Prince's Revenge Baby: A Royal Romance

by Ana Adams

  “Good morning.” He nodded and stopped several feet away, admiring the silks. “You’ve set up another practice area.”

  “It just occurred to me this morning.” Her heart raced, and not because of the exertion. She let herself slip a little closer to the ground. If he’d come only a couple feet closer, she could launch herself backward and land on his shoulders. She was desperate to try.

  “Come closer,” she said. He cautiously stepped forward and she jerked her head. “A little bit closer.” He stopped a couple feet from her and she let herself down a bit more. “I’m going to use you to land.”

  His eyes flashed. “How so?”

  “You’ll see. Just stand up straight, catch me when I come close, and don’t freak out.”

  From the balcony, Fatin sighed.

  Rawnie lined up the maneuver and launched her body into a backward somersault, loosening the silks from her biceps in the process. Her thighs landed on either side of Anwar’s head; he grabbed onto her shins as soon as she landed there and she steadied herself, hands in the air, smiling up at Fatin like she was a roaring, adoring crowd.

  “Damn,” Anwar muttered. He wavered beneath her as he adjusted to her added weight. His hands were hot on her legs; they moved up toward her knee, igniting tingles through her.

  “Not so bad, right?” She looked down at him; when he glanced up he stumbled.

  “Keep the balance,” she counseled, working with him so they could find the equilibrium. “Looking up is usually a bad idea at the beginning. Use the ground for reference.”

  He steadied them again, relaxing beneath her. “That was pretty cool.”

  “We’ll keep working on it,” she said, only half-joking. Somewhere between yesterday evening and this morning, she’d birthed a secret desire to see Anwar perform a show with her. Someday. Somewhere…even if it was only in her wildest dreams.

  He bent over so she could slide down his back. When her feet were on solid ground again, he turned to face her, face ruddy.

  “I was hoping you’d stop by again,” she said, winking at him. It was the truth, but she said it like a joke. She didn’t know how to convey the fact that she was burning for him; any way she said it sounded insane.

  “Well, I was just on my morning walk.” He jerked his head toward the stone path that wound around through the grove of trees. “Would you like to join me?”

  “Sure.” She grabbed his arm though he didn’t offer it and grinned up at him. “All ready.”

  “Wouldn’t you like some shoes?”

  “No. I don’t need them.” She followed him at his side as he began strolling. Looking over her shoulder at Fatin, she called out, “Be back soon!”

  Anwar was stiff at her side but relaxed as they rounded the corner. He looked down at her, clearing his throat.

  “How has your morning been?” She admired the flecks of light glimmering through the tree tops. Anwar’s eyes shone clear and razor sharp as he glanced at her, sending thrills through her.

  “Eventful.”

  “Oh? Why’s that?”

  “My father’s condition is worsening. He might not have much longer to live.”

  “I’m so sorry to hear that.” She tightened her grip around his arm. “That must be so difficult for you.”

  “It’s a lot of things.” He straightened the sleeve of his shirt.

  “When he passes…who becomes King?”

  Anwar stiffened again. “I do.”

  Rawnie widened her eyes. “So you might be…”

  “Yes. This might be a new development quite soon.”

  A tense silence settled as Rawnie pondered what he might be feeling like inside, to the best of her ability. She knew almost nothing about his family, the country dynamics, the laws of his land. But to assume a responsibility like that must be a huge burden. And her son—the bloodline. Did that mean little six-month-old Anwar Jr. was in the lineup now too?

  “Do you want to be king?”

  “No.” The answer came flat and swift. “I don’t. But there is no choice in the matter.”

  “That’s the way of it for the family business, right?” She nudged him, gaze traveling over the crisp line of his button-up shirt, the edges of his hairline that looked like they’d been freshly shaved only an hour ago. He glanced down at her, their eyes meeting like magnets. Their stroll slowed to a stop and she blinked up at him, lost in the abyss of his gaze.

  “So you’ll be forced to oversee a country someday too?” He lifted a brow.

