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Therein lay the crux of it.
And here they were on the plane. Ana getting the little one buckled into a seat for take-off. The child sleepy and wary of everything and everyone, the mother equally wary, her attention divided wholly between her daughter and him. There was a bedroom on the jet. A supper room if anyone was hungry. There was comfort here, and luxury. He didn’t know whether to be relieved or concerned that Ana seemed to have no care whatsoever for the trappings of royalty or the security team that now surrounded them.
She’d brought the child to him in the living room of her house, both her and the girl hastily dressed in clothes for travelling. Jeans and a soft green pullover for Ana. Jeans, a teal T-shirt and a soft pink jacket cinched at the waist for his daughter. Sophia’s ponytail had been slightly lopsided, her amber eyes still bleary with sleep and she hadn’t reminded him of his sister at all in that moment. She hadn’t reminded him of anyone he’d ever met and that was as it should be.
It had allowed him to breathe.
She was a skinny little thing, this child of his, but she’d met his gaze fearlessly.
He’d crouched down, one knee to the ground, and held out his hand for her to shake it. ‘Hello.’ No way he’d been able to get his voice to come out smooth so he’d settled for gruff in the hope that it would hide some of the emotion welling in his chest at the touch of his daughter’s hand.
‘Sophia, this is His Royal Highness, Prince Casimir of Byzenmaach. He’s an old acquaintance,’ Ana had said. ‘And a prince.’
‘And your father,’ he’d said. Like ripping off a Band-Aid. Get it done, get it over with.
The girl had flinched and looked to her mother for confirmation.
‘Not dead,’ Ana had said somewhat helplessly, and left it at that, and his daughter’s wary gaze had returned to his face.
‘Your eyes are like mine,’ she’d said.
‘Yes.’
‘Maman says you have a castle,’ the girl had said next.
‘Yes.’ Yes, he did, and he wasn’t above using it to impress. ‘Would you like to see it?’
‘No,’ she said.
‘And we have puppies,’ he’d said.
‘What kind of puppies?’ She was hard to impress, this daughter of his.
‘Wolfhounds.’ He’d wondered if a six-year-old would know what that meant. ‘They’re big and shaggy and built to protect the animals in their care. Wolfhounds are almost as big as ponies, which we also have.’
‘Nice try,’ Ana had murmured, but, hey. Whatever worked. He wanted his daughter to arrive in Byzenmaach with castles, ponies and puppies on her mind rather than fear in her heart for the unknown.
Ten minutes into the flight he turned on his phone to find three urgent messages waiting, all of them from Rudolpho. ‘Flight time is five hours,’ he said to Ana as foreboding washed over him. ‘There’s food, a bed through there with a television screen on the wall. Children’s movies.’ He’d even stocked up on those. ‘Make yourselves comfortable.’ He stood and nodded towards the sole woman on his security team. ‘Katya will see to your needs.’
Ana eyed Katya with the deep distrust one might afford a rabid dog. ‘And what will you be doing while we make ourselves at home?’ she asked finally.
Casimir wasn’t used to having his movements questioned, but for her he made an exception. ‘I have some calls I must attend to. There’s an office area at the rear of the aircraft.’
‘I still have questions,’ she said.
‘Rest now.’ He wished he had that luxury. ‘There are some books on Byzenmaach in the bedroom if resting or television doesn’t appeal. English editions. Arabic editions.’ He’d offer books in his native language now that he knew she could read them. ‘You’re the mother of a royal bastard and you’re about to gain unparalleled access to me and Byzenmaach’s most trusted advisors. I want you knowledgeable when it comes to our history, our customs and our politics. I need you to be aware of the political battles in play around you and because of you.’
Not for Anastasia the kind of life his mother had led. Sidelined. Stripped of her voice and unable to influence even the most basic household decisions. Not for Casimir the choices his father had made.
