The Rebel King

Chapter 14

He watched her come awake, and was steeped in the same sense of wonder with which he'd once observed, as a very small boy. the emergence of a butterfly from its leafy chrysalis. First, the delicate flutter of eyelids…a hint of green sparkling through dark lashes…a tiny frown gathered between bird's-wing brows…the quivering of rose-petal lips on the verge of a yawn…and once again, as then, he couldn't resist reaching out to touch the miracle with an unsteady finger.

She twitched her nose…brushed at her cheek where he'd touched it. Then her eyes opened and looked directly into his. and he thought no sunrise had ever been so beautiful.

"Whazza matter?" she mumbled, her eyes crossing slightly in their effort to focus on his face. "What're you doing?"

"Just looking at you, my love," he said tenderly, stroking her hair back from her forehead. "Watching you sleep."

She rolled her eyes and gave a husky laugh. "Oh, that must have been lovely."

"It was, actually. I was going to do the whole Prince Charming thing and awaken you with my kiss, but you seemed about to return to life without it, so I've enjoyed watching the process. Quite fascinating."

"Oh, God…" She put a hand over her eyes, then scrubbed it across her face and glared at him-or tried her best to. "At least you didn't handcuff me to the bed this time." But he could see the smile and the answer to his deepest wishes shimmering in her eyes.

"Never again," he whispered, and leaned down to kiss her. Then he drew back and added thoughtfully. "Not without your permission, at least."

"Seriously…how come you're all dressed already?" Too early in the morning for humor, evidently. She frowned, yawned hugely as she pushed herself up higher on the pillows, then winced and sucked in her chest when the sheet dragged across her burns. "I must look like bloody hell. Feels like I haven't showered in days. Can't imagine what you must be thinking…"

Smiling at her grumpiness, he hooked a finger in the sheet and lifted it away from her breasts. "Actually, I was thinking how very much I should like to see your face on my pillows every morning when I wake up."

Yes, and I should love to see your face grow rosy and your body plump with my child. I want to watch our sons and daughters suckling at your lovely breasts. I want to watch the joys and sorrows we share etch lines in your face, my love, and your skin grow ever softer, morefragile andeven more beautiful in old age.

Those things he thought but didn't say. And because he was too steeped in love and his own fantasy, he failed to notice that Rhia's eyes had gone wide and dark with dismay.

"Marry me, sweetheart." The words slipped from him without thought. He didn't feel them pass his lips; it was as if they had simply gone straight from his heart into the air.

And her response came back the same way-a recoil that pierced him like an arrow. "What?"

Too soon, you imbecile! But that realization came too late: the words were out there, hanging suspended between them, and could not be unsaid.

"Yes. Marry me." Nothing to do now but forge ahead. Leaning casually on one elbow to hide the crazy pounding of his heart, he looked into her horrified eyes and smiled. "You must know I adore you-I've hardly made a secret of that. I intend to spend the rest of my life with you, anyhow, and quite frankly. I can't think of any reason why we couldn't…shouldn't make it legal."

"Oh, I can think of at least one really good one." Her voice was dark and soft.

"You don't love me…" He was sure enough of her feelings to say the words, but they quivered in his throat regardless. "Is that it, sweetheart?" He lightly stroked the soft white un-dercurve of her breast with the back of one finger.

"No!" She batted his hand away…hitched in a breath. "You know that's not…it." Another breath, and she gathered the sheet to cover her nakedness again. "You're about to become king. Or have you forgotten? You can't marry me."

"Why not?" He sat up suddenly, and swiveled to face her. "Oh, wait-don't tell me it's because you're a 'commoner'? Good God, woman, this is the twenty-first century-didn't that crap get done away with somewhere along in the twentieth? Besides, if you come down to it, I'm a commoner myself, in everything but blood. No, love-sorry, that excuse won't wash. The people of Silvershire are going to fall for you as madly as I have. They're going to think you're an absolutely smashing queen."

She stared back at him in stony-eyed silence for a moment. Then swallowed, and said in a voice to match her eyes. "Yes. I'm sure the good people of Silvershire would be positively thrilled to have a convicted felon as their queen."

He shook his head and gazed at her indulgently, laughing. "What on earth are you talking about?"

"I told you, but you didn't believe me. If you had-"

"Told me what? When? You mean, about your juvenile record? Don't they seal those?"

"No. Not that. Back at the castle. When I was picking the lock. I told you I used to be a burglar, but you just laughed."