  “No. But there are rules beyond my control that govern my life.” She straightened her back. “Things that affect how I can live.”

  He nodded, and they continued strolling. “Like what?”

  She hesitated. His demeanor had completely changed over the last day and a half—he was treating her like a human being and not just some street rat with a kid. It seemed like he wanted to actually get to know her now, instead of push her away with a million excuses about why she should leave.

  “Tradition.” It was vague enough to encompass what had brought her here, without revealing too much. “My family is very traditional and strict.”

  “Ah, yes. Well, about them—it seems they never called. My apologies for the misinformation.”

  “They wouldn’t have called anyway. I knew it was a lie.”

  He looked flustered. “What? It wasn’t a lie—”

  “I was cast out of the family.” There it was. The truth had shot out like a bullet. “Because of my son.”

  Anwar slowed again, confusion etched across his face. “But why?”

  “Because he’s not born of Romani blood.” She smiled sadly at him, searching him for understanding. He had to get it now—there was no confusion about his father. Not now, not ever. “His eyes betrayed him. Your eyes, I should say.”

  Anwar held her gaze, softening around the edges. “And they knew just from that?”

  “Of course. Nobody has eyes like that in our bloodline. There is a strict tradition around the bloodline, around the family. I broke a sacred rule.” She swallowed hard. “And I was punished for it.”

  “Surely they’ll let you return—”

  “No, they won’t.” She snagged a leaf from a tree as she walked by, smoothing her fingertips over its dimpled surface. “But it’s okay. If they can turn on me like that, they aren’t the family I want. Even if they’re all I’ve ever known.”

  “What will you do?”

  “Well, my first step was to bring my son to meet his father.” She winked up at him. “From here, I’ll go find a job. Whatever circus will hire me.”

  Anwar sighed, reaching out trace the leaf with her. The touch of his fingers against hers sent shivers up her spine. She wanted those hands all over her body again. If only for a night…

  “Can I come with you?” His index finger trailed her pinky. “Once I master the trapeze.”

  “Are you serious?”

  He laughed a little, but it sounded forced. “Of course not. What prince could master the trapeze?”

  Rawnie shrugged. “I have faith in you. Anything is possible with a little practice and dedication.”

  “Even leaving the throne?”

  She laughed. “Maybe. Depends how serious you are.”

  “There are some things that fate decides, beyond the control of dedication and practice.” Anwar clasped his hands behind his back again, studying the ground.

  Like the birth of your son. “That is true. But how we deal with them makes all the difference.”

  Anwar let a terse sigh. “That doesn’t always make things easy to bear.”

  “Doesn’t it?” She smiled up at him, brushing her knuckles against his cheek. “At the end of the day, you have the power.”

  “You mean as prince?”

  “I mean in every way possible.” She grinned, sauntering toward a blackberry bush, enjoying the weight of his gaze on her backside as she strutted away.

  ***

  Anwar paced the hallway heatedly as
he waited for Rawnie to finish breastfeeding their son. After whiling away the morning strolling and chatting, they’d meandered back to the room so Rawnie could feed the child. The ten minutes away from her was excruciating. From beyond the thick wooden door, he heard her cooing to the baby.

  The woman was captivating—he could think of no other word more appropriate. She made him want to sit at her feet and get drunk on her essence. She was wise and strong, wily and playful. When she spoke, it felt like truth.

  And she was as free as the wind that blew. If her visit here didn’t work out, she’d simply be on her way. She had her baby and she had her skills—she’d make it work somehow, surely. It was a type of openness and freedom that clawed at Anwar with aching fingers. Made him desperate to be with her, inhale more of her, before she flitted away.

  But the child—her anchor. Their anchor.

  He gnawed on a fingernail until the cuticle bled. Cursing, he stopped pacing to take a deep breath.

  All morning he’d been wrestling with the idea of confessing the paternity test results. Once it came out, the marriage conversation must follow. Diaab roamed the castle tense and terse, demanding the test without knowing the job was done. Anwar couldn’t sidestep it much longer with him—but if the test results came out, Rawnie must marry him. Since the child was his, he must be acknowledged and formally added to the lineage. Rawnie must be his wife.

