Raul (Royal Caleva #3)

Chapter 1

Raul Dragón, Crown Prince of Caleva, stood still as his assistant adjusted the loops of gold braid that hung from the shoulder of his deep green dress uniform jacket.

He had been forced by an overlong meeting to dress in a rush and dash here to the Coliseo de Honor, but he refused to be less than perfectly turned out.

He owed that to the recipients of the Medallo de los Lirios, the second-highest honor given to Calevan military personnel.

Only Raul, as the prince, was allowed to bestow the medal, a ceremonial obligation he took very seriously.

Today’s honorees had gone above and beyond their duty to his beloved country, and that earned his sincere gratitude.

He mentally ran through his short speech and the three names that he had memorized to make sure he could congratulate them personally.

His assistant stepped back with a nod of approval.

Raul smiled his thanks before walking over to meet the officers who would escort him onto the stage, shaking hands and thanking them for their service.

He stood at attention offstage until the ceremony’s emcee Capitán General Perez announced in stentorian tones, “Su Alteza Real, Raul, Principe de los Lirios, capitán general de la milicia de Caleva.”

When Raul strode onto the stage, a wave of applause thundered through the vaulted assembly hall as the audience rose to their feet.

He turned and lifted his hand to acknowledge them before returning the general’s salute and sitting in the chair closest to the podium, his escorting officers standing behind him.

Perez stepped up to the podium and spoke about the history of the Medallo de los Lirios.

Raul kept his gaze forward to scan the vast space decorated with military banners and plaques honoring those who served their country.

More importantly, he savored the beaming pride on the faces of those assembled—family, friends, and military colleagues—to celebrate the medalists’ achievements.

Ending his speech, Perez called the prince to the podium.

As Raul stood, his vision seemed to waver.

He blinked a few times, and the odd sensation passed.

Stepping up, he spoke in the voice he’d learned to project to the back of the hall without need of a microphone.

He had written the speech himself, as he did every year, because he felt that these soldiers deserved no less from him.

When he made way for the general to return to the podium, a wave of dizziness swept over Raul, and he nearly stumbled. He saved himself by briefly gripping the podium’s corner to find his balance.

He managed to stand on his own as Perez began reading the accomplishments of the first recipient of the Medallo de los Lirios.

Focus on the name. He owed the honoree that, but it was hard to do when his stomach lurched, and he had to fight down a wave of nausea.

What the hell is wrong with me? Do I have the flu? But I never get sick.

The general reached the end of the commendation to conclude with, “ Teniente Emiliano Velasco, who has proven himself worthy of this honor.”

Raul picked up the gold disk from the open velvet box held by the general’s aide and stepped forward, managing to slip the medal’s teal-and-red ribbon over the man’s head. He forced out congratulatory words as he shook hands with the lieutenant.

Somehow Raul made it through his presentation of the second award without incident. But when Perez began to read the third commendation, the high collar of Raul’s jacket felt as though it were cutting off his ability to breathe while a strange darkness crept along the edges of his vision.

He had to hold himself together for this ceremony. It was his duty to do so.

He gritted his teeth and stayed upright through sheer force of will, but the general’s resonant voice faded to a mere buzz in Raul’s ears.

Raul accepted the third and final medal when the aide offered it to him.

Before he could unfold the ribbon, though, he felt it slip through his suddenly numb fingers as his field of vision narrowed to a pinpoint.

The honoree caught the medal with one hand and offered it back to Raul.

He took a deep breath. “It is my privilege to award you the Medallo de los Lirios.”

The shadows were expanding across his vision, but Raul fought them off long enough to get the ribbon over the woman’s lowered head and shake her hand with a murmured, “ Felicidades .”

Then the encroaching shadows blocked out the woman’s face, and Raul’s knees folded underneath him. He felt himself begin to fall before the world went black.

Raul opened his eyes to see shock on the faces of his bodyguard Dario and Capitán General Perez, both of whom were bending over him.

The hard surface he lay on must be the wooden floor of the stage.

He winced, not at the discomfort of the floor, but at the realization that he had fainted in public. He had to get up. Now.

As he started to lever himself onto his elbows, Dario pressed his hand against Raul’s shoulder to keep him down. “The doctor is almost here, Senor ,” he said.

