The Accidental Princess

by Michelle Willingham

  ‘How could they possibly have afforded my schooling?’ Michael voiced aloud. ‘I never understood it.’

  ‘I sold some jewels I’d kept from Lohenberg.’ She dabbed at her eyes. ‘Mary let Paul believe that she’d inherited a small sum from an aunt who died.’ She patted his cheek. ‘You needed it more than I did.’

  ‘What happened to your husband?’

  Silent tears rolled down her face. ‘I’ve never known. I haven’t seen Sebastian since that night.’ She shivered at the memory. ‘I hoped that somehow he managed to survive. But I couldn’t write to him or ever learn what happened; otherwise they might have found you.’

  The burden of her secret seemed to grow lighter, now that she had laid it before him. But Michael felt its weight suffocating him. He didn’t want a royal life, or the difficulties it would bring.

  ‘I sent the last of my funds to bring you back from Malta, after I learned you were wounded,’ she admitted. ‘I had hoped that both you and Henry would return.’

  Michael embraced her while she wept for her son. With Abigail Turner’s confession, he could no longer deny the truth staring him in the face. He would have to confront the impostor Prince Karl, as well as the King and Queen. God help him.

  Mrs Turner leaned her head on his shoulder, patting his back. ‘I am sorry for keeping this from you, Michael. I thought the only way to save your life was to keep it a secret.’

  She was asking for his forgiveness, but right now he was having trouble thinking clearly. He forced himself to give her a light squeeze, but inside, his thoughts were churning.

  Mrs Turner pulled back from him. Her face still held the melancholy, but it was soon replaced by stubbornness. ‘I will go to Queen Astri in the morning and tell her everything.’

  He wasn’t so certain that was a good idea. ‘We’ve already been forbidden to see the Queen. I don’t think—’

  ‘I was one of her ladies-in-waiting for over five years. The Queen will see me.’

  ‘Not if she believes you stole her only son.’

  Mrs Turner’s face crumpled up with tears, as though he’d struck her across the face. But she needed to understand that any contact with the Schloss would mean her own imprisonment, possibly death.

  ‘If you try to speak with her, you’ll face punishment for what you did. The men who took your husband might find you again; they know I’m still alive. It’s too grave a risk.’

  ‘I have to atone for what I did. I have to bring you back to her, so she knows that I never meant to betray her.’

  ‘In time. I will face her first, before you.’ He crossed his arms in front of him. ‘But even if she does agree to see me, she might not believe it. There’s no proof that I am her son, except for my resemblance to the King.’

  The corners of Mrs Turner’s mouth turned up. ‘You’re wrong, lad. There is proof that you are the Prince.’

  He waited for her to continue, and she came up behind him. ‘You have a scar here.’ She pointed to his left leg. ‘On the back of your calf.’

  Michael had seen the scar before, but he’d never remembered how he’d received it.

  ‘When you were two years old,’ Mrs Turner said, ‘you loved climbing up on tables, no matter how your nurse tried to stop you. One day, you fell backwards and cut yourself on one of your toys. You cried and your mother held you while they stitched up the wound.’ Mrs Turner stretched her thumb and forefinger to show the size. ‘It’s naught more than this large. But only a few members in the palace knew about it.’

  She grew solemn. ‘You’re going to get your throne back, Michael Thorpe. I promise you that.’

  Michael spent the last few hours of the night pacing. Mrs Turner’s confession made it impossible to deny his past any longer. Now he had to decide whether or not to seek the Kingdom he’d lost.

  He threw on a pair of trousers and a shirt, not bothering with a waistcoat. Tiptoeing outside his room, he moved down the corridor and towards the back stairway. The Graf’s lodge was not large, though it was luxurious.

  He didn’t know what drew him towards Hannah’s bedchamber. It wasn’t the desire to intrude, but a deeper need. If he could sleep beside her, he sensed he could calm the tangled state of his mind.

  The Graf had given her a room on the opposite side of the house. Although they had kept up their ruse of marriage to the outside world, Heinrich von Reischor intended to uphold Hannah’s virtue as best he could.

