§ § § -- September 2, 2003

They ventured into the house and found Roarke waiting behind the desk. "We will be meeting Miss Vikslund and her son at the laboratory," Roarke said after they had greeted one another. "If you'd drive, Leslie…"

She nodded agreement, and they went back out to the car. The lab had been built within sight of the island's hospital, on a small promontory a distance off the Ring Road's southern section, about a mile west of the plane dock. Both enjoyed wonderful ocean views. The building had gone under construction not too long after the fantasy in which Leslie had for a while thought she might have a half-brother, and had been completed a couple of weeks after she and Christian had moved into their current home, just as they'd come back from Arnulf's funeral and Gabriella's coronation in Lilla Jordsö. It was a low one-story building with an airy, plant-filled reception room, and when they walked in the two figures in chairs there immediately arose and approached them. Christian's hand tightened around Leslie's, but for a moment no one said anything. Kurt watched Christian with that same wistful, hopeful look; Ingela seemed a little annoyed. Finally she remarked, "We've been waiting some time for you."

"I'm glad to see that you're on time," replied Roarke with a smile. "Good morning to you both." He turned to the receptionist. "Are the doctors ready?"

The native woman, a few years younger than Leslie perhaps, checked her appointment book and looked up with a return smile at him. "Yes, Mr. Roarke…Mr. Enstad is to see Dr. Tourek, and Mr. Vikslund will be seeing Dr. de Ridder. They're both ready for you."

"What will they do?" Kurt asked, looking nervous.

"It takes no more than a moment," said the receptionist. "They'll just swab the inside of your cheek and that's all there is to it. We're not too busy right now, so the results should be ready for you by the end of the week. May we notify you, Mr. Roarke?"

"Of course," said Roarke. The receptionist nodded and smiled, then turned to Christian and Kurt. "Just come back here and I'll show you into the offices."

Christian gave Leslie's hand one last squeeze before releasing it and going to the entrance to the offices. Kurt trailed a few steps behind him, still watching him but looking increasingly despondent; so far Christian hadn't even looked at him. Leslie watched her husband go, then looked at Roarke, relieved that he was there to be a buffer between her and Ingela. "Should we bother sitting down?" she asked.

"Only if you wish," Roarke told her and smiled. "Don't worry, child."

Ingela watched the byplay between the two, as if gathering information. Accidentally Leslie met her gaze, blinked once and looked quickly away, skittish and nervous. Instantly she knew she'd made a tactical error: she should have simply looked back at the woman, without letting her see her inner turmoil. Ingela seemed the sort to take advantage of it. But Ingela didn't say anything; in fact no one spoke, and only Roarke was fully at ease. Ingela eyed Leslie with an odd, assessing look from time to time; Leslie wandered to the window, trying to find some solace in the view, wishing she couldn't feel Ingela's eyes on her all the time and holding herself unnaturally still in an attempt not to shiver.

In about ten minutes they heard footsteps and turned to see who it was; Christian emerged from the hallway leading to the offices, and Leslie visibly relaxed with relief. He saw it, smiled at her and came to her side, slipping an arm around her shoulders. "They were right," he remarked, "it didn't take very long."

"So where is Kurt, then?" Ingela demanded.

"Right here," said Kurt's voice, and he came into the reception area. "It took me a little longer to fill out the form because I had to show my passport and they needed a copy."

Ingela snorted. "Paperwork," she muttered. "Mr. Roarke, I'm returning to my bungalow. I have phone calls to make to my sisters and to my attorney." Roarke nodded in response, and she stalked out, leaving her son standing there looking uncertain.

For the first time Christian took a good look at the boy, his face mostly expressionless, though both Roarke and Leslie could see the tension in his jaw. Finally he said, "Why is it that I never knew about you until now?"

Kurt blinked at him, eyes wide as if with surprise that Christian had actually spoken to him; then he said hesitantly, "It's a long story, Your Highness. I wonder if perhaps it's all right with Mr. Roarke to talk at his home."

"Of course, Kurt," said Roarke. "I'm certain both you and Christian have quite a few questions to ask each other."

"And it'll be easier without Ingela around," Christian added tightly, glancing over his shoulder toward the entrance. He closed his eyes and drew in a steadying breath, then focused on Kurt. "Before we go on, Kurt, I just want to clarify something. I'm not angry with you, nor I am resentful of your existence. It's your mother I have problems with, not you. And incidentally, you need not address me as 'Your Highness'…just call me Christian, that will be fine."

Kurt smiled hopefully. "I'd like that…thank you."

