§ § § - August 8, 1991

Roarke had been delighted to hear that Leslie and Bartolomé had smoothed over their disagreement and been able to get along; but by Thursday, he had seen more of his effusive guest than even he could take without reacting somehow. Not that Bartolomé had necessarily been intrusive; his gentle interest in, and flattery of, Leslie and her activities was subtle enough to leave her completely unaware of what he was really up to. Since Leslie had stated her position quite clearly at a very early stage in the game, Roarke felt no qualms about probing a little into Bartolomé's intentions towards her.

Bartolomé had escorted Leslie back from a trip she had made to Amberville, and when they appeared at the main house together, Roarke gave her an errand that he himself could have easily conducted over the phone. "Leslie, would you please do me a favor and stop at Julie's to get a room list and a menu?" he asked. "I would do it, but I'm afraid there's a great deal to be done here."

"That's all right, Mr. Roarke, I don't mind," said Leslie. "As a matter of fact, I can do that on my way to the post office to pick up those packages they called you about yesterday afternoon."

"Very good," Roarke agreed. "Oh, and Mr. Bartolomé, a word with you, please." The guest stopped in surprise and waited, watching Leslie leave, then turned to Roarke.

"Is there something I can do for you, my kind sir?" he inquired.

"Not to suggest that you have been, uh…intrusive," Roarke said, "but I do notice you have been keeping quite frequent company with Leslie lately, nearly to the exclusion of anyone else."

Bartolomé chuckled. "I presume 'intrusive' was your ever-so-polite way of asking me if I've been a pest," he said good-naturedly. "Actually, Mr. Roarke, I put the question to your daughter herself, and she assured me that I'm no such thing. She tells me she enjoys my company and that it helps to make her routine errands go more quickly. She's a fine, lovely, charming woman, and I find it a delight simply to be around her."

Roarke smiled. "I hope she hasn't been neglecting anything."

"No, not at all—she's very attentive to all the guests, from everything I have seen. She's poised, gracious, kind and accommodating, ready with a smile for everyone. Growing up with you seems to have been an excellent influence on her."

Exactly the qualities you are looking for, Roarke thought, ignoring the flattery and regarding Bartolomé for a moment before casually inquiring, "And does she realize you have ulterior motives?"

The Arcolosian froze for a second or two and stared back at him in sheer amazement. At last he murmured something, perhaps an oath, in his native language and slowly shook his head, impressed respect on his face. "You miss nothing at all, my good sir, do you?"

"It's my business to know what is happening on my island, Mr. Bartolomé," Roarke informed him matter-of-factly. "In view of Leslie's very clearly stated intentions several days ago, I must ask you this: what are your intentions regarding her?"

Bartolomé nodded. "A fair question. I shall be just as frank, Mr. Roarke. I want very much to marry Leslie. I realize I moved far too quickly by playing my hand so soon, and that I hadn't properly courted her before making my proposal. Now we get on beautifully, and she has shown that she will be the perfect wife. My people will love her."

"When did you plan to propose to her once again?" Roarke asked, his voice cooling noticeably. "After all, sooner or later you must let her know your intentions—and furthermore, to be fully honest with her, you are going to have to reveal your true identity."

Bartolomé sighed very deeply. "Yes, I suppose that's inevitable. But surely she will be unable to resist. Perhaps Arcolos hasn't the lush beauty of your island, Mr. Roarke, but then again, no place on earth does. She shall have everything her heart desires, and she will lack for nothing in her life. This I vow."

Roarke studied him with a shuttered expression and said quietly, "I am not the one you must convince, Mr. Bartolomé."

The two men eyed each other for a long moment; then Bartolomé nodded. "I see your point, sir. In that case, when she returns, please send her to my bungalow, if you would be so kind, and I shall cease my masquerade." Roarke only nodded in response, and Bartolomé pivoted on one heel and left the house.

About fifteen minutes later Leslie, still rather perplexed at her adoptive father's brusquely-delivered message, knocked on the door of Errico Bartolomé's bungalow. It took mere seconds before the door flew open and his beaming face peered out at her. "My dearest Leslie! Please do come in." He stepped aside, pulling the door wide for her, and followed her in. "This chair here, please. So good of you to come."

"Is there anything I can do for you?" Leslie asked, settling into the indicated chair.

"Oh, indeed there is. There quite certainly is. First and foremost, before I begin, I should say something very important to you." He took a deep breath and spoke in Arcolosian. "E ké'at aurissât."

It sounded neither French-derived nor Italian-derived; in fact it sounded like nonsense to Leslie. She squinted at him and asked, "What does that mean?"

