Page 18

EIGHTEEN

Once upon a time, he’d been my preferred vet.

As I suspected, Thunder dealt with a fairly severe case of barn souring. The stallion paced, weaved, and pawed in his temporary corral. To my relief, I recognized the older man keeping the Jutland company.

Once upon a time, he’d been my preferred vet.

“It’s nice to see you again, Jacob,” I greeted, strolling over and holding out my hand. Depending on mood, I’d either get a shake or a hug.

The vet went in for a hug, and he gave my back a hearty pounding. “Your sister has hired me to serve as the royal vet, as you were always pleased with my work with Saoirse. Your new stud is gorgeous. He’s healthy, but you’re going to have your hands full with him for a while. He would very much like to be stalled.”

I went to the fence and whistled for the stallion. Thunder blew air and came my way, pressing his head against my chest. I soothed him, stroking his neck and murmuring reassurances. “He was stuck on a boat with my parents for company, so I’m not surprised he wants nothing with being out right now.”

Jacob sighed. “So I was told. I’ll send directions to California about how to handle him and work on the souring. I don’t know how you always manage to get the sour horses, Ian.”

“I’m just going to blame my parents for this and go from there. Outside of being sour, how is he?”

“He’s easily worth his weight in gold. As I have to work with your sister’s horses tomorrow, I’ll start the work on resolving the souring. You’ll have more important things to do, but I want you spending at least an hour with him a day. Go ahead and take him to his stall. We’re keeping him in one of your sister’s foaling stalls, so he’ll have plenty of space until we get him ready to enjoy pasture time. I’ve already started the paperwork for collecting semen, and if you don’t mind, I’ll haul him to a collection center tomorrow to see how easy he is to train. I’ll see if we can collect tomorrow to do an evaluation on his fertility and freeze a batch if possible.”

“I appreciate this, Jacob. Send me the bill.”

The vet chuckled. “Your sister has beat you to the chase on the bill for today and the collection, alas. You’ll get the bills for his general care, though. Take him to his stall, get him groomed, and get to bed.”

I did as told, and fortunately for me, I even managed to fall asleep without needing to hunt for Melody and get sleeping aids. I woke early, showered, and dressed in a suit, aware its days were likely numbered.

Children had a way of destroying things, and I had no doubt my clothing bill would become a thing of terror in short order. And if the kids failed to summon the suit’s end, the mud run would.

Sooner than later, I’d eradicate every suit I’d acquired while my parents had been in the picture, and I’d start with the ones they preferred. To keep busy until His Royal Majesty of Maine came with the girls, I encouraged Thunder to go out to his paddock. The horse accepted being groomed, and I took the time to comb out his mane, tail, and feathers. Once he gleamed, I began the process of adapting him to going out to the corral. Rather than take him directly there, I walked him around the palace grounds, praising him whenever he took an interest in anything other than returning to his stall.

Releasing him to the corral went well enough, and I freed him from his halter, made certain he stayed facing me until I was out of range, before urging him to play.

The last thing I needed was to get kicked, and as setting the stallion loose had gone well, I returned his lead line and halter to the stable before heading for the main RPS post to figure out when His Royal Majesty of Maine would be coming. To my relief, Monty was already present, reviewing the roster for the day on a clipboard.

“Do we have an ETA?” I asked.

“We do. He should be arriving with them within the next ten minutes. He decided to run the girls through another MRI while they were still sedated so we could have evidence of the work Maine’s royal family did to get them back into good health. I’ve already given the kitchen instructions to make them soup. Fortunately for us, neither seems to be lactose intolerant, so we can give them milk with protein powder to get them on the road of recovery. He has some opinions on what they’ve likely been eating, and he doesn’t want Dr. Stanton to find out, as she will not be happy.”

“Is it worse than beef stew or macaroni and cheese?”

“Ramen,” Monty spat out. “And not the authentic kind. It has almost zero nutritional value, and the only thing it would have been doing was provide salt, some hydration, and empty calories. The kitchen is going with chicken noodle soup, and they’re making the noodles to resemble ramen but made with better ingredients. His Royal Majesty seems to think spinach noodles might work to start with, as they’re simple enough for them to digest. They’ll be supplementing with vitamins until we can transition them to a healthier diet.”

I inhaled, held my breath to the count of twenty, and exhaled. “All right. The smaller of the family dining rooms?”

“That’s the plan, as it might be a little less overwhelming for them. They’ll likely be dazed when they come out of sedation, so hopefully they won’t be up for much in the way of protesting.” Monty sighed, shook his head, and tapped at his clipboard with the back of his pen. “A team from Hawaii will be coming for the girls, and they should be landing within the next three hours. We won’t get to keep them, but they will train our new hires for how to handle the girls—and it’ll let us preemptively hire several sets of agents for the incoming royal children, Terry’s included. Montana is going to handle their security, but I already reached out to start their hiring process since we’ll have access to the Hawaiians.”

