It was utter chaos in the medical ward of the palace.

Angus watched as Dr. Singh, who happened to be one of his guests tonight, bound Javert’s shoulder tightly, while a stretcher was prepared to take him to the hospital. “You are very lucky it was a through and through shot.”

When the shots rang out, Angus had thought Mircea was the target. Never in a million years would he have assumed he was the target. Now everything was coming to a head, a clear path of what had happened to Siobhan. She never was the ultimate target.

“Take care of him as if he were me, doctor,” Angus said, as the doctor started out of the room.

Angus shook his head and sat down for a moment, his hands and legs trembling lightly, the weight of what could have happened starting to sink in.

Someone had tried to kill him.

The door opened and two of his most trusted agents from Lektenstaten intelligence stepped in, followed by Ewan.

“Your Majesty.”

Angus faced them. “Did you find them?”

“They did find one woman.” Ewan stepped forward. “Diamanta Romani, dead on the edge of the forest by her own hand. She was carrying a gun and had gunpowder on her hands. A preliminary exam indicates the bullets in her gun are consistent with the bullet fragments buried in the wall on the patio.”

“Diamanta,” Angus said dully, surprised. “Are you sure?” Why? Had she been behind the attack on Siobhan?

“All the evidences point at her, but investigations will reveal more.”

Diamanta had been someone he respected, someone they all cared about. He would have never imagined she would be capable of doing such horrible things, including murder. “Was she working alone?”

“It seems so. We have yet to find indications of anyone else being involved, but it's still early in the investigation.”

He nodded, wondering what they would find out once all stones were overturned. What was her motivation? “I want it all kept under lock and key. Say nothing to no one or we might have a revolution on our hands.”

All Angus cared about now was getting back to Siobhan.

Had Javert not acted so fast, Siobhan would be making plans for his funeral. He nearly missed out on his future with her, seeing the child they had created.

His steps faltered a bit and Angus firmed his legs.

Even with the words of love they had shared, he was still frozen with fear that she would leave him and it would be out of his control.

Angus blew out a breath. The affairs of the heart were going to kill him in the end. But, I will die a happy man.

Entering into their bedroom, Angus glanced around. Siobhan wasn’t on the chaise.

With a soft smile, he started for the bedroom. He craved her nearness to chase the demons from his thoughts. There was nothing she could do to change what happened to Javert, but the idea of her gentle hands holding him was comfort in itself.

To his surprise, she wasn’t there.

“Angel?” he called. Frowning, he searched the balcony before looking for her on the dressing closet.

He stopped when he heard a sound in the bathroom. He imagined her in the bath—warm and naked—but as he neared the closed door, his senses prickled, and when he tried to open it, he found it locked.

Knocking, he called, “Siobhan?”

Her answer was a cough, before she moaned, “Go away.”

“Open the door.”

There was only silence.

Something was wrong, very wrong.

Cursing, he slammed the wood with his shoulder. It took a few times before the lock gave away, allowing him to charge inside.

“Siobhan…?” The question died on his lips as he stumbled on her discarded crown.

His blood ran cold as he took in the scene.

Siobhan was sprawled out on the floor. Her lips were blue and a pool of saliva had formed on the tile floor.

“Angel!” he yelled, and bent down to turn her over. Her skin was so cold, he was sure she had to be dead, but she coughed, allowing his heart to resume beating. “Siobhan?”

He swept her into his arms. Her crown bent under his boot as he stepped on it, but he didn’t care.

He rushed her from the bathroom, praying he was not too late.

She stirred with the movement. Her lids lifted wearily so she could look at him, and she mumbled, “Dragon…”

She was out.

As he sprinted toward the palace medical ward, he yelled, “Call Dr. Singh, she’s been poisoned.”

Before he was all the way through the door, Siobhan was whisked from his arms, her near lifeless body hanging limply as a doctor carried her to the examination room in the back.

