“Where is the prince?” the doctor asked as she stepped out of the ward, her white coat swaying slightly with each hurried step.
“The prince went for—” The driver began to answer, but his words died on his tongue as a commanding voice cut through the hospital reception.
“I am here.”
Every head turned at once. Tristan’s deep, domineering voice seemed to fill every corner of the room. He strode forward with effortless grace, his tall frame moving like a model on a runway. Murmurs stilled, and the air grew heavier with reverence. As the recognition sank in—their prince had arrived—people rose to their feet, bowing in respect.
“Is she awake?” Tristan asked, his pace slowing only as he reached the doctor and his driver. His tone was controlled, but there was a weight in it—a quiet urgency.