"Now, wait a minute-"

"See? You're doing it again. Maybe if you'd taken me seriously the first time, you wouldn't be entertaining crazy ideas about something that just ain't-gonna-happen." She was scrambling off the bed. still clutching the sheet. He could feel her body trembling as she slid past him.

"Okay, hold it right there." He shook his head again, no longer feeling the least bit like laughing. "Good God-I think you are serious. Do you mean to tell me you actually were a burglar? Convicted? As in…jail?"

She nodded, chin lifted, arms folded across the wadded-up sheet she was holding to her chest.

"Does Lazlo know? Okay-foolish question-of course he'd know-he knows everything."

Her mouth tilted wryly. "Where do you think he found me? I don't know how, but he got me released-paroled into his custody, actually. He convinced me there were better uses for my talents than stealing rich people's jewelry…made me clean up my act, get healthy, get in shape. Sent me to college, trained me, gave me a job-one I happen to love, by the way. One I…don't want to lose."

She watched his face change as it hit him. The pain.

Though none of it showed in his voice as he said softly, almost gently. "That's it, isn't it? Not that I can't marry you. It's that you don't want to marry me."

"Not you! Don't you understand? I don't want to marry a king." She paced angrily, dragging the sheet like an oversized toga, furious with him for being hurt, with herself for hurting him. and with him again for making it necessary, for bringing up the subject she'd been dreading, tiying so hard not to think about. "Look-to you, being king is a simple matter of obligation. Of duty. Not to mention the opportunity to fulfill your lifelong dream for your people. But for me…my God, Nik-" she whirled, trembling, to face him "-the idea of being queen, being married to a king-it would be like being trapped. Put in a cage. I know what royals' lives are like- I've seen it firsthand, in my job. They're on, all the time. They have no privacy, no personal freedom. I couldn't live like that. I'm sorry, I just couldn't." She gave a desperate, hiccupping laugh. "And, I know the romantic thing is supposed to be, all for love, right? Well, I've seen how that works out firsthand, too. Up close and personal. My mother gave up everything to marry my father, and look what happened. She was miserable. In the end, she messed up both her life and mine. It doesn't work, Nikolas!"

He'd watched her diatribe in patient silence, with set expression and glittering eyes. Now, he lifted one shoulder and said stonily. "Then I won't be king."

She gave another helpless, hurting laugh and stared past him for a few moments, fighting for control. When she was sure she had it, she drew a breath and said in a low, husky voice, "Yes. you will. You know you will. You have a duty to your country, your father… may be even to destiny." She laughed again, lightly, this time. "You'll go down in history. Nikolas…the father of Silvershire's democracy. Future generations of schoolchildren will be required to memorize your birthday."

"Rubbish." Nikolas snapped, then got restlessly to his feet. "Okay, you're right. I suppose I'll have to be king, but not forever. Just long enough to bring about free elections. Then my duty's done. I'll be free-"

"Elections? Free? Are you kidding me? In any election you'd win in a landslide. With your charisma, King Weston's long-lost son, the kidnapped prince? If you didn't run, they'd write you in. Probably proclaim you king by acclamation!"

"Okay, fine-" he folded his arms on his impressive chest and drew himself up to his equally impressive height "-if I'm the king, I can bloody well choose who I want to be my queen."

"Listen to you!" She threw up her hands in exasperation, then had to grab hastily for the sheet. "My God, you sound like a king already!"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It's all about power, Nikolas. When men have power, they think they can have everything their way. Just like my father."

"Oh, okay-that's what this is all about, isn't it?" It was his turn to throw up his arms. "Your father. You're still mad at the jerk for taking you away from your mother. Well, let me ask you something, sweetheart. Where do you think you'd be, if he hadn't done that? If you'd stayed in that trailer park with your mum-what would you be doing right now? Working as a cocktail waitress, playing blues in some New Orleans pub? Do you think you'd have gone to college? Would you be working for the Lazlo Group? How many abducted kids do you think you'd have saved? Would you have met me?"

She could only stare at him, holding herself rigid while furious unreasoning tears gathered in her throat.

"Think about it." He reached out to brush her cheek with the backs of his fingers. "Ask yourself if you like your life the way it's turned out. Then, ask yourself if you'd have anything you have now if your father hadn't come for you and taken you back to Florida. Ask yourself if you'd have anything different, if you could go back and change it. Think about how mad you are at your father for giving you this life." He let his hand drop away from her. and his voice hardened. "Think about it, Rhia. Then get over it."

