Page 38 of Crowned for His Son

‘When?’

He shrugged. ‘That depends on my father. Once we’ve visited him this afternoon we can take it from there.’

She thought he was hedging now, on the very thing he’d been pushing for—until three hours later when, showered and styled by her new personal staff, helmed by a no-nonsense woman named Silvia, she clutched her son’s hand outside a soaring set of doors, gilded in what she suspected was solid gold filigree. They’d been escorted here by Silvia and Gaspar, who stood behind them like the efficient sentinels they were trained to be.

Curbing the wild emotions rampaging through her wasn’t easy. The sheer magnificence of the Domene Palacio Real, poised on top of a hill at the northernmost point of San Mirabet, gave it a forceful presence in and of itself. Stepping over its splendid threshold, feeling the weight of its history, and an opulence literally built from the ashes of its vanquished enemies, had started a cascade of sensations she was still grappling with as solid, steady footsteps approached.

She surreptitiously passed her sweaty free hand over the ruched silk midi dress she’d chosen for its warm, comforting dark caramel colour as the doors were swept open.

Azar had showered and changed since she last saw him. His dark hair gleamed in the mid-afternoon sunlight and the white shirt and dark suit highlighted his deep, vibrant vitality.

He held her gaze, then nodded a dismissal at the staff behind her.

Max peered up at Azar, then his face broke into a smile. ‘Papá.’

Azar’s eyes darkened, and a trace of the bleakness disappeared.

Still wondering at what had caused it, she watched him scoop up his son, then rasp, ‘Come.’

She followed him through an elaborate private living room, down a corridor with doors on either side, then through another set of double doors, which were swept open as they reached it.

Eden’s steps faltered momentarily.

When Azar had told her his father was unwell with a heart condition, she’d assumed it was serious, but manageable.

The man propped up against a mountain of pillows in pristine bedding was a far cry from the man she’d searched on the internet, when she’d realised their meeting was inevitable. The once-vibrant, commanding King of Cartana had notably lost weight, his figure shrunken in the antique four-poster bed with elaborate hand carvings that spoke of a bygone era.

Azar lightly grasped her arm and led her to the two armchairs placed close to the bed.

‘Papá, meet your grandson, Max. And Eden, his mother.’

King Alfonso’s direct gaze landed on her son, examining him thoroughly, before he exhaled deeply. He reached out his hand to Max and her sweet son immediately offered his.

The King swallowed as he took another deep breath. ‘Maximiliano.’

His voicing of her son’s name seemed almost like an affirmation. A blessing. An acceptance Eden had never felt for herself from either of her parents—especially her father. She hadn’t even been aware of that problematic knot in her belly until it eased, helping her breathe that little bit easier.

‘Is he calling you Papá already?’

King Alfonso smiled at his son, who shrugged.

‘He’s mine. There’s no point dancing around the truth of it.’

The old man’s gaze rested on Azar for a moment, then shifted to her, the signature silver-grey eyes he’d passed down to his sons pinning her in place. She accepted then that he was far from diminished. That while his body might be failing him, his centuries-old warrior spirit was very much present.

‘And you, young lady? How are you to feature in the great and elaborate landscape that is my family?’ he asked, his rich accent inflecting the words.

She executed the shallow curtsey Silvia had taught her. ‘It’s an honour to meet you, Your Majesty.’ Swallowing around a dry mouth, she hesitated momentarily, then responded. ‘My priority will always be Max, no matter what. As long as he’s happy and healthy, everyone who cares for him will have my utmost co-operation.’

His stare remained direct. ‘And if they don’t care for him?’ he prodded.

Azar’s gaze lanced her where she stood, his own interest in her response almost feverish.

‘Then I’m afraid I won’t be very easy to live with. And I won’t be averse to taking whatever steps are necessary to change that.’

Truth and purpose shook through her voice, but the notion that she was standing up to a king didn’t escape her. Trepidatious shivers raced under her skin, but she ignored them as best she could, knowing that this wasn’t the time to show weakness.

King and Crown Prince exchanged indecipherable looks, the corners of their mouths twitching in almost identical motion.

---