To Dance with a Prince (15 page)

“Kiernan! Out!”

There was no question of talking his way out of it this time, because it was his mother who had entered the room.

“Queen Aleda,” Meredith said, truly surprised. “What are you doing here?” She had never been embarrassed about her tiny apartment, but she had certainly never expected to entertain a queen here, either.

“There are days when a girl needs her mother,” the queen said. “Since your own cannot be here, I was hoping you would do me the grave honor of allowing me to take her place.”

“Oh, Aleda,” Meredith whispered. Of all the surprises of becoming Kiernan's love, wasn't his mother one of the best of them?

She was seen as reserved and cool, much as her son was. The truth about these two people? They guarded what was theirs, and chose very carefully who to give it to. And when they did give it?

It was with their entire hearts and whole souls.

Kiernan kissed her on her cheek, and bussed his mother, too, before quickly taking his leave. He left whistling
Get Me to the Church on Time
.

Queen Aleda quickly did what she did best—she took charge.

And Meredith realized, warmly, that this day belonged to Queen Aleda, too.

“None of that,” Meredith was chastened for the new tears, “It will spoil your makeup.”

Queen Aleda gathered the dress, hugged it to her briefly, looked at her soon-to-be daughter-in-law tenderly.

“Come,” she said, “I'll help you get into it. The carriage will be here shortly.”

Meredith was delivered to the cathedral in a white carriage, drawn by six white horses.

The people of Chatam, who seemed to have embraced her
more
for her past than less, lined the cobblestone streets, and threw rose petals in front of the carriage. The petals floated through the air and were stirred up by the horses' feet. It was as if it was snowing rose petals.

So, this day also belonged to them, to those people who had patiently lined the street for hours, waiting for this moment, a glimpse of the woman they considered to be
their
princess. They called her the people's favorite princess, and every day she tried to live up to what they needed from her. It had been a thought of pure selfishness to think this day was only about her and Kiernan.

The cathedral was packed. A choir sang.

And he waited.

At the end of that long, stone aisle, Kiernan waited
for her, strong, sure, ready. Her prince in a world she had once believed did not have princes, her very own fairy-tale ending.

Meredith moved toward him with the certainty, with the inevitability of a wave moving to shore.

And realized this day, and her whole life to follow, didn't really belong to her. And not to him, either.

It belonged to the force that had served them so well, the force that they would now use the days of their life serving.

It belonged to Love.

H
E WENT HERE SOMETIMES,
by himself, usually when he had a special occasion to celebrate. A birthday. An anniversary. They were part of it, and he could not leave them out.

It was not the nicest of graveyards, just row after row of simple crosses, no shrubs, or green spaces, no elaborate headstones, few flower arrangements.

The world would have been shocked, probably, to see Prince Kiernan of Chatam in this place, a grim, gray yard in the middle of Wentworth.

But he was always extra careful that he was not followed here, that no one hid with their cameras to capture this most private image of him.

It had become a most special place to him. He always brought flowers, two bouquets. He paused now in front of the heartbreakingly small grave, next to a larger one, brushed some dust from the plain stones set in the ground and read out loud.

“Carly, beloved.” He set the tiny pink roses on her stone.

“Millicent Whitmore, beloved.” He set the white roses there.

He did not know how the world worked. He felt a
tingle as he read that word.
Beloved
. How had a child long dead, whom he had never even met, become so beloved to him?

How could he feel as if he
knew
Millicent Whitmore, Millie as he called her affectionately, when he had never met her either?

Kiernan understood now, as he had not before marrying Meredith, that there was a larger picture, and despite his power and prestige he was just a tiny part of that.

He understood, as he had not before marrying Meredith, that sometimes great things could transpire out of great tragedies.

The death of a child, and her grandmother, had set a whole series of events in motion that not one single person could have ever foreseen or predicted.

Still, this is what love did: if he could give Meredith back her baby, even if it meant he would never meet her, and never have the life he had now, he would do it in a breath, in a heartbeat.

“I want you to know, Carly,” he said softly, “that the new baby in no way replaces you. You are a sacred member of our family. Always and forever.”

He felt her then, as he sometimes did, a breath on his cheek, a softness on his shoulder, a faint smell in the air that was so good.

“I brought you a picture of her. We've named her Amalee.” He laid the picture, framed in silver, of his new baby and her mother between the two graves.

The picture he laid down was a private portrait, one that had never been released to the press. The baby had a wrinkled face, piercing gray eyes, and a tangle of the most shockingly red hair.

And Meredith in that picture looked like what she was: a mother who had already lost a child and would guard this one with a fierceness that was both aweinspiring and a little frightening.

She looked like what she was: a woman certain in her own power, a woman who knew she was loved above all things.

Meredith was a woman who knew that if her husband ever had the choice to make: Chatam, his kingdom, or her, he would not even hesitate.

She was his kingdom.

He stepped back then, and sighed, asked silently for a blessing on the christening that would happen today, his baby's first public appearance. Already the people of Chatam lined the streets, waiting to welcome this new love to their lives.

He was left feeling humbled by the goodness of it all.

Each day his and Meredith's relationship became closer, deeper, stronger. The new baby, Amalee, felt as if she was part of a tapestry that wove his heart ever more intricately into its pattern.

Kiernan now knew, absolutely, what he had been so drawn to that first day that he had seen Meredith dance when she thought she was alone.

He had witnessed the dance of life.

And known, at a level that went so deep, that bypassed his mind and went straight to his heart, she was the one who could teach him the steps.

He learned a new one every day.

Love was a dance that you never knew completely,
that taught you new steps, that made you reach deeper and try harder.

Love was the dance that brought you right to heaven's door.

“Thank you,” he whispered. And then louder. “Thank you.”