She gave a gasp of rage, whirled and made for the bathroom-an exit that would probably have been much more satisfying if she hadn't first had to untangle her legs from the sheet.

In the sanctuary of the bathroom, she gripped the edge of the sink and leaned on her hands, staring blindly down at them and breathing hard, teeth clenched. Refusing to let the tears come. Thinking, I'm right, dammit-I know I'm right!

While hovering anxiously over her, another Rhia-a heartbroken Rhia-was wailing. What are you doing, you silly fool? The last thing you wanted to do this morning-the last thing you 'd ever want to do-is fight with Nikolas!

The angry Rhia, self-righteous Rhia, turned her back on the sink and the mirror and squeezed her eyes tightly shut. Dammit, Nikolas. Damn you. Why did you have to go and ruin things? Why did you have to ask me to marry you?

I can't…just can't. I don't want to be a queen. It would never work, no matter how much I love you.

With that thought the heartbroken Rhia and the angry Rhia coalesced into one, with a shaft of pain so intense it doubled her over. Oh, Nikolas, I do love you. I do… She rocked herself, arms folded over her breasts like broken wings, heedless of her unhealed burns, refusing to allow herself the solace of tears. Maybe it's just as well. Yes-it's good this happened now, while I'm still strong enough to say no.

She sniffed, and slowly, experimentally, unfolded herself. Discovering that she felt stronger, quieter inside, she washed her face and dressed in the clothes she'd worn the day before and washed out last night in Nikolas's sink. Except for the bra-no way could she wear that. She'd have to do without. The pullover was still damp, but the coolness felt good on her burns.

When she opened the door, Nikolas was just disconnecting the telephone. He glanced at her and said, in a voice as neutral as his expression. "I've summoned a cab. Rang Elliot on his handy, as well-he's warming up the chopper. All right with you if we grab coffee and a bite at the airport?"

"Sure, that's fine. Coffee's all I want, anyway." She wasn't hungry. Nikolas had fed her well the night before…in more ways than one. But the memories that tried to sneak into her mind through that door were too fresh, too raw. and she slammed it firmly shut on the beginning ripples of pain.

She picked up her utility belt, which, along with her leather jacket, she'd left draped across a chair. She buckled it on over her pullover, then reached for her jacket. Taking a nine-millimeter Walther from the holster built into the jacket's lining, she proceeded to check the weapon over thoroughly and with the efficiency of long practice. She'd asked Elliot to get her a weapon, and he'd given her his own backup piece. It was a little lighter than she was used to. but it would do the job.

She slapped the magazine back into place and looked up to find Nikolas watching her. eyes darkly intent. A sardonic little smile tugged at the corners of her mouth as she imagined the staiggle being waged behind his carefully controlled features. She knew what he was thinking…what he wanted to ask her…

You're going to visit a palace, Rhee-the royal palace, home of kings, the most beautiful and elegant building in all of Silvershire, one of the most beautiful in the world-and you're wearing that?

But he didn't ask it. Probably he'd already realized what it meant even to think it, and stopped himself in time.

Instead, he nodded at the gun and said mildly. "Do you think they'll let you take that into the palace?"

On that safe ground, she allowed her smile to bloom into full irony. "Nik, I have a permit and my Lazlo Group credentials. With those I could probably take a weapon into Buckingham Palace."

He said nothing, only nodded. She felt his gaze following her every move as she returned the gun to its holster, picked up the jacket and slipped it on…shrugged it into a more comfortable fit on her shoulders and tugged down the sleeves. Thus armored, she looked up at last and met those hooded, pain-filled eyes.

"This is who I am," she said softly.

From the street below came the beep of the taxicab's horn, saving him the necessity of a reply.

Rhia's reaction to her first glimpse of the royal palace was everything Nikolas could have hoped for. One word that pretty much said it all:

"Wow."

He smiled wryly and didn't reply, but the words gilded cage slipped unbidden into his mind as the car swept up the long drive toward the sentry boxes at the main front gates.

Beyond the heavy wrought-iron gates and the concrete security barriers, he could see the graceful stone spires of the palace outlined against a clear blue autumn sky, the yellow painted walls gleaming like gold in the morning sun. He'd been to the palace-the public part of it-more than once, the first time as a very small child, brought there by his "uncle" Silas Donovan to see where the man who'd murdered his parents lived. He'd tried, then and on each subsequent visit, to feel the anger and disdain he knew his uncle expected, but deep inside, even as a child he'd thought it must surely be the most beautiful place in the world. Now, for the first time in his life he allowed his throat to swell with a lump of pride.

