CHAPTER TWELVE

C RISTHIAN KEPT EXPECTING the fury to fade, but it didn’t. It just...flipped. Because as angry as he was at the woman Zia was, the real, enduring anger was at himself.

He’d mishandled everything that day with the doctor. And then spent the next two days allowing her to ignore and avoid him while he arranged all the plans that he knew were right.

He didn’t need her to agree to know they were right, and he was hardly going to scrape and beg to get her to see his way of things. Married parents, living together under the same roof: this was what his children deserved, and nothing could change that.

That was why he had used considerable money and influence to get all the roads from airport to castle cleared. That was why he’d flown in staff from his home base estate in Spain. That was why Zia’s family was on their way to the cottage and would arrive at any moment.

Tomorrow, they were going to have a royal wedding. No matter who approved. Even his bride.

Once that was out of the way, a paternity test situated, they would bring in the lawyers. Everything would be carefully and legally outlined. So that neither the king nor his own so-called “family” would have a say in his children’s lives.

They would be protected at all costs.

He had given this a lot of thought. More than Zia, clearly. Sure, she had escaped her father for a few months, but then King Rendall had hired Cristhian to find her, and while Cristhian might be the best and the most discreet about that sort of thing, there was likely someone else King Rendall could hire who would eventually track her down. And then what? Did she have any plans besides running away?

He thought of his parents and convinced himself he didn’t know why they were on the forefront of his mind lately. It was simply because he was in the process of becoming a parent himself.

It wasn’t about love. It wasn’t about their own runaway attempt that had ended so horribly.

Because what Zia didn’t understand was that running away would never be the answer. Being under his protection was the only way forward, and there was no point wasting any more time trying to win her over.

Cristhian didn’t know why this felt different from his usual decisions. Why he woke up every morning with a strange tension inside him, fingers curled into fists, as if he was constantly fighting in his sleep.

He didn’t know why whirling feelings and second thoughts plagued him when he had not allowed something so pointless since he’d been a teenager.

There were no second thoughts here. Control would keep everyone safe and sound.

He’d put his plan into action, so now everyone would see it through. And no one would end up dying on the side of the road.

He pushed that thought away mercilessly. Because this was not about his parents. It was about his present.

He was standing in his office, looking out one of the large windows with a view of the rolling hills of his estate. All covered in a picturesque white, while flurries started again. A snow globe, a postcard, a fairy tale. But even when everything looked beautiful from the outside, it was still messy, uncertain life on the inside.

Which was why Cristhian had to put his stamp of control on what was happening.

When he was informed that the small royal motorcade had pulled up to the cottage, he left his office and went to greet his guests. The minister had been delayed a little, but Cristhian had been assured he would arrive later today.

Cristhian had decided to let Zia continue to hide in her room. She did not know that her parents were coming, he didn’t think. Unless she’d had communication with her sister. Possible, but Cristhian did not concern himself with informing her of his plans.

She would be part of them whether she liked it or not, so there was no point having a conversation that would no doubt only end in more conflict.

He was done with conflict.

A staff member opened the large front door, while more staff ushered the royal family inside.

“Your Majesties. Your Highness.” He gave a short bow to the three royals who stood on the threshold of his home. “Welcome.”

He had not met the queen before, but he could see bits and pieces of Zia in her. The green eyes, the sharp chin. Her expression was one of regal distance, but she gripped her husband’s arm so tight the knuckles on her hand were white.

The younger woman who stood behind the king and queen, almost as if she was purposely trying to hide, was Zia’s sister, no doubt. Zia’s twin. For twins, they did not look too much alike. Sure, there was a sisterly resemblance in coloring, but he supposed he’d expected something more like imprints of each other. But where Zia was tall, athletic, regal, Beaugonia was smaller, softer. Her eyes were more hazel, but sharp and taking everything in, even as she kept herself as much out of the center as possible.

“I hope you traveled well. It’s not a long journey, I know, but my staff can show you to your rooms if you’d like to rest up before dinner.”

King Rendall looked down at him with a clearly growing suspicion. “I have come here as a courtesy since you claim to have found my daughter.”

“I appreciate such courtesy,” Cristhian replied with an easy smile. He gestured at his staff who were bringing in the royal family’s belongings. “They will show you the way to your rooms.”

“Where is my daughter?” the queen asked. King Rendall looked down at her with a sharp, disapproving glare, but the queen ignored him, keeping her worried gaze on Cristhian.

“She will be meeting us for dinner. We will have much to discuss.” Cristhian wanted to make sure he had a moment to sit the king down and explain the entirety of the situation to him before they dealt with this...en masse. He would make it clear to the king that Cristhian did not care what lands he ruled, these children would be Cristhian’s responsibility alone.

