Page 5 of The Prince's Castaway Baby

George is going to be furious with me.

If I even get out of this alive.

I can’t afford to think like that, so I rush out of the cockpit, coughing as the rain lashes my body again, then race down the stairs of the cabin.

It’s totally dark down here now. Not even the emergency lights are on, and the acrid stench of wet electrical fire sticks to everything. I’m not sure if the haze is my vision or the smoke, and to make things worse, a thin layer of water coats all the floors, getting deeper all the time.

Time to abandon ship.

Fortunately, one of the things I do remember is where the life raft is located, and the emergency kit. I snatch the kit and strap it to my back, then grab the raft, hauling it up to deck. It’s heavier than it looks, but I grit my teeth, using all my might to drag it to the water.

As soon as the raft hits the sea, it inflates, and the sound of it makes me flinch. It’s almost like an explosion, but right now I know I’ve never seen a more beautiful shade of orange in all my life, or a more attractive-looking dinghy. Carefully, I wade along the sinking deck to it, and, half-pushing, half-falling, I manage to drag myself into it and start drifting away from the yacht.

The rain doesn’t stop, but the wind dies down as I start floating, hunched under the flimsy canvas roof. I’m sure it’s not actually that flimsy, but a thin layer of water-resistant canvas overhead and a thin layer of inflatable rubber underneath doesn’t fill me with confidence.

I just hope George didn’t go cheap on this.

I just hope someone will come to rescue me soon.

With a shaky sigh, I curl my knees into my chest and try my best not to move, shivering as I watch the yacht vanish beneath the water, leaving only a stream of bubbles behind.

CHAPTER 3

JENSEN

Ihave no idea how long I’ve been floating here for.

I know it’s hours, not days, because night hasn’t fallen again since the storm passed, but I know for a fact that I can’t survive for long like this.

There’s a tiny survival kit in the life raft — a pack made up of basic first-aid equipment, food rations, and a bottle of water that went out of date three years ago. Combining that with the emergency kit, I have three bottles of water, five protein bars, a bag of weird nutritional biscuit things, and a miniature fishing rod.

I crack open the water and take a tiny sip before I peel back the wrapper of a protein bar and nibble on the corner. I don’t want to drink all the water now. I’ll just have little sips whenever I feel thirsty. I think I have about three days before delirium kicks in.

Probably, with the supplies I have here, I have about a week, maybe two, before I die. I’m pretty sure you can go for a while without food, but without water…

One day at a time. I take another tiny bite of the protein bar then fold it up and tuck it away. God, I wish I’d had a better dinner now. But even though I’m hungry, I have to conserve what little I’ve got. I think I’ll alternate protein bars and biscuits, because the idea of eating handfuls of stale, hard crackers does not fill me with joy.

The reality is starting to set in and it isn’t a good one.

The sun beats down on the roof and I feel sticky with sweat. This isn’t great for the dehydration thing. Plus, as I drift, I keep turning in slow circles, the sun flashing over my skin. I’m a pale Scandinavian guy, so it’s only a matter of time before I get sunburned.

There’s a tiny travel-sized suncream in the first-aid kit, but when I squeeze it, it’s almost completely dry. “Thanks, George,” I whisper. “Great attention to safety practices.”

I guess safety is one of those things you tend to become complacent about until it actually matters.

Shit. I’m going to die out here.

I curl up on the floor, listening to the waves slap against the rubber and roll underneath me. Drowning isn’t supposed to be too horrible a way to die, so I’ve heard. Probably better than starving or going mad, anyway.

Someone will come, right? They track these things, don’t they?

There must have been some sort of radar, some signal or alarm to say “Oh, no! The ship is sinking!” Someone, somewhere must have realized that I’m gone, and so is the ship.

What if they all think I’m dead already?

I’m pretty sure I fall asleep for a while, curled up on the floor, because when I come back to consciousness, my arms are wrapped tightly around my knees and I have a cramp in my neck. Guess all this nearly-dying-in-a-shipwreck business is tiring.

Carefully, I sit up, every one of my limbs aching and heavy. It’s not like I can get up for a walk, so I just shuffle around the raft, moving so I can sit with my legs stretched out in front of me. I’m so exhausted that I could go back to sleep right now without too much effort.

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