  Quietly, Michael opened the door to her room and moved inside. Though he doubted if she’d hidden a knife under her pillow the way he had, he whispered, ‘It’s Michael. Are you asleep?’

  ‘I was,’ Hannah replied, rolling over and blinking at him. ‘What is it?’

  He closed the door behind him, thankful to find that she was alone. Without another word, he crossed the room and lay down beside her in the bed.

  She wore a thin cotton nightgown, and her body was warm from sleep. A light fragrance of jasmine clung to her hair. Michael curled around her, holding her close.

  She didn’t ask for explanations, but softly ran her fingers over his arm. A reassuring touch, one that helped to calm his troubled spirits.

  ‘Stay with me tonight,’ she whispered.

  He kissed her temple in answer. Though his body was already responding to her nearness, he forced the desire away. Right now, he just wanted to sleep beside her.

  ‘You can tell me, you know,’ she whispered. ‘Whatever is bothering you.’

  ‘In the morning,’ he promised. ‘Right now, I’ve the need to hold you.’

  She rolled over on to her side, propping up her head on her hand. ‘Tell me.’

  He explained Mrs Turner’s confession, all the while finding an excuse to touch Hannah. He ran his fingers over her shoulder, down to the curve of her hip. ‘I hardly know what to do any more. The throne isn’t something I want.’

  Her hand came up to his face, and she pressed her lips to his in a soft kiss. ‘If Queen Astri is your true mother, she’ll want to know what happened to you.’ She pressed closer to him, stroking his spine. The gesture made him grow hard, and he fought to gain control over his body’s instincts.

  ‘They’re strangers to me,’ he admitted. ‘I know nothing of the way they live or how I should act.’

  ‘I’ll help you.’ Hannah ran her fingers through his hair. ‘I’ll come with you to the Schloss for a few days.’

  He pulled her on top of him, holding her close. The edges of her nightgown slid up around her legs, and when he reached down to correct the hem, he realised she was naked beneath it.

  His palms moved over her bare bottom, and his manhood swelled against the soft spot between her thighs. She tensed, and he felt the prickle of gooseflesh on her skin.

  ‘Michael,’ she breathed. It was neither a protest, nor an invitation. He sensed that she desired him, too, but was trying to resist him.

  He cupped her face, drawing her in for a kiss. His frustrations, his uncertain future, were making it impossible to think clearly. And right now, if she was willing, he wanted to forget.

  She kissed him back, her mouth warm and wet. He rocked her hips against his, and she shuddered at the contact. His palms squeezed her soft bottom, while his shaft strained to break free.

  ‘I want to be inside you,’ he murmured against her mouth, sliding his hands beneath her nightgown to cup her bare breasts. The fierce need burned inside him, and if she allowed it, he wanted nothing more than to turn her over and fill her body with his own.

  She stilled, and her hands captured his wrists, pulling them away. ‘Michael, no. I can’t.’ Hannah extricated herself from his embrace, and he noticed that her fingers were bare, unlike a few hours ago. She must have removed the wedding ring he’d given her.

  His desire was instantly replaced with wariness. ‘I didn’t come here to seduce you. I’m not going to force you into anything you don’t want.’

  She sat up and drew her nightgown over her knees. In the fragile garment, she looked like an
innocent maiden about to be sacrificed to a dragon.

  ‘I was wrong. I thought I could be your mistress.’ She gathered up the bed sheets like a shield.

  He took several deep breaths, feeling as though he were walking upon a precipice. ‘I told you. If there’s a child, I will provide for both of you.’

  She shook her head slowly. ‘We made the mistake once. Not again. If I bore a child, you would resent me.’

  He couldn’t understand what she meant. ‘I would never resent you.’

  ‘I thought that if we were together, even if I were nothing but your mistress, you might eventually want to marry me.’ She lowered her head. ‘It was a foolish thought. As the Crown Prince, there is no chance of it.’

  ‘I don’t live by the decisions of others.’

