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“However,” Alaric cut in, “I’m not suggesting a marriage based on the lies so many put forth in their over-the-top proposals. It’s based on practicality.”
“Practicality?”
“Yes. Facts. Marriage would provide our child with a legitimate claim to the throne. It would also extend the protection of this office to both you and our son or daughter.”
She frowned. “Protection?”
“I am not without enemies. Marrying me would ensure you and our child are safe.”
He stood and circled around his desk. His respect for Clara increased as she stayed where she was, not budging as he sat on the edge of the desk and left just a few inches between himself and her chair.
“What’s your plan?”
“I just found out yesterday. I haven’t really had time to make a plan.”
He pounced. “So you were planning on remaining in the employ of the country of Linnaea? Or staying here and finding a new job?”
Her eyes widened slightly. “I...”
“And am I not to be allowed access to my own child?”
“No, that’s not...” She shook her head. “I would never deny you, or my child, their father. I loved my father. I can’t imagine not having had him in my life.”
The crack widened.
“What about putting our son or daughter to bed? Being there when they skin their knee? Or bring home their first drawing from school?”
Her lips parted. “You... I never pictured you as...”
“A father?” His mouth curved up. “Until yesterday, you never had a reason to.”
Pink tinged her cheeks. “True. You’re just normally reserved. It’s hard to imagine you kissing a child’s knee to make it feel better.”
“I accepted long ago that any marriage I entered into would be for political reasons.” His mother’s tear-streaked face gazing out the window flashed in his mind. “Given what I’ve seen of love and passion, I had no interest in pursuing an alliance with so-called romantic roots. But I knew I would always be the kind of father mine wasn’t.”
Present, for one, he thought as he stood and walked to the window. How many times had he looked out a window waiting for his father to arrive, for dinner or a trip, only to be left watching as the sky turned from sunset gold to starry darkness? How often had his father chosen the company of a woman he’d just met over that of his own wife and, once she was gone, his own son?
It had been nearly twenty years since the last time he’d allowed himself to be disappointed. Twenty years and he still carried the token with him, wrapped in a red cloth in his billfold.
He’d been a child on the cusp of becoming a man, the ache of his mother’s death still fresh. All he’d wanted was one ride on a Ferris wheel with his father. He’d watched the red cars of the Riesenrad from his hotel window, eyes fixed on the lights, ears ringing with the imagined music and laughter of families as they enjoyed the historic ride instead of the ticking of the clock as the minutes turned to hours.
He’d woken up to the sound of Daxon stumbling into the hotel room, a half-murmured apology making it out of his crusty lips before he’d dashed into the bathroom and slammed the door.
Few people could identify the day they had gone from child to adult. His would forever be burned into his memory.
Anger surged through him. Not being married to Clara, not being there for his child, would be walking in his father’s footsteps.
“I will be a part of my child’s life. That is nonnegotiable.”
The words came out much harsher than he’d intended, but he didn’t apologize. Clara was not a foolish woman. Even if she didn’t know the full story of his painful childhood, she had to comprehend what kind of life could be waiting for a royal child born out of wedlock.
Silence reigned behind him. He waited. He excelled at waiting. He didn’t want to hurt Clara, to force her. He wanted her to reach the same conclusion on her own.
But if push came to shove, he would fight.
The soft sigh behind him signaled victory. He stayed at the window.
Wait. Let her come to you.