Cristhian turned his attention to the one person who hadn’t spoken yet. He smiled at Beaugonia, but she decidedly did not smile back. “Zia will be most happy to see you, Princess.”

And still Zia’s sister didn’t speak or look upon him any less suspiciously. No doubt Zia had filled her head with tales. Well, so be it.

He didn’t need anyone’s approval or acceptance. There would be a wedding. Tomorrow.

He heard a strange noise behind him, looked over his shoulder and saw Zia standing there at the top of the staircase. Her stomach was hidden by the balcony. “Beau.” For a moment, there was a flash of true joy on Zia’s face. Cristhian felt a strange stabbing pain in the center of his chest.

Not because he wanted to be the source of such joy. How ludicrous. It was because she’d ruined his plans. Yet again.

But he didn’t scowl. He didn’t chastise her. Simply because it would look poorly in front of the king and queen.

Not because he was mesmerized by that joy on her face as she ran down the stairs and approached her sister. Not because the way they wrapped their arms around each other made him feel...alone. Not because it warmed him to watch them sway in each other’s arms like long-lost friends. So much joy between them, Cristhian could almost feel it himself.

He smiled in spite of himself, in hope for a future where his children greeted each other in just the same way.

Certainly not any hopes for himself in there.

The king and queen clearly did not share this joy. The queen’s eyes were as wide as saucers. The king looked as though he was ready to call for some beheadings.

Because Zia had ruined that gentle announcement Cristhian had planned.

Oh, well. Cristhian had to force himself to look away from Zia’s happiness and turned to face the king. “You see now, sir, why I called you all here. And why a wedding will be happening tomorrow.”

The joy Zia felt at seeing Beau was immediately tempered not just by her parents standing there, but also by Cristhian’s heavy-handed proclamation. By the reality of this situation. Because it wasn’t Beau coming to save her.

It was Cristhian following through with his...utter ridiculousness.

She didn’t know why she’d allowed herself to be fooled by the past two days of quiet, of spending no time with him. She didn’t know why she’d been foolish enough to think avoiding him was a punishment to him.

The way it had felt to her. Because she’d missed their conversations, his presence. And she didn’t know what to do with that.

Any more than she knew what to do with her father standing there. Looking angry and threatening. Because Cristhian had brought him here.

So he wasn’t at all concerned with if she was afraid of her father or not, even though he’d asked that question and seemed so...genuinely concerned.

What a fool she was. But she couldn’t let herself wilt under the grief of that. She had her babies to protect. From everyone.

“There will be no wedding,” Zia said firmly, though maybe all that firmness was undercut by how hard she held on to Beau. “I don’t know what he’s told you, Father—”

“That is enough, Zia,” the king said, speaking over her. “Cristhian and I will discuss this matter in private.”

Zia looked at Cristhian then, wondering what the hell he thought he was doing. But his expression was carefully blank. She knew he was controlling, that he thought he knew best. She knew he could be like her father, but surely he wouldn’t honestly secret off with her father and handle things without her having any say?

“Very well,” Cristhian said, pointing toward the hallway. “Follow me, sir.”

The king stormed after Cristhian and Zia was left with her mother and her sister, a few staff members she didn’t recognize. And the sinking sensation that she was drowning. In a world she’d thought she’d escaped.

A young woman among them cleared her throat. “I’d be happy to show the queen and the princess to their suite.”

“Beau will stay with me,” Zia said, blinking away the tears, the utter disappointment in Cristhian.

“But Mr. Sterling said—”

“The princess will be staying in my suite with me,” Zia interrupted, using all her royal training to sound as commanding as Cristhian no doubt did. She smiled at the woman though, trying to sort through all her conflicting feelings.

Because as much as her heart ached, she blamed herself for that. For having some sort of hope when it came to the man she’d somehow...trusted. But why? Why had she trusted him when he’d shown her, over and over again, exactly what he was?

But mixed in with all that disappointment was utter relief. Because Beau was here, and if Beau was here that meant Zia could find a purpose in all this pain. “The three of us will have tea in the conservatory, if someone will bring it up?”

The woman nodded and quickly disappeared.

“Follow me,” Zia said to her mother and sister, heading for the stairs.

“Zia. You cannot just...take us to some conservatory and not address the...the...the issue at hand,” her mother sputtered.

“Which is?” Zia asked innocently. Beau made a sound that Zia knew was her coughing to try to cover up a laugh. Because this was familiar ground. Her and Beau against the world. It would be okay. They would find a way to make it okay together.

