Esme opened her eyes several hours later. Her neck was sore from dozing in such an awkward position and her throat felt dry as sandpaper. The sun had set and a chilly breeze blew in through the drafty old house. The room she was sitting in was dark now and shadows lurked in every corner. She yawned then tried to stretch, forgetting about her hands and ankles being restrained. The tape pulled tight against her skin and she cried out in pain. As if in agreement, the baby kicked hard, its tiny feet thumping a drumbeat on her too-full bladder.

Ugh. She squinted through the empty room at the bright yellow light shining out from beneath one of the doorways. Someone else was here! Slowly, voices began to trickle into her consciousness and her pulse raced. Someone was here, and maybe they could let her up to use the restroom. That thought was quickly followed by another, more sinister one—someone was here and maybe they were going to kill her after all.

Her breath caught as panic took hold.

No. She took a deep breath. Well, as deep as she could, considering her awkward position made getting more than half a lung-full of oxygen difficult. Okay. Okay. Think, Es, think. What would Z do in this situation?

Thinking about her beloved husband helped calm her. It also helped steel her resolve to get the hell out of here and make sure Silvester never got his hands on her throne or the chance to hurt anyone she loved ever again.

Right. Z was a trained SEAL. He’d consider his options, make logical choices, have a plan. Es checked quickly around her but found nothing to assist her in escaping. The best she could hope for then was to perhaps discern exactly who it was in the next room and what they were doing so she could figure out her next move. Satisfied with that step, she squirmed in her chair, slowly inching forward across the hardwood floor until she was close enough to hear what the voices were saying.

Two men were talking. One voice she didn’t recognize.

One she did.

Silvester.

He’d come back, apparently.

The other man could be one of the henchmen he’d had with him before, she supposed. But as she picked up more words from their conversation, her doubts about that grew. Nothing against security guards. In fact, they’d saved her butt more times than she could remember, this afternoon notwithstanding. But she had a hard time picturing the two thugs from earlier sewing anything. And the two people in the kitchen were currently discussing measurements for a suit.

“Sir, I’m telling you the latest cuts from the Paris shows are all slim and barely graze the top of the shoe,” the unidentified man said. “Of course, it’s entirely up to you if you’d rather go with something different for your coronation, but the height of fashion is what you’ve always been known for.”

“Shut up,” Silvester said, his tone unusually snippy. That was interesting—her cousin did not normally show his emotions so easily, unless provoked. Then again, kidnapping a royal and holding her hostage might stress a person out under the best of circumstances.

“Ass,” Es grumbled quietly to herself. So, he’d come here to have his coronation suit tailored. Pompous jerk. He just assumed he’d win, that Es and Z would be so easy to defeat.

“Sir, I—” the tailor started.

“I said, shut up!” Silvester all but growled. “Do you hear that?”

Es’s breath froze and her eyes widened. Had she spoken louder than she’d imagined before? Had she made noise moving her chair closer? Had—

Then she heard something as well. A low roar that grew louder by the second. A motor perhaps? Except it was coming from the windows on the side where the water was. No, that couldn’t be right. It was December. A person would have to be crazy to take a boat out on the water at this time of year. Crazy or…confident!

Z! It had to be him. Her heart sped again, this time with anticipation. He’d found her, somehow, someway, and he was coming to rescue her. She grinned in the darkness and whispered down to her baby, “Don’t worry, kiddo. Daddy’s here now!”

“Go out there and take care of it!” Silvester yelled and Es could hear the sound of rounds being chambered in guns. Her breath caught. If the henchmen came through here, they’d see she’d moved her chair and might take her out for good measure. Footsteps pounded loud on the hardwood floors and she squeezed her eyes shut, praying that between the chaos outside and the shadows, they might not notice. In the end, it turned out she didn’t need to worry anyway because all hell broke loose moments later.

“Ready?” Z asked through his Bluetooth headset. They weren’t exactly coming into the situation with any kind of stealth, but using the device made it easier to keep in touch with Deacon over large distances.

“Let’s do this,” Deacon’s deep baritone crackled over the communication line.

They’d anchored their boat at the dock near the end of the peninsula then walked through the wetland marshes until they surrounded the beach house. Z had stationed his security team around the perimeter of the property to catch any stragglers, while he and Deacon were storming the cottage on their own, each targeting a different entrance. Given the level of outrage burning though Z’s veins at the moment, he could’ve taken the whole of Prylean army on his own, but it was nice to know Deacon had his back, just in case.

