Alex was like their father—the military bearing, the intensity. She’d seen those qualities both in the flesh and in the official portraits. She wondered if Alex enjoyed the role of prince and heir or merely accepted it. More, she wondered if she and Alex had been close enough that she’d known his feelings, his hopes. She wondered when she’d know her own.

There was an arbor draped with wisteria and under it a pair of padded chairs and a marble table. Like the spot by the seawall, Brie felt a sense of comfort there.

It was easier to admit when she was alone that she still tired quickly. Sitting, Brie stretched out her legs, while the shade and muted light dappled over her. The blossoms had a sweet, undemanding scent. The drone of bees had a lazy sound. There didn’t seem to be anything else. She closed her eyes and drifted.

* * *

Drowsy. She felt almost foolishly drowsy. It wasn’t the comfortable, relaxed feeling she had come out to the country for. Whenever she drove out to the little farm it was to steal a little time away from Princess Gabriella for Brie Bisset. Time was precious. If she’d wanted a nap, she could have spent Sunday afternoon in her room.

Brie drank more of the coffee from her thermos. It was strong, the way she preferred it. The sun was warm, the bees humming. Yet she didn’t seem to have the energy to walk as she’d planned. Perhaps she’d just close her eyes for a little while…. She couldn’t seem to hold the coffee steadily in any case. Perhaps she’d just lean back against the rock and close her eyes….

Then the sun wasn’t warm and strong any longer. There was a chill, as though the clouds had covered the sky and threatened rain. She couldn’t smell the sweet grass, the sun-warmed flowers, but mustiness and damp. She hurt—ached all over, yet she hardly seemed to feel at all. Someone was talking, but she couldn’t really hear. Mumbling, droning, but not bees. Men.

They’ll make the exchange for the princess. They won’t have a choice. Whispers, just whispers.

Tracks are covered. She’ll sleep until morning. Deal with her again.

And she was afraid, terribly, paralyzingly afraid. She had to wake up. She had to wake up and—

* * *

“Brie.”

With a muffled scream, she jolted in the chair, half springing up before hands closed over her arms. “No, don’t! Don’t touch me!”

“Easy.” Reeve kept his hands firm as he lowered her back in her chair. She was cold, her eyes glazed. Thinking quickly, he decided that if she didn’t calm within moments, he’d take her back to the palace and call Franco. “Just take it easy.”

“I thought—” She glanced around quickly, the garden, the sun, the bees. When she discovered her heart was pounding, she made herself sit back and just breathe. “I must have been dreaming.”

He studied her, searching for signs of shock. Apparently she wouldn’t allow herself the luxury. “I wouldn’t have woken you, but you looked like you were having a bad dream.”