They linked arms and Zia started up the stairs, but Beau looked back to make sure Mother was following. The queen was not happy, but she was following.

Beau leaned close. “He lives in a castle,” she whispered.

“Right? He calls it a cottage. What rot.”

Beau laughed again, earning them a sharp look from their mother. It was so familiar Zia almost felt herself relax. She led them both into the conservatory, offering seats. Beau took one immediately, but Mother didn’t. She stood at the entrance to the room, shaking her head.

“Zia, I do not understand any of this. What has happened?”

Zia considered different versions of the truth but decided to go with the most simple and straightforward. “Cristhian and I met months ago. During—what did you call it?—my responsibility vacation we...hit it off. When I learned I was pregnant a few months after, I did not know how to find him. Or break it to Father. Or anyone, frankly. So I ran away.”

“Pregnant,” Mother echoed. “By some man you didn’t even know.”

Mother made it sound like she’d murdered someone in cold blood, and maybe in Mother’s world it was all the same. A stain on the monarchy no matter what.

And that was all that mattered, wasn’t it?

“I know him now well enough,” Zia said, trying to be gentle about it. How could she blame her mother for being shocked and appalled? Cristhian had dumped this on them with no warning.

“And I suppose in some strange twist of fate, I have Father to thank for that.” Was it a thank-you in her current predicament? It didn’t feel it. “When Father hired Cristhian to track me down, Cristhian did not know who I was. Until he recognized me. He did not know about the babies until he found me and—”

“Babies? Zia.” Mother sat then, all but collapsing into the chair, her hand to her heart. “Twins.”

“Yes,” Zia agreed. “Twins.” She gave Beau a little smile, because especially now she was so grateful her children would have each other.

“My pregnancy was horrible,” Mother said, almost to herself. She even placed a hand over her stomach. “I was so sick. So afraid. Constantly on bed rest. It was why we never had more children though your father would have liked a boy.”

Zia smiled thinly. Mother had regaled them of tales of her terrible pregnancy, but she tried not to think of that. Or the boy that they all believed would have made their lives better. “Mine has been very uneventful. The doctor tells me all the time how lucky I am that we’re all so healthy.”

“Yes. Incredibly so.” Mother finally looked at her. Really looked at her. Her eyes filled. “Zia, darling, why would you keep something like this from me?”

Zia watched her mother fight back the tears, fascinated. Mother cried quite a lot, really. Always in private, of course. The public mask of Queen Rendall was impenetrable, emotionless. Grace and detachment above all else.

Zia never confused the two faces her mother wore, they were so intrinsically different. The public, perfect queen the king demanded. And the interior woman so afraid of going against him.

But right now, in this moment, Zia felt confused. She had expected recriminations—no doubt that would come. She had expected her mother’s upset...but over the public image. Over the king’s reaction.

Not Zia not telling her. There were so many things over the years she hadn’t shared with her mother.

Namely, for one reason. “How could I tell you? I knew how Father would react. Which meant that would be how you would react as well. So I had to handle things on my own.”

“Your own?” Mother scoffed, narrowed her eyes at Beau. “I hardly think so.”

But before any more discussion could be had, two staff members entered with trays and quietly and quickly set up the tea for three women, then disappeared. Zia moved forward to pour, but Mother waved her off.

“Well. We must focus on the current situation we are in, not a past that cannot be changed. A small intimate ceremony is necessary for your condition, of course, but there must be some royal formality.”

Zia watched her mother pour the tea gracefully, while Beau piled her plate high with a little bit of everything food-wise. Zia had been starving, but now her appetite left her.

“Mother. I don’t care what Cristhian says, what he thinks he’s planning with Father. I will not be marrying him.”

“Zia.” Mother set the tea pot down with a clank . “You’re pregnant .”

“Oh, you don’t say.”

But Mother was so worked up, she didn’t even send Zia a censuring glance. Or Beau one when she laughed. She stood instead, wringing her hands together. “You must marry. And you’ll have to stay out of sight for... Oh, I don’t even know how long. No one can know...” She trailed off again, but the wringing hands certainly didn’t stop. “Your father...” Again she trailed off.

“Alternatively,” Zia replied, trying to maintain her calm and composure. There was really no point in lashing out at her mother. She was simply a vessel for Father’s wants and desires. “I will not marry, but I can happily stay out of sight...forever.”

“You’re the heir,” her mother said, so scandalized and horrified that being an heir might not be something Zia was going to prioritize. Not over her children.

Children. She settled her hand over her stomach. She knew her mother meant well, and yet she had caused harm to both Zia and Beau. Was that the curse of a mother? No matter how hard you tried, you would hurt your children?

