His bone structure was excellent and his eyes were the charming, sizzling blue of the Black Irish. He’d used them to charm when it suited him, just as he’d used them to intimidate.

His stance was less rigid than the prince’s, but no less watchful. “Your Highness.”

At Reeve’s words, both Alexander and Bennett sprang to attention. “Brie?” they asked together, but while Bennett was already beside his father, Alexander stood where he was. He crushed out his cigarette in an ashtray. Reeve watched it snap in two.

“She was conscious,” Armand said briefly. “I was able to speak with her.”

“How does she feel?” Bennett looked at his father with dark, concerned eyes. “When can we see her?”

“She’s very tired,” Armand said, touching his son’s arm only lightly. “Perhaps tomorrow.”

Still at the window, Alexander smoldered. “Does she know who—”

“That’s for later,” his father cut him off.

Alexander might have said more, but his upbringing had been too formal. He knew the rules and the restrictions that went with his title. “We’ll take her home soon,” he said quietly, coming very close to challenging his father. He cast a quick look around at the guards and police. Gabriella might be protected here, but he wanted her home.

“As soon as possible.”

“She may be tired,” Bennett began, “but she’ll want to see a familiar face later on. Alex and I can wait.”

A familiar face. Armand looked beyond his son to the window. There were no familiar faces for his Brie. He’d explain to them, but later, in private. For now, he could only be the prince. “You may go.” His words took in both his sons. “Tomorrow she’ll be more rested. Now I need a word with Reeve.” He dismissed his sons without a gesture. When they hesitated, he lifted a brow. It was not, as it could have been, done with heat.

“Is she in pain?” Alexander blurted out.

Armand’s look softened. Only someone who knew him well would have seen it. “No. I promise you. Soon,” he added when Alexander remained unsatisfied, “you’ll see for yourself. Gabriella is strong.” It was said with a simplicity that was filled with pride.

With a nod, Alexander accepted. What else he had to say would have to wait for a private moment. He walked out with his brother, flanked by guards.

Armand watched his sons, then turned to Reeve. “Please,” he began, and gestured. “We’ll use Dr. Franco’s office for a moment.” He moved across the corridor and down as though he didn’t notice the guards. Reeve did. He felt them close and tense. A royal kidnapping, he mused, tended to make people nervous. Armand opened a door, waited until Reeve was inside, then closed it again.

“Sit, please,” he invited. “I can’t just yet.” Reaching into his pocket, he drew out a dark-brown cigarette, one of the ten he permitted himself daily. Before he could do so himself, Reeve lit it and waited. “I’m grateful you came, Reeve. I haven’t had the opportunity to tell you how I appreciate it.”