She'd promised she wouldn't let Tirith down. Neither would she let him down.
Her mouth felt as dry as a Texas summer day as she stood up from the bench on shaky legs.
She walked beside him, past the hedgerow, and out from the secluded shade into the morning sunlight.
"How's your kung fu?" she asked. Maybe if she kept talking, she'd be able to keep from throwing up.
"Never learned," he admitted cheerfully.
"Ju jitsu?" she asked. "I've taken a few classes but didn't stick with it. No?"
He shook his head.
"What about karate?"
"Sorry." His grin was quick and contagious. "You'll have to rely on your palace muscle men."
There’d been bodyguards that fateful morning, and it hadn't changed the outcome. Darkness and memories threatened to send her back into hiding.
"I can shriek like a little girl. I have it on good authority that it's terrifying."
His teasing voice intruded on the blackness that had begun to take over her thoughts.
He was here, and she wasn't twelve anymore. She was a resourceful, intelligent woman who could train a horse ten times her weight, who subdued rowdy cowhands with a single look.
She was a princess.
Once out in the sunlight, it was apparent she and Luc had been missed. Hordes of people were waiting for them, wanting a press of her handshake or a selfie with her or to mention to her that they didn't like the royal family's most recently policy on healthcare or tax reform or whatever.
As promised, Luc stayed by her side. When the press of the crowd should've separated them, he stepped close and kept a hand at her waist.
And when there was a slight break in the crowd, he leaned in and spoke into her ear. "Thank you for doing this. I know it must be difficult."
He couldn't know how difficult. Every time someone passed by in the edge of her vision, it brought back a flash of memory. Ofthatmemory, of being grabbed and silenced with a hand over her mouth.
"You should know that my niece will be eternally grateful."
His words shook her out of the memory that threatened to suck her under. He seemed to know somehow that she was on a knife's edge, teetering between blind panic and hysterical, uncontrollable laughter. Neither was appropriate.
He kept talking.
"She was born with Down syndrome."
Oh. She hadn’t known. "What's her name? Your niece?"
It took him a second to respond. "Guinevere. I'm afraid my sister-in-law was a lover of classic literature."
Maggie couldn't help smiling at that.
"The foundation is Guinevere's baby, really. She's seventeen now. My brother is quite a bit older" he added when he must've read the question on her face. "Ever since she was a toddler, she's always wanted to do what the children around her were doing. Whether that meant playing tag or drawing or, when she was older, taking riding lessons. My brother and sister-in-law could afford it, but they also made sure she realized how privileged she was. And Guinevere…" He huffed a half-laugh. "She can't stand for others to be left out. So the foundation was born to benefit other kids like her."
"She sounds like she has a kind heart." Maggie would love to meet her. "Is she here?"
"The kindest. And no. But she'll be at the polo match on Friday. It's a charity match, and the teams are a mix of Guinevere and her friends, professional players, and a few celebrities."
"It sounds delightful. I can't wait to meet her."
"She's amazing." But he was frowning. "Which is why what my father did was unconscionable." He stretched his frown into a semblance of a smile. "But that's not your concern."
