Prince Aleksandre d' Gabriel took one look at Dr.
Konstantine's long face and knew the news was bad.
"I'm sorry, Your Majesty, there is nothing more I can
do." The royal physician, either unable or unwilling to
meet his prince's eyes, stared down at the gleaming marble
floor. "Your son is dying."
The softly spoken words pierced Aleks's soul like a bayonet.
His boy, his reason for living, lay just beyond the thick,
ancient castle wall dying, while his father stood in the
long, ornate corridor of Carvainian Castle wishing to die in
his stead.
Aleks was a ruler, a warrior prince, a man of wealth and
power, and yet he was helpless against the infection that
was destroying his son's internal organs.
He clenched his fists against the rising tide of fear,
stifling the urge to pummel the stone walls in frustration
and despair.
His mother, Queen Irena, touched his arm. "There must be
something more we can do. Perhaps another physician?"
Dr. Konstantine's head jerked upward. "Your Highness,
we've consulted every hepatology specialist in the world.
The only answer is an organ donation. A tiny piece of organ
from the right person will save his life. Nothing more,
nothing less."
Queen Irena's face, still lovely though she was nearing
sixty, had aged in the past weeks of Prince Nico's illness.
The lines around her mouth deepened as she said, "My
apologies, Doctor, I didn't mean to imply anything less than
the best on your part. It's just that—" She lifted
one hand in a helpless gesture.
Aleksandre understood exactly what she was feeling. The
queen doted on the motherless boy she'd carried in her arms
from America nearly five years ago. Without his mother's
help, Aleksandre would never have known his son.
Fate and determination had given him Nico, and he would not
give up his child without a fight.
"There must be a match somewhere," he said. "We
will continue our search."
"Thousands have been tested, Your Majesty."
His people, loyal Carvainians, had lined the streets and
clogged the telephones and computers in their sincere desire
to save the adored little prince. But not a single person
was a suitable match for the child whose blood was not one
hundred percent Carvainian.
Aleksandre fought the sickness churning in his gut and the
memory of an American woman who still haunted his heart. The
child's mixed blood was his fault, just as the illness was,
and yet Nico would not be Nico without Sara Presley's blood.
"I have a suggestion." Dr. Konstantine's gaze
skittered away only to return with a fresh boldness.
"May I speak frankly?"
The prince gave a bark of mirthless laughter. Dr.
Konstantine had tended him for years, through childhood
illnesses and wartime wounds. He trusted the man implicitly.
"I have yet to quell your propensity for doing so. And
we now are at a point of desperate measures. Say your
piece."
"Nico's birth mother."
"No!" At the queen's outcry, both Prince Aleksandre
and the physician turned to stare. Her face had gone white,
and the long, graceful fingers pressed against her lips
trembled. Aleks understood her reluctance for it matched his
own, and yet, had he not just been thinking of Sara Presley?
"She won't agree." A deep and dreadful knot formed
in his chest at the thought of the woman who had jilted him
and abandoned their child. She had no love for either the
father or the son. She had not cared then. She would not
care now if Nico lived or died.
The physician pressed. "You have no other choice but to
contact her, Your Majesty. She is the little prince's last
hope."
The queen regained her voice. Her nails scraped against
Aleksandre's sleeve. Almost feverishly she said, "Listen
to me, Aleksandre. The woman has a heart of stone. She will
never agree. Contacting her can only bring trouble that we
do not need. Our burdens are heavy enough to bear. Think of
the consequences. Think of what she might require of you. Of
your son."
Aleksandre knew his mother was right. Sara Presley had
damaged him before, but now, with Nico as a pawn, she might
try to exact a price he was unwilling to pay. And yet, what
choice did they have?
Dr. Konstantine was like a dog with a bone—or a man
with no other recourse. "If she is a match, she could be
the answer to our prayers."
"
If she is a match, and
if she would
agree," Aleksandre said grimly. So many ifs. A woman who
would abandon her newborn was not likely to go through
surgery on his behalf… unless she had a strong incentive.
Queen Irena paced to the sunlit patch at the end of the
hallway. She spun toward him, her agitation showing in jerky
movements and the rapid rise and fall of silk over her
breasts. "I won't have her here, Aleksandre. She's
poison. She'll hurt us. Hurt you. Hurt Nico. I can't bear to
watch that happen again."
