Page 23 of His Hidden Royal Heirs

Zia wondered, perhaps unfairly, if it was easy to love parents who had died before you were even a teenager.

She lumbered downstairs, pressing a hand to her stomach. The more she was on her feet, the heavier she felt most days. When she’d been back at the cabin, she had always had ample sitting time. She should likely take a break from her exploring,but she didn’t want to sit with inaction and her thoughts right now. So she pressed on.

But she didn’t get far. After skipping the dining room since she’d already been familiarized with that, and then poking her head into what had turned out to be some linen closet of some kind, she came to a room with two grand doors open. It was some kind of sitting room, all dark woods and warm colors, with sunlight dappling the plush carpet. It was the kind of room meant for cozy nights and long, meaningful conversations.

A fire crackled in the hearth, and Cristhian sat in an oversize chair, a newspaper spread out in front of him.

She wanted to step back, not let him see her, but he looked up, those dark eyes meeting hers. She still could not quite prepare herself for the way her body reacted to his gaze taking her in. She wanted to be immune, but it always felt like his hands on her again, and no matter how she felt about him rationally, her body was apparently the least rational part of this whole package.

It would revel in his hands on her again, even in this state. Even with her brain telling her to get it together. And she didn’t back away or excuse herself. She stepped deeper into the warm, cozy room.

But then his mouth curved into a welcoming smile, not sharp or flirtatious at all. Just kind.Thisshe did not trust at all.

“Come. Sit.” He gestured at a table full of food. “Are you hungry?”

She shouldn’t join him, she knew, but the room smelled like heaven, and shewashungry again. Walking around had worked up an appetite.

There was a large chair that matched his on the other side of the table, so she walked over without saying a word and settled herself in it. There were trays of fruit, cheeses, little pastries, all arranged artfully. There were three pitchers, one filled withwater, the other two filled with juices. She shouldn’t let herself get used to this kind of luxury. If she was going to find her way in this, she was no doubt going to be back to square one at some point. A small cabin, an isolated island. Just her.

And your babies.

She glanced at Cristhian, who was watching her fill her plate. Was there anywhere she could run away to that he would not find? She had the sinking suspicion the answer was no.

So you will just have to figure out a way to get through to him, Zia.

It felt like an impossible task, but she couldn’t believe in impossible. Not when it came to her children. Everything had to be possible, if she just worked hard enough.

But first, she was going to eat her fill. She curled up in the big chair and took bites of everything. “Your cook is exceptional,” she said in between pastries.

“Yes, I make a habit of exceptional.”

She shouldn’t find that charming. It shouldn’t make her smile. He was arrogant and ridiculous and that was never a good combination.

“Did you enjoy your tour of the castle?” he asked. Blandly.

But she stopped midchew, because she had not been aware of anyone who might have seen her snooping about. And still he knew. Or was pretending to.

So she pretended she didn’t care what he knew. “It was very informative. I cannot decide if you have an aversion to art and any of the touches that might make acastlea home, or if this simply isn’t a space you spend much time in.”

He seemed to consider this by looking around the room they were in. Which, in fairness, had art. Books. Nothingtoopersonal, though.

“The cottage was stripped before it came into my possession,” he said after a moment. His gaze returned to his newspaper.

“Stripped?” Zia echoed, not quite understanding his meaning.

“I may have royal blood, as you like to point out, but no one in my mother’s family is too keen on that truth. They prefer to use me or manipulate me, whatever makes them feel powerful. So while my aunt insisted I keep my title and take on EspinasCottage, she made sure anything not bolted down was taken back to their royal seats that surely deserved such heirlooms.”

He said this without any bitterness. Like it was just a fact and it mattered not at all to him. But it had to matter, didn’t it? Not the things themselves, but the fact his own family would treat him as an outsider.

She did not care for being one of her family, of having her whole life defined by how well she upheld the Rendall legacy, but she could not imagine being young and orphaned and then feeling as though she did not belong.

Did he have no emotion about that? Or had the years allowed him to heal from it?

These were things that were dangerous for her to wonder, even more dangerous for her to know. She had to keep her wits about her if she was to ensure her freedom.

Something she struggled to remember when he lowered his paper and met her gaze with his dark one. His mouth subtly curved, the firelight giving his skin a burnished gold look about it. Like he’d be warm and safe to the touch.

Be stronger, Zia.

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