"Why don't we return to the main house, and I'll have some refreshments brought out if anyone would like them," Roarke said. The others agreed, and in about ten minutes they'd all seated themselves around the tea table, with various beverages and a plate of snacks set out. Both Leslie and Roarke noticed that Kurt followed Christian's choice of beverage, and they glanced at each other.

It wasn't lost on Christian either. "Do you like sangria, then?" he asked Kurt.

"I'm not sure," the boy admitted a bit sheepishly. "I don't even know what it is."

For the first time everyone laughed. "It's Leslie's favorite," Christian said, "and she urged me to try it. It seems Mariki, Mr. Roarke's cook, has her own special recipe that Leslie is partial to, and I myself have grown to like it very much. Don't worry, it's nonalcoholic." He sat back and handed one of two glasses to Leslie, who smiled her thanks.

Kurt took a sip, then grinned broadly. "You can tell Mariki she has another fan of her sangria," he said with enthusiasm, and again they laughed. Relaxing a little, they settled themselves a bit more comfortably in their seats.

Christian finally took the plunge. "So…tell me why I was never informed of your existence, Kurt, if your mother is so certain that I'm your father."

Kurt drew in a breath and thought for a moment. "I probably don't know everything, but I can tell you what I do know. I was born and raised in Stockholm; our family has a large luxury apartment on Karlavägen in the city. Mother and I lived a very private life. I knew who my grandfather was, but I never met him. Mother's parents were divorced, and Grandmother came to live with us, until she died when I was ten. She told me of my aunts, and some cousins that I have, and I heard stories about Lilla Jordsö." He sighed wistfully. "But I never set foot on jordisk soil until my grandfather died a month ago, and we went there for his funeral."

"I see," said Christian. "But why wasn't I told?"

"Mother wasn't allowed," Kurt said. "I don't know why, but she was forbidden to reveal my existence. She had to pass us off as distant Vikslund relations, so that the media wouldn't ask questions. It didn't stop her from telling over and over again about the days when you and she were a couple, and she insisted every time that you were my father. And she got magazines from Lilla Jordsö, so she could keep up with events there. I saw pictures of you and the rest of the royal family, and I learned that you were the favorite of the people, and I was happy to know that you were my father. But around the time my grandmother died, I began to compare my face in the mirror to the photos I saw of you, and I realized I don't really look much like you. That's when I started to wonder if Mother was really telling me the truth." He swallowed and looked away. "It upset me, because I thought you seemed like a decent and genuine person, and I really wanted to be your son." His eyes met Christian's once more and he added with raw hope, "I still do."

Silence fell, while Christian sat still and contemplated Kurt's words and his final wish. Then he focused on the boy and smiled just slightly. "I appreciate that, Kurt," he said, "and for what it's worth, you seem like a decent and genuine young man yourself. I'm sure that can't have been Ingela's influence." Kurt shrugged at that, reddening noticeably, and Christian's smile widened a bit and grew sympathetic. "You must understand what an utter shock this is to me. Your mother was nice company for a while, but I was never able to fall in love with her. She talked me into our one and only encounter, the night she thinks you were conceived."

"What happened that you didn't stay together?" Kurt asked.

Christian frowned. "She betrayed my privacy," he said and added to Roarke, "You know, of course, how I am about that." Roarke nodded, and Christian sighed and slid his arm around Leslie again. "It's been twenty years. My recollection now is that we had been to some party at the Swiss embassy. It was purely a social affair, exactly the sort that always put me off because there was no real purpose to it—but both my parents, all my siblings and both of my sisters-in-law were attending, and they all insisted I must be there because it might be seen as a snub in some way if I didn't go. So I took Ingela with me. To cope with the situation, I drank far more wine than I should have. I tried to find something to eat to help cut back the effect, but the hors d'oeuvres weren't exactly worthy of the name." He smiled wryly at their soft chuckles. "In any case, I knew I wasn't good to drive, so Ingela took the wheel of my car and brought us back to my flat. In my condition, it didn't take so much for her to persuade me to…" His voice trailed off.

"I remember you telling me once that she had to talk you into it," Leslie said gently.

Christian nodded. "Well, afterward I fell asleep for a while, and when I woke up I had a terrible headache. Then I heard Ingela's voice and realized she was on the phone with someone, talking about her evening with me. She didn't exactly mince words. I was furious. I insisted she call a taxi and get out, and made it clear to her that I wouldn't be seeing her again. Her standing there in my bedroom, on my telephone, gossiping to some friend of hers—it was simply inexcusable."

