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Mrs. Turner let out a heavy sigh. “I was afraid of anyone finding us. I also knew I would have to live in poverty for the rest of my days. It was the only way to avoid notice.”

He’d often wondered how Mrs. Turner had managed to survive without a husband to support her. He’d always believed it was his parents’ charity.

“Did my parents know about my past?”

She shook her head. “It would have made them uncomfortable to know you were a prince. They’d have treated you like a bit of glass, and then what sort of man would you have grown into?”

She took a deep breath, blowing her nose in the handkerchief he gave her.

“I told them you were orphaned in Lohenberg and that I’d promised to find a home for you.

I let them raise you as they chose. But the one thing I insisted on was your education.

Dear heaven, how I pestered Mary about that.

I told her that you might be a fishmonger’s son, but you deserved a chance for a better future. ”

“How could they possibly have afforded my schooling?” Michael voiced aloud. “I never understood it.”

“I sold some jewels I’d kept from Lohenberg.” She dabbed at her eyes. “Mary let her husband believe that she’d inherited a small sum from an aunt who died.” She patted his cheek. “You needed it more than I did.”

“What happened to your husband?”

Silent tears rolled down her face. “I’ve never known. I haven’t seen Sebastian since that night.” She shivered at the memory. “I hoped that somehow he managed to survive. But I couldn’t write to him or ever learn what happened; otherwise, they might have found you.”

The burden of her secret seemed to grow lighter, now that she had laid it before him. But Michael felt its weight suffocating him. He didn’t want a royal life or the difficulties it would bring.

“I sent the last of my funds to bring you back from Malta, after I learned you were wounded,” she admitted. “I had hoped that both you and Henry would return.”

Michael embraced her while she wept for her son. With Abigail Turner’s confession, he could no longer deny the truth staring him in the face. He would have to confront the impostor Prince Karl, as well as the king and queen. God help him.

Mrs. Turner leaned her head on his shoulder, patting his back. “I am sorry for keeping this from you, Michael. I thought the only way to save your life was to keep it a secret.”

She was asking for his forgiveness, but right now he was having trouble thinking clearly. He forced himself to give her a light squeeze, but inside, his thoughts were churning.

Mrs. Turner pulled back from him. Her face still held the melancholy, but it was soon replaced by stubbornness. “I will go to Queen Astri in the morning and tell her everything.”

He wasn’t so certain that was a good idea. “We’ve already been forbidden to see the queen. I don’t think—”

“I was one of her ladies-in-waiting for over five years. The queen will see me.”

“Not if she believes you stole her only son.”

Mrs. Turner’s face crumpled up with tears, as though he’d struck her across the face. But she needed to understand that any contact with the royal family could mean her own imprisonment, possibly death.

“If you try to speak with her, you’ll face punishment for what you did. The men who took your husband might find you again since they know I’m still alive. It’s too grave a risk.”

“I have to atone for what I did. I have to bring you back to her, so she knows that I never meant to betray her.”

“In time. I will face her first, before you.” He crossed his arms in front of him. “But even if she does agree to see me, she might not believe it. There’s no proof that I am her son, except for my resemblance to the king.”

The corners of Mrs. Turner’s mouth turned up. “You’re wrong, lad. There is proof that you are the prince.”

He waited for her to continue, and she came up behind him. “You have a scar here.” She pointed to his left leg. “On the back of your calf.”

Michael had seen the scar before, but he’d never remembered how he’d received it.

“When you were two years old,” Mrs. Turner said, “you loved climbing up on tables, no matter how your nurse tried to stop you. One day, you fell backwards and cut yourself on one of your toys. You cried, and your mother held you while they stitched up the wound.” Mrs. Turner stretched her thumb and forefinger to show the size.

“It’s naught more than this large. But only a few members of the palace staff knew about it. ”

She grew solemn. “You’re going to get your throne back, Michael Thorpe. I promise you that.”

Michael spent the last few hours of the night pacing. Mrs. Turner’s confession made it impossible to deny his past any longer. Now he had to decide whether or not to seek the kingdom he’d lost.

He threw on a pair of trousers and a shirt, not bothering with a waistcoat. Tiptoeing outside his room, he moved down the corridor and toward the back stairway. The Graf’s lodge was not large, though it was luxurious.

He didn’t know what drew him to Hannah’s bedchamber. It wasn’t the desire to intrude but a deeper need. If he could sleep beside her, he sensed that he could calm the tangled state of his mind.

The Graf had given her a room on the opposite side of the house. Although they had kept up their ruse of marriage to the outside world, Heinrich von Reischor intended to uphold Hannah’s virtue as best he could.

Quietly, Michael opened the door to her room and moved inside. Though he doubted if she’d hidden a knife under her pillow the way he had, he whispered, “It’s Michael. Are you asleep?”

“I was,” Hannah replied, rolling over and blinking at him. “What is it?”

He closed the door behind him, thankful to find that she was alone. Without another word, he crossed the room and lay down beside her in the bed.

She wore a thin cotton nightgown, and her body was warm from sleep. A light fragrance of jasmine clung to her hair. Michael curled around her, holding her close.

She didn’t ask for explanations, but softly ran her fingers over his arm. A reassuring touch, one that helped to calm his troubled spirits. “Stay with me tonight,” she whispered.