His expression softened and he knelt in front of her, directing his most earnest gaze at her. "It means 'I love you'," he said, "and I do, believe me."

She sat still, only her eyes widening with the onset of simultaneous outrage and alarm. Her silence seemed to encourage him. "What's more, I beseech you once again, my dearest Leslie, please do me the great honor of becoming my wife. You shall lack for nothing whatsoever—anything you wish, it shall be yours. You'll have the finest that money can buy and you will have all my devotion for the rest of our lives."

"Wait a minute," she said faintly, overwhelmed.

But he steamrollered on, as though he hadn't heard. "There will be a great celebration when my people hear at last that I have found a wife," he said joyfully. "All Arcolos will turn out to see you and welcome you as their new—"

"Hold it!" Leslie exploded, shocked and bewildered all at once. "Just a minute here. Back up. Are you proposing to me again—after I made it more than clear to you that I have no interest in remarrying?"

"But…I thought you…" Bartolomé began, startled.

"No, you thought wrong," she said. "I never once indicated to you that I'd changed my mind about that. If you think I did, then you've been reading things into my words, my actions, whatever. The answer is no."

Bartolomé shot to his feet. "You wound me to the very core, my dear. I was certain you would respond to my courting."

"Is that what you were doing?" she cried, rocketing to her own feet as well. "All this time I thought you were being friendly, and you were leading up to this? How many times do I have to say it? How much more plainly can I express it to you? Maybe this will help you understand!" She promptly began to empty the pockets of her dress; out tumbled a shower of jewelry and loose gemstones. "You were giving me all these things to bribe me into being your wife. Well, now that I know, I don't want them anymore. You can keep all your presents and your precious gems and whatever else you planned on giving me. I'm not marrying you or anyone else, and I'm not leaving Fantasy Island!"

"Oh, but my dear Leslie, you don't understand," Bartolomé informed her, his voice silky but suddenly quite implacable. She had turned and started for the door, and he seized her hand and pulled her back, yanking her to him so that she collided gently with him and found herself staring up into his now very imperious expression. "You can't refuse me, don't you see? For I am His Royal Highness, Prince Errico V of Arcolos—and no woman in the long and illustrious history of my country has ever refused the hand of royalty."

Completely stunned now, she gaped at him, trying her level best to assimilate this new and astounding information. She began to shake her head, trying to deny what she'd just been told. "No," she murmured faintly.

"Oh yes," he said and nodded, smiling coldly. "Yes indeed. You are to be Princess Leslie of Arcolos. No woman has ever refused the hand of royalty because no woman has ever been allowed to do so. You are obligated to accept my proposal. It's part of the Arcolosian constitution, the Divine Right of Kings."

She cast desperately about for some way out of this. "But you're only a prince," she said inanely. "And there's no 'divine right' for princes."

"I am to be the next king," Bartolomé said. "It doesn't matter that I am not yet king; I will be one day. I may still exercise that right, and I am doing so right now." He leaned over and tried to kiss her, but she cranked her head sharply to one side and began to struggle in his grasp. Suddenly enraged, he pushed her away from him.

"I've tried to be reasonable with you," he said icily. "I've tried to win your friendship, courted you, done all I can to make you understand. But you continue to resist me. Perhaps when I explain myself fully to Mr. Roarke, you'll find that you have no choice."

Leslie glared at him, her temper finally escaping her control. "You seem to think you can simply swoop in and take whatever you want, don't you," she hissed. "You think of yourself as the irresistible force, sweeping along everything that stands in your way and either stuffing it in your pocket or shoving it aside. Well, guess what, Prince—you've just met the immovable object!" With that, she stalked out of the bungalow, slamming the door behind her to let off some steam, and strode all the way back to the main house in high dudgeon. As she walked, she mentally reviewed Bartolomé's actions and words, realizing that his royal status answered a lot of questions she'd had ever since his arrival the previous Saturday. And that's when she remembered what Roarke had said when he'd first introduced him. "…this man is not quite what he appears to be." Her temper really soared then. He had known all along and said nothing to her!

By the time she stormed into the main house, she was in such a state that Roarke stared at her in alarm. "Leslie, are you all right?" he exclaimed.

"You should have told me he was a prince!" she snapped at him in a rage.

Roarke slowly arose from his chair. "So he did reveal himself."

"Yes, he did," she shouted, her temper boiling over. "You knew from the day he first set foot on this island, and yet you didn't tell me. You let me go on thinking he was just another guest with a fantasy. My God, Mr. Roarke, I'm your assistant—don't you think I had a right to know, especially after he set his sights on me?"

"Leslie," he began.