  She ignored him. ‘You could marry a Princess. Or a duchess. Anyone you please.’

  His anger ignited. ‘Do you think I give a damn about social status?’ He stood, his shadow falling over her. ‘Are you demanding that I marry you? Because I don’t think that’s what you really want.’

  His fury erupted. ‘You want a man with a title and several estates. You want a respectable name and separate bedrooms with an adjoining door. When you sit at your dinner table, you want a man at your side whom others admire. Not a man like me. A soldier, responsible for the deaths of hundreds of men.’

  She spoke not a word, and he realised he’d been hoping for her argument. He’d hoped she would deny it. But he suspected he’d been her temptation, a sinful indulgence that she didn’t want forever.

  ‘If I thought you wanted me, I’d find a minister right now,’ he murmured, sitting down. ‘I would make you a Princess. But you wouldn’t say yes, would you?’

  Because she knew where he came from. She knew who he truly was—a man from the streets.

  For the longest moment, Michael stared into her bleak face. Waiting for her to tell him he was wrong. Waiting for her to embrace him or offer words of reassurance.

  ‘No, I wouldn’t,’ she said at last. Her face was pale, but determined. ‘I’ll help you acclimate to the Schloss. And after that, I’m leaving for Germany.’

  The door closed behind Michael, and Hannah buried her face in the pillow, weeping hot tears. The wretched pain of forcing him to leave her was more than she could bear.

  His idle remark, that he’d make her a Princess, made her shudder. He didn’t know what it was like to live in a gilded cage, the way she did.

  Hannah understood exactly what it was to have her appearance inspected every few hours, her food selected based on what would keep her figure slender, and her life ordered to a stringent set of rules.

  For a Princess, it would be far worse.

  The hot tears caught up in her throat, for it had taken every bit of her willpower to hold firm on the decision. She had fallen in love with Michael Thorpe, but not once had he spoken of his feelings toward her. And the thought of living in a Schloss, hoping for a scrap of affection or a night in his arms, was too much to bear.

  She’d rather be the wife of a nobleman or a commoner. Someone who would let her have a taste of the freedom she’d never possessed.

  Michael’s life would be controlled by the strings of politics, his future no longer under his control. If he were the Crown Prince, he couldn’t avoid his fate.

  But she could.

  And though it broke her heart into a thousand pieces, she couldn’t endure life as a Princess unless he loved her back.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Though he was healing from his bullet wounds, the Graf von Reischor was still unable to walk. While Michael waited in the coach with Lady Hannah, the older man’s servants used a wheeled chair to push him into the Schloss.

  ‘Do you think he’ll manage an audience with the Queen?’ Hannah asked, watching as they disappeared inside.

  ‘I have no doubt of it.’

  ‘What about the royal guards? The Prince ordered us to leave the country. Surely, they won’t allow it.’

  ‘They haven’t seen us yet. For now, they believe the ambassador is paying his respects to the Queen.’

  They waited for nearly two hours before the Graf returned to the coach. The man looked exhausted, but satisfied. To Michael, he said, ‘I’ve arranged an audience. The King has agreed to meet with us, overruling Fürst Karl’s orders.’

  ‘What about the Queen?’ Hannah asked. ‘Will she see us?’

  The Graf nodded. ‘We will see her first, before our audience with the King. But we must be careful, because Her Majesty is confined to one of the towers. Visitors are rare, and I would caution you not to upset her.’

  Would the Queen be like Abigail Turner, with fleeting moments of clarity? Michael wondered. Or had she crossed past the point of rational behaviour?

  The Graf took assistance from the footmen, who helped him back into the chair. Michael adjusted his gloves, while his doubts and apprehensions rose higher.

  Hannah closed the door to the coach for a moment, keeping her voice low. ‘When you encounter anyone at the Schloss, do not allow them to touch you,’ she said. ‘Royalty may never be touched without permission to do so.’

  He gave a nod, trying to memorise her instructions.

  ‘Wait for a footman to ask permission to take your coat,’ she continued. ‘You must stand and allow him to take it off you.’

