The Billionaire Prince’s Pregnant Fiancée by Leslie North

15

Erik was back in his father's study, this time flanked by Pelle. At least he knew what he was here for: not that he was in trouble, per se, but that the woman that he had brought to Fervia to marry was in trouble. It was time for damage control, and even as a political novice, Erik knew that much.

"It wasn't her fault," Erik said as his opening gambit.

Pelle's eyebrow went up, and he looked at their father, who sighed heavily.

"All right, the trade summit thing was technically her fault," Erik conceded. "But she was simply saying what I think we should have been saying in the first place. What Aldland was trying to shoehorn into the agreement was outrageous, their attempt at being sly and sneaking it in was shameless, and they needed to have that challenged."

"No one's saying that her stance wasn't correct," his father said, looking tired. "There's just... there's a way to do these things, Erik. And the people of Aldland tend to be very old-fashioned in their approach to policy and diplomacy."

"They're living in the dark ages," Erik said, gritting his teeth a little. "The man actually said we shouldn't have women at the proceedings. Is this really who we want to be having a trading bloc with?"

"We got the concessions we wanted. Take the win, Erik," his father said sharply, and Erik backed down a little. "If you had been more involved with trade negotiations in the past, you'd know that we've learned how to handle countries like Aldland. It usually takes a little flattery, and some back and forth, but you know I would never agree to anything that prejudicial."

Erik nodded. "Mother would have gone absolutely mad if you had," he said.

His father's face pinched, a sharp, involuntary melancholy. His mother had been a staunch supporter of people’s rights. "Yes, she would have," he said, in a quiet voice. For a second, all three men sat silent, sharing how much they missed her in that moment of quiet.

Pelle was the one who broke the silence first. "Why did you call us here, Father?"

This surprised Erik, who figured that Pelle was here to side with the King.

"Just because the trade agreement was salvaged doesn't mean there isn't still fallout," his father rumbled, his eyebrows knit together in a frown. "One that quite simply and exhaustively focuses on your... girlfriend."

"Fiancée," Erik countered. "And please tell me that you don't believe that manufactured crap about her having some kind of affair with that London politician several years ago!"

His father waved his hand. "No, of course not," he said. "But it's not going to be the only story released."

Erik goggled. "What?"

"There is a targeted smear campaign against Clara," his father pointed out. "Erik, you may have ignored politics, but even you must realize just how much of a hornet's nest she's stirred up. Aldland has set up a hit on her, from a publicity standpoint. They are angry with her, and afraid of her future influence."

Erik's jaw dropped. "And we can't stop them?"

"Not if we don't know what they're going to do," Pelle said, shaking his head. "They've been very underhanded, employing sophisticated techniques. They are seeding all sorts of rumors. And it's only going to get worse."

Erik's blood went cold. "We have to stop this," he said, his voice firm with resolve. "I have to protect her. She can't bear this kind of stress. It won't be good for her or the baby!"

"About that..." His father looked strangely sympathetic. "When were you planning on having the wedding? Because, being honest, you might want to reconsider it."

"The timing of the wedding? We were thinking soon, in the next month. I know it's hasty, but she doesn't want to get too big for the wedding dress." He chuckled, thinking of their conversation, her outrage. "I think she's beautiful regardless, but she said that she thought it would be inappropriate, and besides, she would feel like a waddling duck."

"The image would be ammunition."

Erik startled.

"They're already thinking that you are marrying too quickly, and anyone who does the math on the pregnancy will know why," his father said. "At this point, it will be throwing gasoline on a fire they've already started. Is this really what you want to put her through?"

"Wait. What are you suggesting?" Erik said sharply.

His father sighed, then turned to Pelle, as if for help.

"I adore Clara, you have to know that," Pelle said, sounding reluctant. "But... is marrying Clara really what's best for her? Or you, for that matter?"

Erik's eyes popped wide. "Are you kidding?" He glanced between the two of them and saw there was absolutely no trace of amusement on either of their faces.

"I know I told you that we needed an heir, to cement the line of succession," Pelle said mournfully. "But in light of recent events..."

"Her baby will still be an heir," his father said. "It's unconventional, but look at your friend Nic. He's getting married after the fact, and the child was out of wedlock. The bloodline is more important than the details of the marital status, anyway, and we're certainly not as old-fashioned as all that."

"You're saying that Fervia—and Aldland—will be perfectly happy with me being a bachelor with a bastard child that we're planning on putting on the throne?" he asked.

"Erik! No need to be crude," his father snapped. “Besides… I imagine you wouldn’t remain a bachelor forever.”

He was talking about marrying someone else. Erik glared at him. “We’re having a daughter,” he pointed out, his voice a rough growl. “I suppose Aldland and others of their ilk will probably have a problem with having a woman as next in line for the throne?”

“You might also have other children,” his father said, and Erik could feel his eyes blaze.