But she was too far gone to stop. "Do you realize what he's done now? He's going to make me his wife—his princess, for crying out loud—whether I want it or not. He claims the Arcolosian constitution and the so-called Divine Right of Kings state that he can't be turned down when he makes a marriage choice. How he and his country get away with that in this day and age, I have no idea whatsoever—but I refuse to just let him carry me off like some Neanderthal. There has to be some way to thwart him, and you can bet your last dollar that you're going to help me get out of this, Mr. Roarke! Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because he insisted that I reveal his secret to no one," Roarke replied, his voice calm but glacial. "In his initial letter to me, he specifically requested that I not tell a soul—including you—who he really was, for fear that the knowledge would taint his search. As you know full well, young lady, when a guest makes a request of me, I am bound to honor that request. My hands were tied. If you wish to take exception to that, then you should do so with Prince Errico, not me."

"Why didn't you tell him you were making an exception for me?" she shouted.

That brought Roarke out from behind the desk, his own temper beginning to rise, though he fought hard to keep it under his control. "For your information, my dear Leslie, I did in fact try to secure his permission to tell you everything. He refused me point-blank and reiterated his insistence that I not reveal his identity." Leslie drew in a breath to argue, and he overrode her, finally raising his voice just enough to quiet her. "That's enough! You have every right to be angry over his apparent deception of you, but you have had a chance to expel that anger, and now it's time for you to calm yourself and start to think rationally! Do you understand me, Leslie Susan?"

Never before had Leslie seen him so angry, and it brought her back to her senses with a blink and a gasp. "Oh my god, Mr. Roarke, I'm so sorry," she moaned, and sank into the nearest chair, hiding her face in her hands. Roarke watched in silence for a moment while she rocked back and forth, shaking her head. When she looked up, tears glittered in her eyes. "I was furious with him and I took it out on you." His expression softened then and he smiled, and she fell back in the chair, looking exhausted. "I wish I could understand just what's happening and why."

Roarke took the other chair and leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. "First of all, tell me precisely what happened at the prince's bungalow."

Staring at the ceiling as she narrated what she saw in her mind's eye, she told him the entire story. "The Divine Right of Kings," she mumbled a moment or two after finishing, finally focusing on Roarke. "Is there such a thing?"

"Henry VIII was especially famous for invoking it," Roarke said, nodding. "Under this decree, a king was entitled to anything—or anyone—he wanted, anytime he wanted it. He could not be refused under penalty of death."

Leslie frowned. "In other words, it gives him absolute power," she said.

"Precisely," Roarke confirmed. "While I have little practical knowledge of Arcolosian law, written or not, it would appear that you are the first woman who has ever refused an Arcolosian monarch and not been immediately put to death."

Leslie sat up ramrod-straight and went pure white, staring at him. "Mr. Roarke, do you think he'd really have done that?"

Roarke chuckled shortly. "Do you truly believe he would have been allowed to do so? You underestimate me, Leslie." She smiled faintly and shrugged.

"So what can we do about it?" she asked. "Obviously I have no intention of marrying him and leaving Fantasy Island with him; and at the same time he believes that, simply because he's royalty, he'll get his way no matter what. The question here is, how can he possibly think he'll get away with it? No other country in the world gives credence to the Divine Right of Kings anymore. After it was abolished everywhere else, what happened when an Arcolosian royal insisted on marrying a royal from another country?"

Roarke considered this for a moment. "It does seem that he wouldn't have a leg to stand on, so to speak," he remarked. "However, from what you have told me, it also seems that he expects to hold the upper hand over you solely by virtue of that Divine Right. As to your last question, we can only do some research and find out."

At that moment the phone rang, and Leslie started at the sound before wilting back into the chair again. Roarke turned and lifted the receiver. "Yes? … Is she indeed! That will be quite an event. Yes, I will handle it immediately. Thank you." He hung up and turned to Leslie with a sparkle in his dark eyes. "Perhaps this will help to cheer you up. I have just been informed that your friend, Michiko Tokita, is returning to the island on tomorrow's final charter for the day. I am to send a pass via courier to her in Honolulu, where she is currently staying with her sister and brother-in-law, so that she may return home for the first time in at least five years."

Leslie lit up. "That's wonderful! We haven't heard from her in so long—wait till I tell the other girls. They'll probably want to come with us to meet her at the plane dock."

"I suspected you would want to do just that," Roarke said, grinning broadly. "So that will be something to keep your spirits up while we look for a way around this little problem. In fact…" He arose and unlocked the desk drawer that held the passes, handing one to Leslie. "Why don't you go now and give this to the courier, who will meet you at the dock; and then stop at the library in town and check out whatever books they may have about Arcolos. We may as well begin the research now, since I have this evening free."