  He stared at her. ‘Do you mean to say I am not allowed to remove my own coat?’

  ‘Others will be responsible for dressing you and undressing you,’ she answered. ‘A valet will be assigned to you, and you must permit him to carry out his duties.’

  ‘As if I were nothing more than a child?’

  ‘No. Because it is your right to be waited on by others.’

  ‘What if I refuse?’

  ‘You mustn’t.’ She glanced back at the Schloss. ‘Already there will be those who doubt your right to be Prince.’ She took his hand and pleaded, ‘Trust what I say. It will be easier if you obey the rules that are expected.’

  He glanced down at their joined hands. Hannah tried to jerk her fingers back, but he held them in his grip. Beneath the glove, she still wasn’t wearing the ring he’d given her.

  ‘Should I tell them that you are my translator, my mistress or my wife?’ he demanded.

  For an infinite moment, she looked into his eyes as though he were crushing her heart. He’d expected a firm refusal, as well as a reminder that she would only stay for a few days. Clear green eyes watched him with an unnamed emotion.

  ‘Tell them whatever you want,’ she said.

  Why in God’s name couldn’t women simply state what they desired instead of hiding their true thoughts behind a set of good manners?

  A servant opened the door to the coach, and a chill swept over Michael at the thought of meeting the Queen. He disembarked and reached up to help Hannah down.

  ‘Don’t do that again,’ she murmured. ‘You’re royalty. Let a footman help me down.’

  He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Did she expect him to behave as though he owned the earth and everyone else was privileged to be in his presence? From the way she followed, a discreet distance behind him, it seemed that was exactly the case.

  Servants carried the Graf up two flights of stairs, to a private drawing room within one of the towers while they followed behind. When Michael waited for Hannah, she shook her head. ‘This is your audience, not mine. I will await you here.’ She pointed to a wooden high-backed chair.

  ‘Do as you please.’ He turned his back on her, unable to conceal his anger. What was the matter with her? He couldn’t understand why she was behaving like his subject instead of his equal.

  Before he could think upon it further, he was led into a private room. The Graf’s men seated him in a chair, and the ambassador was pale from overexertion.

  ‘Lieutenant Thorpe.’ The Graf struggled to rise to his feet. ‘May I present to you Her Majesty, Queen Astri of Lohenberg?’

  At the Graf’s bidding, t
he servant opened another door, leading to a room Michael hadn’t noticed before. After a moment, he moved forward without making a sound.

  A woman was seated, staring out the window. Iron bars had been fastened in front of them, and a lady-in-waiting sat nearby, embroidering the hem of a gown.

  Michael didn’t know what to say. He’d never been in the presence of a queen before, much less one who was possibly his true mother. In the end, he knocked softly upon the door frame.

  ‘Your Majesty…’ he began.

  Her head turned at the sound of his voice. When she saw him, her hands began to shake. Her eyes welled up, and she pointed to him.

  ‘Come closer,’ she murmured. And he saw that she was not at all mad. Her hazel eyes were the same as his own, and he saw similarities between their facial features.

  ‘Graf von Reischor told me that he’d found you. I didn’t believe him.’ She beckoned for him to draw nearer, and Michael forced himself to come and sit beside her.

  The Queen’s dark hair held no traces of grey. It was braided and wound into an elaborate coiffeur, adorned with jewelled hairpins. She wore a black moiré gown trimmed with black velvet.

  ‘They told me I was mad, when I said that the boy they gave me was not my son. No one would believe me.’ She stared at him. ‘You look a great deal like the child I lost. Are you he?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ But something about the Queen’s voice, the soft tones of it, was familiar. ‘I thought I was Michael Thorpe. I don’t remember anything about this country or anyone else.’

  She reached out to him. ‘May I?’ He gave a nod and she touched his cheek, studying his face closer. ‘How did you end up in London?’

  ‘Abigail Turner claimed she took me away, when men were trying to kill her husband. She hid me in London these past twenty-three years.’