The darkness gave them decent cover as they darted toward the walls of the home then pressed their backs against the wall. Z had his Glock locked and loaded, just in case. He didn’t plan to kill anyone tonight, but it was always best to be prepared. Deacon was stationed on the other side of the house. Through the shadows, the stream of light from the window nearby looked strangely yellow and bright. He could hear muffled voices inside, both male, and his heart skipped. He hoped Es was okay.

Eyes closed, he said a silent prayer for strength, then turned and kicked in the door beside him. Pitch black greeted him, followed by a few muffled groans. Weapon at the ready, Z squinted through the shadows to see where the noise was coming from. He could barely make out the shape of a person, bound to a chair, a baby bump prominently protruding from the front.

Esme. My Es. My everything.

Blood pounding, he fought the urge to run to her and pull her close, but there was still work to be done before they were safe. Through a closed door on the other side of the room, he could hear the same male voices, arguing loudly. Loudly enough, apparently, that they hadn’t even heard him bust down the door. Or maybe they were fighting because of it. Pressure did weird things to people, he’d discovered. Some became braver while others caved and cowered.

He suspected Silvester would fall into the second category.

Grinning, now that he knew his beloved was safe, Z leaned back out the door and waved his hand for the others to come in. This part had been Deacon’s idea. A line of Prylean journalists filed into the dark living room as quietly as possible. Silvester did love the limelight, so taking him down for all to see would be sweet revenge indeed.

Z motioned for everyone to stay back as he crept toward the still-closed door. Light shone from beneath it, and Z whispered into his Bluetooth headset, “Showtime!”

He crashed through the door into the kitchen at the same time Deacon smashed through from the outside. They found Silvester half-dressed, in just an untucked white shirt and pants, his dark eyes shrewd as he crossed his arms. Beside him stood a shorter, skinnier man with round, wire-rimmed glasses and a tape measure around his neck. From the bolts of cloth and assorted trimmings on the counters, Z surmised Silvester must’ve been having a fitting for a new suit.

Maybe he could wear it to his trial for kidnapping.

“Hands up,” Z said, waving his gun at the two men. The tailor complied immediately, trembling all over. From his pasty white complexion and panicked expression, Z was surprised the guy hadn’t passed out already. Silvester, on the other hand, leaned his hips against the counter and smirked.

“How undignified.” Silvester shook his head. “I’ll do no such thing.”

Deacon grabbed the tailor’s arm and yanked him out of the way before stepping closer to Silvester and pointing his Sig Sauer right in the guy’s condescending face. “Do it.”

Silvester blinked at the large, angry man with a weapon aimed between his eyes and shrugged. The guy was either crazy courageous or incredibly stupid. Neither seemed to fit. Finally, he sighed and slowly raised his hands, along with one sardonic brow. “I’m not sure what you hope to accomplish by this overblown show of heroics, but—”

Z snarled. “What I hope to accomplish is to free my wife and make sure you never have the power to hurt her or our baby or anyone else in our family ever again.”

“How touching.” The implied eye-roll in that statement made Z’s finger twitch on the trigger of his gun. If he didn’t have a dozen reporters waiting in the next room to document all this, he might’ve been tempted to end this with a single gunshot right now. As it was, he’d have to settle for ruining Silvester’s reputation in the eyes of the public instead. “None of this will do any good, you know. The people of Prylea love me. They’ll never believe I did anything to harm Esme—and if either of you accuse me, I’ll just find some way to twist it around and make you sound crazy. The people want me as their ruler. I’ll do things for this country you and your pathetic princess out there could never dream of.”

Instead of firing, or even punching the guy, Z clicked the safety on his weapon and lowered it, jamming it into the holster at his side before stalking back to the door to call in the media. “Yeah?” Z just smiled as the reporters and cameramen filed in one by one and Silvester’s slick confidence began to crumble before his eyes. “I’m not so sure they’ll love you so much after this live broadcast tonight.”

He glanced over at Deacon who whispered something to one of the journalists—a friend of his from another black-ops mission. The woman nodded, then called out to the small crowd of media. “Right, and we’re live in three…two…one…!”

Bright lights seared the space and every camera pointed on Silvester, now sweating and pale under the attention. The female journalist walked closer and shoved a microphone in his face. “What can you tell us about your motivations for abducting Princess Esme and her unborn child?”

Another reporter shouted, “What about the men that were captured by palace security fleeing your property moments ago?”

“Is it true that you were behind the attempted bombing at the Christmas Markets earlier this week?” yet another journalist asked.

