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To keep everybody happy and the kingdom running smoothly, Tristan pasted a slightly sarcastic smile on his face and joked constantly that the scars were a blessing. He claimed he didn’t care about the disfiguration and didn’t want women chasing him solely for his handsome face.
Now they pursued him solely for his fit body, his sense of humor, and his crown prince title.
Tristan smiled to himself. The title was likely his only true draw. Though he dated often to appease his dad, his best friend Chad, and everybody else who expected the crown prince to not only attend events but to find the next queen, he wondered if any woman could truly love his scarred face if it wasn’t attached to a future crown. He still flinched if he glimpsed his reflection without preparing himself beforehand.
Jennifer would have still loved him. She’d seen past the veneer to him—the real him. She’d loved him for him—not his title, his status, his money, or his face, though she used to tease that she ‘supposed she could put up with staring at his handsome face for the rest of her life.’
But she was gone now, without a single text or note to give him any hope of a future together. There was no sign of her ever returning. Apparently true love didn’t matter to her any longer. If she loved him so much, how could she have left him?
Tristan had placed the beautiful two-karat princess cut diamond ring he’d bought in the safe next to his mum’s four-karat, pink-hued, heirloom diamond. He’d planned to ask Jennifer to marry him before everything had imploded. Now he kept a smile on his face and went on meaningless dates to keep everyone from suspecting how devastated he was that she’d given up on their love and how empty his life was without her.
Footsteps. Again.
He spun and caught a glimpse of bronze curls disappearing behind a tree. Those curls were achingly familiar to him. The soft, springy curls he’d loved twisting around his fingers but hadn’t had the pleasure of touching in nine lonely months.
Jenn?
It couldn’t be. He’d been daydreaming about her again, and now he was imagining she’d come for him. Sadly, she wouldn’t. Even her mum being kidnapped couldn’t get her to leave whatever corner of the earth she was helping with her impressive ability to improve children’s speech.
The love of his life had written him off and dropped off the face of the civilized earth the day after his mum had died. She had only given him one last lingering kiss, a murmured apology that made little sense, and no forwarding address.
Tristan had been in a state of shock after losing his beloved mother, and Jennifer telling him she was ‘leaving’ hadn’t sunk in for a while. She left all the time on month-long humanitarian trips, but that day apparently she’d meant she was leaving for good and with no plan on returning or letting him contact her. He hadn’t fought properly for or with Jenn, or chased after her like he should have.
When he’d recovered enough to think straight, he’d begged her father, Prime Minister Henry Shule, for information—where she was, if she was safe, and if Tristan had the man’s blessing to go find her and bring her home and marry her. With his mum gone, he’d needed Jennifer by his side more desperately than ever.
All he’d gotten out of Henry was the promise that she was safer not being in Augustine, whatever that meant, the man’s sincere regret that Jennifer couldn’t love Tristan any longer, and her father’s deepest apologies for yet another loss for Tristan because Jennifer was not coming home.
Not coming home?
Didn’t love him any longer?
Were those two things even possible?
After weeks of pleading with Henry, Tristan’s hurt, anger, and pride had kicked in. He had turned to his usual defense mechanism to deal with the serious and heavy responsibility that was his life—joking and pretending nothing fazed him. His father had told him once that you had to develop thick skin to be the king. Tristan imagined his own skin was so thick it could rival any crocodile’s, and he wasn’t even king yet. Thank heavens.
Henry was the king of empty regrets and a frustrating lack of answers. Either he truly didn’t have the answers, or he was impressively covering secrets to protect himself or someone else. His wife had been kidnapped by William and Naomi Rindlesbacher. Tristan had to believe that was true. If Leslie was somehow in league with the pair and Henry was tied up in that mess, Tristan didn’t know how they’d navigate such a nightmare.
He hated that he questioned the sweetheart Leslie, his mum’s best friend, and that he now doubted the man he’d once looked up to as much as his own father. Henry had always seemed to understand Tristan and appreciate his attempts at humor, no matter if his jokes were ill-timed, aimed at Henry, or immature. Tristan had imagined Henry would be his father-in-law and had counted himself blessed they had such a fabulous relationship.
The joke was on the crown prince. The love of his life had ditched him, and her father was a mess. Losing Jennifer hurt worse than the burns from the bomb that he thought would never stop burning.
The nefarious Rindlesbachers had used Leslie Shule to blackmail Henry for months. They’d also tried different cunning schemes before attempting to force Tristan’s youngest brother Malik to kill their dad, Tristan, and Henry with a bomb to protect his love Sophie Pederson and her daughter and parents. When William thankfully failed again, he, his wife, and Leslie had disappeared.
Tristan and his dad felt awful for Henry and were doing all in their power to ensure Leslie’s safe return, but they still had no idea what to believe. The constant meetings Tristan had to attend as the crown prince used to be annoying and boring, except for his and Henry’s constant jabs and banter. Now even discussing traffic patterns in the capital city seemed fraught with tension and hidden meanings. Tristan always used humor to deflect from the seriousness of his role and to keep himself sane, but lately even that had failed him. It wasn’t much fun to joke when his target, Henry, and the two people who always at least smiled at his jokes, Henry and his dad, were now stiff and uncomfortable.
The only good news of late was that his brother Steffan and his wife Hattie had returned home. The world media finally knew the truth of Hattie’s innocence and the Rindlesbachers’ deceptions. For the first time in years, Hattie didn’t have a target from the Rindlesbachers on her back. At least not a visible one.
Hattie had been framed for murder twice by the Rindlesbachers. There was no end to William, Naomi, and their son Treven’s scheming plots, some of which seemed insane but were more impressive and brilliant than Tristan wanted to admit. He feared William would somehow twist fate in his favor again. The Rindlesbachers were masters at accomplishing evil and unforeseen twists.
Thankfully, the Rindlesbachers were the ones running scared now. It was a nice twist, and Tristan could only pray William and Noami would be caught soon and join their son in prison and that Leslie Shule would come home safe.
If only her daughter would come home as well.
Tristan stared into the trees and saw a flash of a tanned arm. He should probably call Ray, get in a defensible position, and stay safe. He should probably not confront the person who may or may not be stalking him. But Tristan played cat and mouse games all day with political nonsense. He was tired of it.
He took off at a run down the trail, racing toward the person hiding behind the tree.
“Oh!” a female voice exclaimed, then she took off at a sprint, darting away from him.
