Taming the Lost Prince. Raye Morgan

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      But it hadn’t mattered then. Her days were spent waiting for Eddie to come back from a flight, and her nights were filled with wine, music and friends. For a few months, life had been carefree and exciting. But you had to pay for everything, one way or another, and she’d been paying the price ever since.

      Max was staring at her as though he could see what she was thinking. “And yet, here you are, barely two years later, assistant to the queen.”

      She gave him a look. “I do have a university education, you know.”

      He appeared surprised. “No, I didn’t know. When did you get that?”

      She smiled. “Long before I first met you.”

      “No kidding.” He frowned, thinking that over. “That’s more than I’ve got. And they think they want me to be a prince.”

      Her smile wavered a bit. It was true. From what she knew of his background, he might have a bit of trouble. He’d never been shy about it. While sipping drinks in the sidewalk cafés of Trialta, he’d regaled them with tales of his childhood living on the streets, always making it sound hilarious rather than tragic. But she’d often thought the raw tattered ghost of deprivation lingered in the shadows of his eyes.

      He’d had a rough childhood. Any breaks he ever got he’d worked hard to achieve. That was very different from what most royals experienced. The newspaper accounts had filled in some of the parts of his background she hadn’t known before, but she didn’t know how accurate they were.

      “From what I’ve read in the newspapers and magazines, they seem to think that you were spirited off on the night of the rebellion,” she said to him musingly. “When the Granvilli family attacked and burned the castle—when your parents, the king and queen were killed, and all the DeAngelis royal children went into hiding.”

      She shuddered just thinking of it. Those poor kids!

      “Do you know how you escaped? Do you have any idea who it was who saved you by carrying you off that night?”

      His shrug was careless, as if he didn’t know and didn’t really care. “Whoever they were, they didn’t take very good care of me. By the time I was seven or eight, I was fending for myself on the streets. Before that, there were various strangers—at one point I think I was staying with a pickpocket who tried to teach me his tricks. But as far as I know, nobody was around for long at anytime. There’s no one I can claim.”

      It broke her heart to think of a child being abandoned like that. She knew from his stories during their Trialta days that he’d been taken in by a fisherman for a while, but the man was cruel and he eventually ran away. It wasn’t until his late teens when he was given a corner to sleep in and a job cleaning the chapel that he met a wonderful older man—a pastor—and his kindly wife, who made it their business to see that he was clothed and had a safe place to stay.

      The pastor had a hobby of flying ancient aircraft—planes from twentieth century wars. Pretty soon he was teaching Max the ropes, introducing him to aviation, and after that life was much brighter. Max joined the Ambrian Air Force as soon as he was old enough. And that was pretty much all she knew.

      “And no one ever guessed you were one of the lost princes,” she murmured, looking at him wonderingly.

      He laughed shortly. “Did you guess?”

      She spread her hands out. “No.”

      “Neither did I. That shows you how long the odds were.”

      “Yes.” She sighed. “How horrible for you to be treated like that as such a young child. I’m glad the Granvillis are paying the price for their treason now.”

      He stirred restlessly. “That’s life. Sometimes you win, sometimes you lose.”

      “And sometimes they pull the chair out from under you, just when you think they’ve given you a throne to sit on.”

      He grinned at her appreciatively. “A cautionary tale, Kayla? Reminding me not to count on anything?”

      She nodded. She couldn’t help it. She’d always been a cautious one. Her only times of going crazy had involved marrying a flyer and then letting grief make her lose all control when he died. “Count no chicks before they hatch.”

      He cocked his head to the side. “Wisdom as well as beauty.”

      “Nice of you to notice.” She rose, feeling a little too nervous to sit for long. “Would you like a drink? Iced tea? A cup of coffee?”

      “A beer?” he suggested, following her to the little kitchenette.

      “I think I have one.” And she did, ice cold and ready to drink. She pulled it out of the refrigerator and popped the top for him.

      He took a long sip, sighed with satisfaction and leaned against the counter, looking at her. “So what have you been doing all this time?” he asked her. “You didn’t come straight here from Trialta did you?”

      “No. I’ve been here for less than a year.”

      “And what were you doing before that?”

      She hesitated. Her heart was thumping in her chest. It was time to come clean. She had to tell him. He would find out soon enough anyway. And if he thought she were trying to keep it from him, he might think …

      She shivered.

      “I … uh … I had a baby.” She forced herself to look him in the eye and not waver. “A little boy. I call him Teddy.”

      “Teddy?” He blinked at her.

      “Yes. He’s at my sister’s right now, down the hall. Maybe you can meet him tomorrow.”

      And she stared into his eyes, searching for doubt, searching for memories, searching for anything that would tell her he’d guessed the truth.

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