"Sony to hear that," he said, careful not to let too much softness into his voice, suspecting it wouldn't take much in the way of sympathy to send her scurrying for cover. "When did she die?"

"When I was eighteen."

"Ah-well-" he broke an egg and plopped it into a bowl "- at least you had a chance to know her."

He heard her take a breath, sharp and deep. He knew she had herself in hand again when she said with a soft, breathy chuckle. "What I remember most about my mama is her laugh, you know? She had this great big laugh, and when she laughed, her eyes sparkled. She laughed a lot. too. My mama did know how to have a good time."

He broke a few more eggs into the bowl. "You had a happy childhood, then." He glanced up when she gave a bitter-sounding snort.

"Yeah, I did. Until my father came and took me away from it."

Before Nikolas could reply, she rose abruptly, frowning. If she had been a cat, he thought, her tail would surely have been twitching.

"Mind if I use your…what do you Silvershirers call it? The loo?"

"Do you mean the bathroom?" He said it with the deadpan courtesy of a butler he'd once known and gestured with the whisk in his hand. "It's that way-next to the bedroom."

She slipped from the room like a cat through fog, and left him with a bowlful of eggs on which to beat off his bemusement and frustration.

"You're a pretty good cook, Donovan, even if you don't have any Tabasco." Rhia remarked, studying the last bite of her omelette before popping it into her mouth. As she chewed, her expression grew thoughtful. "Not that that surprises me- you cooking. I mean, not the Tabasco. I imagine you're good at whatever you take a mind to do."

"Thank you." Nikolas said, with only a hint of a smile. He was glad to see she'd recovered her aplomb, since he'd found she was a much nicer person when she felt she had the upper hand.

"Tell you what does surprise me, though." she went on as if he hadn't spoken. "I never would've taken you for a coward."

It took some doing, but he kept his expression bland. "A coward, you say. Really."

To his further bemusement, she wiggled in her chair and said in a testy tone, "Oh, stop it. I hate it when you do that."

"Do what?" The woman did have a way of keeping him hopping off balance. He didn't know whether he found it amusing or demoralizing.

She waved her finger in a circling motion. "That…that thing with your eyebrow."

"My eyebrow?"

"Yes. It goes up. Just one. The other doesn't. It's damned annoying, if you want to know."

"Really." He leaned back in his chair and gazed at her, trying his best not to elevate any of his facial features. "I had no idea. Well, I shall endeavor to keep my various body parts under better control, if it offends you. Now, what was it you were saying about me being a coward?"

She returned his gaze with a narrow stare of her own, as if she suspected him again of mocking her. Then she gave a shrug and pushed back her plate. "Well, you did run away."

"Ah. Yes. There is that." He scrubbed a hand over his face, as if doing so could rub away the tiredness and confusion that were like a veil of cobwebs over his brain at times. Then he tried a sardonic smile. "I prefer to think of it as a strategic retreat."

"Look-Nikolas-"

He held up a hand to stop her there. "Miss de Hayes-Rhia. Try and put yourself in my shoes. Six months ago the heir to the throne of Silvershire is found dead in his mountain retreat-murdered. So who do you suppose shot directly to the top of the list of probable suspects? Right you are-an organization bent on doing away with that very same monarchy, an organization known as the Union for Democracy, of which I happen to be founder and de facto head."

"Yes," Rhia said, frowning, "but your group was considered an unlikely candidate for Reginald's murder, since it's well-known you've never advocated the use of violence."

"Ah, but that didn't stop the rumors, did it? Especially after the king's collapse due to the grief and strain of his son's death. There were rumors Reginald was being blackmailed, rumors of terrorism, of hostile invasion or violent revolution. Rumors of a split in the UFD, with a violent faction taking over control. Even after I met with Russell-Lord Carrington-to reassure him-"

"Just because they're called rumors doesn't mean they can't be true," Rhia said quietly.

Nikolas looked at her for a moment in silence. Then he pushed his plate aside and leaned back in his chair with a careless wave of his hand. "It's true there've been some… things going on in the UFD I'm not happy about. There've always been members of the group who are somewhat…shall we say, less than patient with the slow-grinding wheels of change, which is what we've advocated up to now. That faction seems to be growing of late. But I see that as a result of the unrest surrounding the monarchy, rather than the cause of it."

"Sort of a We-should-strike-while-the-iron's-hot attitude?"

His smile was brief and wry. "Something like that."

"How did you get involved with the organization?" She asked this in a conversational way, leaning forward with an expression of great interest, though Nikolas was fairly certain whatever dossier the Lazlo Group had on him would have included that bit of information.

Still, she was a treat to look at and fun to spar with, and he didn't mind playing along once again. So he settled back, outwardly relaxed but inwardly alert, and replied. "When I was in college, actually. That's when we got organized. Before that, my uncle Silas-the man who raised me-had already gotten me interested in the idea of bringing about an end to monarchy in Silvershire."

"You say…your uncle. That would be…"

"My father's brother."

"Ah," she said, those feline eyes of hers intent again, "but now we know he couldn't have been your father's brother, could he?"

An expected surge of anger hardened his voice. "So you say. So they say. If you ask me, it's all ridiculous nonsense" Please, God, let it be so.

This is hard for him, she thought. His whole life, who he is, his perspective-everything has changed.

She knew how that felt. She'd had only a few short years to be Rhia de Hayes in a Louisiana trailer park with her mama and her big laugh and sparkling eyes, where there was always music and dancing and good things to eat and she could run barefoot all summer long. Then one day everything had changed, her world and everything in it-her home, her school, her friends, her clothes, even her name had changed. As everything would change for this man.

