Page 27 of Crowned for His Son

But…marriage. Being the mother of the heir to the throne. Palace life. Being the wife of a crown prince.

Eventual queen.

Her mouth dried as the titles fell like anvils on her shoulders, threatening to sink her. There should be lightning and fireworks in the sky to mark the screeching turn her life was taking. And yet there was only heavy silence. And her…stuck with only one answer to give.

‘Yes. If you’re…’

Sure, she wanted to say. But resolute affirmation blazed in his eyes, making her question redundant.

So she cleared her clogged throat and gave an affirmation of her own. ‘Yes.’

* * *

She’d suspected Azar was only waiting for her response to set things in motion, but she’d imagined it would be at freight train speed. Not the unstoppable rocket force it turned out to be.

Gaspar’s return to Max’s room, where she and the Crown Prince—who seemed determined to insert himself into every corner of his son’s life—had been watching him gleefully tear into the batch of expensive toys that had just arrived, had been to ask for her apartment keys. It had stopped her in her tracks.

Azar had coolly informed her that there was a team waiting to pack up her entire life and ship it to Cartana.

He’d told her that Ramon was already in the process of arranging Max’s expedited diplomatic travel papers via the Cartanian Embassy, and it was barely mid-afternoon!

Before she could fully compute that, another knock heralded the arrival of a chicly dressed woman and a younger man, wheeling in a sleek garment rail.

‘I thought a change of attire for tonight and tomorrow might be in order,’ Azar said.

It was an evenly paced statement with an explicit directive underlying it. One not worth fighting, considering she’d already agreed to the wardrobe stopover in Paris.

But her gaze shifted to her son.

‘Go. We’ll be fine,’ Azar said firmly.

Max looked up, a smile breaking out as he held up a red toy train which had already become a firm favourite.

As much as her heart squeezed at leaving him, Eden knew that thus far one thing was true. Azar Domene was obsessed with the son he hadn’t known about until this morning. And if there was a fierce fire burning in her heart to ensure Max was not emotionally harmed, then a fiercer one burned in Azar—for unknown reasons of his own.

Reasons she intended to keep a keen eye on.

She went with the woman and the young man.

And, after struggling not to ogle the luxurious brands so casually offered, and settling on a pair of silk palazzo pants and an asymmetric batwing top firmly recommended for travel, with shoes to match, she gave in and allowed the male assistant to perform the quick make-up session he heavily hinted she needed.

A full hour later than she’d expected to be, she walked into the living room, stingingly aware of the brush of silk warming her skin, the smoky eyeshadow emphasising her eyes, even the arch of her feet in the new four-inch heels.

It was a predicament made even more pronounced when both Azar Domene and his private secretary froze after one look at her.

For tense seconds they stared. Then, slanting a narrow-eyed look at Gaspar, the Crown Prince said something sharply in Spanish that startled the other man, turning the tops of his ears red, before he executed a shallow bow and made himself scarce.

‘Is something wrong?’ she asked, hating the hesitancy in her voice.

Sardonic amusement tilted Azar’s lips before his gaze moved over her, slightly more heated than she remembered.

‘Not at all. Although having fair warning might prove to be a useful thing.’

She blinked. ‘Fair warning of what?’

‘Your effect on unsuspecting victims.’

His hard-edged tone drew a shiver from her.

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