The Queen's Baby Scandal. Maisey Yates

a woman.

      “And only women can do this?” the man asked, looking somewhat incredulous.

      “Yes.” The female news anchor nodded gravely. “An old, protective law that ensured a queen would not be bound to one of the country’s invaders, should she be forced against her will.”

      Against her will? She had…

      That lying bitch.

      She was pregnant with his child.

      More than that, she was denying him his right as a father.

      It took him back in an instant. To what it had been like to be a boy. Knowing his father was there in the city, an omnipresent being in his mind who had been potentially around any corner. Who had, to him, been possibly any well-dressed man walking by.

      He’d known his father was a rich man. A powerful man.

      A man who didn’t want him.

      And he had done his best to be careful—with every woman except this one—but he’d always known that with sex there was a chance birth control would fail. And he’d always known that should that ever happen he would not be like the man who’d fathered him.

      He would never let a child of his wonder like that. Would never leave him abandoned, unanchored to what he was.

      Would never deny him anything he had.

      Yes, Astrid von Bjornland had money, had a title. But their child was more than her. That child deserved all, not half.

      And yet there she was. Claiming his child as hers and solely hers, when both of them knew he was well involved.

      He remembered the way she had looked up at him, the way she had trembled just before he’d entered her body.

      “It’s fine,” she had whispered.

      It had bloody well not been fine. He hadn’t realized he’d stood up until he looked over and saw Carlo’s shocked expression.

      “Sir?”

      “Ready my plane,” Mauro said, his tone hard. “I’m leaving.”

      “Where are you going?”

      “Bjornland. I hear it’s lovely in summer, and a bit harsh in winter. However, I hear their queen is a lying snake all year round. And that is something that needs addressing.”

      “Mr. Bianchi…”

      “Don’t worry,” he said. “I’m not going to make an international incident. Provided she falls in line.”

       CHAPTER FOUR

      “WHAT THE HELL were you thinking?”

      The voice boomed.

      “Excellent,” Latika said, her tone dripping with disdain. “His Majesty King Gunnar has arrived. Oh, wait. But he is not king, is he?”

      “I still outrank you,” Astrid’s brother said, sweeping into the room, each one of his thirty-three years evident on his face thanks to years of hard living. “And lest you become confused, darling Latika, I don’t covet my sister’s position. In fact, I would rather die. However, I do have some opinions on how she might conduct her business.”

      “That’s very fascinating,” Astrid said. “Except it is not.”

      “Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked, his tone turning fierce, and she felt momentarily bad for her anger. Momentarily.

      “Because. Telling you defeats the purpose. This is no one’s business but mine. And that’s the entire point of it. My heir. No one else’s.”

      “Except, there is someone, isn’t there?” Gunnar asked. “I know how these things work.”

      “Science is a wonderful thing,” Astrid said drily. “Perhaps that was the method I employed to find myself with child.”

      “I don’t suppose you’re going to tell me,” Gunnar said.

      “No,” she responded. “But you didn’t have to return to Bjornland on my account.”

      “I fear very much that I did. You have created an incident.”

      “You create incidents nightly, brother dear.”

      “I am not the heir, Astrid. And I am a man. You know that unfair as it is… It is different.”

      “There is no incident,” Astrid insisted. “I am well within my rights to do this. I have done all of the research required to discern that.”

      “Father’s council will oppose you. That is their function. To keep control and power, to keep traditions. To curb your power, because father believed that men were best left in charge and not women at all.”

      “They can try,” Astrid said. “But they won’t succeed. They will not, and they cannot. Don’t you think, Gunnar, that I made absolutely sure I could not legally fail in this before committing?”

      Gunnar shook his head. “You underestimate the power of old men who feel their traditions are being threatened.”

      “This is a very old law,” Astrid said, looking square at her brother. They could not be more opposite in temperament. Gunnar was a risk taker. The rebel prince who spent his life skydiving out of planes, serving in the military and piloting helicopters. Who would have been perfectly at home at a club party like the one Astrid had attended only three months ago. When she had turned her world upside down, and made a choice to wrest control of her life away from the hands of those men he was talking about now.

      He was like a Viking. His eyes the color of ice, his hair blond. His beard a darker gold that gave him a roguish appearance the press waxed poetic about.

      The Viking Prince.

      He was also her very best friend in the entire world, in spite of the fact that he was a massive pain. Latika saw him only as a pain, that much was clear. The feeling, it often seemed, was mutual.

      “I have not underestimated anything. And I’m prepared for a fight. But there is a reason that I could let no one know before I made my announcement public. I also made sure that every media outlet was aware of the law in Bjornland. The one that protects the queen should she need to claim an heir as solely hers. Well, Latika ensured that made its way out to everyone.”

      “Did you?” Gunnar asked. “Just how involved with all of this were you?”

      “Latika does what I ask her to,” Astrid said.

      Latika held up a hand and arched her dark brow. “It’s all right. I don’t need you to protect me from him. I have done my duty by my queen. And by this country. I may not be a citizen by birth, but I swear my allegiance, and you well know it.”

      “For now. Until you go back to America. And then, all of these problems will be ours and ours alone.”

      “Problems that I willingly took on,” she said, her tone firm. “I am a queen, I am not a child.”

      “Your Majesty.” One of her guards rushed into the room, his expression harried. “It seems that we have an uninvited guest at the palace, and while we had thought to shoot him on sight, he is quite famous.”

      Astrid blinked. “I’m not sure I understand.”

      “A man has walked into the palace without permission,” the guard clarified.

      “Then why didn’t you shoot him?” Gunnar asked.

      “The fame,” the other man said. “We would be liable to create an international incident.”

      “Who is it?” Astrid asked.

      “Mauro Bianchi.”