“I’ll personally cover the bill for the team, as I didn’t exactly follow protocol or give the kingdom any warning. I’ve got the money, and it’ll keep my sister’s budget okay until next year. She can adjust it then.”

“I’ll let the accountants know. Do you want them as personal security or still directly employed with the RPS?”

“RPS. I’m just footing the bill to salvage my sister’s budget.”

“I’ll have an attorney draw up the paperwork and get it handled. That’ll work nicely. Terry won’t be coming in until noon at the earliest. Melody and Dr. Stanton are going to be running Olivia through a full checkup, and he wants to be there. If the girls have no complications coming out of sedation, His Royal Majesty will have a turn with Olivia. We’re hoping Terry will be occupied until two.”

“Good, because when Terry finds out their diet is even worse than my sister’s had been, he will not handle it well. Can we give him a paid day off without dinging his clocked hours? I’ll pay for it, obviously, as I’m forcing it on him.”

“Easily done. I’ll call in one of the reserve agents looking for overtime. That works even better than amusing him until two. That’ll keep him out of our hair until tomorrow. Clearly, we will have to find some form of treat for the princess and the babies to thank them for keeping the Iron Beast at bay.”

“It’s only a delay of the Iron Beast,” I warned him. “Make certain the agents know so nobody gets a surprise when he comes in tomorrow and finds out about the situation.”

“Rescue us all,” Monty requested.

“I’ll do my best, but I wouldn’t hold your breath. I’d just pop some corn, retreat a safe distance, and enjoy the show.”

* * *

While May still had some faint evidence of bruising on her cheek, the day and night difference in the girls horrified me. The courthouse lighting may have contributed, but both had paler skin with a rosier complexion than I remembered. Rather than haul the car seat to the family dining room, I unbuckled Baby, eased her out of the straps, and cradled her close, settling her cheek against my shoulder.

His Royal Majesty of Maine handled May, and he grunted while adjusting his hold on the girl. “Are you going to be able to hold your temper, Ian?”

“I’ll hold it better than Terry and many of our RPS agents,” I replied, taking care with my steps so I wouldn’t jostle the toddler. “What are your thoughts about how I should approach teaching Baby that her name is actually Danielle?”

“That’s a good question. I’d try explaining it to her and just start using her name, and if she doesn’t reply, use Baby Danielle. She’ll eventually learn. Giving her an option to pick a name she prefers is wise.”

“May wants to stay May because she likes flowers.”

Maine’s king nodded. “I’m sure you’ll have no problems finding flowers for her to admire this time of year in California. Both girls are clear to fly, but I would give them a few days to recover before heading over. What is their RPS situation?”

“We have a team of Hawaiians coming in to teach their new agents, and I’m paying for the agents. They’ll still be officially RPS hires, but I’m funding their salaries and overhead. That’ll give me good reason to work when I’m not handling business for my sister.” Aware the older man had pulled an all-nighter to treat the girls, I wasted no time heading for the doors. The RPS agents, both from Maine and New York, scrambled to stay ahead of us. The New Yorkers likely understood that, should I be provoked, they would need to replace the door should it remain in my way.

Upon arrival, Maine’s king eyed me. “I’ll wake May first, and we’ll see how it goes. She’s more likely to be able to sit without assistance. Overall, her beating was less severe.”

“Or she’d just mastered the art of dodging,” I muttered.

“That, too. If you’re squeamish about needles, now is the time to look away.”

Using my foot, I pulled out one of the chairs and sat, careful to keep from jostling the little girl. “I can handle needles better than my sister can handle them.”

His Royal Majesty of Maine chuckled at that. “You’ve probably had more than your fair share of them.”

One of the Maine RPS agents helped hold May upright while Maine’s king administered the needle. He began tracking his watch while monitoring her pulse. Within five minutes, the girl stirred, and she reminded me a lot of myself when trying to get up while ill, sluggish and unwilling to rejoin the world.

“Ian, before you dive straight into a panic for no good reason, her reaction is normal. We’ll try talking to her in a few minutes, after she gets a good look around. Once she’s mostly coherent, we’ll wake the baby.”

Sure enough, a few minutes later, May began comprehending the world around her, and she stared at the elegant dining room and its finery with wide eyes. Before she had a chance to ask any questions, His Royal Majesty of Maine smiled at her, took her hands, and gave a squeeze. “Hello, May. You had a nice sleep after your doctor’s visit. Do you remember?”

“We took a ride in the siren wagon,” she mumbled. Then her expression changed, a mix of wonder and apprehension. She regarded her arm, as though unable to believe it was hers. “It doesn’t hurt?”