"What incredibly bad taste," said Leslie, shaking her head.

"Carl Johan called it gauche," Christian remembered. "The following Monday, it made the gossip media, and I was livid. Fortunately, Carl Johan talked some sense back into me, and I simply held my silence. Ingela tried to keep up the pretense that she and I were still seeing each other, but it had become fairly clear that this wasn't so, and she finally admitted that it was over. Soon after that she disappeared from the public scene, and I never heard of her again." He looked at Kurt. "That's as much as I know."

Kurt nodded faintly, his eyes troubled. "You truly never heard any more of Mother after you asked her to leave?" he persisted a little plaintively.

"Nothing," said Christian, studying him. "Why?"

"I just thought…" Kurt shrugged. "I don't really know what I thought. I suppose I was only looking for something that would make it a certain thing that you…"

"That I fathered you," Christian filled in gently. "I suppose I can understand your feelings, Kurt. But please don't get your hopes up. Until we know for certain, it's going to be a hellish few days for us all. And even if I do turn out to be your father, it's not going to be so easy on us. I have questions for Ingela, and I don't feel very charitable toward her. I'd suggest you try to be elsewhere when I confront her…for I know I'll have to, and I'd not like to see you caught in the crossfire."

"Thank you, Christian," Kurt said softly.

"More than that," Christian went on, "I don't think there's any chance for even much civility between Ingela and me. What she did to me that night—I can't make it plain enough how thoroughly that cut through me. To have her happily chattering to some friend about the way she'd managed to talk the prince into sleeping with her…and not just that, but to have her do it right there where I could hear her, as if she didn't care that I might—it offended me on every level. In my eyes, she committed the worst possible offense she could against me, and I found it unforgivable. Do you see my position on this?"

Kurt nodded earnestly. "I do, believe me. I don't blame you at all." He hesitated. "But if we truly are father and son…would you be willing to…to stay in touch? I don't ask any more than that. I don't think I really have a right."

Christian's faint smile returned. "If we are father and son, then yes, I would be willing to remain in touch. I'd ask only that you treat Leslie with respect. She's my wife, and I love her more than anyone else I've ever known. Others hurt her under peril of my wrath, and I do have a temper, I should warn you—a rather nasty one if I'm provoked enough."

"I figured that from hearing about your reaction to Mother's gossip session," Kurt said with a surprising flash of humor, and they all laughed before the boy shifted his attention to Leslie. "I can see how happy you and Christian are together. I've seen photos of you and I could see it then, too. I…I think I ought to tell you that my mother was very resentful of you when the news of your marriage came out. She used to say that one day she was going to win Christian back. I hope…I hope you won't let her hurt you."

"Leslie has a bit of temper of her own," Roarke remarked humorously. "When she is pushed hard enough, she'll strike back—sometimes unexpectedly."

"Are you calling me a snake?" Leslie asked teasingly, evoking chuckles from Roarke and Christian. "It's not that I enjoy confrontations, but I like even less the idea of someone getting away with cruel remarks or accusations—not just against me but against someone I love, especially Christian or Father."

Kurt grinned, taking in the sight of Christian's arm around Leslie and her seated stance beside him—her body turned in towards his and her head sometimes touching the side of Christian's. "I can see you two are a true team. In that case, my mother had better be very, very careful."

When the laughter died out, Roarke studied Kurt thoughtfully. "You've been taking all this remarkably well, Kurt. You strike me as an extraordinary young man."

Kurt frowned. "I think it's because of my mother's approach to all this. She's always told me that one day, Christian would know about me, but she always said it in a way that suggested to me that she wanted something for herself. That is, not so that I would finally know my father, but so that she could have some kind of satisfaction. I never liked her attitude about it. She's been bitter about it ever since I can remember." He looked at Christian. "If we're not father and son, then right now I apologize for what she's been putting you through. It's just not right."

Christian grinned. "Perhaps I'll stay in touch with you even if we're not father and son. I agree with Mr. Roarke's assessment of you. Something tells me that if Ingela's wrong, she's going to get an earful from you, too."

Kurt nodded, grinning ruefully back. "If she's right…" He broke off and hung his head for a moment, staring into his glass; Roarke, Leslie and Christian waited quietly, watching him. "If she's right," he admitted finally, "you'll never be able to get rid of her."

Roarke cleared his throat. "Don't worry about that now, Kurt," he said kindly. "For the moment, we can only wait to find out the results of the test, and that will determine whatever action is to be taken next."