Page 11 of His Hidden Royal Heirs

“Formally?” she returned. She even smiled placidly. “Or in your head when it suits you?” Because she knew plenty of lesser royals who wanted to live in both worlds. Who claimed whatever when it suited them.

She could tell by the way he crossed his arms over his chest and firmed his mouth, without saying a thing, that she’d hit the nail on the head. He didn’twishto be royalty, but he was, after a fashion. And hadn’t cutallties with that.

Which made this even more complicated than it had been. “My father will insist we marry. Perhaps I was meant for greater than minor, unknown royalty, but...” She gave her stomach a little pat. “If you take me back, this will seal both of our futures.”

This did not faze Cristhian for even a moment. He lifted a large, muscled shoulder. “PerhapsIwill insist we marry.”

Her mouth dropped open at that.“What?”

“I haven’t decided yet. This is a shock. I’ll have to work through the possibilities.”

He couldn’t be serious. “We don’t know each other. We can’t...”

His gaze moved from the top of her head, all the way down to her toes and back up again. Her body throbbed with memories that had kept her warm at night for some time. She now wished she’d eradicated them rather than indulged them many a sleepless night when she’d wished to know his identity. Fantasized about a future that could include the possibility of him in it.

And now he was standing there like a jail sentence. Even if it was one that still made everything inside her buzz with a physical anticipation that did not match her internal, emotional dread.

“We know each other well enough, Princesa,” he said, his voice a low scrape against the most sensitive parts of her.

But he was saying marriage was some kind of option. Returning her to her father was an option. She could only stand, mouth dropped open, air struggling to reach her lungs. Was heinsane?

He made a shooing motion. “Go on then. Pack your things.”

“I will not go back to my father,” she said through gritted teeth. Her hands curled into fists. She knew she couldn’t fight him. Not physically. But the desire to do so coursed through her all the same.

“Not yet. No,” he agreed with annoying ease. “We have some decisions of our own to make first, but not here.” He looked around her small cabin with clear distaste. “We will go to one of my estates.”

“Estates?Tell me again you’re not royalty, Cristhian.”

“I am a self-made man,” he returned. Then gave a grand, elegant bow, though his gaze never left hers. “I will not wait, Your Highness. We leave in thirty minutes.”

CHAPTER FIVE

SHETOOKEVERYlast one of those thirty minutes, but not one second more. She did not have much, but Cristhian supposed even a runaway princess could only travel with what she could carry. He plucked the bags from her hands and marched them out to his car.

She followed him at a much slower pace. Her gait was careful, one hand placed over the rounded stomach as she stepped around icy patches in the snowy path. He had to fight the urge to cross to her and offer an arm. He prided himself on being polite in all situations, even finding missions, but it would be best for the both of them if he limited any and all physical contact that might be a dangerous reminder.

Especially since he was planning on taking her to his estate just north of Lille. Close enough to returning her, should he decide that be their fate. But also on his own turf, sohewould be making the decisions.

It would just be the two of them and his very minimal staff. Where they could privately and safely work out some kind of...agreement. Risky, considering his body had not gotten the memo that she was his adversary now. But necessary.

Marriage? He would not be party to any more royal tricks and maneuvers, so a union seemed like the worst-case scenario. And yet hewouldbe a part of his child’s life. Perhaps he’d never had any driving desire to be a father, but he knew he had wisdom to impart. He would ensure his child received that over any royal brainwashing that would no doubt come from the king.

Zia was young. Perhaps her running away meant she was not fully under her father’s thumb, but Cristhian knew howthis went. He had watched it play out in his mother’s short life. Princesses might try to escape, but they never succeeded. They ran away instead of making a stand.

Case in point.

Moreover, Zia would not be immune from running back to Lille. She would want more for her—their—child, as his mother once had. Birthrights were dug in deep, no matter how stifling a person found the royal life.

Cristhian needed time to think. To plan. To prepare. To rearrange the world to his specifications. In a way his parents had not been able to accomplish.

Because he would not meet their fate, and he would not allow Zia to. There would be no running away, and his child would have their parents. One way or another.

He drove them to the small airport. The sky was dark, and snow had begun to fall. Takeoff would be tricky, but necessary. Once he parked, he gathered Zia’s things. He could not stop himself from helping her out of the car, her slender, gloved hand sliding into his offering too many memories that threatened to distract him from his cause.

But Cristhian was stronger than that. He dropped her hand and led her into the terminal of the airport. He found his assistant.

“Is the plane ready?”

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