The Rebel King

Epilogue

Royal Palace, Silvershire, one month later

Do stop checking your tiara, my love."

His Majesty, Nikolas the First, newly crowned King of Silvershire, spoke to his wife of three weeks and queen of scarcely three hours out of one side of his mouth as they made their way slowly along the royal purple caipet that stretched the entire length of the great reception hall, smiling, nodding and waving at the glittering crowd of specially invited guests. "I've been assured that it is firmly attached. It's not going to come loose and tumble over one eye. And if it does," he added tenderly, patting the gloved fingers curved around the crook of his elbow, "heads will most certainly roll."

"Don't joke," Rhia snapped. "I can't believe I let you talk me into wearing it."

"I'm rather surprised about that, myself, actually. I imagine the chief of protocol was greatly relieved, and I know the citizens of Silvershire-your loyal subjects-loved it."

"I didn't do it for them." she muttered darkly behind a rigid smile. "I did it for you and nobody else. This is our first public appearance together. I didn't want you to be ashamed of me."

The king's chest fluttered with emotions he was still trying to get used to as he let his gaze rest briefly on his bride…his queen. Sometimes the miracle of her was almost more than he could bear, especially when he thought how near he'd come to losing her. It had only been a month since Vladimir's bullet had ripped into her chest, collapsing her lung and narrowly missing an artery. And scarcely three weeks since he'd married her in a small-very small, very private-ceremony in the newly renovated royal suite in the palace's medical facility. Only Lady Zara, Lord Shaw and King Weston had been present as witnesses. Lord Russell Carrington, in his capacity as regent and acting head of state, had performed the ceremony. Immediately afterward, Nikolas had taken his wife off to the south of France for rest, recuperation and TLC. Lots of TLC. Which seemed to have done the trick, he was pleased to note. The vibrant color had returned to her cheeks, and the kitty-cat glow to her eyes.

"I'm touched, my darling, but there is no way on earth you could possibly shame me. I'm insanely proud of you, you know. Not to mention madly in love."

"Yes, well…just wait until the paparazzi catch me climbing up someone's balcony-oh, look, there's Zara and Walker. I haven't seen them since we got back from Provence. We really must invite them over for dinner soon, Nik."

"Don't try to distract me, minx. If you think I'm going to let that outrageous remark go by…" He aimed a kingly smile over her head, while his eyes burned down at her from under his lashes with a husband's stern authority. "There will be no more balcony-climbing for you. Not for the next several months, at least. The doctor said-"

She gave a soft gasp. "Hush! Don't you dare tell anyone. Not yet. You know I want to keep it secret, at least for the first few months. I hate it when people start counting the months."

"They'll do that anyway, you know. And if you intend to keep our secret, you're going to have to do something about that glow…"

They reached the end of the reception line at last. The orchestra struck up a waltz, the carpet was rolled up and carried away. Nikolas turned to Rhia and bowed over her hand.

"My queen…my dearest love…may I have this dance?"

Her heart fluttered and tears pricked-she was still a little weak from her injuries, she supposed. But to be truthful, in spite of her griping and grumbling-which they both knew was all for show-as she allowed herself to be swept away in her husband's arms, she felt as though she were waltzing on clouds.

How did this happen? How did I get so lucky? Look at them-all the crowned heads and dignitaries of the entire world-watching me-me!-dance with the most beautiful, wondeiful man in the world, and all of them-the women, at least-envying me in their hearts…

And then, in that glittering sea of faces…one jumped out at her. Familiar. Impossible.

A shaft of cold stabbed through her. She gasped…stumbled. Nikolas's arms tightened around her, and his concerned whisper touched her ear. "What is it? Are you in pain?"

"I-no. No. I'm fine. I just…thought I saw…someone. Never mind." Impossible.

The waltz ended and another began. Nikolas tucked her hand in the bend of his arm and led her to the sidelines, as behind them other couples began to drift out onto the dance floor. They moved together through the throng, accepting congratulations and well wishes, greeting friends and dignitaries…until Rhia suddenly halted, her fingers tightening on Nikolas's arm.

"Nik, who is that man-the silver-haired one talking to King Weston? I can't tell who it is, from the back, but I feel as if I should know him." Her voice was breathless. The still-healing surgical scar on her chest tingled and burned like fire.

