more so since she’d begun making plans for Mila’s return to Erminia. A side jaunt to New York would throw her schedule completely out—if she even agreed to allowing it. But Mila still had the email from the professor saying how valuable attending the lecture would be. Mila knew she could put some emotional pressure on the chaperone who’d become more like a mother-figure to her and convince her to let her go.
“What’s it going to be, Mila?” Sally prompted.
Mila reached her decision. “I’ll do it.”
She couldn’t believe she’d said the words even as they came from her mouth, but every cell in her body flooded with a sense of anticipation. She was going to meet Prince Thierry. Or, at least, try to meet him.
“Great,” Sally said, rubbing her hands together like the nefarious co-conspirator she was at heart. “Let’s make some plans. This is going to be fun!”
Dead.
The king was dead. Long live the king.
Oblivious to the panoramic twilight view of New York City as it sparkled below him, Thierry paced in front of the windows of his hotel suite in a state of disbelief.
He was now the King of Sylvain and all its domains—automatically assuming the crown as soon as his father had breathed his last breath.
A flutter of rage beat at the periphery of his thoughts. Rage that his father had slipped away now, rather than after Thierry had returned to his homeland. But it was typical of the man to make things awkward for his son. After all, hadn’t he made a lifetime hobby of it? Even before this trip, knowing he was dying, his father had sent Thierry away. Perhaps he’d known all along that his only son would not be able to return before his demise. He’d never been a fan of emotional displays.
Not that Thierry would likely become emotional. The king had always been a distant person in Thierry’s life. Their interactions had been peppered with reminders of Thierry’s duty to his country and his people and reprimands for the slightest transgression whether real or imagined. Yet, through the frustration and rage that flickered inside him, Thierry felt a swell of grief. Perhaps more for the relationship he had never had with his father, he realized, than the difficult one they’d shared.
“Sire?”
The form of address struck him anew. Sire—not Your Royal Highness or sir.
His aide continued, “Is there anything—?”
“No.” Thierry cut off his aide before he could ask again what he could do.
Since the news had been delivered, his staff had closed around him—all too wary that they were now responsible for not the Crown Prince any longer, but the King of Sylvain. He could feel the walls closing in around him even as he paced. He had to get out. Get some air. Enjoy some space before the news hit worldwide headlines which, no doubt, it would within the next few hours.
Thierry turned to his aide. “I apologize for my rudeness. The news...even though we were expecting it...”
“Yes, sire, it has come as a shock to everyone. We all hoped he would rally again.”
Thierry nodded abruptly. “I’m going out.”
A look of horror passed across the man’s features. “But, sire!”
“Pasquale, I need tonight. Before it all changes,” Thierry said by way of explanation even though no explanation was necessary.
The reality of his new life was already crushing. He’d been trained for this from the cradle and yet it still felt as though he had suddenly become Atlas with the weight of the world on his shoulders.
“You will take your security detail with you.”
Thierry nodded. That much, he knew, was non-negotiable, but he also knew they’d be discreet. Aside from the film crew that had caught him arriving at his hotel yesterday, his visit to the United States had largely gone untrumpeted. He was a comparatively small fry compared to the other heads of state from around the world who had converged on the city for the summit. That would all change by morning, of course, when news of his father’s death made headlines. He hoped, by then, to be airborne and on his way home.
Thierry strode to his bedroom and ripped the tie from his neck before it strangled him. His elderly valet, Nico, scurried forward.
“Nico, a pair of jeans and a fresh shirt, please.”
“Certainly, sire.”
There it was again. That word. That one word that had created a gulf of distance between himself and his staff and, no doubt, the rest of the world with it. For the briefest moment, Thierry wished he could rage and snarl at the life he’d been dealt, but, as always, he capped the emotions that threatened to overwhelm him. He was nothing if not controlled.
A few moments later, after a brief shower, Thierry was dressed and waiting in his suite’s vestibule for his security detail—all ready to go.
“It’s cool out this evening, sire. You’ll be needing these,” Nico said.
The older man’s hands trembled as he helped Thierry into a finely woven casual jacket and passed him a beanie and dark glasses. At the visible sign of his valet’s distress, Thierry once again felt that sense of being crushed by the change to his life. Now, he was faced not only with his own emotions at the news of his father’s death, but with those of his people. So far, his staff had only expressed their condolences to him. It was time he returned that consideration. He turned and allowed his gaze to encompass both Pasquale and Nico.
“Gentlemen, thank you for all your support. I know you, too, have suffered a great loss with the death of my father. You have been in service to my family for longer than I can remember and I am grateful to you. Should you need time to grieve, please know it is yours once we return home.”
Both men spluttered their protestations as they assured him that they would take no leave. That it was their honor to serve him. It was as he’d expected, but that didn’t mean they wouldn’t carry a sense of loss deep inside.
“I mean it,” he affirmed. “Nico, will you see to the packing? I believe our plane will be ready by 8 a.m.”
The head of his security, Armaund, entered the suite with three of his team.
“Sire, when you’re ready.”
With a nod of thanks to Pasquale and Nico, Thierry headed for the door. Three security guards fell in formation around him as one went ahead to the private elevator that serviced this floor.
“We thought the side entrance would be best, sire. We can avoid the lobby that way and hotel security have swept for paparazzi already.”
“Thank you, that’s fine.”
He felt like little more than a sheep with a herd of sheep dogs as they exited the elevator downstairs.
“Some space, please, gentlemen,” Thierry said firmly as he picked up his pace and struck out ahead of his team.
He