The prince held up a hand. "Stop. This is my decision.
Let me think."
Both his companions bowed slightly and grew silent. His
mother's soulful black eyes watched him, reproachful. A
twinge of guilt niggled at his conscience.
If not for the Queen Mother, Carvainia would have no Crown
Prince Nico, and he would have no son. No one, other than
himself, understood the treachery of Sara Presley as well as
Mother. She was trying to protect both of her princes as she
always had.
Aleksandre closed his eyes tightly for a brief moment to
calm his raging spirit. He'd learned in battle to shut out
the noise and horror around him and go deep inside to a
place of peace where wisdom lived. He did that now, weeding
out his own anguish at the thought of seeing Sara Presley
again and concentrated instead on saving his child.
Vaguely, he could hear the quiet hush of servants moving
about the castle and of nurses moving in and out of Nico's
room. He listened deeper, imagined the sounds of the sea
just outside the castle walls.
The sea was his solace and when time allowed he walked the
beach to taste the salt spray on his tongue and smell the
wind blowing across the great water. Someday he would teach
Nico to sail and fish and race his speedboats. He would tell
his son stories of the generations of Carvainians who had
used the sea for defense and trade and livelihood.
But first, his son must live. And to live, he must have an
organ donation. And that could only come from his biological
mother.
He took a deep, cleansing breath and opened his eyes,
certain now of what he must do.
"You are correct, Mother, when you say that the American
woman will not come willingly. I also agree with you,
Doctor, that she is our only hope. She must come." His
jaw hardened with resolve. "She
will come."
Queen Irena tossed her head. "You cannot force her. She
is not under Carvainian jurisdiction."
"Not yet." A sly smile touched his bitter-tasting
lips. "But she will be."
The queen's eyes widened. "Aleksandre, whatever are you
thinking?"
"The American woman will not come to Carvainia for me or
even for her son, but she will come if the incentive is
great enough."
"And you will see that it is?"
"I know exactly what matters most to Sara Presley."
As a prince who'd led men into battle, he knew the
importance of strategy and of knowing one's enemy.
And so a battle plan was forged.
"If something sounds too good to be true, it probably
is," Sara Presley said with a laugh as she unpacked a
box of novels for the romance section of The Book Shelf.
"But what if the prize is real, Sara?" Penny Carter,
her friend and business partner waved the letter beneath
Sara's nose for the umpteenth time in two days. "What if
you've really won a fabulous trip to a European health
spa—in a castle, no less?"
Sara scoffed. "To win, I would have to enter, right?"
"Well, maybe, but we own a bookstore. What if one of our
vendors is rewarding us for outstanding sales?"
"Then you would be included in the trip. And you're
not." Sara held a new book to her nose and sniffed.
"I love that smell," she said, trying to direct
Penny's thoughts somewhere besides the goofy award letter.
It couldn't be real. The prize was either a joke, or when
she called, they'd ask her to send thousands of dollars or
to provide her credit card number. She wasn't that stupid.
But as she'd done all morning, Penny stayed after her.
"What about those contests you signed up for at the fair
last month?"
Sara paused in thought, gazing down at a book cover. A
shirtless cowboy gave her a sexy grin but she didn't feel a
thing. No matter how sexy or how nice, no man had gotten
past her defenses in over five years. She was a strong
advocate of "once burned, twice warned."
"Cassie Binger won a blender at the fair last year,"
she mused, "so I guess that's possible."
Penny let out a whoop, pounding her index finger at the
letter. "Call this number, right now, before I die of
curiosity." She patted a hand over her heart. The letter
crinkled against her plaid shirt. "Castle-by-the-Sea
Health and Beauty Spa sounds so romantic."
"The only place I'll find romance is between the covers
of the books we sell. The letter is a scam, Penny. It has to
be. My luck ran out a long time ago." She quickly turned
to the wall-high bookshelves.
Penny marched around to her side. Hands on her hips she
said, "Sara, listen to me. You've spent five years
living in the past. Five years haunting the Internet in
hopes of finding out who adopted your baby. Five years
getting over the jerk who left you."