"Let's go and see," her husband said, in an expressionless voice that was a dead giveaway in itself.

But she let him lead her through the crowd anyway, her feet moving of their own volition, it seemed. Her heartbeat pounded mercilessly against her aching chest.

And then…the man turned. The shaft of ice stabbed through her again, then melted instantly in the heat of fury "Bloody hell. What's he doing here?" she hissed, turning her face to Nikolas's shoulder. "Who invited him?"

"I did," he said, smiling crookedly and lifting an eyebrow as he looked down at her. "I know you're angry, dearest, but I also know you will forgive me, in time." His eyes softened, and the smile faded. He lifted her hand to his lips. "My wedding gift to you, my love. You gave me back my father. Now, I return the favor."

He turned, keeping a firm hand on her elbow, to greet King Weston and his companion.

The tall, tanned, silver-haired man shifted his flute of champagne hastily to his other hand in order to shake the one Nikolas offered him, but his vivid green eyes came right back to Rhia. He looked slightly dazed, and, to her utter amazement, uncertain as he shook his head and said wryly. "Well, Rhee, looks like you've grown up a bit since I saw you last."

She drew an uneven breath. She could feel her husband's hand, strong and steady on her elbow, feel his warmth and love all around her…enfolding her. She could hear his words, telling her what she'd needed for so long to hear. She took another breath, and felt the tension inside her ease.

"Hello, Dad," she said, and walked into her father's arms.

University Medical Center, Silverton

Zara, Duchess of Perthegon, and her husband, Lord Walker Shaw, stepped past the security guards at the door and advanced into the room on tiptoe, eyes shining, faces wreathed in smiles. Dr. Shaw shook Nikolas's hand while Zara, being a creature of tradition, dropped him a quick curtsey before she bent to kiss Rhia's cheek.

"Dear, you look absolutely beautiful. And so does this little angel." Her voice had dropped to a whisper in deference to the newborn princess sleeping soundly in her father's arms.

"She is beautiful, isn't she?" Rhia hadn't been able to take her eyes off of her daughter from the first moment she'd laid eyes on her. "I think she looks like her daddy, don't you?"

"Oh, no," said the King of Silvershire, gazing down at his daughter with a besotted grin. "She's absolutely the image of her mother-thank God."

"I don't think I've ever seen so many flowers." Zara said, gazing around at the room, which had begun to look more like a hothouse than a hospital room. "Who are they all from?"

"Oh, everyone-those over there are from Prince Charles and the Duchess…that obscenely huge one is from my father, naturally." Rhia rolled her eyes. "He seems to think money spent equals love."

"For some people, it does." Dr. Shaw remarked.

"Well…anyway. Those little pink rosebuds are from Chase and Sydney-they were here earlier. Sydney's baby is beautiful, too, isn't she?"

Zara nodded. "We saw them as were coming in. Yes, she's just adorable. Whatever else you can say about Reginald, he was a very handsome man."

Her husband gave a warning cough. Rhia rushed on. "Oh-and these right here are from Russell and Amelia-oops, I mean. Their Royal Majesties, the King and Queen of Gastonia." She grimaced apologetically; she was still getting used to the protocol of titles. "They're coming for the christening, by the way."

"Did you check the bouquet for rubber snakes?" Zara asked tartly, and her husband chuckled.

"She's still ticked because Lord Carrington got her with a water balloon the last time he was here. Personally, I think it's great that even a king can have an inner child."

"Well." Zara said, touching a finger to the sleeping baby's downy head, "we'll leave you three alone-we just stopped by to say hello and greet the new arrival. We're on our way to the opening of the Alzheimer's and Dementia Center at Perth Castle. King Weston is supposed to cut the ribbon. I hope-"

Nikolas nodded. "He's been here already. Stopped by on his way to the ceremony as well."

"Oh, good. Okay, then, I guess we'll see you at the christening." Zara dipped another curtsey as she turned to go, then paused in the doorway. "Speaking of which, have you two decided on a name yet?"

Rhia and Nikolas looked at each other. Nikolas nodded.

"Yes, we have," Rhia said, drawing a breath that quivered with happiness. "It's…Sarah."

Zara looked startled for a moment, then brightened. "Oh-Sarah. That's lovely. Is it for anyone in particular?"

Rhia looked into her husband's eyes and smiled. "For serendipity," she whispered.