He looked through the glass to where the sun was bright and the flowers blooming. Life would never be just that simple, he reminded himself. Never just that ordinary. “The business in Paris isn’t completed.”

“But—”

“He’ll come home when it is.” He lifted his cup and drank the coffee, black and steaming. “Cordina, like many other countries, takes a strong stand against terrorism. They will be found.”

“I hope so.” She pushed the flaky croissant aside and found the headline no longer amused her. “Why is it so many innocents pay for the politics of others?”

His fingers tightened on the cup, part in fury, part in frustration. “There is no politics in terrorism.”

“No.” There was a great deal she didn’t understand and more she would have liked to close her eyes on. But she knew that burying one’s head in the sand did nothing but put grit in one’s eyes. “No, you’re right, of course.”

“Seward leaves a wife and three children.”

“Oh, how awful. Have they been told?”

“I have to go tell them now.”

“Can I help? I could go with you.”

“It’s not your affair.”

Eve retreated, calling herself a fool for being hurt. When he rose, she stared down into her coffee and said nothing.

Why had he come here? Alexander asked himself. He’d needed to tell her, to share his frustration, his anger, his grief. It wasn’t wise for a man who had to rule to need comfort, a soft word, a hand to hold. He’d been taught to rely on himself, yet he’d come to her. And he still needed.

“Eve.” It wasn’t easy for him. She couldn’t know that a simple request set off a violent tug-of-war inside him. “It would help if you went with me. I think she could use a woman.”

“I’ll get my purse,” was all she said.

* * *

The Sewards lived in a pretty pink stucco house with a small, neat lawn bordered by white flowers. Eve saw a red bike in the drive. It was that more than anything that clutched at her heart. She knew what it was like to lose a parent, and that the hurt and grief never completely healed over.

Alexander offered his hand after he stepped from the car. Eve accepted it, then let hers remain there.

“If you’re uncomfortable—”

“No. No, only sad.” She walked with him to the door, aware that the driver watched them, but unaware that members of the security staff were stationed up and down the quiet street.

Alena Seward opened the door herself. She was a dark, plump woman of early middle age with lovely eyes and mussed hair. It was obvious they had caught her in the middle of cleaning. Her mouth dropped open the moment she saw Alexander, but she recovered quickly.

“Your Highness.”