I would never understand how anyone could hit children as sweet as May and her sister, and the pain of it would bite at my heels for the rest of my life. “Dr. Stanton and Princess Melody made the pain go away with help from Melody’s father.” I nodded in the direction of the physician. “His Royal Majesty of Maine flew all the way in from his home to help you and your sister feel better.”

May’s gaze landed on me, and her brows furrowed. “You’re from the dream.”

I supposed, in her shoes, what had happened in the courthouse might feel like a dream, surreal and detached from reality. “It wasn’t a dream. I’m going to be your father now, and if I have my way, those people who hit you will never do so again.”

May stared at me for a long time, and I wondered what she thought—or if she struggled with the idea that she might experience life without fear. Her gaze dropped to her sister. “What’s wrong with Baby?”

“Nothing’s wrong with Danielle,” His Royal Majesty of Maine said in a gentle tone, and he gave May’s hands another squeeze, massaging her with his thumbs.

May’s eyes widened. “Her name is Danielle? Mommy refused to tell me her name.”

“Yes, her name is Danielle, but if she doesn’t like it, we can pick something else, just like you had the choice to keep May as your name.”

“Danielle is really pretty,” May murmured. “But why is she sleeping?”

“She’s been feeling poorly, and she took a nap so she can feel better,” I replied, wondering how I would one day explain to them how close to death they’d both ventured. “While we wake her up, I’ll need you to be patient, okay?”

She nodded.

I wondered how often her parents had beaten her for daring to peep when they’d wanted quiet; I’d walked in those shoes enough to understand the reality of the situation: I would have to prompt her how to be a child at every turn, encourage certain misbehaviors so she could learn how to safely have tantrums and experience her emotions, and otherwise have all the opportunities I had been denied.

Some would view her as spoiled, but I would do my best to make certain she had all the qualities of a good person and minimal displays of the bad.

No person was perfect, and I wouldn’t even try to force such things upon her.

His Royal Majesty of Maine kissed May on the forehead before coming over to me, crouching, and preparing the second syringe.

May stared at us, her eyes wider than I’d seen yet, and she lifted her hand to touch the spot he’d kissed her.

My heart hurt for her, and I’d be stealing a page out of the king’s book, making certain both girls got as many hugs and kisses on their cheeks and foreheads as often as they wanted.

The process of reversing sedation took longer with Danielle, something the king told me was normal, as the last thing he wanted to do was overdose a toddler. Unlike May, when the little girl woke, she dissolved into tears, and she rocked on my lap.

Outside of holding her and attempting to comfort her, I couldn’t even guess what was the matter.

“She cries when she wakes up,” May whispered, and she wrung her hands together. “It’s Mommy’s fault…”

I could guess at the vicious circle, with the little girl having no idea how to express her fear and crying, which in turn would anger the woman unfit to be a parent, feeding and continuing the cycle of abuse.

“She doesn’t mean it,” May blurted.

I foresaw many a painful morning convincing both girls that they were safe. “May, it’s okay. Danielle isn’t in any trouble,” I promised, continuing to hold the little girl and rubbing her back.

Once again, the little girl regarded us both with eyes so wide I marveled they stayed in her head. “She’s not?”

His Royal Majesty of Maine sighed. “She’s really not in any trouble, May. She’s just scared. While it won’t be the same, Ian is going to be your daddy and your mommy now. You’re going to be dealing with a lot of things changing, but it will be okay. You’ll see. Once your sister stops crying, you’ll have breakfast, and then you can go back to bed. You’re still tired, right?”

May nodded. “But the couch isn’t here.”

I twitched.

My parents were many things, but from the day I’d been born, I’d been guaranteed a few things, and a warm bed had been one of them. Every rare now and again, when they thought I’d done something worthy of reward, I’d been invited to nap on my favorite couch in the royal wing, something they typically banned.

Unbeknownst to my sister, I had that old couch in my apartment.

I’d asked one of the staff to let me have it if it was removed. A few years after I had made the request, it had shown up, and I often sought comfort in its soft embrace.

“You have rooms here now. They’re next to each other and close to mine, so you can come visit me if you have need. You each have a bed.” They also had couches, and if I couldn’t get them to sleep on their beds, I’d have to put the couches in a nearby suite until they had become accustomed to societal norms.

May blinked, and confusion replaced her apprehension. “But we’ll fall off the bed.”

“Did you fall off the couch?” I replied, continuing to rub Danielle’s back. “If you do, we’ll put pillows and blankets on the floor so you aren’t hurt. If the height is a problem, we’ll remove the frame until you’re more comfortable with it. Danielle’s bed is already on the floor because of its height.”

Every problem had a solution, even if the solution wasn’t perfect—and I would teach the girls early on that some was better than none, especially when it came to making improvements. However, the fact the girls hadn’t had something as simple as a bed would keep my fury alive and well for a long time.

