Page 5 of Falling for the Widowed Prince

He needed to go find his children.

Maxwell understood and left through a different door.

Anthony wished for the extensive hidden corridors many palaces allegedly had. To his knowledge, this one had only a few hidden doors going from one room to another, but nothing like secret passages.

Instead, he walked through the main halls, knowing that no one from the public would be there. The only people aroundwere the ones who belonged and who would never think about using what they saw or heard to their own advantage.

With that in mind, he stared at the patterned rug covering the ancient stone used in construction. Down three different corridors, up a flight of stairs, down another corridor, turn left then right and stairs would take him to the private quarters.

After he turned left, instead of the clear path he expected, instead he ran into something - or rather, someone.

“I’m so sorry, sir.”

Anthony looked up to see the tear-stained cheeks of the Royal Historian. It seemed odd to him that he’d notice such a thing, but she was the first person he’d talked to that had such an outward expression of grief.

He also suspected her words held more than one meaning. “Quite all right, Ms. Woodward. I wasn’t watching where I was going.” It took everything in him to manage the smallest smile, but he did his best. “The Prime Minister told me you’re doing some research. Have you found anything new?”

Ms. Woodward shook her head. “Not yet, sir. I won’t stop until I do. It’s the least I can do for the queen.”

She meant it was the last thing she could do for the queen.

With a nod of thanks, Anthony moved to the side and walked around her. Rude? Probably. Did he care? Not particularly. Ms. Woodward would understand.

He needed to find his children.

2

In the weeks since the queen died, Madeleine had done little but scour old documents and search through gigabytes of scanned material for more information on requirements for regents.

She still hadn’t found the thing niggling at the back of her consciousness.

First, she’d meticulously made a new list of monarchs, starting in the present and going back to the first king hundreds of years earlier. Yes, lists existed. Official ones, even. No, she had no reason to doubt their validity, but she wanted to go through the evidence herself to confirm everything.

It had been on her to-do list of random projects for a long time, but there had always been another task that took precedence.

“Ms. Woodward?”

Madeleine looked up to see a familiar face. She blinked. “Is it lunchtime already?” As she glanced at the clock hanging on the wall, she gasped and turned toward the man she thought might becoming her friend. Dipping into a curtsy, she bowed her head as well. “Your Royal Highness.”

He gave her a half-smile - the best one she’d seen since before his wife passed. “I told you, Ms. Woodward, that’s not necessary. Especially in private. I don’t actually have a title anymore, remember?”

She reached for a document, a copy of a copy of the original safely stored in one of the archival rooms. “Actually, I don’t think that’s true.” Sitting back down at the other table, she rolled her chair far enough to one side for the prince to pull his own up next to her.

Somehow, in the last couple of weeks, they’d fallen into a comfortable pattern.

Two days after the funeral, he had come to her office to ask about her progress. She’d been eating, but set her lunch aside. He’d apologized and insisted she continue while they talked and looked at a couple of documents together on her computer.

The next three days were the same. It seemed to be the only time of day he was available.

By day five, he’d started bringing meals for both of them. Except the day before. She hadn’t seen or heard from him at all and assumed that, halfway through November, their lunches had come to an end.

“These are copies, right?” He always double checked before bringing food in.

Madeleine nodded. “Copies of copies actually. The original copies are also kept in a safer place. We’d rather not make any more copies than we have to. No original documents or first copies are allowed out of the vaults without following strict protocols.”

“And you wouldn’t violate that directive.” It wasn’t a question, not like it had been for the first couple of days.

“Of course not.” She handed him the piece of paper, already highlighted. “Prince Ambrose was married to Queen Catherine. She predeceased him by nearly a year. Their son becameKing Gregory I. Contemporary documents from the early-1800s continue to refer to him as Prince Ambrose or even the Dowager Prince Consort. Everyone still regarded him as a member of the royal family.” Raising an eyebrow, she made a point she’d made nearly every day. “A widowed queen consort retains her title and status. Why shouldn’t a widowed prince consort?”

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