One Night With The Forbidden Princess

The fear in her voice startled him, but his training had taught him not to release anyone until he had another means of restraining them.

‘You are making it very difficult for me to help you here. Do you know that?’ he said, holding her arms tightly to her sides and trying in vain to ignore the delicious scent of vanilla that drifted up from her hair.

‘Why…? Why would you offer to help after what you think of me?’

He thought for a moment. ‘Because I believe in second chances.’ He spoke without thought, his answer surprising even himself. ‘You always have a choice—no matter how impossible it seems.’

A strange look came over her face as their eyes locked. Her breath was coming hard and heavy against his chest but she’d stopped fighting him. Her eyes drifted away from him, settling on the distance with a mixture of resolve and deep sadness.

‘I’m not who you think I am.’

Without warning a heavy weight came down behind him, followed by what he presumed to be a palace guard shouting in furious Catalan.

Roman pushed the man backwards, holding his hands up in what he hoped resembled a peaceful motion.

‘I have authorisation,’ he began, motioning towards the lapel of his suit jacket. ‘The King knows I am here.’

Roman felt his hands being pulled behind him into handcuffs and fought the urge to laugh as he looked up into a second guard’s furious face.

‘You will regret this.’

He grunted at the pressure of a knee between his shoulder blades, knowing that they most likely did not speak a word of English. As his face was crushed against the carpet he looked sideways, just in time to see a pair of dainty bare feet appear by his side. Up close, he could see that a tiny hand-drawn daisy adorned each red-painted toenail.

The woman spoke in rapid-fire Catalan, her voice muted and fearful yet with a strange backbone of authority. The nearest guard nodded, uttering two words that made his body freeze.

‘Si, Princesa.’

Roman crushed his face further into the carpet with disbelief and sheer dread.

He had just body-searched a damn princess.

His Majesty King Fabian of Monteverre stood up as Olivia entered the private sitting room flanked by two stony-faced members of the Royal Guard.

‘Of all the days to pull one of your disappearing acts, Libby,’ her father said angrily, motioning for the guards to leave them with a flick of one hand.

Her mother, elegant and perpetually silent, did not acknowledge her entry. Queen Aurelia sat poised in a high-backed chair, her eyes trained solemnly on nothing in particular.

‘Where have you been? You were informed of the intruder hours ago,’ Olivia said, breathing hard.

‘And naturally you expected us to abandon the event? Honestly, Libby…’ The King frowned in disbelief, reaching down to take a sip of whisky from a thick crystal tumbler.

Her father was the only one who still called her Libby. It reminded her of being five years old and being scolded for trying to sneak chocolate from the kitchens. But she was not a child any more, and she was damned tired of being treated like one.

‘I was attacked,’ she said slowly. ‘A man held me hostage in my own dressing room. And yet I’ve been left to pace my apartments completely alone for the past five hours.’

‘The matter has been resolved. It was a simple misunderstanding.’ King Fabian avoided his daughter’s eyes. ‘Best to forget the whole business.’

Olivia felt all the outrage and pent-up frustration freeze in her veins as she registered her father’s words. Had he actually just told her to forget this afternoon? She opened her mouth, then closed it, completely at a loss as to what to say in response.

‘Your absence was noticed by Sheikh Khalil,’ he said, scolding, his brows drawing down as they always did when he was unimpressed.

‘Well, as I have just said, I was rather busy being held against my will by a dangerous intruder.’ She took a deep breath, looking briefly across to her mother’s uninterested blank features before returning her furious gaze to her father. ‘Have I gone mad? Or are you both completely unaffected by today’s events?’

‘I understand it might have been…alarming…’ King Fabian began solemnly.

‘“Alarming” hardly covers it.’ Olivia fumed. ‘Why are you both so calm?’

The last word came out in a disbelieving whisper. She fought a distinct urge to walk over and bang her fist on her father’s chest, to knock over her mother’s glass, to make them both react in some way other than with this muted nothingness.

Today’s events had shaken her to her core, and yet she felt as though she were intruding on their peace with her inconvenient outrage. Surely her own father should be shocked and outraged that his daughter’s safety had been at risk inside their own home. Unless… Unless he wasn’t shocked at all.

‘What do you mean by a misunderstanding?’ she asked, not bothering to hide the challenge in her voice.

‘Libby…’ Her father sighed, raising a hand for her to quieten.

‘Please, don’t “Libby” me.’ She placed one hand on her hip. ‘Tell me exactly what is going on. Did you know about this man?’

The King twisted his mouth in discomfort. ‘Well…not directly, no.’

‘Indirectly, then. You knew that someone would be here today? In our home.’

King Fabian strode to the window, placing one hand on the sill and looking out in silence. ‘The man you met today was Roman Lazarov, founder of The Lazarov Group, an international security firm.’ Her father sighed heavily. ‘He is a very close friend of Sheikh Khalil and I have been assured that he is the authority on high-class security operations. But after the complete muddle he made today, I’m not so sure of his expert status…’

He laughed weakly, his voice trailing off as he took in her expression of horror.

‘Don’t look at me that way. It was a gift from Sheikh Khalil—very thoughtful of him to want to ensure your safety, I thought.’

Olivia felt a headache begin at her temples. This was all becoming too much. She closed her eyes a moment, unable to bear her father’s apparent disregard for his daughter’s privacy or independence.

‘No, Father. In fact I find it horribly thoughtless. And intrusive, among other things.’ She felt her breath coming faster, her temper rising like a caged bird set to take flight. ‘This is the last straw in a long line of things I have overlooked since you began vaguely mentioning a possible marriage. I am not a piece of livestock to be insured and fenced in, for goodness’ sake.’

He sighed. ‘You are overreacting.’

‘No, I’m really not. Did anyone consult me before all my charity events were cancelled? Was I informed when I was assigned five new bodyguards for all trips outside the palace?’ She shook her head, her knuckles straining with the tightness of her fists by her sides. ‘And now this. Did you even think to ask me before you sent a bloody mercenary into my room? I’ll never feel safe there again!’

‘Lazarov was simply going to attempt to gain entry to your rooms. To find any weaknesses in our security. Besides, you were supposed to be at the races with your fiancé.’

The tightness in her throat intensified. ‘I have not yet agreed to this marriage. Until today I had no idea that you were truly serious about it! And if this is how the Sheikh shows his concern…’

She tightened her lips, willing herself to say the words. To tell her father that the whole deal was off. She didn’t want this. Any of it.

King Fabian’s voice lowered in warning. ‘Olivia, these negotiations are months old—we have discussed why this is a necessary step.’

She blinked. Months old? ‘For the kingdom, yes. I understand what we stand to gain from a political union.’ She cleared her throat, her voice sounding all of a sudden smaller. ‘But what about for me?’

Her father’s brows rose imperiously. ‘You will be serving your kingdom.’

‘I don’t see why I must get married to a complete stranger in order to serve Monteverre. I am doing good work with Mimi’s Foundation—I am making a difference.’