Page 8 of His Hidden Royal Heirs

Beau, per usual, was her saving grace. She had figured out everything to allow Zia to start a new life as someone else. She had insisted she could handle the consequences of a life in the palace without Zia there to guard her or act as heir.

Zia had argued. Vehemently. With tears, but Beau had been surprisingly determined. And the only thing that had gotten Zia to let her sister take on the consequences of Zia’s own actions was the fact she now had someone besides her sister to protect.

Innocent, helpless babies growing inside her. Who didnotdeserve a life in that castle, being treated like mistakes.

All Zia had had to do was escape then...and she’d proven she was an expert at that. So she’d gotten out, and with Beau’s help built this little life under a fake name on a tiny polar island that had mostly been shrouded in polar night for the duration of her pregnancy.

She’d built a small little business designing online exercise programs for people who wanted to do everything at home and only talk to their trainer via email or text—another one of Beau’s brilliant ideas. Zia loved it. She even loved life on the polar island, the cozy mystery of polar night. She loved the village and her introverted lifestyle.

Trips to the mainland for her monthly checkups had yielded another surprise.

Twins.

Maybe it should have concerned her. A higher-risk pregnancy, the doctor had explained. But she’d been overjoyed. Just like she’d always had Beau, her babies would always have each other.

She tried to think of things in happy terms only—she was quite positive that was better for the babies growing inside her than anxiety and fear. She refused to consider thescary. Like never seeing Beau again outside of a screen. Like being alone, without a partner or a friend to lean on when she needed it. Like the father of these babies never knowing they existed, and being happy that way.

No, only good thoughts were allowed. Her babies would have each other, and they would have her. Maybe she’d failed atprotecting Beau, maybe she didn’t know how to find the identity of their father, but she’d work so hard to not fail her children. At least not in the ways her own parents had failed her.

She’d learned something from failing Beau. She could never put herself first. That way led to pain.

Which wasn’t a very happy thought either, so she focused on making herself a little lunch, ignoring the fact she had to decide where she was going tohavethose babies. Beau had given her two options where she thought she’d be safe from her identity being discovered.

She’d have to chop her hair off again and hope that and the way her body had changed with the pregnancy would throw people off.

She was still surprised news of her disappearance hadn’t found any media outlet yet. There were no stories about a canceled wedding. Short missives from Beau came and assured Zia everything at the palace was fine despite it.

Since she had babies to grow, Zia allowed herself to believe that even if it was very unlikely.

Happy, happy thoughts.

Her routine and internal reverie were interrupted by a harsh knock on the door.Odd. She had hired someone closer to town to deliver her mail and groceries, but that was only on Tuesdays. This was Thursday.

Maybe something important had come through.Or maybe... Fear jostled through her, but that was ridiculous. If her father had found her, sent men to collect her, they wouldn’t knock.

Zia edged toward the window next to the door, tried to look out without being seen. There was a man out there. Bundled up in all black, a stocking cap low on his head. Despite the swirling winds, he didn’t look the least bit cold.

But there was something familiar in that height, in the way the man stood...in everything. Her whole body seemed to go lax as she recognized the figure on her porch.

It washim. Something like joy surged through her. Silly, she knew, and yet there it was. How had he found her?Whyhad he found her? She nearly smiled.

Until his gaze lifted, met hers through the glass, and offered nothing but pure icy fury.

CHAPTER FOUR

CRISTHIANDIDNOTfind anger to be a productive emotion. He preferred to diffuse any boiling intensity with whatever suited the moment—a joke, withdrawal, distraction. Fury led to rash decisions as much as fear did.

And what was anger but fear with a target?

His target stood on the other side of that glass.

Aprincess. He knew the kind of games royalty played. He’d been well-versed all his life. The manipulations and maneuverings his mother had gone to great lengths to try to escape. Then, when she’d died instead, he’d been jostled about, isolated from anyone who actually cared, as though he were merely an inanimate object to be possessed or disposed of. A narrative to be protected, not a life to be protected.

Sometimes he thought he was at peace with it.

Sometimes he realized he was not even close.

He watched Zia through the window. She took a deep breath, then disappeared. Before he could find any emotion about that, the doorknob turned, and she opened it. She stood there, framed by the rustic door.

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