

  Nikolai looks at me, and there is a distance in his eyes. "Take us there," he says. "To the work camps."

  The drive passes in near silence, and Nikolai spends most of it looking out the window at the wild, undeveloped country.

  "This is nothing like Caprion," he says.

  As we get further and further south, the outside looks cooler. I roll down my window, and the air is frigid now, not hot. We drive further, and the air turns freezing. The potholed road is lined on either side by dead trees, their leaves unable to sprout in the cold, perpetual winter of the Molvanian south.

  Eventually, we arrive outside the perimeter of a huge compound. It's surrounded by a tall, barbed wire fence, and all I can see inside are rows of dilapidated barracks. It looks like a run-down prison.