Something isn’t right.

In truth, a lot of things aren’t right—my brother’s impending arrival not the least of them—but right now, it’s difficult to focus on anything but what’s happening right here at the clinic. I’ll concern myself with Andrew’s arrival later. Right now, I need to understand what’s going on with Elle. Something about the look in her eyes…about the tone of her voice when she said she was leaving…

I lean forward, ignoring the sharp pain shooting through the side of my chest. My God, this wound is inconvenient.

“Your Highness?” Matthias says. He stops pacing to look at me. “Do you need something?”

I’d prefer to go charging after Elle myself, but she’ll have a fit if she sees me out of bed again, and I’m not inclined to upset her.

“Will you go get the doctor?” I ask him. “Tell her I think I might need those stitches sooner rather than later.”

Matthias nods. “Of course, Your Highness.” He takes a couple of steps toward the door and then stops, looking back at me. “I truly am sorry about your brother—”

“I know,” I say with a dismissive wave of my hand. “Let’s not worry about that now.” I’m not exactly pleased with Matthias at the moment, but I know firsthand how difficult my father can be. I can’t blame my poor valet for letting it come to this.

Matthias gives another nod and hurries out the door, and I lean back once more.

While she’s here, I should have her look at Matthias’s head again, I tell myself. If the fellow suffers brain damage at my hand, I’ll never forgive myself. In fact, between Matthias and me, there are enough injuries to keep Elle occupied all night. Now, more than ever, I don’t want her out of my sight. I have a bad feeling in the pit of my stomach.

I force myself to close my eyes and take a deep breath as I wait. I’m feeling restless again, and I want nothing more than to leap up off this damned gurney and take care of all of this myself, my wound be damned. It’s merely a scratch. I’m hardly in the throes of death. It’s insufferably inconvenient to be confined to a gurney when I feel like this.

What’s taking him so damn long? This clinic isn’t particularly large. It can’t be that difficult to find her. But perhaps she’s seen through the ruse, and he has to convince her… No. Whatever Elle thinks of me, her professional responsibility comes first. If there’s even the possibility I might need more care, she’ll return with Matthias.

But as the minutes tick by, I’m beginning to wonder if perhaps I was wrong about her after all.

Where in bloody hell are they? My leg shakes against the gurney, itching to be in motion. I try to listen to the rain pounding against the roof—it’s coming down harder than ever—but it won’t do. I can’t bear sitting still a moment longer.

I sit up again and swing my legs over the side of the gurney. Perhaps I really will need stitches by the end of this, but right now, that’s of little matter. My gut still churns with a dread I cannot name.

This is ridiculous, I tell myself as I stand. She’s just a woman. An intriguing woman, perhaps, but still just a woman. There’s no reason for me to be this agitated over her. No reason for me to worry so much about what was said between her and that pompous fool of a man who just arrived. Maybe I’ve lost more blood than I thought, and I’m going mad.

But I don’t feel mad as I move toward the door. A little unsteady on my feet, perhaps, but otherwise I feel perfectly hale. And I’m determined to have some answers from Elle, one way or another.

When I get to the lobby, though, instead of finding Elle, I find Matthias talking to the new doctor. The man looks none too pleased to be conversing with my valet, and Matthias himself seems rather upset.

“What the hell are you doing back here?” I demand. “Where’s Elle?”

Doctor Mitchell’s frown deepens as he turns his gaze to me.

“I’ll be taking over your care,” he says. “At least as soon as this man decides to get out of my way.”

“That man has as much right to be here as you do,” I say. “And I believe I asked you where Elle was.” I look to my valet. “Matthias?”

Matthias shakes his head. “I couldn’t find her. And then this man—”

“I am the physician here now,” the other man says. “I have every right to be here. And if you are to be my patient, then I expect you to obey my orders. If you can’t accomplish that, then I recommend you find medical care elsewhere. I can’t help patients who have no desire to be helped.”

If I thought I disliked this man before, it’s nothing to what I feel now.

“I won’t ask you another time, Doctor,” I say. “Where is Elle?”

He sneers. “So you two are on a first-name basis, I see. That’s pretty unusual for someone who claims there was nothing unprofessional going on between the two of you.” He crosses his arms. “And I’ve answered your question. I am the physician here now. As of tonight, this place is under my authority.”

Instantly, my blood goes hot. Elle can’t be gone.

But she certainly isn’t here. Did this bastard kick her out? Or did she leave of her own will? I don’t like either possibility.

“Where did she go?” I demand. Where could she go in this weather?

But he only shrugs. “What she does with herself now is of little concern to me. She’s sullied this clinic with her unprofessional behavior. She’s an embarrassment to our profession, whoring her way through every job she’s—”

He doesn’t have a chance to finish his sentence because my fist slams into his jaw.

And I don’t stop there.

My first punch sends him stumbling back a step. My second gets him right in the gut. He doubles over and falls onto his giant rump.

I’m on him in an instant, pinning him down. His collar is in my fist. I learned basic hand-to-hand combat during my time in the Montovia Royal Military, but I honed my fighting skills in the clubs—I might be a prince, but anyone who’s spent as much time as I have at discotheques and celebrity parties is sure to have found himself in a number of alcohol-fueled scuffles. The arrogant new doctor, it appears, has no such experience.

“How dare you say those things about her,” I growl through gritted teeth. “You foul, pompous, putrid excuse for a—”

“Your Highness,” Matthias says, tugging at my arm. “Your Highness, you must let him go.”

