Page 1 of His Hidden Royal Heirs

CHAPTER ONE

CRISTHIANSTERLINGKNEWexactly where he could go and not be recognized. It got easier the older he got, the less he resembled a bewildered, hurting boy who’d just lost his parents—their terrible car accident splashed next to his picture on every paper, magazine, tabloid and so on.

The upper crust set still knew him by sight more often than not, so he preferred to celebrate his successes in more...middle-classestablishments. Where, typically, no one would realize who he was or that his mother had been a princess and his father had been Hollywood royalty.

Inadvertently, they had both inspired his choice of profession—though their incredible wealth and prestige had passed to him and he didn’tneedto work. His mother had never known quite what to do with her fame, the public’s ruthless interest in everything that made up her relationship to his father.

Though he’d only been ten when they’d died, he remembered conversations of “running away.” Of disappearing, never to be found.

But his father had continued to make movies, though he’d always put Cristhian and his mother first. His mother, no matter how it had weighed on her, had continued to fulfill her royal duties to her home country of Hisla, even as she’d raised him in a modest home outside the castle walls when they weren’t traveling with his father or visiting his American grandparents.

When they’d finally had enough of the paparazzi, of the way his mother’s family had constantly been looking for any opportunity to drive his parents apart, they hadn’t stood up forthemselves. They hadn’t taken control of the situation and made it right.

They’d begun to plan their escape from the bright lights of stardom.

And in the process, they’d been involved in a disastrous car crash that had killed them both instantly.

Leaving him behind.

Perhaps if he’d been allowed to stay with his father’s parents in America where he’d been staying while his parents tried to find somewhere safe to escape to, he would feel differently about the whole situation these days. But instead he’d been ripped away, into his mother’s royal family who didn’t want him, but couldn’t bear the stories of him being raised byAmericans.

Cristhian had learned something from that. He was still working what exactly out these twenty-some years later. When his profession—one he’d carved out for himself—involved him being a finder of sorts. Runaways of the royal set, errant wives, those who wished to disappear. He found them, for whomever wanted to pay his exorbitant fee.

Some people called it mercenary. Usually the people he found who weren’t happy to be escorted back to what they’d run away from.

But he knew what else awaited them out in that cold, cruel world. When you stepped out of the rules that governed your life, yourself, disaster awaited. There was only one way to deal with the unfairness of the world—it was to face all problems head-on. Running away never amounted to anything but pain. Because these royal types never stopped, never gave up. You had to beat them at their own game or lose.

So Cristhian had built himself a very clear life with very set rules. He’d stood up to the royal family who wanted to control him, and he didn’t worry himself with the opinions of others.

Ever.

He studied the drink in front of him, wondered what had made his brain take a trip downthatmemory lane when he should be enjoying a good drink, perhaps a beautiful woman, in celebration of his latest runaway return.

The girl had beenthirteen. She might not love her life in her tiny kingdom, but thirteen wasn’t the age for a countess to try to make a life out there on her own. She would never thank him for his service, but she would not end up dead. He did not need any thanks. He had the satisfaction of a job well done.

He glanced around the bar. There were a lot of corporate types this Friday night. Ties loosened, top buttons undone, blazers discarded. Loud laughter and couples with surreptitious gazes around the bar like they knew they shouldn’t be sittingthatclose to their coworker. Portuguese, Spanish and smatterings of English echoed across the large room.

The door opened, letting in a little gust of air, slightly cooler than the over-warm atmosphere in the bar. Cristhian sipped his drink and watched a woman hesitate in the doorway.

She was clearly alone, and for a moment he saw a flash of fear in her expression, in that hesitation. Then the woman seemed to metaphorically straighten her shoulders, push all that fear away with determination to do whatever she came to do. For a moment, he saw a flash of his mother, doing the exact same before facing a royal event.

But he forgot all about his long-lost mother when the woman smiled. Excitement sparkled in her improbably blue eyes. Her short reddish hair swung with her confident strides against her jawbone as she sauntered fully inside. She wore a boxy sort of black dress that didn’t show off much of her figure, but it ended mid-thigh and showcased long, mouthwatering legs.

She didn’t meet his gaze. She was on a mission, it seemed, heading straight for the bar where he sat. But her gaze was on the bartender.

She leaned forward but didn’t say anything at first. The bartender sighed. “What can I get you?”

“Do you have a menu?” She had an interesting accent. Cristhian knew he’d heard it before, but it would take some thought to remind himself what tiny European country it belonged to. Something far north of southern Portugal where they were currently.

The bartender scoffed with an eye roll.

“Allow me to make a suggestion,” Cristhian offered, earning the woman’s curious gaze. He was half convinced she was wearing some kind of color-correcting contacts. The shade of blue didn’t suit her at all.

And yet she was beautiful. Delicate shoulders and a determined demeanor. A cupid’s-bow mouth and expressive eyebrows that she arched at him now. As if to saygo on, and you had better impress me.

Cristhian grinned. Hewasimpressive in pretty much all things. He didn’t consider this conceit so much as a healthy appreciation of facts. “Beirão,” he said, turning his attention to the bartender. “Put it on my tab.”

The bartender nodded and turned to put the woman’s drink together. Cristhian gestured to the empty seat next to him. “Join me.”

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