“Well…I…um…” Silvester’s nervous stammer was music to Z’s ears. He snatched a knife from the butcher block holder nearby then, after a nod to Deacon, rushed back out into the living room to free his wife. The lights weren’t working in the living room, but the illumination from the kitchen was enough for him to slice through the thick tape securing her ankles and wrists.

Es looked shaken and scared and more beautiful than anything he’d ever seen in his life. Once freed from her uncomfortable position, she collapsed forward into his arms, her sobs muffled by the front of his shirt as she cried.

“Shhh, princess. I’m here. I’ll always be here for you,” Z whispered, his lips buried in her hair. He inhaled her good Es smell and tightened his hold on her, realizing that his words were true. When he’d first come into this whole deal, he’d wanted nothing more than to get back to the only family he’d ever known—his SEAL team. But as the months passed and he’d spent more time with Es, he’d slowly made a new family, with her. She was his everything now, his reason for existing, his beacon in the darkness. If she’d have him, he planned to stay with her and their baby forever.

Es’s tears gradually subsided until she quieted in his arms. He rocked her gently as they sat on the floor, her in his lap. At last she raised her head slightly to look up at him, her eyes huge in the light from the kitchen door. “Thank you.”

He cupped her cheek and smiled. “For what? Saving you is my job.”

Her sweet smile fell a bit and she lowered her gaze. “Right. I keep forgetting that this is all part of our deal. Sorry.”

She tried to pull away, wincing slightly at the raw flesh on her wrists and ankles from where the tape had abraded her skin. Z refused to let her go. “Wait. I need to tell you something.”

Es sighed and relaxed in his arms, giving a small nod, her expression pensive as if she was waiting for bad news.

Z swallowed hard around the constriction in his throat. “Look, I realize I signed a contract going into this that we’d have a baby and stay together a year, then we’d go our separate ways, but—”

“Oh, God.” Es gasped and pressed her hands to her belly.

“What?” Now it was Z’s turn to panic. “What’s wrong? Is it the baby?”

“No. He just kicked really, really hard.” She shrugged. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to interrupt your ‘I’m leaving’ speech.”

“My what?” He scrunched his nose.

“I feared this might happen, what with your friend showing up from the SEALs and then this whole mess with Silvester. You want to go back to your team now. I get that. And if that’s what you really want, I’ll let you go.” Her voice caught on those last words and his chest squeezed tighter. “I never want to keep you from doing what you want to do. I love you too much.”

For a moment, time seemed to slow around Z as her words penetrated the adrenaline still pumping through his system. She was willing to let him go. Because she loved him.

His battered heart leapt for joy. She loves me. Years of grief and recriminations and false beliefs fell away. He’d lived most of his life with a lingering anger toward his parents for leaving him alone when he needed them most, toward his father for putting them all into such a dangerous position in the first place. But now he forgave them, letting the past go to make way for the future. A future he hoped to build for their son with Es by his side.

“I’m not going anywhere, princess,” he said, kissing her forehead.

“You’re not?” She looked up at him, frowning.

“Nope.” He hugged her tight. “I plan to stick around Prylea for as long as you’ll have me.”

“What about your SEAL team?” She reached up to trace her fingers along his jawline, her hazel eyes filled with wonder. “I thought that was your home, where you wanted to be, your family.”

Z gave in and kissed her lightly on the lips. “Not anymore, princess. You’re my home now. You and our son. The only place I want to be is with you, forever.”

“Oh,” she said, twining her arms around his neck and kissing him sweetly. Z pulled her tighter against him to deepen the kiss but stopped short at the sound of applause coming from the direction of the kitchen. They both slowly turned to find the lights and cameras now turned in their direction. Off to one side, Deacon stood beside a restrained Silvester, his friend grinning from ear to ear.

“Can we get a statement from you, Princess Esme?” one of the reporters called.

Es giggled and buried her face in the side of Z’s neck before clearing her throat and smiling prettily for the cameras. She’d been abducted and held hostage for hours, her hair mussed and her face tear-streaked, yet she managed to look like the queen she was despite it all. Z had never felt more proud of anyone in his life.

“Yes. I am fine, thanks to my heroic husband and his friend and all of the palace’s wonderful security guards. Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to go home and take a nice, hot bath then relax with my husband, whom I love very, very much.”

More cheers went up from the media as Z kissed his wife soundly.

“Any statement from you, Mr. Raybourn?” the female journalist asked.

“Only that I support the princess’s decision wholeheartedly. And that I too love her very, very much. We’ll see you all again on coronation day.”

With that Z stood with Es in his arms and carried her out the door and into their new future, together.