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Aeryn stared at the number and then looked over at Vesuvius. She knew that everything royal was complicated. That went with the territory. It was part of the deal. She knew that there were layers upon layers to everything, that it all had deep political significance whether or not it seemed to others that it should, and she decided immediately that his memory was something he could choose to tell people he had lost, or not. That was up to him.

She also knew that in a moment like this, when the royal family probably had no idea where he was, opportunists would jump in. That was just the nature of people when there was a crisis.

There was no part of her that wanted to expose him. But she also didn’t wish to be summarily dismissed as someone trying to capitalize on what was likely a Liandero constitutional crisis, but was also deeply personal to the family involved.

She bit her lip, then she decided to text. She reminded Saviero who she was, told him that Vesuvius was safe and sound—if a little banged up. And that she just wanted to make sure that everyone who needed to know that knew it. Just in case they didn’t already.

The response was almost instantaneous. Her phone rang and she almost answered it—but then she looked at Vesuvius again, and couldn’t do it. She had told them. He couldn’t tell them anything further. He needed his sleep more than he needed to reiterate what she’d already told them.

The text came moments later.

Will need to confirm, it said. Tersely. Proof of life necessary under the circumstances.

He’s asleep, she texted back.

Then she went and took a picture of him, making sure not to feature the gash on the side of his head, because that could only be upsetting. Proof, she texted.

Once again, the response was swift. That will do. For now.

Aeryn had only just gotten her breathing back under control when the alarm on her phone went off, and so she went over to wake him up anyway. She put her hand on his chest, and shook him—gently—

And then heard a squeaking sound that she only realized was herself, belatedly, when his hand snapped out to grab hers. She found herself toppling over, losing her balance entirely, and ending up sprawled over him.

Chest to chest.

“I have a headache,” he said as his eyes opened, and suddenly all of that dark hazel seemed to bore straight into her.

“That’s not surprising,” she replied. “I believe you crashed your plane into Lake Michigan and somehow walked away from the wreckage. I’ll get you a nice, cold cloth that you can put on your head if you like. That should help.”

“It’s not bad,” he said, frowning slightly, as if she’d told him she was calling 911. “It’s just there.”

And he didn’t let go of her wrist. His gaze tracked over her face and she was sure there was something wrong with her that she felt the heat of his gaze. Everywhere.

Or maybe it was just that she knew that he was not married, not a king, and not even betrothed anymore. Maybe that was a kind of aphrodisiac for the woman who had allowed all of those things to rule her life all this time. When she wasn’t even the person those things had applied to.

“It’s your voice,” he was saying, snapping her back into the moment. This moment, where he didn’t really know who he was—that was just a story she’d told him. So she couldn’t expect him to understand why the news she’d read earlier was so…explosive. “It does something to me. Like it operates on a frequency that only makes sense when I’m near you.”

That did not help at all.

“You can’t say things like that to me,” she hurled back at him, but her voice was little more than a whisper. “You don’t get to say those things at all.”

Meanwhile, in her head, the word abdication played over and over.

She should tell him that, she thought. But she didn’t know if it was something he could take back. If it was something that they would make him take back, now that he was alive instead of dead.

Because the last she’d looked, his sister was dedicated to nothing at all but partying.

Even as she was thinking that, she was kicking herself. It didn’t matter what she did. Her life had nothing to do with thrones or court intrigue or all the rest of the duties and honors that made up his life. Her life was simple.

She worked. She thought about art. She cared for her daughter, spent time with her parents, and had only now begun to reach out to old friends who still lived in the Chicago area. The excuse she used was her single motherhood, and it had been widely accepted so far, but she knew that it was deeper than that.

Aeryn was the one who had isolated herself, because every spare second she’d had over the past five years she had dedicated either to Vesuvius or the daughter he’d given her. She cut out anyone who might have asked her too many questions about that. There was no answer she could give them, so it had been easier to simply let the friendships fade.

Meaning the loneliness that hit her the hardest at this time of year was her own damn fault.

His appearing here like this tonight couldn’t change that. She would be a fool to pretend that it did.

God knew she’d already been fool enough where he was concerned.