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The couple didn’t argue, but the lieutenant stood, facing him. His gaze held the promise of a threat. In Lohenisch, he said calmly, “I didn’t ask for this. But I swear to you, I’ll have my answers. And so will you, whether you want to hear them or not.”

Michael couldn’t seem to catch hold of the thousand-and-one thoughts racing through his mind. Confronting the Crown Prince had been like having his face smashed against a mirror. He’d seen traces of himself in the man’s features. His half-brother. But which of them was illegitimate?

His thoughts returned to his parents. They had lied to him, letting him believe that he was their flesh-and-blood son. Had it been out of love, to protect him from harm? Or had they stolen him away?

His earliest memories of Mary Thorpe were of a woman who had soothed him, rocking him to sleep. Ever patient and loving, he’d never had any reason to doubt her. He still didn’t want to.

He held fast to Hannah’s hand, for she was his only constant presence in this ever-changing chaos. She grounded him, keeping him from losing his mind.

God in heaven, he didn’t know what to do. It was clear that his life was a missing piece in this strange puzzle. But did he possess a birthright? Could he make the transition from pauper to prince, if it were true?

The soldiers escorted them to the front of the Schloss just as Graf von Reischor arrived with his servants. The ambassador’s face was nearly gray with exertion, and his footmen carried him toward them.

“Coming here alone was a mistake,” the Graf said without prelude. “You have no idea the threats you could face.”

“Twice, men have tried to kill me,” Michael responded. “I know precisely what we face.” With a hint of satisfaction, he added, “And yet there hasn’t been an attempt on my life since we left your side. Why do you suppose that is?”

“You should have waited for me,” the Graf insisted. His footmen eased the ambassador to a standing position. A moment later, Von Reischor motioned the servants away and lowered his voice. “What happened?”

Was I right? he seemed to be asking.

“The prince ordered us to leave,” Michael answered. “His guards are escorting us to the borders.”

His reply fueled the Graf’s indignation. “I didn’t tell you to speak with the Fürst. Of course he wouldn’t want you in the Schloss.”

“We weren’t given a choice,” Hannah interrupted, her hand squeezing Michael’s in an attempt to calm him. “This morning the prince sent men to the inn, and we were brought before him.” Keeping her voice just above a whisper, she added, “He feels threatened by Michael.”

“Well, of course he would.” The Graf straightened, sending a thoughtful glance toward the Schloss. “It seems we will need to alter our strategy.”

He spoke quietly to his own men, ordering them to escort Michael and Hannah to his hunting lodge. “I will join you there this evening, after I have spoken with Her Majesty.”

“The prince says the queen will see no one.”

“He means they won’t allow it.” The Graf’s face hardened with frustration. “They accused her of madness and locked her up. No one wants to admit that she was right, all along.”

“Right about what?”

“About you being stolen away.” The Graf cleared his throat. “But this is not the place to discuss it.”

He signaled to the prince’s guards. “My servants will drive Lieutenant Thorpe and his...companion to the border. You may return to your duties.”

The captain looked suspicious, but he obeyed. Within seconds, the Graf’s servants surrounded them, and they continued walking toward his coach.

“My driver will bring you to my hunting lodge after he’s certain you aren’t being followed out of Vermisten,” the Graf told them.

Hannah wasn’t convinced. “The prince will order us out of the country if he discovers we’re still here.”

The Graf appeared irritated at her concern. “Your presence is not required here, Lady Hannah. If it bothers you, my men can escort you to your cousins’ house in Germany, even now.”

She looked uncomfortable and turned to Michael, her eyes searching his. He didn’t want her to leave, not yet.

“I need someone I can trust to be my translator.” Michael took her hand in his. He didn’t mention that he was starting to remember the language. Best to let others believe he couldn’t speak a word.

When they reached the coach, the Graf’s gaze flickered toward their joined hands. Michael saw the instant the Graf noticed the ring upon Hannah’s hand.

“Have you gone and done something foolish?”

Hannah blushed, covering the ring with her hand. “Not really. It was a gift. If others believed we were married—”

The Graf’s face tightened with disgust. “I hope, for the sake of the lieutenant’s future, that not too many people believe it.”

Her face paled, and Michael tightened his hand on hers. This wasn’t her fault, and he’d not let the Graf lay the blame upon her. He held up the ring. “I’ve protected her reputation with this.”

“You shouldn’t have brought her here,” the Graf protested. “Her cousins are probably already wondering where we are.”

“We’ve only been gone two days,” Michael pointed out.

“And do you intend to keep her with you, as your—?”

“Don’t say it.” Michael was about to move toward him when Hannah stepped between them.

“It’s all right,” she said slowly. Looking the Graf squarely in the eye, she said, “I have no intention of interfering with the lieutenant’s future.

I will return to my cousins’ house soon enough.

” She released his hand, taking a step away.

Her face was perfectly composed, showing no trace that she felt anything.

She was right, of course. That was the proper thing to do, and Michael should never have allowed her to come with him. But the idea of her leaving him, returning to a house of strangers who would help her marry a foreigner, made him want to take her hand back again.

After he helped Hannah into the coach, Michael asked, “Where is Mrs. Turner now?” He’d believed she would be safe, remaining with the Graf.

“She is staying at an inn with Lady Hannah’s maid and the other servants.” The Graf visibly winced. “She was not pleased about the journey here.”

Michael didn’t doubt that. “Bring her to the lodge, if you would. I want to speak with her as soon as possible.” Abigail Turner had known his mother since he was a small boy. She might be able to shed light on whether or not Mary Thorpe had ever been to Lohenberg.

The Graf nodded, though he didn’t appear enthused about the idea. “As you wish.”

Inside the coach, Hannah appeared shaken by the interaction. From the way she wouldn’t meet his gaze, Michael suspected she was considering leaving.

Did he want to be a part of this royal family, though he was undoubtedly the black sheep?

Instinct made him consider leaving it behind.

They didn’t want him—of that he had no doubt.

But if he turned his back upon them, he would not see Hannah again.

He was torn between a life he didn’t want and a woman he did.

The journey toward the border was a jarring, rough ride. The miles passed, and still Michael didn’t speak to Hannah. She was twisting the ring around her finger, deep in thought. When the afternoon sun began to drift lower in the sky, she turned to him and asked, “What did you think of the prince?”

“I think he’s afraid.” As any man would be, when faced with an unexpected piece of the past.

“What about you? Are you afraid of what will happen?”

Michael shook his head. “I’m not the one with a kingdom to lose, sweet.”

“He’s your brother, isn’t he?” She looked troubled by the prediction, as though she didn’t want it to be true.

He nodded. “I’m probably a bastard son. They’ll want to be rid of me, for appearance’s sake.”

She shook her head, meeting his eyes with her own. “I don’t believe that, Michael. I saw the portrait of the king in the library. You are the very image of your father.” Deep green eyes stared into his. “If anyone is a bastard son, it’s the prince.”