She wondered if he was thinking now. Who the hell is Nikolas Donovan? Who am I?

She said gently. "I'm afraid it's not nonsense. You are the biological offspring of King Henry Weston and his late wife, Queen Alexis. DNA proves that, and DNA doesn't lie, Nikolas."

He said nothing, only burned her with his smoldering eyes.

"I'm curious, though. What did your-uh, Silas Donovan-tell you about your parents? That they were dead. I assume, but what was supposed to have happened to them?"

His mouth hardened. "My parents were patriots-some would say traitors. I suppose. Insurgents-anti-royal activists-call them what you will, it was Weston's people that had them killed. It was supposed to have been a road accident. Their car was forced off the road-went over the cliffs near Leonia into the sea. Their bodies were never found."

"Oh, ouch." Rhia winced. "So you were pretty much programmed to hate King Weston from birth, weren't you?"

"I don't hate the man." He rose abruptly, swept up her plate along with his and carried them the two short steps to the sink.

No…I don't think you have it in you to hate. Rhia studied him thoughtfully, quivering inside again with that strange sense of recognition. But where do I know you from, Donovan? I know we've met before. I know it.

"I don't even think he's that bad a king," he said with his back to her, and she could see the tension in his neck and shoulders, hear it in his voice. "I just don't think something as important as running a country should be determined by an accident of birth. Can you imagine Silvershire in the hands of that spoiled, selfish twit, Reginald?"

"Well, it didn't happen, did it?" said Rhia. "Someone made sure of that. What do you think of the current regent, Lord Russell Carrinston, by the way? I know you've met with him. He seems to be doing a decent job filling in for the king while he's been out of commission."

"Carrington's a decent man. Probably make a decent head of state as well." He jerked around, eyes gone dark and fierce, and she was aware once again of how small the kitchen was. and how big Nikolas Donovan seemed standing in it. "Look- that's not the point. No man should have the right to rule without the consent of the people he's ruling. This is the twenty-first century. The people-"

Rhia held up both hands in mock surrender. "Hey, you don't have to explain democracy to me-I'm an American, remember? Anyway, back to the issue at hand. You're going to have to face this sooner or later. Nikolas. You do know that, don't you?"

"Of course, I do." He was silent again, staring past her at the rain-splashed window glass. She waited, and after a moment he drew a breath and shook his head. "It came at me too damn fast. I needed to think a bit." Another pause, and then he drilled her with his intent gray eyes. "I went to ask Silas, you know. It was the first thing I did when I heard the…rumors. I suppose I wanted him to explain, or some such thing." His eyes went bleak.

"And?"

He shrugged, and his mouth twisted and settled into hard, angry lines. "Couldn't find him. Wasn't at his apartment in Dunford, hadn't been to his job at the college in days. Don't know where he's got to. I know I want to hear it from him, and until I do, as far as I'm concerned it's just that-rumors."

It was Rhia's turn to be silent and thoughtful as she watched Silvershire's reluctant prince run hot water and scrub egg off frying pan and dinner plates. She was remembering the rich, velvety voice on the phone that was her only contact with her boss, the founder and head of the Lazlo Group.

Nikolas Donovan can be a hard man. Never forget that. He's also intelligent, resourceful, charming and suave.

I've heard he's something of a fanatic. Rhia had said.

Not a fanatic. Corbett Lazlo had responded after a brief pause. He's too intelligent for that kind of insanity. Donovan's a reasonable man. Focused, yes. Passionate…but capable of iron self-control. It would be a grave mistake to underestimate him.

Wonderful, Rhia had thought then. Just what I need-another powerful, bull headed man determined to have his way.

A small shiver passed through her body now, as she gazed at the broad and powerful shoulders, the rich sable hair curling slightly on the back of a smooth sun-bronzed neck. So far she'd seen the suave sophisticate, the smiling charmer, the intelligent man. the hard man. She wondered what the passionate man would be like…and what it would take to test his iron will.

"Lord Carrington was ready to arrest you," she remarked. "I assume you knew that when you ran. Were you aware that Danielle Cavanaugh-the assassin known as the Sparrow-named you, before she died, as the man who hired her to kill Reginald?"

His laugh was brief and harsh. "Nothing much surprises me these days, you know." He turned, drying his hands on a dishtowel. "Considering what's happened in Silvershire over the past few months." He held up a clenched fist, one finger extended, a sardonic smile curving his lips. "One-the crown prince gets murdered practically on the eve of his marriage to the princess of Gastonia and his ascent to the throne, thus saving Silvershire-and the princess-from unimaginable disaster." Up went another finger, along with the errant eyebrow. "Two-the reigning king collapses from shock and grief, and Lord Russell Carrington, off in Gastonia to escort the bride-to-be to her nuptials, rushes home to assume the king's duties-but not before falling in love with and ultimately marrying Reginald's erstwhile intended, the lovely Princess Amelia."

His smile was all teeth. "How'm I doing so far?"

"You must read the Quiz," Rhia murmured. "You're certainly up on all the royal gossip."

"Hmm, yes, well. I do try to keep informed. Particularly when my name is being bandied about as the most likely candidate for royal murderer."

"You haven't mentioned the part where it's discovered during the royal autopsy-through routine blood typing, I assume-that Reginald could not possibly have been the biological child of either King Henry or Queen Alexis."