Tears welled in Sara's eyes. Her belly gnawed with emptiness
now as it did every time she thought of the infant son she'd
lost. And she thought of him constantly. A TV show, a book
cover, a child on the street or in the store could send her
into a tailspin for days. "Don't, Penny."
Penny grasped Sara's upper arms and pulled her around, her
face wreathed in compassion. "Honey, I'm not trying to
hurt you. You're my best friend and I love you like a
sister. But I've watched you beat yourself up for too long.
When life offers sunshine, don't hide in the shade. You have
to move on."
"I can't, Penny." She sniffed. "My baby is out
there somewhere. Is he happy and healthy? Does his adoptive
mother love him the way I do?"
"You made the right choice. You did what was best for
him at the time. Let it go. Move on. Let yourself live
again."
They'd hashed this through hundreds of times and Sara knew
Penny was right. Penniless, without family to turn to, and
still in college on scholarship, she'd done what she had to
in order to secure her baby's future. "I'mhaunted by the
thought that if I'd kept him, something would have worked
out."
"If that Aleks jerk had stuck around and been the man
you thought he was, things would have worked out. But he
didn't. That's my point. Life happened. It sucks but it
happened. Now, life is happening again in a good way."
She shoved the letter at Sara. "Take a chance, Sara. Go
for it. Just this once, let yourself be happy."
Sara shook her head but took the letter in hand. Penny's
insistence was starting to wear her down. She did need a
change. She needed to shake loose from the guilt and loss
and depression that had plagued her for too long.
In a feeble attempt to resist, she muttered, "It can't
be true. I wish it was, but I'm not the kind of person who
wins fabulous trips to Europe."
A male voice intruded. "I beg to differ, Miss Presley.
If you are indeed Sara Presley, you are our grand prize
winner."
Both women spun toward the tall, imposing figure who had
entered the shop. Dressed in a business suit with hair
graying at the temples and the smell of intellect coming off
him in waves, the man reminded her of a slick television lawyer.
"Who are you?" Sara blurted. "And how do you
know about the prize?"
"I am here as executor of the contest, Miss Presley.
Since you have not yet called to claim your prize, the owner
of the spa felt an official visit was in order to assure you
that everything is in order and that our staff eagerly
awaits your arrival."
Sara looked from the man to Penny. Her friend's eyes were as
round as saucers.
"Are you serious?" Sara gestured to the letter.
"This is for real?"
"Indeed." The man moved into the small space behind
the cluttered counter and offered Sara a manila envelope.
"Inside you will find a brochure detailing the prize, a
round-trip ticket and your cash prize."
"Cash?" Sara squeaked. "Ticket?"
With hands now trembling, she removed the items from the
envelope one by one. Penny leaned over her shoulder.
"That stuff's real, Sara."
"I can't believe this." She read over the brochure
and saw photos of pampered women getting massages and
facials, of a fabulous castle standing proud and ancient by
a perfect blue sea, of rooms so beautiful they stole her
breath. She checked the airline ticket. Her stomach jumped
into her throat. "First class?"
"A vacation unrivaled by any other awaits you, miss, a
once-in-a-lifetime opportunity." The man tilted his
head. "Do you believe it now?"
"I'm beginning to."
"Excellent. I will tell the owner of Castle-by-the-Sea
to expect you. He will be delighted to greet you on
Thursday."
Sara trailed him as he moved toward the door. "Thursday?
This coming Thursday? That's only two days away."
"Why, yes, madam. Is that a problem?"
Penny popped up behind them and gave Sara a little whack on
the shoulder. "No problem at all. She'll be there."
Two days later Sara was still in delighted shock as she
waved goodbye to a jubilant Penny and boarded a plane for
London. Once there, she was whisked aboard a private jet
that took her to Castle-by-the-Sea.
As she disembarked, she breathed in the scent of sea spray,
warm and salty and so different from the landlocked aroma of
Kansas.
At the bottom of the steps, a line of attendants waited,
tidy and professional in red uniforms. The castle itself
sprawled before her, a stunning old stone structure complete
with spires and cupolas and towers that had no doubt once
housed European royalty. In the distance, below the hill was
a blue sea that would have provided protection for the
castle inhabitants. Today a handful of people reclined on
the white sand or cavorted in the crystal waters.
The butterflies in her belly fluttered. "This must be a
resort for the rich and famous."
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