Once Upon a Prince

FOUR



From the deck outside the leather-and-wood cottage library, Nathaniel watched a high, thin twilight bloom over the island. He tucked his hands into the silky pockets of his custom-tailored tux. The horizon reminded him of the purple and gold strata of a Brighton evening. It was fabled that if a man perched on top of Mount Braelor during a summer twilight, he could reach the Brighton sky, capture his destiny and make his fortune.

For Nathaniel, his destiny—and yes, his fortune—were already set. In the House of Stratton mountain. In the chiseled marble of his family tree. It all felt a bit claustrophobic at times. But these few days in Georgia had opened his heart some. Standing on the sultry shore reminded him the world was a grand, fruitful place. Made him believe anything was possible. Like finding true love. Or fully embracing his destiny.

Nathaniel returned to the library, locking the deck doors behind him. He scanned the documents and reports spread across his great-great-grandfather’s desk, his mind’s eye glazing over. So much law and legalese to wade through.

“You ready?” Jonathan stepped into the library, slipping on his tux jacket. “Liam’s pulling the car ‘round.”

“Did you print my speech?” Nathaniel swept the documents into folders, stacked them so they aligned, and laid them on the desk.

Jonathan crossed the room, extending the white paper in his hand. “I read it over. Nicely done. It will satisfy Mrs. Butler.”

“She said all she wanted was a quick word. Something about Great-Grandfather being so involved with the local hospital’s expansion and improvements.” When Great-Grandfather had made St. Simons a regular holiday spot, he’d donated sizable sums to the hospital. As did Nathaniel’s grandfather and dad.

Nathaniel walked around the desk, scanning the words he’d penned with Jonathan.

… we are honored to represent my father, the king, and all of Brighton Kingdom …

… dedicating a hospital wing in his honor … please accept our donation as the first fruits of good faith and health …

He listened to the words flowing through his mind. His words. But with her accent. Susanna’s. Lilting and bent with sweetness.

The beautiful girl from the lover’s tree. Three days had passed since he’d helped change her tire, and still she flashed across his thoughts at random moments.

Like now, when he was reading over his speech. Or when he was running on the beach. Or in the exhaling moments as he was drifting off to sleep.

“Come across anything interesting?”

Nathaniel raised his attention to Jonathan, who’d moved to the desk and the stack of legal folders Nathaniel had been reading.

“Just what we know already. The Grand Duchy Hessenberg is to be given her independence from Brighton Kingdom if we find a royal heir.” At the moment, finding a long-lost Hessenberg heir felt akin to Nathaniel finding true love. Impossible. “Otherwise, the Grand ol’ Duchy becomes our province.” The reality awakened fear in Nathaniel’s heart. As one whose destiny was determined before he was born, his sympathies leaned toward Hessenberg. She deserved her independence if at all possible.

Freedom, independence, was of priceless worth. Not to mention the relationship between the two countries had become like feuding siblings. They were at odds with one another more often than not. And in the last decade, Hessenberg’s economic woes had become a tangible leech on Brighton.

They could no longer afford to bail her out.

But the conditions of entail were ironclad. Heir or province.

“I can’t image being King Nathaniel I and Prince Francis … negotiating an agreement while war loomed, doing the diplomatic dance with their royal cousins across Europe … the Kaiser, King George V, Tsar Nicolas II.” Jonathan flipped through the entail pages copied from the original. “Russia flexing, Germany threatening, Hessenberg’s southern and northern ports vulnerable to attack.”

“What choice did Francis leave himself? He’d squandered Hessenberg’s wealth and resources seeking pleasure, trying to get ahead in the industrial age with his wild inventions, building that exotic car, Starfire 89, that wooed kings but was entirely unaffordable for the people.”

“A car worth millions now … if you can get hold of one.” Jonathan closed the document and returned it to the desk. “This whole matter is complicated by the fact Francis was probably illiterate.” He regarded his watch. “Liam’s bringing the motor ‘round. Are you ready?”

“Yes, yes, let’s go.” Nathaniel patted his jacket. Where were his notes? Ah, inside his breast pocket. “I don’t envy them, facing war, crafting an entail that required complete surrender of land and authority, and all rights to the Hessenberg throne to protect the sovereignty of Brighton.”

“Then be grateful you face the end of the entail, not the beginning.”

“The end doesn’t bring me much comfort either.” Nathaniel pressed his palm on the stack of documents and diaries as he passed the desk. “I thought my biggest trial was finding true love.”

Even if Dad’s health stabilized, more than likely Nathaniel would be king in the years after Hessenberg became a Brighton province. A likely outcome since no heirs of the House of Augustine-Saxon had been heard from in sixty years.

“Love? Ah, looking for a woman fit to be queen of your heart and your country? Making sure the House of Stratton lives on?”

“You mock me, mate.” Nathaniel patted his shoulder as he passed him on his way through the door.

“Mock you? No, I envy you. You have your pick of lovelies.”

“Who want my crown not my heart.”

“The least of which is Lady Genevieve.” Jonathan’s tone was teasing, leading.

“I see I was a fool to bring up the subject of love. Can we just get on with the evening?” Outside in the side driveway, Liam stood by the motorcar in his dark suit and shades. He looked like a movie character. It was one of the reasons Nathaniel liked the former special-forces major. He so looked the part, one could hardly believe he actually was a royal security officer.

Nathaniel rode to Mrs. Butler’s in quiet contemplation as the pinkish lines of evening fell through the canopying oaks. Talk of his ancestors, of the 1914 Entailment, rattled the doubt resting in his bones. Was his calling to be king of Brighton man’s idea or God’s?

What choice did he have? What choice did God have? Nathaniel was the son of a king, who was the son of a king, who was a son of a king dating back five hundred years.

And what of his father’s failing health? Would he be king before he was ready? Where were the decades of time he thought he had to prepare?

As if his thoughts weren’t tangled enough, he pictured her.

Susanna.

Jon peered around to the front seat. “You know what? Forget the entail. I think you’re right. Your greatest challenge is to find a wife. You and Prince Stephen are the hope of the House of Stratton.”

Was he telegraphing his thoughts? “I’d rather fight through the entail.” He wanted to get married. But not because it fit his job description as a crown prince.

He wanted to marry for love.

Susanna remained in his thoughts until he corralled his image of her and sent it back to the dark recesses. Dreaming of her was a complete waste of time. He had a better chance of finding an heir to the Hessenberg throne than of marrying Susanna Truitt.

But oh, he wanted to see her again, practically yearned for it. So much so that on Sunday, Jon inquired about his grimace. Nathaniel quickly blamed heartburn from too much pizza.

On Sunday he took two five-mile runs—one in the morning, one in the evening—to distract his heart from her. Why go where he absolutely could not?

Then today, while attempting to read the ninety-nine-year-old entail, his mind rebelled, refusing to embrace another wherewithin and hitherunto so he could dream of a girl with cerulean-colored eyes and a smile that blinded his heart.

He’d come to the island on his father’s business and a short holiday. No more. No less. To consider romance was foolhardy.

Because his name, his destiny, everything about him was for the king and Brighton Kingdom.

Right down to the beating of his heart.