* * *

“Ms. Faulkner has not stopped throwing up, even though there is nothing else in her system, and she’s still unconscious,” Dr. Singh had said an hour after they had taken Siobhan from his arms. “Is she allergic to any food?”

He looked stupidly at Dr. Singh for a moment before calling Jaxon, who told him in one single breath she was allergic to mangoes and he was coming immediately to Lekten. Angus told him to book the first available private jet at his expense.

Ludwig had stopped by but it hadn’t distracted Angus, who grew anxious for fresh news as the minutes ticked by.

He was still staring helplessly at the door leading to where they took Siobhan, when Ewan rushed into the waiting room.

Angus asked, “Any news?”

“Your guess was right, Your Majesty. Miss Faulkner has been poisoned. It was hemlock. I informed Dr. Singh by radio as soon as the flower was discovered in Diamanta’s bag.”

“Poisoned, hemlock,” he repeated dumbly. He had no idea what hemlock was, or what it could do. His stomach balled into a knot. Sweat broke out on his forehead and his mouth went completely dry, but he managed to ask, “Is it…dangerous?”

Ewan took a deep breath and looked away, blinking. He had gotten attached to the spirited Siobhan in the few months he had gotten to know her.

“Ewan, for fuck’s sake!”

“I’m sorry, Sir,” Ewan whispered. “There is no antidote available for hemlock.”

A blank stare came over Angus’s face before he tilted his head back and a deep, guttural howl of anger came from some unfathomable part of his soul.

“No! No, no, no!”

He couldn’t imagine living without her.

She had all but consumed his life, making him feel like the man he had always wanted to feel like.

She made him a better man, one that could look himself in the mirror in the morning and be proud and happy of what he had.

“No!” He let out another below and smashed his fist into the wall, which brought Dr. Singh and a nurse running into the room.

Angus grabbed Dr. Singh by the arms, raising him from the ground and shaking the short doctor as if he were a leaf. “Tell me she’s not going to die! Tell me!”

“Sir! Sir!” A horrified Ewan pulled on Angus’s forearm trying to stop him. “Angus Augustus Braxton-Lenox, stop that right now!”

Being called by his full name, in the way his mother did when she was angry with him, brought Angus to reason, and he put the stunned doctor on the floor, ashamed. “I’m so sorry, doctor. So sorry.”

“I think you saved me a trip to the chiropractor, Your Majesty.” Dr. Singh straightened out his clothes and stretched his shoulders back. Then, “No, Sir, Miss Faulkner is not going to die. She was lucky the poison was put in a mango juice. The vomiting expelled most of the poison from her body before it could do worse damage.”

Angus dropped heavily on the sofa and passed a hand over his face. “Thank God.”

“But her health inspires care. Gastrointestinal decontamination and aggressive supportive care are the mainstays of treatment, which we have done already,” Dr. Singh explained. “Do you want to see her?”

Angus was already on his feet before the doctor could finish the question and as they walked to her room, the doctor told him that if he hadn’t found her when he did, she would be dead.

And then he realized Dr. Singh hadn’t mentioned their baby. “The child?”

“Sir, we must wait,” Dr. Singh said in a serious tone as he pushed the door to Siobhan’s room open. “Poison hemlock causes skeletal deformities in the offspring of livestock that eat the plants during gestation and we have no literature on pregnant women surviving hemlock poisoning.”

A very pale—but not cyanotic—Siobhan was lying in the middle of the bed, lines and tubes all around her and an oxygen mask over her face. She looked so small in the bed, but he was glad she finally rested and breathed quietly.

He wasn’t sure if she was getting better, or if the medicine they gave her kept her from looking worse.

Hour after hour, Angus watched over her, staring at each rise and fall of her chest, willing her to keep fighting—one more breath in…one more breath out.

* * *

The following night, he wrapped his body around hers, whispering against her hair, “You enjoy being contrary. Now prove them all wrong and get better.”