Crowning His Convenient Princess

Those blue eyes regarded her with open interest. “Someday, I should like to find out.”

She locked her teeth together. So tight her jaw ached. “Oh, but there is no someday. For you are getting married. And we all know your life will end as we know it.”

“A tragedy,” he said.

“Well,” she said, brushing her hands down the front of her dress. “It’s time to bring in the staff. And then it will be time to open up the doors. I suggest you get in position.”

He arched a brow, a wicked smile curving his lips. “Missionary? Did you have something else in mind,” he said.

Latika ignored the sharp shock of pleasure that shot straight down through her core. It was wrong for them to talk like this—worse to be talking like this tonight. Though in some ways, it pushed it further out of the realm of possibility than ever. Which made it…almost less wrong maybe? Or less dangerous.

“You will look a bit silly in missionary position on your own,” she shot back, unwilling to let him see that he had affected her.

“I suppose that depends on who you ask.”

The doors opened then, and the staff began to filter inside. Latika managed to busy herself and soon her interaction with Gunnar was forgotten. She had work to do. It distracted her, both from the strange sensation she felt whenever she was around the man, and from the underlying sense of fear she’d been feeling ever since she received that email.

The many, many palace guards in attendance made her feel safe.

No one would do anything to her while she was here.

She repeated all those things to herself as she made sure the food was in place, as she made sure all was well. And then, went back to the antechamber to ensure that everything was ready for Astrid to make her appearance.

Several guests arrived before the Queen was to be seated. And Latika had the task of making sure that Astrid’s entrance went smoothly, and according to plan.

Astrid and Mauro looked beautiful, the pair of them absolute perfection. Astrid had ended up choosing a deep emerald gown, and her husband was in a black suit. Mauro was a handsome man. There was no denying it. Tall, dark and Mediterranean, with wicked eyes and a mouth that looked like it was made for sin.

And yet, it was no particular sin that called to Latika. No, there was something about the cold, wild beauty that Gunnar possessed that seemed to ignite thoughts of sin.

Sin that sorely tempted her.

She put her head down, resolutely making her way through the ballroom, now filled with women that were bedecked as tropical birds, fluttering about in bright colors.

She knew that Gunnar had expressed a preference for two women in particular, but the guests did not. And every one woman—single or not—had dressed to impress him.

Latika cued everyone to Astrid and Mauro’s entrance, and the royal couple alit, walking through the crowd and taking their positions in their honored seats.

It was all going so smoothly Latika wanted to celebrate. That was the thing. She might not have a husband or children yet. She might not be fully living the life of her choice, but she was living well.

She’d been seen by her parents as a bargaining chip. Her only value had been how she could marry. And here she was, operating in a very stressful and important career.

And she did it well.

She allowed that to buoy her mood. To take away the sour feelings that had begun to roil in her stomach earlier.

With them settled, Latika felt the need to check on the kitchen. She turned and slipped out a side entrance, heading down the hall. And what she saw there made her stomach twist. It was him.

Ragnar.

He didn’t have the decency to be hideous. No, instead he was a severe looking older man with salt-and-pepper hair and a neat beard. He was handsome. And a great many women—regardless of their age—would have been thrilled with his attentions. But Latika knew how cruel he could be. And she knew that a life with him would be equal to misery.

The fact that he had come after her after all this time, likely less out of an attraction for her specifically, and more because he wished her harm, sent fear rattling through her.

“My dear, Latika,” he said. “It has been quite some time.”

“Not accidentally,” she said, stopping in her tracks and beginning to edge back toward the ballroom. There was security there. And she would be able to call for help.

“Do not think I’m so foolish as to try and take you from the palace. I simply wanted you to know how close I am. If you try to leave the country, my agents will intercept you. And I know you are here. Ultimately, as long as I can reach you, you are not safe. I will have you brought back to Norway, and married to me before you could ever protest.”

“And why would I marry you?” She asked, fighting to keep her composure.

He liked fear. He liked to cause pain.

She would allow him to see neither in her.

“Because you will find the alternatives so unpleasant. You have made for yourself a little problem here. You thought that by making yourself invisible you would become invisible to me, but you are not just invisible to me, but the whole world. And that is where you have failed yourself, my darling girl. Because when I take you, I will be able to hide you. Your Queen may miss you, but how will she mobilize forces beyond the borders of her country? The public outcry will never be sufficient enough.”

The words settled down to her bones, the truth of them making her feel fear. Real and heavy.

He continued. “I have you between a rock wall and me. And you know that it is true. For now… I will be here all night.”

“I can have you removed,” she said, craning her neck.

“I have done nothing,” he said. “And my removal would create an international incident. As you well know. I know you do not wish for an incident. You are too smart of a girl for something like that.” She swallowed hard, and turned and fled, running back into the ballroom, shutting the door behind her, pressing her hand to her chest.

And she saw Gunnar. At the center of the room dancing with a woman. The brilliant Nigerian activist.

And suddenly, she had an idea.

Times were desperate. And so was she.

She made her way across the ballroom, heading toward the opposite door she had just come in. A door that would take her away from Ragnar.

With purpose, Latika left the ballroom, and headed toward her room.

Though she didn’t know it at the time, Astrid had given her an escape. And Latika knew well enough to take it.

Gunnar was dancing with his third potential bride of the night when a hush fell over the ballroom. He turned, following the gazes of everyone in the room. And there he saw her. Standing at the entrance to the ballroom, dressed in orange and gold, her black hair a glossy wave over one side of her shoulder.

Latika.

She did not look like an assistant. She looked like a princess.

And when she began to descend the stairs, the crowd parted for her as if she was. And then she looked at him. Deliberately. Intentionally.

And a fire ignited in his gut.

He had no idea what game she was playing. He had made it plain earlier that he was attracted to her, because he had never been the sort of man to be coy about such things.