it is. That commanding voice that I’m powerless to resist.
Slumping my shoulders, I nod. “Fine.”
“Good.”
Theo hooks his uninjured arm around my back, his other hand still propped up in a sling.
“I guess the doctor can have a look at your shoulder at the same time.” I accept a bottle of water from one of the royal staff with a grateful nod, swishing it around my mouth and spitting it out onto the sand.
How regal of me.
One thing’s for sure—I’m definitely not a future Queen. Theo doesn’t seem to notice, though. He just stays by my side as we walk down the white, pebbled path toward the palace.
My gut still churns, and an awful taste clings to the back of my throat. Worry snakes its way around the base of my skull. There’s one explanation for my nausea that doesn’t involve seasickness, but I can’t bring myself to think of it right now.
As soon as the word pregnancy pops up in my mind, I chase it away. It’s too complicated. Too messy. Too permanent.
We walk to the small outbuilding that acts as a medical clinic for the royal family.
Perks of being royalty: on-site doctor visits.
The doctor and nurses take blood and urine samples and runs a few basic tests. I get asked a dozen questions, and by the end of the examination I’m more exhausted than when I started.
I only threw up once. Sure, I’ve been near the ocean since I was a little girl and basically grew up swimming and running around sailboats, but a bit of seasickness shouldn’t warrant this much fuss.
As the doctor examines Theo’s shoulder, a nurse pokes her head back into the room.
She clears her throat. “Doctor, could I have a word?”
The doctor grunts, and then helps Theo back into his sling. “Looks good for now, but we’ll need at least two more weeks in that sling. You were lucky that nothing tore badly. Should be a quick recovery. Six weeks should do it, and then we can start physical therapy.”
The man nods at us, then follows the nurse out the door. I lean back in my chair, sinking into soft cushions as exhaustion settles into my bones.
“I’m fine, Theo. Really. I should just go home.”
“So why do you look pale? People don’t just puke for no reason, Cara.”
I shake my head. “I’m fine. Just need some sleep.”
A soft knock on the door tells us the doctor is back. Theo calls him in, and the old man shuffles back through the door with his chin tucked against his chest.
He clears his throat before running his fingers through his hair. The doctor finally raises his eyes to mine, and my stomach drops.
I know what he’s going to say before he even speaks a word. Call it female intuition. Call it a premonition. Call it whatever you want.
Before the doctor says a word, I already know I’m pregnant.
17
Theo
When the doctor asks to speak to Cara alone, my heart drops.
Something’s wrong. Very wrong.
Cara’s face is white as a sheet, and I can sense the tension rippling off her in waves. She meets my eyes, dipping her chin down a fraction of an inch to let me know it’s okay.
I clear my throat, wanting to say something. What can I say, though?
Both the doctor and Cara are staring at me, waiting for me to step out of the room. I hover near the door, trying not to eavesdrop but still listening to the muffled sounds of voices on the other side.
The sound of footsteps makes me lift my head. My brother Beckett walks toward me, his trademarked scowl permanently carved into his face.
“Hey, brother,” he says. “Or should I say Your Majesty? Not yet, eh? When’s the old man stepping down?”
I let out a sigh, reaching out to shake Beckett’s hand. He’s always had a chip on his shoulder, and I don’t understand why. He may be a half-brother, technically—the love-child of my mother and my father’s brother—but we’ve always treated him as family. Even after my mother left with my uncle, there was no question that Beckett should be here with us. He’s my brother.
Yet, I’ve always gotten the sense that deep-seated jealousy is embedded in his heart.
“How was your trip?” I ask, ignoring my brother’s question.
Beckett shrugs. “It was fine. Father told me I’d find you here. How’s your shoulder?”
“Doctor thinks I’ll be able to take the sling off in two weeks.”
Beckett grunts. A wicked grin twists his lips. “I’d pay good money to have Cara Shoal dislocate