“He what?” His anger redirected to shock, Ari was left gaping at her as the men arrived, exactly as she wanted to happen. She stepped back as Stefan strode right up to the prince, his gaze swinging from Ari to Fran.
“He knows,” Dimitri said, also drawing up short. The three of them squared off like adversaries, the tension tight enough to crackle. “She told him.”
“Of course I told him.” Fran’s irritated outburst was perhaps a bit louder than she intended, but it also served. “It took you long enough to get out here, I was about to go through his family tree. He knows.” She riveted her gaze on Ari. “He knows.”
“Knowing isn’t the same as remembering,” Stefan said, and she could have kicked him in the shin.
To her surprise, though, Ari laughed. “I knew that I had met you before,” he said, holding out his hand. “Stefan Mihal. Thank you for rescuing me. And for doing what you could to make my way back easier.”
Stefan took Ari’s hand without hesitation. “Sir,” he said.
Ari turned to Dimitri, who stared at him with a belligerence that Fran knew was the only thing holding the gruff captain back from sudden, unwanted tears. Ari reached out and put his hand on Dimitri’s shoulder. “I do not remember you, Dimitri. I want to. I will. I do feel that I know you, though. And that I trust you with my life.”
Fran clamped her lips together, fighting the sob that had no place in this meeting. But Ari gestured to her as he gave Dimitri a wry grin, including her in the discussion when all she wanted to do was run away. “Francesca tells me you would not give up searching for me, even after a year. Have you always been so stubborn?”
“Always,” Dimitri said tightly, and he nodded with military precision to Ari and Stefan, then rounded on his men, biting out commands in Garronois. The men fanned around them, including Fran in their cage.
“I should go back for our—”
“We’ll send a car,” Stefan said. “The queen will want to see you, immediately. She’s most grateful that you’ve both come home.”
As they trooped back into the royal palace, Fran wasn’t sure that sentiment would last the night.
Ryker…Ari…whoeverthe hell he was, he knew he should have been leveled with a crashing headache at the prospect of stepping foot in the royal palace. But too many emotions were roiling through him at once to settle on any one thing. The shock at discovering who he really was, the unruly reaction to the knowledge that here were two men who’d dedicated a year to searching for him…and he didn’t truly remember either of them, and his pent-up outrage and betrayal at Francesca—Francesca!Who likely had been bullied into serving as his babysitter, who clearly had secrets of her own she was desperate to hide, and who now walked behind them like she was hoping to slip away when no one was looking.
Well, that wasn’t going to happen. He reached for her hand, pulling her up beside him as they crossed under the gate. She’d been by his side for his every step in Garronia, she wasn’t giving up that job yet.
And if he was being truly honest with himself, he didn’t want her to give it up yet. In the shortest of times, he’d become used to her being there, whether watching him with absolute serenity or snapping at him with a few choice curse words. He liked both sides of Francesca, and he suspected he would like any other side she chose to reveal to him. He could afford to wait.
What couldn’t wait, however was apparently a royal audience.
Ryker tried to process all he was seeing as they walked along the hallways of the royal palace. Everything in the home was stunning—hardwood and marble floors, artwork lining the walls, gilded fittings, but it didn’t have the pretentious feel that it should. He didn’t know why—perhaps because he’d grown up here, gotten used to all of the luxury.
Either way, there was still no pain, for which he was exceedingly grateful. He knew there would be more eventually, but he would take what breaks he could get.
“Sir,” Stefan said, and Ryker realized they’d stopped. The ambassador was assessing him critically. “Can you recall anything about this place yet? Anything at all?”
“Not yet,” Ryker said.
Stefan nodded. “Then you’re in luck. The royal family will be at their most cautious. Don’t take their reticence for a lack of relief, though. They simply don’t want to break you.”
“Break me?”
But Stefan was already through the door, and Dimitri gestured him in, the look on the captain’s face inscrutable. As if he’d lashed down his emotions tight enough to withstand a hurricane.
“Break me?” Ryker asked again, this time of Dimitri. The captain’s chiseled face remained tense for a moment longer, then quirked into a smile.
“The queen…you’ll understand when you see her,” he said. “She’s been grieving your loss for an entire year, and she’s afraid that if she makes the wrong move, she’ll somehow worsen your condition.”
Ryker frowned. “But that makes no sense.”
Dimitri lifted one shoulder. “She’s a mother before she is queen sometimes. And she’s been through a lot.”
Then another man he didn’t recognize was at the door, a staffer, looking out to see if anything was wrong. Ryker took a deep breath, and entered the receiving room.
It was like walking into a frozen wonderland.
Before him, arrayed in careful precision, were people who he assumed were his family. An older couple and a man maybe two years his junior, all of them dressed casually but in a manner that implied great care was taken. Were these clothes they thought he would recognize? He didn’t.