“I don’t need a—” Raul broke off as someone shoved something soft under his head to serve as a pillow, and another face appeared above him.

“I’m the doctor, Monseigneur ,” a fortyish man with sandy hair and glasses said. He pointed to the Maltese cross insignia on his uniform collar, indicating his position as a military doctor.

Dario narrowed his eyes at the newcomer.

“Don’t worry, I’ll vouch for him and his discretion,” Perez said to the bodyguard.

Dario stepped back and gestured for the doctor to continue.

“How are you feeling right now?” the medical officer asked Raul.

Humiliated. Mortified.

“Fine, thank you, Docteur ,” Raul said, even though his head still seemed determined to float away from his body.

“With your permission, I would like to do a quick examination.” The doctor set down a medical bag and knelt beside Raul.

Raul braced himself on his elbows and saw that the stage curtains had been drawn between him and the audience.

An agitated hiss of voices filtered through the green velvet barrier, and he winced again.

To faint while serving in his role as honorary head of the Calevan militia was appalling.

“I don’t need to be examined. I’ll be fine in a moment. ”

The doctor raised his eyebrows. “You wouldn’t want to keel over again, would you?”

“No, I would not,” Raul said, horror flooding through him at the prospect. As the doctor opened his medical bag, Raul forced himself to meet the general’s eyes. “Did I finish all the honorees?”

Perez nodded, his expression still worried. “ Teniente Barca was the last one. She caught you before you hit the floor.”

“I will make certain to thank her,” Raul said, wishing he didn’t have to acknowledge his weakness. But at least his shameful collapse hadn’t deprived any honorees of receiving their medals. The relief only made him feel woozier.

The doctor began his examination, which Raul submitted to with gritted teeth behind his courteous cooperation.

“In my medical opinion, you might need nothing more than to rest and hydrate.” The medical officer offered his hand to Raul, pulling him up to a sitting position. “However, I am sure the royal physicians will want to run some tests to confirm that.”

Raul grimaced inwardly because the doctor was right about the royal medical staff. “Perhaps you could share your diagnosis with them in a very persuasive way.”

The doctor gave a snort of laughter. “They’re not going to take my word for that, Senor , no matter how persuasive I try to be.” He pulled a plastic bottle out of his bag and handed it to Raul. “Drink this. It will get you started on the hydration part of your treatment.”

Raul twisted off the top and took a gulp, nearly gagging at the sugary taste, but he forced himself to swallow several more mouthfuls. Anything to get back on his feet.

“You should also follow my advice about rest and more hydration, or this could happen again.” The doctor pinned him with a stern gaze.

“I promise to.” Raul managed to summon what he hoped was a convincing smile. He took another gulp of the drink, praying it would chase away the dizziness. He raised his free hand. “Dario, some help, por favor .”

The bodyguard grasped Raul’s forearm and lifted him to his feet, where Raul tried to will himself to remain upright despite his knees quivering like jelly. Dario must have felt him sway, because the bodyguard kept a discreet but firm grip on Raul’s arm.

“The ambulance is here,” someone said behind them.

“No! No ambulance,” Raul snapped. “I will thank Teniente Barca, I will wave to the crowd, and I will walk to my car.”

And when he got back to the palace, he would catch hell from his father, the king, for not taking better care of himself.

Raul took one careful step after another down the corridor leading to his apartment in the palace, his head still filled with the unpleasant floating feeling.

He had stripped off his uniform jacket in the SUV, only to feel the sweat-soaked black T-shirt underneath turn clammy in the car’s air conditioning.

Now Dario carried the jacket as the bodyguard walked by his side.

“You should go see the royal physician,” Dario said.

“I just want to lie down and sleep,” Raul muttered. “The doctor said that’s all I need.”

“So now you decide to rest,” Dario muttered back. “I’ve been telling you for days that you were going to crash if you didn’t ease off on your work schedule.”

Raul called him an asshole but without much heat. Raul’s executive assistant, Yvette, had been saying the same thing. But Raul had to keep working, had to be a prince worthy of the people who made sacrifices for him. Now he had let them down, and he felt like shit.

“Believe me, I didn’t want to be right,” Dario said.

“Remind me to listen to you the next time,” Raul said.

Dario snorted.