Would twenty-some years down the line the two little lives growing inside her look at her and wonder why she’d denied them a legacy? Parents who were married? Or would her loving them be enough?

Because Cristhian had talked about loving his parents, and she was sure he did. Sure they sounded lovely and loving. But sometimes the image of them sounded...too good to be true. Or at least, the story as told from a child, which he had been when he’d lost them.

“I heard this crazy rumor that the king gets to choose whatever heir he likes,” Beau said, interrupting Zia’s thoughts on motherhood. The doubts that continued to creep up, no matter how certain she was in her choice of action.

Should she marry Cristhian...for them? Would that create a kind of insulated safety? He was controlling, but he claimed to want the children to come first. That was certainly not in her parents’ vocabulary.

Mother whirled on Beau and shot her a sharp look. “I told your father we should leave you at home.”

“What’s-his-name insisted I come. He was quite adamant,” Beau said, sniffing a sandwich before taking a delicate bite.

Zia stared at her sister, more than surprised by this information. Beau didn’t really need to be here, and it was highly unlikely either parent had wanted her here. Had Cristhian insisted...for her? “He did?”

Beau looked at her speculatively. “Yes. That’s what Father said anyway. He made certain I knew I wasn’t wanted on this trip.”

Zia sat back in her chair and closed her eyes. Oh, what kind of idiot was she? It didn’t matter. Cristhian was trying to force her into a wedding. Any gesture that seemed kind was either by accident or to purposefully get under her defenses.

She couldn’t keep falling for that. “Well, we are all here now. And now we must decide how to proceed.” She couldn’t capitulate to Cristhian now. It would be like capitulating to Father. “Because I will not marry him. No matter what Cristhian says. No matter what Father says.”

“You were going to marry the crown prince, Zia,” Mother pointed out. “How is this different? A step down, of course, but—”

“A step down?” Zia scoffed, then inwardly berated herself for defending Cristhian when she had no reason to. But at least she had chemistry with Cristhian. At least they’d had conversations and...well, sex. If she was going to marry anyone...

But she wasn’t. “Mother. I appreciate that me not marrying might make things...difficult for Father. But he is the king . I’m sure he’ll weather the storm, and as Beau said, choose whatever heir he likes in the wake of me abdicating.”

The queen just kept shaking her head. “You must marry the father of your children. They must be legitimate. They have kingdoms to inherit, Zia. How can you be so selfish?”

Selfish. Yes, that kept being used against her, and maybe it was fair. She did not know how to deny it. She wanted some things for herself. Some agency. Some freedom. Maybe that was just as wrong as her mother bowing and scraping. She genuinely didn’t know.

She just knew she could not bow. She could not scrape. For herself, maybe, but first and foremost for her children.

Her children would not suffer. They would not be made to bow and scrape. Maybe Cristhian wouldn’t expect that of them, but he was currently meeting with a man who would. Who would try everything to have an influence over them if Cristhian did not stand up to him here and now.

She had to protect them, just as she had protected Beau for all these years. It was her responsibility.

“The kingdom I am meant to inherit has only ever been a threat and punishment used against me.” She met her mother’s gaze then. “I will not do the same to my children. Maybe that is a mistake—”

“Maybe?”

“But it is my mistake to make.”

Mother shook her head. “You fancy yourself very strong and very modern.” Tears were in her eyes again. “You’ll stand up to your father, to the world that built you?” She laughed. Bitterly. “They will crush you, Zia. I don’t know why I could never teach either of you that bending keeps you from getting crushed.”

“Why is bending better than crushed?” Beau asked. And Zia wanted to know the answer, but she also knew it wasn’t the time to ask. One of those differences between the two of them. One of those reasons Beau would not be named heir. Timing wasn’t in her vocabulary.

But Lille was modern enough. Father did have the right and law behind him to choose an heir of his own making. Maybe he wouldn’t like it, but it did not have to be Beau replacing her.

So why did she feel so guilty? Why did bending suddenly seem like it was on the table? Because if she bent... Beau wouldn’t suffer. If Cristhian could bend a little to keep her father out of this, perhaps the children wouldn’t suffer.

Could she find compromise in a man who seemed to have none?

Mother shook her head, whirled around and exited the room in a huff.

Zia closed her eyes, wishing she could take a nap. Instead, she had to leverage herself up out of this chair. “I should show Mother to her room.”

But Beau put a hand over her arm. “She’ll find some staff person to do it. Long before we get you out of that chair.”

Zia laughed in spite of herself, but Beau continued.

“Because Mother is right. You can’t just stand up to them, Zia. We don’t have that kind of power. They will crush us if we try. So we’re going to have to have a plan. We’re going to have to escape.”