Page 64 of The Prince of New York

“That, too. If you’re squeamish about needles, now is the time to look away.”

Using my foot, I pulled out one of the chairs and sat, careful to keep from jostling the little girl. “I can handle needles better than my sister can handle them.”

His Royal Majesty of Maine chuckled at that. “You’ve probably had more than your fair share of them.”

One of the Maine RPS agents helped hold May upright while Maine’s king administered the needle. He began tracking his watch while monitoring her pulse. Within five minutes, the girl stirred, and she reminded me a lot of myself when trying to get up while ill, sluggish and unwilling to rejoin the world.

“Ian, before you dive straight into a panic for no good reason, her reaction is normal. We’ll try talking to her in a few minutes, after she gets a good look around. Once she’s mostly coherent, we’ll wake the baby.”

Sure enough, a few minutes later, May began comprehending the world around her, and she stared at the elegant dining room and its finery with wide eyes. Before she had a chance to ask any questions, His Royal Majesty of Maine smiled at her, took her hands, and gave a squeeze. “Hello, May. You had a nice sleep after your doctor’s visit. Do you remember?”

“We took a ride in the siren wagon,” she mumbled. Then her expression changed, a mix of wonder and apprehension. She regarded her arm, as though unable to believe it was hers. “It doesn’t hurt?”

I would never understand how anyone could hit children as sweet as May and her sister, and the pain of it would bite at my heels for the rest of my life. “Dr. Stanton and Princess Melody made the pain go away with help from Melody’s father.” I nodded in the direction of the physician. “His Royal Majesty of Maine flew all the way in from his home to help you and your sister feel better.”

May’s gaze landed on me, and her brows furrowed. “You’re from the dream.”

I supposed, in her shoes, what had happened in the courthouse might feel like a dream, surreal and detached from reality. “It wasn’t a dream. I’m going to be your father now, and if I have my way, those people who hit you will never do so again.”

May stared at me for a long time, and I wondered what she thought—or if she struggled with the idea that she might experience life without fear. Her gaze dropped to her sister. “What’s wrong with Baby?”

“Nothing’s wrong with Danielle,” His Royal Majesty of Maine said in a gentle tone, and he gave May’s hands another squeeze, massaging her with his thumbs.

May’s eyes widened. “Her name is Danielle? Mommy refused to tell me her name.”

“Yes, her name is Danielle, but if she doesn’t like it, we can pick something else, just like you had the choice to keep May as your name.”

“Danielle is really pretty,” May murmured. “But why is she sleeping?”

“She’s been feeling poorly, and she took a nap so she can feel better,” I replied, wondering how I would one day explain to them how close to death they’d both ventured. “While we wake her up, I’ll need you to be patient, okay?”

She nodded.

I wondered how often her parents had beaten her for daring to peep when they’d wanted quiet; I’d walked in those shoes enough to understand the reality of the situation: I would have to prompt her how to be a child at every turn, encourage certain misbehaviors so she could learn how to safely have tantrums and experience her emotions, and otherwise have all the opportunities I had been denied.

Some would view her as spoiled, but I would do my best to make certain she had all the qualities of a good person and minimal displays of the bad.

No person was perfect, and I wouldn’t even try to force such things upon her.

His Royal Majesty of Maine kissed May on the forehead before coming over to me, crouching, and preparing the second syringe.

May stared at us, her eyes wider than I’d seen yet, and she lifted her hand to touch the spot he’d kissed her.

My heart hurt for her, and I’d be stealing a page out of the king’s book, making certain both girls got as many hugs and kisses on their cheeks and foreheads as often as they wanted.

The process of reversing sedation took longer with Danielle, something the king told me was normal, as the last thing he wanted to do was overdose a toddler. Unlike May, when the little girl woke, she dissolved into tears, and she rocked on my lap.

Outside of holding her and attempting to comfort her, I couldn’t even guess what was the matter.

“She cries when she wakes up,” May whispered, and she wrung her hands together. “It’s Mommy’s fault…”

I could guess at the vicious circle, with the little girl having no idea how to express her fear and crying, which in turn would anger the woman unfit to be a parent, feeding and continuing the cycle of abuse.

“She doesn’t mean it,” May blurted.

I foresaw many a painful morning convincing both girls that they were safe. “May, it’s okay. Danielle isn’t in any trouble,” I promised, continuing to hold the little girl and rubbing her back.

Once again, the little girl regarded us both with eyes so wide I marveled they stayed in her head. “She’s not?”

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