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T hough he was healing from his bullet wounds, the Graf von Reischor was still unable to walk. While Michael waited in the coach with Lady Hannah, the older man’s servants used a wheeled chair to push him into the Schloss.

“Do you think he’ll manage an audience with the queen?” Hannah asked, watching as they disappeared inside.

“I have no doubt of it.”

“What about the royal guards? The prince ordered us to leave the country. Surely, they won’t allow it.”

“They haven’t seen us yet. For now, they believe the ambassador is paying his respects to the queen.”

They waited for nearly two hours before the Graf returned to the coach. The man looked exhausted, but satisfied. To Michael, he said, “I’ve arranged an audience. The king has agreed to meet with us, overruling Fürst Karl’s orders.”

“What about the queen?” Hannah asked. “Will she see us?”

The Graf nodded. “We will see her first, before our audience with the king. But we must be careful, because Her Majesty is confined to one of the towers. Visitors are rare, and I would caution you not to upset her.”

Would the queen be like Abigail Turner, with fleeting moments of clarity? Michael wondered. Or had she crossed past the point of rational behavior?

The Graf took assistance from the footmen, who helped him back into the chair. Michael adjusted his gloves while his doubts and apprehensions rose higher.

Hannah closed the door to the coach for a moment, keeping her voice low. “When you encounter anyone at the Schloss, do not allow them to touch you,” she said. “Royalty may never be touched without permission to do so.”

He gave a nod, trying to memorize her instructions.

“Wait for a footman to ask permission to take your coat,” she continued. “You must stand and allow him to take it off you.”

He stared at her. “Do you mean to say I am not allowed to remove my own coat?”

“Others will be responsible for dressing you and undressing you,” she answered. “A valet will be assigned to you, and you must permit him to carry out his duties.”

“As if I were nothing more than a child?”

“No. Because it is your right to be waited on by others.”

He couldn’t imagine behaving in such a way. “And what if I refuse?”

“You mustn’t.” She glanced back at the Schloss. “Already there will be those who doubt your right to be prince.” She took his hand and pleaded, “Trust what I say. It will be easier if you obey the rules that are expected.”

He glanced down at their joined hands. Hannah tried to jerk her fingers back, but he held them in his grip. Beneath the glove, she still wasn’t wearing the ring he’d given her.

“Should I tell them that you are my translator, my mistress, or my wife?” he demanded.

For an infinite moment, she looked into his eyes as though he were crushing her heart. He’d expected a firm refusal, as well as a reminder that she would only stay for a few days. Clear green eyes watched him with an unnamed emotion.

“Tell them whatever you want,” she said dully.

Her words exasperated him. Why in God’s name couldn’t women simply state what they desired instead of hiding their true thoughts behind a set of good manners?

A servant opened the door to the coach, and a chill swept over Michael at the thought of meeting the queen. He disembarked and reached up to help Hannah down.

“Don’t do that again,” she murmured. “You’re royalty. Let a footman help me down.”

He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Did she expect him to behave as though he owned the earth, and everyone else was privileged to be in his presence? From the way she followed at a discreet distance behind him, it seemed that was exactly the case.

Servants carried the Graf up two flights of stairs, to a private drawing room within one of the towers while they followed behind. When Michael waited for Hannah, she shook her head. “This is your audience, not mine. I will await you here.” She pointed to a wooden high-backed chair.

“Do as you please.” He turned his back on her, unable to conceal his anger. What was the matter with her? He couldn’t understand why she was behaving like his subject instead of his equal.

Before he could think upon it further, he was led into a private room. The Graf’s men seated him in a chair, and the ambassador was pale from overexertion.

“Lieutenant Thorpe.” The Graf struggled to rise to his feet. “May I present to you Her Majesty, Queen Astri of Lohenberg?”

At the Graf’s bidding, the servant opened another door, leading to a room Michael hadn’t noticed before. After a moment, he moved forward without making a sound.

A woman was seated, staring out the window. Iron bars had been fastened in front of them, and a lady-in-waiting sat nearby, embroidering the hem of a gown.

Michael didn’t know what to say. He’d never been in the presence of a queen before, much less one who was possibly his true mother. In the end, he knocked softly upon the door frame.

“Your Majesty...” he began.

Her head turned at the sound of his voice. When she saw him, her hands began to shake. Her eyes welled up, and she pointed to him.