"What we're saying," Pelle interjected, obviously trying to head off a brawl, "is that you might want to think about your options."

"I don't need to think about my options," Erik said tightly, "because I love her."

He froze.

Wait. He loved her?

Well, of course, he loved her. He just hadn't thought about it in those terms. He had started falling in love from the minute he'd met her at that wedding reception, it seemed, and every moment he'd been with her since—their nights in London, their karaoke, all the time they'd spent together in the past few months... it had all only showed him how lucky he was, how special she was.

"You can't ask me to dump Clara just for the sake of political expedience," he said, his voice so sharp it could have drawn blood.

"What about protecting her?" Pelle asked softly. "Would you break up with her then?"

Erik blinked. "What do you mean?"

"Have you ever thought about why Aliana has taken such a private role in the governing of our country?" Pelle asked. "She's brilliant in her own right, an absolutely genius tactician who has helped develop any number of political strategies to benefit Fervia. But few people know that."

"Why is that?" Erik said. "I'd never even seen her in a trade meeting before the day Clara blew up. I was impressed."

"She has social anxiety," Pelle admitted. "She prefers to be behind the scenes. Beyond that, I want to protect her. The tabloids were largely kind to her when we wed, because she was Fervian, but let's face it, scandal and turmoil sell, and they would try to push that if Aliana had more of a public profile."

"So you're saying if I want to marry Clara—if I want to protect her—then I need to keep her on the sidelines?"

"To be honest, her having such a high public profile doesn't help," his father interjected. "You said that you wanted to contribute more to the family, from a political standpoint. As long as she's in the spotlight, it will only make matters worse by pointing out that you are not in that position."

"That's ridiculous."

"They see you as weak; they see her as dangerous." His father's voice was like a clap of lightning, ringing in its vehemence. "They're going to target her. And then God help you both."

Erik wanted to say that his father was being melodramatic. But he hadn't been in the political sphere—his father and his brother had. What if they were right?

"There's no way that Clara will agree to simply be behind the scenes," he said, trying to turn over a solution in his mind. "She was born for politics. She studied it—always meant to go back to Oxford and get her degree there."

"She doesn’t have the degree yet, and she's several months pregnant," his father said. "She can want a lot of things, but we are dealing with several serious realities here."

Erik rubbed at his temples. He wished his mother were still alive. She'd always been his staunch supporter; she'd championed him when he'd chosen to pursue music, and hadn't insisted that he become a diplomat or push his "princely duties."

"We need you to step up now, son," his father said, almost gently for his usual sternness.

"I thought I was," he said. "Getting married. Providing the heir."

"We'll get that ironed out after all this is behind us," his father said. "In the meantime, think extremely hard about how you want to handle Clara. Whether you want to protect her, or if you want to continue subjecting her to the maliciousness of the press. Think about what's best for her, and the baby."

Erik gritted his teeth.

Pelle looked at his father with a vague expression of disapproval. "You don't have to make any sudden decisions," Pelle said.

"But you do need to come up with a decision fairly quickly," his father tacked on. "She's going to start showing soon. As long as she's involved with you, the scrutiny will be intense. Better, don't you think, if you're going to break up with her, to do so while she's not showing? So she can go back to relative anonymity?"

"Father," Pelle chastised.

"No. He's been protected long enough," his father said, and it was the roar of the Lion of Fervia. "I love you, son, but your mother spoiled you. You have responsibilities, to this country, and to other people. Think about that while you consider your next steps."

"Yes, father." Erik stood up, spun on his heel, and left the study, ignoring Pelle's call after him. Knowing that Clara might well be in the apartments, he decided to head up to the turrets. Fall was coming, and the wind off the sea was bracing, just this side of frigid, but he appreciated how it made him feel. How it seemed to match the numbness that he felt in his bones.

He loved Clara. He wanted to protect her. He wanted to offer her the best life possible. But was his father right? Was Clara going to wind up paying for being married to him? She wanted to go into politics, to make a difference. Would she feel satisfied by being behind the scenes, presenting a facade of harmlessness and political delicacy?

He couldn’t help but smile, thinking of Clara's warrior-like ferocity when facing down that Aldland idiot. No, Clara was not the type to put on a polite face. She did not suffer fools. She might learn to smooth out some of her rough edges, but he thought that her most powerful weapons were her fearlessness, her belief in right versus wrong, in protecting the people she cared about—including the country she was going to become a part of. She wanted to change lives.

And he was just going to put her in the crosshairs of tabloids and angry, threatened little men who wanted to destroy her, and weaken the Fervian throne in the process by casting aspersions on its youngest, most useless son.

He turned his face into the wind. He needed to figure this out. He needed to talk to Clara.

And, God help him... he might need to do the unthinkable. He might need to leave Clara for her own good. Because he didn't know how he could live with himself if he let her stay in a position where she was ridiculed and mocked and dragged over the coals, simply because she was married to him.