He kissed her temple in answer. Though his body was already responding to her nearness, he forced the desire away. Right now, he just wanted to sleep beside her.

“You can tell me, you know,” she whispered. “Whatever is bothering you.”

“In the morning,” he promised. “Right now, I’ve the need to hold you.”

She rolled over on to her side, propping up her head on her hand. “Tell me.”

He explained Mrs. Turner’s confession, all the while finding an excuse to touch Hannah. He ran his fingers over her shoulder, down to the curve of her hip. “I hardly know what to do any more. The throne isn’t something I want.”

Her hand came up to his face, and she pressed her lips to his in a soft kiss. “If Queen Astri is your true mother, she’ll want to know what happened to you.” She pressed closer to him, stroking his spine. The gesture made him grow hard, and he fought to gain control over his body’s instincts.

“They’re strangers to me,” he admitted. “I know nothing of the way they live or how I should act.”

“I’ll help you.” Hannah ran her fingers through his hair. “I’ll come with you to the Schloss for a few days.”

He pulled her on top of him, holding her close. The edges of her nightgown slid up around her legs, and when he reached down to correct the hem, he realized she was naked beneath it.

His palms moved over her bare bottom, and his manhood swelled against the soft spot between her thighs. She tensed, and he felt the prickle of gooseflesh on her skin.

“Michael,” she breathed. It was neither a protest nor an invitation. He sensed that she desired him, too, but was trying to resist him.

He cupped her face, drawing her in for a kiss. His frustrations, his uncertain future, were making it impossible to think clearly. And right now, if she was willing, he wanted to forget.

She kissed him back, her mouth warm and wet. He rocked her hips against his, and she shuddered at the contact. His palms squeezed her soft bottom, while his shaft strained to break free.

“I want to be inside you,” he murmured against her mouth, sliding his hands beneath her nightgown to cup her bare breasts. The fierce need burned inside him, and if she allowed it, he wanted nothing more than to turn her over and fill her body with his own.

She stilled, and her hands captured his wrists, pulling them away. “Michael, no. I can’t.” Hannah extricated herself from his embrace, and he noticed that her fingers were bare, unlike a few hours ago. She must have removed the wedding ring he’d given her.

His desire was instantly replaced with wariness. “I didn’t come here to seduce you. I’m not going to force you into anything you don’t want.”

She sat up and drew her nightgown over her knees. In the fragile garment, she looked like an innocent maiden about to be sacrificed to a dragon.

“I was wrong. I thought I could be your mistress.” She gathered up the bed sheets like a shield.

He took several deep breaths, feeling as though he were walking upon a precipice. “I told you. If there’s a child, I will provide for both of you.”

She shook her head slowly. “We made the mistake once. Not again. If I bore a child, you would resent me.”

He couldn’t understand what she meant. “I would never resent you.”

“I thought that if we were together, even if I were nothing but your mistress, you might eventually want to marry me.” She lowered her head. “It was a foolish thought. As the crown prince, there is no chance of it.”

“I don’t live by the decisions of others.”

She ignored him. “You could marry a princess. Or a duchess. Anyone you please.”

His anger ignited. “Do you think I give a damn about social status?” He stood, his shadow falling over her. “Are you demanding that I marry you? Because I don’t think that’s what you really want.”

She stiffened, and he continued. “You want a man with a title and several estates. You want a respectable name and separate bedrooms with an adjoining door. When you sit at your dinner table, you want a man at your side whom others admire. Not a man like me. A soldier, responsible for the deaths of hundreds of men.”

She spoke not a word, and he realized he’d been hoping for her argument. He’d hoped she would deny it. But he suspected he’d been her temptation, a sinful indulgence that she didn’t want forever.

“If I thought you wanted me, I’d find a minister right now,” he murmured, sitting down. “I would make you a princess. But you wouldn’t say yes, would you?”

Because she knew where he came from. She knew who he truly was—a man from the streets.

For the longest moment, Michael stared into her bleak face. Waiting for her to tell him he was wrong. Waiting for her to embrace him or offer words of reassurance.

“No, I wouldn’t,” she said at last. Her face was pale, but determined. “I’ll help you acclimate to the Schloss. And after that, I’m leaving for Germany.”

The door closed behind Michael, and Hannah buried her face in the pillow, weeping hot tears. The wretched pain of forcing him to leave her was more than she could bear.

His idle remark, that he’d make her a princess, made her shudder. He didn’t know what it was like to live in a gilded cage, the way she did.

Hannah understood exactly what it was to have her appearance inspected every few hours, her food selected based on what would keep her figure slender, and her life ordered to a stringent set of rules.

For a princess, it would be far worse.

The hot tears caught up in her throat, for it had taken every bit of her willpower to hold firm on the decision.

She had fallen in love with Michael Thorpe, but not once had he spoken of his feelings toward her.

And the thought of living in a Schloss, hoping for a scrap of affection or a night in his arms, was too much to bear.

She’d rather be the wife of a nobleman or a commoner. Someone who would let her have a taste of the freedom she’d never possessed.

Michael’s life would be controlled by the strings of politics, his future no longer under his control. If he were the crown prince, he couldn’t avoid his fate.

But she could.

And though it broke her heart into a thousand pieces, she couldn’t endure life as a princess unless he loved her back.