  There was no other way.

  The door swung open; Rawnie assessed him with dark, sultry eyes and he stumbled toward her without thinking. The woman could possess him with a glance.

  She held the sleeping child to her chest, mouth parted over a bare nipple. He swallowed hard, gaze snagged on her caramel areola.

  “I don’t want to put him down yet,” she whispered, eyes on the baby. “He’s so sweet when he sleeps like this.”

  Anwar’s heart pounded as he took it all in; her lush breast, the gentle breathing of the boy as he slept, milk-drunk and content, his wispy brown hair still patchy at the crown. Without thinking, he placed a hand on her waist, stepping closer.

  Rawnie inhaled shakily, looking up at Anwar with wide eyes.

  “He’s beautiful.” Anwar grazed a thumb over the forehead of the boy, hand trembling as it neared her nipple. “I’d like to hold him sometime.”

  Rawnie’s eyes glistened as she watched him. “Of course. Anytime.” She paused. “You know that he’s yours.”

  The truth crashed through him like a tree trunk through a wall. “I do.”

  “The results came back?”

  “Yes.” He took a shaky breath, hand cupping the back of the boy’s head. “He’s mine.”

  Rawnie swallowed hard, tears in her eyes. “I never thought I’d hear you admit it.”

  Anwar didn’t know what to say. He dragged his thumb over the milky white sole of the boy’s foot, confusion piling up inside him. Bring up the marriage now, or wait until later?

  Rawnie turned away, headed for the boy’s crib. She placed him gently inside, watching to make sure he didn’t rouse. Then she tucked her breast away and ran toward him, wrapping Anwar in a hug.

  “I’m so grateful.” Her voice came out muffled against his chest. “Oh, thank you.”

  He wrapped his arms around her, hesitant to share the follow-up news about the obligatory marriage. She fit in his arms too well; he sighed against the crown of her head, fingertips drifting up and down her spine. This was why they had spent an entire night in the servant’s quarters together—exactly this sensation of puzzle pieces finally joining. He had never felt this with anyone else, only her.

  She clutched him tighter. “Just knowing that my baby will know his father is all I wanted.”

  His stomach twisted. There was still so much to work through, but this, at least, felt like the right move.

  Rawnie pulled away from him, tear streaks on her cheek. She sniffed and wiped at her eyes. “I didn’t think I’d cry about it, but I’ve been crying at everything since I got pregnant with him.”

  Anwar gnawed at his lip. “Maybe we should have lunch together. There are some things I’d like to talk to you about.”

  “Of course.” She beamed at him, eyes still watering.

  “I need to take care of a few things and then we’ll meet. Let’s say in a half hour.”

  Chapter Six

  He let himself out of the room quietly, mind buzzing with thoughts and questions. As he hurried toward the study, he checked his phone, which he’d purposefully left on Do Not Disturb for the morning. Multiple texts and calls from Diaab implored him to call back, since there was important news to be shared. Just as he set out to return the call, he rounded a corner and ran into Diaab.

  “There you are.” Diaab’s eyes were wide, frantic. Grabbing his elbow, he led him down the hallway. “Why haven’t you answered my calls?”

  “It was on Do Not Disturb.” He removed his elbow from Diaab’s grip but kept pace with him. “What’s the big rush about?”

  “You must see this. The most amazing news.” Diaab burst through the doors of the study and led him toward the center desk. “I spoke with technicians regarding paternity testing, since you were dragging your heels. I was able to procure solid samples from both you and the baby—easy enough, with both your comings and goings. I sent these to the lab, so you didn’t have to.”

  Anwar’s mouth fell open as Diaab slid him a piece of paper on the desktop. Standing out larger than the surrounding text was “100% negative match”.

  “You see? It’s over. She’s a liar. A fake.” Diaab’s eyes shone brighter than usual. “We have the proof right here.”