The unmarked limousine that had brought them from the airport had tinted windows, an amenity Nikolas was profoundly thankful for when he saw the reporters and paparazzi staked out along both sides of the drive.

"Do you suppose it's always like this? The media. I mean?" Rhia had torn her gaze from the palace to look at them. too.

"I have an idea there are always a few lurking about. With all that's happened in and around the palace lately, though, it's probably to be expected there'd be a crowd."

"Especially since the rumors broke about the existence of a long-lost prince." Rhia said drily. "Good thing they can't see who's in here. We'd probably have a riot on our hands."

"Oh, come now." Nikolas said, laughing uneasily. "I think you're exaggerating my popular appeal. Not so very long ago, they were sure I was guilty of murdering the crown prince."

"And, now they know you're not. Care to put your 'popular appeal' to the test?" Even in the shadowed car, he could see her kitty-cat smile. "Go ahead-stop the car, get out and introduce yourself."

He snorted and said, "No thanks." But deep inside he felt a small shudder, and the same voice that had spoken of gilded cages now whispered. Are you sure you're ready for this?

He'd thought he was ready…had even looked forward to the challenges of running a country. That had been when he'd let himself dream that he'd be doing so with Rhia at his side. Now… He'd do it. of course, because it was his duty. His country needed him. But it loomed as a lonely and daunting task.

As soon as the limo had cleared the security checkpoint. Rhia ran her window down-partly so she could gawk unhindered as the car wound its way through the magnificent grounds, but also because she was finding Nikolas's silence oppressive. She knew the silence probably had nothing to do with the fact they'd quarreled; Nikolas wasn't the type of man to sulk. She had an idea it was finally beginning to hit him-the enormity of what had happened to him, and the changes that were coming. And the overwhelming responsibility. But still…the silence, the tight, thin line of his mouth, the muscle working in his jaw…were all reminders to her of the way she'd hurt him. like a toothache that wouldn't go away.

The limousine prowled past the palace's magnificent formal entrance, with its three-tiered sweep of gleaming marble steps leading up to the wide double doors that had been hand-carved from ebony and inlaid with silver and ivory, and the grand balcony above from which generations of Silvershire's monarchs had greeted their loyal subjects. Rhia would have liked to have taken a tour of the great halls and public rooms she'd heard so much about, but that would have to wait for another day. A day when there was no longer a madman on the loose. A madman with a chilling ability, it seemed, to enter and leave the most secure parts of the palace at will. She wasn't here as a tourist, she reminded herself, or even as a friend of the prodigal prince. She was here as an agent of the Lazlo Group, the most exclusive and highly regarded private security organization in the world. And her job was to catch a killer-before he killed again.

After what seemed to Nikolas enough twists and turns to have brought them back to where they'd started, the limo slipped beneath a beautiful stone portico and rolled to a stop in front of the entrance to the royal family's private wing. Standing at parade rest on either side of the doors were a matched set of uniformed guards armed with two-way radios and automatic rifles. As the limo driver got out to open the door, a fit-looking silver-haired man in a dark gray business suit with the royal crest emblazoned on the jacket pocket came briskly down the shallow steps to meet them. He took Rhia's hand to help her from the car, then stood stiffly at attention as Nikolas followed.

"Maximillian, chief of palace security, at your service, sir," the man said, addressing the air to the right of Nikolas's ear.

Nikolas held out his hand. "Hi-I'm Nik Donovan, and this is Agent Rhia de Hayes."

There was a sound that may have been smothered laughter from the limo driver, then a moment of startled silence before Maximillian. looking faintly bemused, took Nikolas's hand, bowed over it with a muttered. "Your Highness." When he looked up, his eyes met Nikolas's and his lips twitched into a smile. "Welcome home, sir. His Majesty is waiting for you in the Bourbon Rose Garden. I can take you there now, if you wish. Or." he added, with a pointed look at Rhia's militant black leather, "to your quarters, if you would prefer to, er… freshen up first."

"We'll see the king straight away, if you don't mind," Nikolas said with what he hoped was an absolutely blank face. still trying to get over the shock of hearing himself addressed as "Your Highness." Taking Rhia's arm. he met her mutinous look with an elevated eyebrow, and she snapped her mouth shut on whatever indignant retort she'd been about to make.

"Bourbon roses? Did I hear that right?" she said in a stage whisper out of the side of her mouth as they followed Maximillian through elegantly appointed rooms with high ceilings and walls covered with gleaming carved wood paneling or murals painted in soft pastels.

