Page 112 of That Prince is Mine
“E… Emma?” Michel breathed. Even as he doubted his eyes, he drank in the sight of her, his throat tightening with tears. He hadn’t allowed himself to wonder when he would see her again, but her absence had been gnawing away at his soul. He would’ve run to her if his legs hadn’t felt too weak to hold him upright.
She was exquisite in a long-sleeved emerald-green dress that fell halfway down her calves, and her gleaming hair hung in artful waves past her shoulders. How was she here, looking so beautiful? Then again, she was always beautiful. His brain remained unhelpfully blank as he stared at her like she was his salvation.
Emma glided across the throne room with her innate grace and sank into a curtsy before the king. “Your Majesty.”
And where did she learn to curtsy like that? It looked as effortless as though she’d been doing it all her life. Was that really the question he should be asking himself? He shook his head to clear it. Only then did he notice Emma’s furtive glance his way. Merde. She couldn’t get out of her curtsy. He finally broke free of his paralysis and helped her rise with a gentle hold on her elbow.
“Ms. Yoon,” his father said, not unkindly, but shot a confused frown at Michel. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”
“Your Majesty.” She cleared her throat softly. “I promised Michel… that is… Prince Michel, that I would be by his side when he told you about our engagement.”
“Our engagement?” Michel repeated louder than he’d intended. He had no idea what was happening. What was she doing here? What did she mean our engagement? “Of course… Yes… Father, I need to tell you that… that is to say…”
He blindly grabbed Emma’s hand, then lost his train of thought when he felt her ring scrape across his thumb. He glanced down—terrified and full of hope—to find that she was wearing his mother’s ring. When he raised his gaze to her face, her eyes were shining with unshed tears, and she mouthed, Yes. He wanted to grab her and kiss her until they both forgot what it meant to breathe.
“My son.” His father’s voice held a hint of reproach. “What exactly is it that you need to tell me?”
“Father, please allow me to introduce my fiancée, Emma Yoon.” Strength infused his voice. Emma was by his side, and she had agreed to marry him.
“This is… highly irregular,” the king said stiffly. “Please pardon me, Ms. Yoon. I mean you no offense, but I need to speak to my son in private.”
“Yes, Father. We do need to speak. At length,” Michel agreed readily. “But first, I need to speak with Emma.”
“Michel.” The look his father gave him would’ve withered him on the spot if he hadn’t been exploding with happiness.
“I assure you, my king, the news I was about to share with you before Emma came would’ve been much worse than an unexpected engagement.” Michel laughed. “Allow me to have an hour with my fiancée. I will come to your chambers and answer all your questions after.”
“Michel.” Emma glanced between him and his father. “Speak with your father. I can wait.”
“Well, I can’t.” He grabbed her hand and ran out of the throne room in the most undignified fashion and didn’t stop until they reached the privacy of his chambers. He pulled her inside and locked the door behind them, hoping it was in working order.
Their chests rising and falling rapidly, Michel and Emma stared at each other. When silent tears slid down her cheeks, he jolted into action. He gathered her into his arms, breathing in her scent and glorying in the feel of her soft body against his.
“You’re here,” he whispered, still afraid that he would wake from this wondrous dream.
“Yes.” Her voice broke on the single word.
“And you’ll marry me?” His arms tightened around her as his blood pounded in his ears.
“Yes.” When he pulled back to search her face—checking to make sure she was really here—a watery laugh left her. “Yes, Michel. I’ll marry you.”
“How?” He enveloped her in another embrace. He quite literally never wanted to let her go.
“Gabriel and Sophie,” she said simply.
“I don’t know how to repay them, but I will try.” He swallowed. “I can’t believe they brought you to me. If it wasn’t for them—”
Emma suddenly pushed him away, hard enough to make him stumble back, leaving his arms unbearably empty.
“What. Were. You. Thinking?” she shouted with such outrage that he cringed away from her.
“I… about which part?” He’d made so many mistakes, he couldn’t figure out which one she was angry about. Maybe all of them?
“Abdicate?” she screeched. “How can you even think about abdicating? What about your father? What about your people?”
“How?” The tension and agony of the past few days combusted into anger in his veins. “How do you think? I thought I’d lost you. I thought it was the only way to win you back.”
“For me?” She poked a finger at her chest. “You would’ve turned your back on your birthright? For me?”
