Page 22 of His Hidden Royal Heirs

If she needed to escape him, too, she would need to do it without putting Beau in the crosshairs of it all. She would need to do it without anyone. She would have to rely on herself.

So, she decided the first step was to explore the castle. Get to know it. She knew better than most that a good escape required an excellent understanding of the landscape you were living in. She did not have the benefit of growing up here to know the nooks and crannies of where to hide and where to bolt.

So that was her first mission.

She left her room, but instead of taking the usual stairs down, she walked deeper into the hallway upstairs.

It wasn’t quite like the castle she’d grown up in. The architecture was rather similar, but there were no royal portraits. No cases or walls of heirlooms. Everything was rather bare. But there were grand windows—some with beautiful stained-glass scenes, some floor-to-ceiling looking out over the estate around the castle.

Outside the world was nothing but bright, expansive white. She could almost believe they’d been snowed in here forever. It looked and felt like some kind of fairy tale out there.

Except here she was, trapped with the villain rather than the hero.

She sighed. She shouldn’t think of him as either. The truth was, no matter what happened, Cristhianwasher children’s father. And she didn’t know enough about him as a person to determine him a villain in that respect.

She didn’t consider her own father a villain, either. The idea of him being her adversary really gave him too much credit. He was simply...self-absorbed. He could be cruel, but only when it suited his purposes—his purpose was running a kingdom. She figured all men probably fit that mold, but she wasn’t yet sure what purpose Cristhian was acting under.

Since he did not have a kingdom to run, maybe she could find some inner core of reason inside him. Maybe if she got a better sense ofhim, she would know how to handle all this. How to maneuver.

Or how to escape.

She did not know if this castle meant anything to Cristhian when he was a man withestates. If it did, perhaps it would give some insight into his character, so she continued her exploration. Poking her head into any and every room. A library, an office that looked unused, a few generic bedrooms that had most of the furniture under coverings.

About halfway down the hall, she found a gorgeous conservatory. She spent the better part of thirty minutes there, enjoying the sunlight and beautiful green in contrast to all the white outside. So far, it was her favorite room.

Of courseherfavorite didn’t matter, she reminded herself when she was tempted to curl up in the chair and doze. She was on a mission. So, with reluctance, she left the sunny room andwent back into the hallway that now felt chilly in comparison. More covered up, unused rooms greeted her as she made her way around the curve of the hallway.

Once she made it to the almost complete other side of the castle, she found a suite of rooms that she had the sneaking suspicion were Cristhian’s. She almost didn’t notice it at first, because the decor in the room was as bare as the halls. It could be any guest room, anywhere, but none of the furniture was covered up, and there were little signs of life in the sitting room.

A folded-up newspaper on an end table, a jacket hung on the back of a chair. There was a computer cord coiled on a desk in the corner, missing its laptop.

Perhaps that should have been a sign to stop her perusal—no doubt Cristhian was a private man—but instead she pushed forward. Into a sprawling bedroom. The bed was huge; the windows that looked over yet more snow dominated one wall. There was no art on the walls, just a beautiful wallpaper that reminded Zia of the blue back on the island when polar night had just begun to lift.

She saw nothing personal in the whole expanse of a sleeping area, until her gaze landed on a large dresser. On top, a framed picture. Zia moved closer.

It was a wedding portrait of two outrageously gorgeous people. Then it dawned on her.

His late parents.

Cristhian looked almost exactly like the man she believed to be his father. A movie star, if she recalled correctly. The only real difference she could note from the picture was Cristhian had more of his mother’s darker coloring than the blond and blue-eyed star.

Zia still couldn’t remember what country his mother was from, but she’d look it up once she was back in her room. Maybe that would be a clue in to him as well. Maybe if she got a betterhandle on the people who’d made him, she’d have a better handle onhim.

She snorted, alone in his bedroom, because the idea of handling him was so ridiculous. From that very first moment in the bar, her gaze meeting his, she hadn’t been able to handle him or what he brought out in her.

But things were different now. They had to be. She smoothed a hand over her stomach, her babies, dancing around in there as if already jostling for space in whatever rooms they entered. She wanted to give them all the space they deserved. She wanted to give themeverything.

Which wasn’t all that different than what Cristhian had said this morning. Maybe there was some common ground to be found. If they both wanted what was best for their children, there was room for a lot of common ground.

But it wouldn’t be in marriage. It couldn’t be.

Zia looked at the two happy people in the wedding portrait and wondered if that happiness was real or the illusion of a picture. Did happiness with another person exist? Or did it always sour into what her parents shared?

One person wielding all their power over the other. Then either fighting, or her mother’s head bowed acquiescence.

Zia wanted neither for her babies.

On a sigh, she turned and left the room. The only real insight gained from the upstairs was that Cristhian either didn’t care about decor, or he didn’t care much about or spend much time at this castle, and that he had truly loved his parents.

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