Nikolas smiled. "I doubt that means what you're thinking, love."

Maximillian had heard the exchange, and answered over his shoulder in the chatty but rather formal manner of a docent. "Bourbon roses are named for their place of origin, not the alcoholic beverage, Agent de Hayes. They were developed on the He Bourbon, an island in the Indian Ocean now known as Reunion. They're quite old-from early in the nineteenth century, I believe." He paused to unhook a velvet-covered chain barrier and waved them through, then followed, replacing it behind him. "The palace's rose garden originated in the 1860s, when Bourbons had become quite the thing in Paris."

"This is the first I've heard of it," Nikolas said. "I gather it's not part of the public tour?"

"No, Your Highness. In the first place, it is located in the oldest part of the palace, which, although having undergone some renovation in recent years, is still not considered safe. A regular maze, dark and confusing passages…not quite the place you'd want tourists wandering about. Then, there's the fact that His Majesty likes to spend time there." He paused again, this time to throw Nikolas a look of apology. "Since the queen passed, God rest her soul, he's the only one who does. It's been let go a bit. I'm afraid."

The security chief had been leading them at a brisk pace through increasingly dim and dusty corridors festooned with cobwebs and rank with the smell of damp and decay. Now, he preceded them down a short flight of stone steps to a small vestibule, where a thick and ancient wooden door stood open to the courtyard beyond. Here, too, a pair of uniformed guards equipped with two-way radios and automatic weapons stood at ease in the rectangle of brilliant autumn sunshine, and snapped to attention when they heard footsteps on the vestibule's stone floor. They saluted the captain, flashed curious surreptitious glances at Rhia as they bowed to Nikolas, then stepped aside to let them pass.

The first thing Rhia noticed was the smell. Not roses, which she'd expected-something darker, earthier, more mysterious.,.but to her every bit as sweet. So sweet, and so achingly, wrenchingly familiar it brought a soft gasp to her lips and an unexpected stinging to her eyes. For the second time in the past week she found herself inundated with memories of her childhood, of the bayous…of slow-moving water and thick black mud…of rotting leaves and moss and all manner of growing things. It must be the river-the Kairn, she thought. Silvershire's largest and most important river, which she knew flowed right through the heart of the capital city. Quite nearby, too, perhaps just beyond the thick courtyard walls. But even standing in that sunlit rose garden, she felt that if she only closed her eyes she would feel the soft humidity on her skin… hear the frogs and cicadas singing their shrill duets…see fireflies winking against the blackness of her eyelids.

The pressure of Nikolas's fingers on her arm as he guided her around the arched and swaying branch of a gigantic climbing rosebush dragged her out of the past, back to the present. And it hit her then-the tiling he'd tried in his own way to tell her earlier that morning. The bayous were her past. This-old roses in a palace courtyard…the familiar weight of a nine-millimeter handgun against her side…Nikolas, close to her…touching her, holding her hand-this was her now. Like the river beyond the walls, her life flowed on…always and only onward; it could never go back. And childhood had been left behind long ago.

The ache in her throat felt like a whispered good-bye.

King Weston was waiting for them at the far end of the courtyard, in a shaded alcove created by two stone arches and a tangle of nearly leafless rose canes. Beneath the thicket of canes, two carved stone benches had been placed facing each other. The benches were thickly upholstered with leaves and the fallen petals of a scattering of autumn blooms, evidence the king had not been making use of them before they arrived. As he came to greet them, leaning only slightly on an ivory-handled ebony cane, the bouquet of densely petaled blossoms in his hand-and several more spilling from the pockets of his jacket-gave a hint as to how he'd been occupying his time.

As before, Rhia found herself hanging back to observe the reunion between royal father and son, keeping a distance-a physical one, at least. Impossible, though, not to feel the pressure of colliding, conflicting emotions as she watched the two men greet each other with a typically awkward masculine embrace. Impossible not to feel her heart flutter when both men turned to her wearing the same unbelievably appealing smile. Impossible not to feel shivers all through her body-shivers of love-when she thought how beautiful Nikolas was. and how good. Yes-he was a good man. He would be a good king, too. Like his father, good to the core.

Unlike her father.

…I'm bloody well not like your father.

"Rhia, my dear!" King Weston held out his arms, cane in one hand, roses in the other, and to her utter astonishment- and Nikolas's obvious amusement-embraced her and kissed her soundly on one cheek. "So very sorry to hear about your injuries." the king said, drawing back to study her with a concerned frown. "I trust you'll heal quickly, my dear. That blackguard Perthegon must be caught! And soon-before he does any more harm."