“I’m not letting this repulsive man go until he apologizes for what he’s said.” I give the doctor’s collar a shake for good measure, and his eyes go wide as he grips my wrist with both hands. I think I might actually be getting through to the bastard.

But then his eyebrows snap together in anger.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” he says. “Get off of me at once! I’m going to call the police—”

“As I’ve said, I have no intention of getting off of you until you take back what you said.” I tighten my grip. “I want a genuine apology. And you know what? I want you to give it to Elle directly.” I look at Matthias. “We need to find her. She couldn’t have gone far.”

“Certainly not, Your Highness,” Matthias says. “But I really think it would be better if you released him first.” Matthias is looking incredibly nervous, the poor fellow. “Your Highness, if your father hears of this—”

“He won’t hear of this unless you tell him,” I point out, but then my attention falls back to the man pinned beneath me. He’s suddenly gone very still—almost limp—and he’s stopped trying to fight his way out of my grip.

The doctor’s eyes have gone as wide as saucers, and his gaze slides between me and Matthias—back and forth, back and forth, until suddenly it stops on me. His mouth is hanging open. Perhaps I hit him harder than I thought and he’s succumbing to the pain.

But then he speaks, and though his voice is quiet, I read more than enough in his expression.

“What did he call you?” the doctor asks me before looking back at Matthias. “You called him—”

“His Highness,” Matthias says automatically, “His Royal Highness, Prince Leopold Augustus Xavier Lothair, second son of Edmund II, Prince of Montovia.”

This wasn’t precisely how I expected this reveal to occur, but I must admit the doctor’s reaction is properly satisfying. His eyes get even wider and his fleshy bottom lip trembles. I’m not surprised he hasn’t recognized me—he doesn’t strike me as the type to read celebrity tabloids—but my accent should have been a dead giveaway if he’d actually taken a moment to listen to me.

“You…” he says. “You’re…”

The corner of my mouth curls up. “Essentially your boss? Responsible for your paycheck? Beloved royal son of the family that built this clinic? All true.” As far as he is concerned, anyway. “I was sent here to make sure your transition into your new role went smoothly, but I must say I’m less than impressed by what I’ve seen of you so far. Let’s see…you’ve insulted me, threatened to throw me out, and made vile accusations against the current doctor, even though she’s shown me nothing but professional—”

“You can’t be the prince,” he blurts, and I can tell by the desperate look in his eyes he’s starting to panic. “You’re a patient—”

“I did manage to cause myself a small injury,” I admit. “And why shouldn’t my own family’s clinic treat me?”

“But you… I saw you and her…”

“As I said, you saw her giving me care in less-than-ideal circumstances. She had to be close to me. It was dark.”

He shakes his head—at least as much as he can, considering I still have his collar in my fist.

“You’re not dressed like a prince,” he says, still apparently in denial.

“I’ll admit I do normally wear a shirt of some sort. But under the circumstances, it was an inconvenience.”

He starts to speak again, but I cut him off.

“And I suppose you’re going to say I don’t sound like a prince, either?” I ask. “I must say I’m surprised. Normally Americans can’t seem to get enough of my accent. I don’t understand what it is that makes you all so interested in—”

“It’s not your accent that confused me,” he says with a snarl. Apparently, his shock is starting to wear off and his anger is setting in again. “It’s your manners. Or is it considered polite in your country to insult a man you’ve just met?”

“When he’s a pompous old bag, I dare say it is,” I reply lightly. “But I’ll admit I’m growing tired of this game. Whether you find me polite or not, Doctor, I hold your future in my hands.” I yank on his collar, pulling his head up as I lean down and lower my voice. “Cross me and I promise you this will be the last job you ever hold in this esteemed profession. I will ensure every clinic and every hospital in the world knows you were dishonorably dismissed from your position here.” I release him, letting his head fall back to the floor. “Now tell me where Elle has gone.”

I’m not sure whether Doctor Mitchell is terrified of me or whether he wants to wring my neck—probably both. But he seems to realize he’s in no position to argue—either physically or professionally—so he scowls.

“How the hell should I know?” he says. “I just went to drop off my luggage. When I got back here, she was gone. You have been here the whole time. Shouldn’t you know where she is?”

She slipped away without telling anyone. I don’t like that. I don’t like it at all.

I unpin the doctor, standing. Matthias reaches out to help me, which is probably good—my wound has opened up again. But there’s no time to think about that now. I need to find Elle. For her to go out in this storm, without even offering a farewell… I don’t want to think about what that means.

“She couldn’t have gone far,” I tell Matthias. “We must go after her at once.”

Matthias looks uncertain. “Your father would want you to rest and—”

“Damn my father. He’s on the other side of the world, in case you’ve forgotten.” And he might be sending my brother after me, but Andrew isn’t here yet. No one will stop me from going after Elle—not my father, not Andrew, not Matthias, not Doctor Mitchell. Not even this blasted storm still raging overhead.

I go over to the door and throw it open. Lightning flashes overhead. There are streams of water flowing down the dirt road outside.

Damn it, Elle. Were you so determined to get away from me that you went out in this maelstrom? I didn’t take you for an idiot. Though I suppose it wouldn’t be fair of me to accuse her of such a thing, considering I’m about to venture foolishly out into the same tempest. With an oozing wound across my torso, no less.

But if she thinks for one moment that a storm will stop me, she is sorely mistaken. I’m going after her, and God Himself will have to strike me down to keep me from her now.

* * *