I would need to work on my talent exercises with more care than normal. Heightened emotions caused flares—and my talent flaring might become lethal to somebody. Worse, I wasn’t convinced the somebody would be me.

From the day my magic had sparked to life, I’d viewed it as a rambunctious cat, content to laze around but ready to sharpen its claws on anyone foolish enough to provoke it. The first time my flames had purred for me, I’d experienced what it meant to be warmed and cherished.

I still took care. My brother’s demise had served as the sole reminder I’d needed.

After his death, my talent had changed, often gentler unless something endangered me or someone I cherished.

The incident in North Dakota had been one of those times, reminding me that the cat still sharpened its claws and was willing to take swipes at anyone and anything. Sometimes, I worried my talent cooperated a little too well, easing back whenever it might otherwise grow stronger than I could handle.

There’d been more than a few cases my junkyard work had gone a little too well.

Dr. Stanton treating empathy as though it were a living, breathing thing made me wonder if my flames might also have some form of sentience. If the family talent did, I also questioned my brother’s death—and if our talent had done the one thing it could to end his suffering.

Dennis had suffered, of that I had no doubt.

May and Danielle would have ups and downs in life, but today would be the day everything changed for them.

Sleeping on the couch would be an issue, and I would work hard to keep my patience until they learned beds were real things they could enjoy.

And, if they proved to be a little like me, when they grew up and moved on with the rest of their lives, their couches would go with them, a happy memory among many.

It took May a rather long time to puzzle her way through my question, and when she realized I’d wait as long as she needed without pressuring her to reply, she said, “Danielle falls off sometimes, but I don’t.”

“Then we’ll put plenty of pillows and blankets around Danielle’s bed, and we’ll work with her so she masters the art of staying where she belongs.”

I would never know if the lack of punishment or exhaustion brought Danielle’s tears to a halt, but the little girl transitioned from sobbing to sniffling, and His Royal Majesty of Maine passed me a box of tissues so I could help her blow her nose and wipe her cheeks. “Are you hungry?” I asked, hoping my question would distract the girls from their uncertainty to my main goal, which involved getting them fed so I could take them to their new rooms and settle them in for more rest.

Both nodded.

“Do you like chicken noodle soup?”

Judging from the way their eyes widened, I’d offered them a favorite.

“Really?” May blurted.

What the hell had those assholes been feeding them? Rather than spew curses like I wanted, I nodded. “Really. It’ll be gentle on your stomach and help you feel better.”

May stared at her sister and blurted, “We’re having soup , Baby!”

“Soup!”

Then, as children did when overstimulated with good news, they devolved into laughing, giggling messes, babbling over having soup. As Danielle no longer cried, I moved her to a chair beside her sister before taking my spot on the other side of the table. That way, I’d be able to give both girls equal attention while giving them the perception of safety.

I remembered the days of the table protecting me. While my parents could, if they wanted, reach across to give me a swat, they never had. I’d also worked hard to avoid earning their wrath during meals.

His Royal Majesty of Maine rose to his feet and said, “I’ll go supervise things in the kitchen. I suspect they expect a flavor of broth they like and some token noodles, so we might have to ease them into the chicken and vegetables. Their bloodwork was worse than bad.”

“Worse than Adam’s?”

“Adam was healthier than an ox compared to them, Ian. They’ll recover, but you’re going to want a stroller for Danielle. Expect a workout hauling May around for the next few days at a minimum. Little girls recover quickly, but I expect that you’ll be functioning as their feet for them for a while. I’ll talk to Terry about their detail, and I’ll get Daphne to make some recommendations as well. They’re going to need RPS agents who are a little better with kids than most.”

I foresaw a rough few weeks—or months—ahead of us. “But they’ll be all right?”

“I’ve known you since you were a little squirt pretending you wanted to dump your sister in the river and drown her, Ian. You’re the best medicine I could possibly prescribe. And no, you can’t trick me, boy. I knew you had a bleeding heart from the first time I saw you. That, for the record, is not a bad thing. Just be patient with yourself. I have no doubt you’ll be patient with them. Also, do try to squeeze in an extra meal, and make it high in protein. An extra steak a day would do you good.”

“Most doctors would be telling me I need to watch my cholesterol,” I replied with a grin.

“I’m genuinely scared to look at your test results.” Maine’s king tossed his hands in the air and headed towards the door. “So help me, if Dr. Stanton reports you’re a disaster, I’m going to teach you your manners on that obstacle course myself.”

“In good news, Dr. Stanton doesn’t think I’m a disaster. They did my bloodwork when I got the concussion. There is some room for improvement, but there wasn’t anything serious from my understanding of the situation.”

“It’s a miracle,” the old man muttered on his way out the door.