"Yes, uh, sire-er. Your Majesty…" Damn. She was all but stammering. She took a breath and felt the calming press of the Walther against her ribs. "We're doing our best."

"Yes," the king said, with a wry and glittering look at Nikolas. "I expect you are-and everyone else as well. I feel as if I'm a prisoner in my own home-a prisoner on…what do they call it? Huh-lockdown. I believe. Yes. Anyway, I came out here to get away from it all. For a breath of freedom. And fresh air." He waved the rose bouquet in a sweeping gesture. "How do you like my rose garden?"

Rhia coughed. "Uh…it's…beautiful."

King Weston laughed. "You lie rather badly, my dear. It's a neglected mess." His eyes creased in a squint of sadness as he gazed around him. "This was the queen's favorite spot, you see. After she died, I'm afraid I let it go to ruin. Lately, I've begun to think about putting it right again. This one here-" he held up a blossom of rich rose-pink, sniffed it, then pointed it at the tangle of canes overhead "-was her favorite. Zepherine Drouhin, it's called. It has no thorns, you see. That's why she liked it-she loved roses, but was always pricking herself on the thorns." He touched the blossom to his lips, and to Rhia's complete bemusement. presented the rest of the bouquet to her. "These are for you, my dear. Welcome to the palace.

"And now," he said, taking Rhia's arm and turning to walk a few slow steps back toward the vestibule. "I expect you'd like to see the rest of the place."

"Uh, yes," she said, clearing her throat in a valiant effort to pull herself out of the Disney movie she seemed to have wandered into. "As a matter of fact, I'd like to go over security arrangements-"

The king waggled his cane. "No need for that. Between my own palace guard and the extra security forces Corbett Lazlo has provided, everything has been well taken care of. I assure you. We are all safe here."

Safe as a babe in his mother's arms? Rhia glanced at Nikolas and suppressed a shiver. His gray eyes were glittering as he looked back at her, and she wondered if he'd had the same thought.

"Forgive me," he said, in a tone that was probably a bit more abrupt than should have been used to address a king, "but Vladimir-Lord…Vladimir-has gotten into the palace before."

King Weston nodded. "Through the old tunnels, yes. But that's all been taken care of now. The tunnels have been closed off or filled in. At any rate." he said firmly, drawing himself up and gesturing again with his cane, as if it were an eraser, "you, my dear girl, are here as my guest, not my bodyguard. Nikolas-have Max get someone to give her the grand tour, won't you? And show you to your rooms. Then later on I should like it very much if you would both join me for dinner in my chambers."

Rhia could actually feel herself blushing. "Oh-but… Your Majesty…I'm not-I'm honored, but…I didn't exactly…" Oh God, and stammering, again, too. She didn't dare look at Nikolas; if he was grinning, she'd have no choice but to kill him. I can't believe this, she thought. I can't believe I'm going to say it… "Your Majesty, I'm sorry, but I don't have anything to wear!"

King Weston halted and turned to her with smiling eyes. "Quite frankly, I think you look smashing just as you are." He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it. "However, I do know all women like to dress up, put on fancy things now and then. Don't worry, Miss de Hayes. I shall see to it that you have something to wear."

He turned to Nikolas and clasped his hand. His voice seemed to deepen and grow husky. "My boy. I'm glad you're here at last I shall look forward to our visit this evening-perhaps we can begin to get to know one another. I'll send someone to escort you to my chambers-shall we say…five o'clock?"

Nikolas murmured. "Yes, of course. That will be fine."

The king waved them on, then pivoted and returned to his roses.

"Will someone please just kill me now?" Rhia ground out between clenched teeth, as she and Nikolas made their way back across the courtyard. "Could I possibly be more embarrassed? And don't you dare laugh, or I swear I will kill you."

"I'm not laughing." Nikolas insisted, while doing exactly that. Then he shrugged, and the grin faded. "I'm not even going to claim credit for 'I told you so.' because I didn't."

"No, but you thought it. God, I hate it when you're right…" They were almost to the vestibule. She caught his arm to stop him and whispered. "Nik-am I insane, or did the king-your father-just flirt with me?"

"Oh, you're not insane," he said drily. "Although I may be-with jealousy."

She shot him a sideways look, pretending disgust. "Now I know where you get it from. You can't help it-it's in your genes."