  Anwar’s gut twisted violently. He turned away from the desk, a million different thoughts clanking together in his head.

  “Aren’t you pleased?” Diaab sounded incredulous. “This is the answer to your prayers.”

  Exasperation burbled to the surface. “If only they weren’t fake results!”

  Diaab’s face darkened. “Excuse me?”

  “This is fake.” He pushed the paper across the desk. It fluttered off the side. “I had the test run days ago. I didn’t tell you because I wanted to be the first to know. But it came back a match.”

  “And you want to stick with that story?” Diaab scoffed. “My Lord, you’re naïve! You’ve spent your life running from responsibility—why should it be different now? Take the out and run with it.”

  Anwar faltered, eyes careening over his uncle’s face. “Why are you so eager for the results to be negative?”

  “Why are you so eager for them to be positive?” Diaab moved closer, eyes ablaze. “Suddenly you want to be a daddy? You think you can raise a child, you think you can pay attention to something for more than thirty seconds? Huh?”

  Anwar clenched his fists. “You will not speak to me like that.”

  “I will. You’ve done nothing to deserve the throne; I’m the only one looking out for the country’s best interests here. So if you have any interest in preserving this family, you’ll take this paper and show your father and escort that whore right off the premises. I’ll give you twenty-four hours to do it.”

  Diaab spun on his heels and stormed out of the room, the heavy door slamming behind him.

  Anwar’s chest heaved as he fought to control his breath. Diaab clearly wanted to sidestep the whole issue of the illegitimate son, despite being the authority on the law. Catching him red-handed in the lie confirmed something deep within him. He couldn’t be trusted; Anwar didn’t know whose interests Diaab protected, his own or the kingdom’s.

  One thing was certain—he wanted his son to be acknowledged. Since the day the results came back, a tiny kernel of pride had sprouted and bloomed. He was a father. He had a son. And the child was beautiful, born of a gorgeous woman. For how ill-timed and out of order it all was, it felt right. And he didn’t want that to slip away simply because Diaab wanted it to.

  Anwar called the lab to order a physical copy of the original test results, so he could safeguard the pr
oof and show it to his father. Once he’d tidied up a few tasks on his computer, he headed for the dining room. Rawnie waited for him at the expansive table, seated to the right of the head of the table.

  A smile erupted on his face despite the bad mood. “Why aren’t you in your proper seat?”

  She ducked her head. “Isn’t it right to give the prince his seat?”

  “The mother of his son deserves it as well.” He gestured toward the head of the table, bowing slightly. Something deep inside him was desperate to woo her. He’d bring up the marriage soon, but beyond the formal legality of it all…he wanted her to go crazy for him, as he was going for her.

  Her neck flushed, and she scooted into the seat at the head of the table. “You’re very sweet today. Bit of a difference from when I first showed up.”

  He cleared his throat as he eased into his seat, opening the cloth napkin over his lap. Her boldness was endearing. “Can you blame me? I’m the prince.”

  She snickered, sipping at the glass of water by her empty plate. “That certainly doesn’t go unnoticed around here.”

  “What I mean to say is…I must protect my assets.” He paused, drumming his fingers on the table.

  “Yourself?”

  “Precisely.” A grin broke out on his face to match hers. She was a breath of fresh air in the palace. A breath of fresh air in his entire life.

  “I don’t plan to interfere with any of your assets, trust me.” She crossed her hands through the air. “You know what I intended to do by coming here. Hopefully we can arrange something where you see Anwar Jr. with some frequency, and we’re amicable, and—”

  “I’d like to be a bit more than amicable.”

  Rawnie’s gaze raked across his face. “What do you mean?”

  Anwar pressed his lips together while a maid brought steaming soup and placed it on their empty plates. Once she’d retreated, he leaned closer to her.

  “We should marry.”

  Rawnie’s eyes widened to saucers. “What?”

  Anwar searched out her hand, clasping it in his. “Hear me out. I want to explain a few things first.”