‘You’ll be accommodated at a hotel here at the airport.’ The pilot kept talking. ‘Once again we apologise for the inconvenience. If you need to rebook an onward journey, our ground staff are in the terminal ready to assist.’
Elsie didn’t have another plane after this one was meant to land in Madrid. She’d planned to spend the last of summer in Spain. Greece had been okay but the islands reminded her too much of Silvabon. She wanted a large city in which to become anonymous—with no views of sapphire waters. She’d find another job in another café and continue to save so she could eventually settle somewhere completely new. England, her original home, wasn’t an option—there were too many desperately sad, awfully bad memories attached. But now she was back in the place she’d briefly believed to be perfect. Until the country’s charmless royal had ruined everything.
Instinct urged her to hide, but surely he wouldn’t find her. He wouldn’t have given her a second thought after he’d booted her out of his precious country. She hadn’t even said goodbye to Amalia, the one true friend she’d made here. But Amalia was the King’s stepsister and after what he’d done? There’d been no chance. And that hurt. He’d taken too much away from her.
Elsie focused inward, calming the surging anxiety. One night in an airport hotel would be fine. No one from the palace would ever know she was here.
‘Your Majesty. We have a problem.’
Not the words King Felipe wanted to hear from Major Garcia, his ageing security chief. Preparations for this wretched coronation had taken up far too much of his time already. But this was it—in less than twenty-four hours he would give his nation its ultimate royal spectacle. Pomp, ceremony, publicity. It was the first celebration in just over a decade and down to him once more. But this would be the last time.
‘If this is the flight with the woman in preterm labour onboard, Ortiz already requested permission,’ he said. ‘I thought it had landed.’
‘It has, Your Majesty.’
Felipe glanced up from the paperwork on his desk. ‘Then what? Were the medical team unable to—?’
‘She’s being cared for now. The baby is premature, but all signs indicate a positive outcome.’
‘Good.’ Felipe looked back at the draft trade agreement he’d been perusing. ‘So...’
‘The other passengers onboard must stay on Silvabon until after your coronation. We could open the skies only briefly for the plane to land.’
Felipe refrained from rolling his eyes. His security was always ridiculously excessive, but they were ludicrously stringent at the moment because Felipe had not yet declared an heir. All his advisors were antsy—should Felipe meet an untimely demise they feared a war of succession as there was no close relative to take the crown. But Felipe had no intention of meeting an untimely demise and though the succession declaration rested with him, right now he was resisting it. Of course, having children of his own would provide a natural succession plan but he wasn’t just resisting that. He point-blank refused. He had an alternative plan. He just needed to get through tomorrow’s coronation before revealing it. The coronation had precedence over everything. So while it was unfortunate for that plane’s occupants, he wasn’t about to cause more stress to his team. Changing security agreements at this stage would be difficult, given so many VIPs from other countries were here. It had been a monstrous undertaking to ensure everyone’s needs were met and Felipe well knew accepting inconvenience was part of palace life.
‘Fortunately the flight wasn’t full and we’re able to accommodate the remaining passengers at a hotel,’ the Major added. ‘We’re providing complete service for them, of course.’
Felipe nodded.
Major Garcia cleared his throat. ‘Naturally we checked the passenger manifest to be sure this wasn’t a possible Trojan attack.’
Felipe smothered a rueful smile. Yes, Garcia was particularly thorough at the moment. Silvabon was a constitutional monarchy but even with elected representatives forming a parliament the King—Felipe—had substantial discretionary powers far greater than similar monarchies in other countries. And poor old Garcia had already lost one royal under his watch.
‘I assume no one was onboard with the intention of disrupting the coronation?’ Felipe asked.
There was a momentary pause.
Felipe lifted his head to read his major’s body language. The man stood unusually stiff, even for him. ‘You found something?’
Wariness entered the man’s eyes. ‘Elsie Bailey is onboard.’
Felipe froze.
‘Otherwise known as Elsie Wynter.’ Garcia cleared his throat. ‘She’s the woman Amalia—’
‘I know who she is,’ Felipe clipped. His blood rushed everywhere except where he needed it most. Elsie Wynter?
A flash of dirty-blonde hair. A heartbeat of husky laughter. A blink of unnervingly pale blue eyes.
‘She was on the flight but the plane wasn’t supposed to land here?’ He gritted his teeth at his roughened voice.
Garcia nodded. ‘The flight was bound for Madrid.’
Felipe couldn’t move. He shouldn’t be bothered by Elsie Wynter’s unscheduled, unintentional arrival. She wasn’t here for any reason other than fate. He’d ignore it.
‘Is she travelling alone?’ Why had he asked that? Why did it matter?
‘Yes, sir.’