Page 26 of Crowned for His Son

She knew why…

Crown Prince Azar Domene. Even his title was melodramatic. Like an overwhelming piece of theatre just waiting to sweep the unsuspecting off their feet.

Beside remaining a force of nature, and she deemed it imperative to keep him from gaining an inch because it would be the surest way to get flattened by him, she also sensed that he despised her. Something had happened in those weeks in Arizona. Something that kept this formidable wall of resentment between them.

For an instant she regretted calling Dr Ramsey. Maybe without that express deterrent against delving deep into her memories Azar would’ve been more forthcoming. Although his own expression suggested it wasn’t a time he relished revisiting.

The idea that she’d behaved in any way like her mother caused waves of horror to wash through her. Landing a rich, ageing Hollywood studio executive had been a trigger for her mother’s dreams of fame and fortune, only for her to be scarred for life when she was left high, dry and pregnant.

Being told by her father never to contact him again had left a teenage Eden with an impression of men that had unfortunately been affirmed by the men she’d met in her mother’s desperation for companionship.

That one disastrous episode had led her mother to search for an easy way out of the tribulations of her life. Her resulting career as a barely-scraping-by lounge singer had triggered a series of disastrous relationships that had earned her deplorable labels and slurs even her seven-year-old daughter had understood and been ashamed of.

Could she look beyond this Crown Prince’s tarnished view of her—whatever it was—to do what was best for her son?

She held that question at arm’s length now, and asked the question activated by something he’d said. ‘You said your father isn’t well. What’s wrong with him?’

Shadows drifted across his face. He didn’t answer for several seconds, and when he did she suspected he’d weighed the value of telling her and somehow worked her son more than her curiosity into the equation. She suspected ‘in the interest of Max’ would heavily feature in how Prince Azar dealt with her henceforth.

Eden told herself she didn’t care, but the cold pang throbbing in her middle reminding her that yet again she was alone in this, wouldn’t be so easily dismissed.

‘He was diagnosed with heart disease several months ago. A serious case that needs careful monitoring. Unfortunately, he also recently contracted pneumonia, which doesn’t help his weakened immune system. Everyone who visits must be carefully vetted by his doctors. So you see why this precaution is necessary?’

‘Yes,’ she said—and then realised she was half accepting that she would be travelling to Cartana with Max and his father. While her stomach churned at the very thought, she asked herself if she had a choice that didn’t include a full-blown fight with the heir apparent to a powerful kingdom?

And, as he’d pointed out, what was she fighting for? The right to keep worrying and working herself into the ground just to keep a roof over her son’s head? When his destiny was already set in concrete?

Eden put her cutlery down, started to reach for her mineral water, and stopped because her hand was shaking too much.

Tucking both into her lap, she forced her gaze to meet his. ‘We’ll come with you to Paris. And then to Cartana. But just for a visit.’

The tiniest gentling of his features went much further than she wanted to admit in soothing her. Which, again, was absurd. Because he was the enemy. Wasn’t he?

‘A half-step is admirable. And I get that this has been a shock. But you’re only delaying the inevitable. Max is my heir and he will inherit the throne one day. Having me chase you around the globe to assert my rights as his father will not stand. So let’s make the transition scandal-free, shall we?’

‘You’re accustomed to a life of duty and protocol. What makes you think I’ll fit in?’

Her father was Hollywood royalty, and even he, living in a land of make-believe, hedonism and wall-to-wall scandals, had been repulsed by the idea of an illegitimate child.

A hard light ignited in his eyes and Eden suspected he wasn’t thinking about her in that moment, but reliving a memory.

‘Ultimately, how much or how little you do and what you devote your time to is entirely up to you. But be warned that the Domene Palace is a living, breathing entity that operates its own hierarchy and ecosystem. Loyalty will be rewarded. Non-compliance will be…unfortunate.’

‘That sounds like a melodramatic threat.’

A cynical smile curved his lips. ‘There are those who like to promote melodrama within the palace. I suggest you don’t emulate them.’

She opened his mouth to ask what he meant, but steady footsteps stopped her. She glanced behind her to see Azar’s private secretary, Gaspar, standing a respectful distance away.

‘The young Prince is awake, Your Highness,’ he said.

Eden’s breath caught. It was the first time she’d heard her son referred to by his inevitable title.

Again, Azar’s regard morphed, turning almost pityingly gentle before it hardened again. ‘Stay with him for a moment, Gaspar. We will be in shortly.’

He remained silent after Gaspar retreated. And she knew she’d run out of time.

Max. She was doing this for Max. Ensuring she would always be there to protect him from the abandonment she’d suffered.

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