“Come closer,” she murmured. And he saw that she was not at all mad. Her hazel eyes were the same as his own, and he saw similarities between their facial features.

“Graf von Reischor told me that he’d found you. I didn’t believe him.” She beckoned for him to draw nearer, and Michael forced himself to come and sit beside her.

The Queen’s dark hair held no traces of gray. It was braided and wound into an elaborate coiffeur, adorned with jeweled hairpins. She wore a black moiré gown trimmed with black velvet.

“They told me I was mad when I said that the boy they gave me was not my son. No one would believe me.” She stared at him. “You look a great deal like the child I lost. Are you he?”

“I don’t know.” But something about the queen’s voice, the soft tones of it, was familiar. “I thought I was Michael Thorpe. I don’t remember anything about this country or anyone else.”

She reached out to him. “May I?” He gave a nod and she touched his cheek, studying his face closer. “How did you end up in London?”

“Abigail Turner claimed she took me away when men were trying to kill her husband. She hid me in London these past twenty-three years.”

“Abigail Turner.” The queen’s face darkened with rage. “She deserves to be put to death for what she did.”

“She saved my life,” Michael countered. He explained what Mrs. Turner had told him, and all the while, the queen listened with an unreadable expression.

When he’d finished, he said, “I wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t believe a word I said. Why should you? I’m a stranger claiming that I could be your son.”

“You don’t want this throne, do you?” the queen said slowly.

“No.” He strode away from her, even knowing that it was rude.

“I wanted to believe that Mary Thorpe was my mother. I wanted to go back to my life as a lieutenant in the British Army.” He folded his arms across his chest, switching to Lohenisch.

“But I can’t deny the memories I have. Or this language that isn’t truly mine. ”

When he turned back to face the queen, her gaze met his.

“You’re not a lieutenant, are you?” With her posture ramrod straight, she rose and walked towards him. “Show me your left calf.” He raised the leg of his trousers, lowering his sock until he bared the scar.

Her hazel eyes glistened, and Queen Astri covered her mouth with her hands. “You’re the son I lost. Fürst Karl.”

“My name is not Karl,” he protested. “I am Michael.”

“Yes. Karl Peter Michael Henry, Fürst of Lohenberg.” She drew closer, staring at the scar.

“It was in the wrong place, you see. The scar on the boy they gave me. His scar was just above his ankle. Yours was below the knee. But the king wouldn’t believe me.

He told me that the boy was our son. The scar was enough to convince him.

He had me locked away, believing I’d gone mad when I said the child wasn’t ours.

“May I?” she asked, and once again he realized that she was treating him like royalty, requesting permission before she touched him.

Her arms went around him in an embrace, and awkwardly, he stood still, not sure of what to do. When she moved away, her eyes were wet. “You don’t know me. I’m aware of that, but it’s been so very long.”

Another tear rolled down her cheek, combined with a laugh. “I was right, you see. They didn’t believe me, but I was right. The boy they gave me wasn’t you.” She removed a handkerchief and wiped her eyes. “I thank God you’re alive.”

The door to the queen’s antechamber opened, and Fürst Karl entered. He strode forward, bowing to the queen, but his eyes blazed with fury.

“Your Majesty,” he greeted her. To Michael, he said nothing.

“Get out,” she ordered Karl, pointing at the door. “I’ve no wish to see you.”

“My lady Mother, I—”

“Out!” she shrieked. “Leave my presence! I am not your mother, and you are not my son!” Her face filled with loathing, and Michael glimpsed the prince’s shuttered expression.

“If you have need of me—”

“I would never call you if I had the need. You are nothing to me but an impostor! Lying traitor!”

The prince sent Michael another dark look, bowing to the queen before he made his way out of the chamber.

Queen Astri apologized as soon as the door closed. “Tonight, I will order a welcoming feast for you, my son. And the world will know the truth of who is the real prince.” Her face curved in a smile. “They have only to look upon your face to see it for themselves.”

But despite her happiness, Michael hadn’t missed the hatred upon Karl’s face. He’d just deposed a man who had been born and bred for the throne. And he had no doubt that Karl would fight for his kingdom.

Hannah ducked behind the tall wooden chair when Fürst Karl exited the chamber. Anyone could have heard the queen’s rejection, and from the iciness on the prince’s face, it was clear he was furious.

He stopped in front of the chair. “You may as well come out, Mrs. Thorpe. Your gown gives you away.”