Crowning His Convenient Princess

Cover (#u41892222-aa58-59f8-bccc-cfef0972de96)

Back Cover Text (#ue560997f-8f63-5db1-b431-477d764beed3)

About the Author (#u828a2024-c52f-5a29-95cc-aa8760017105)

Booklist (#u22f9c849-32dd-540c-8e9d-3126c5132772)

Title Page (#uece4a95e-8c23-55ba-8f6a-1f047c77c512)

Copyright (#u0ea20a04-1e93-5f1e-ac73-b6b0699e0417)

Note to Readers

Dedication (#u8c2b329d-952c-5bea-9483-575ac9661171)

CHAPTER ONE (#u8931e0be-1546-5cd4-a0a1-f8d8a11f1947)

CHAPTER TWO (#u48a79205-5a13-5009-87e5-cbe39be0911f)

CHAPTER THREE (#uf085f170-dcd2-504a-97f9-6783046b1bee)

CHAPTER FOUR (#u0ffcc0e0-3153-58db-8718-56eee15d0544)

CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER FOURTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

EPILOGUE (#litres_trial_promo)

Extract (#litres_trial_promo)

About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER ONE (#uf02e7aa5-0e8f-5c31-b9c3-4387dbaab367)

LATIKA BAKSHMI TOOK a deep breath before steeling herself to open the door. She knew exactly what she would find behind it.

Or rather, who.

Prince Gunnar von Bjornland, her boss’s brother, dissolute rake, and general disgrace to his country. A man she despised with every fiber of her being. And, a man who was her current project.

Queen Astrid, who was not just her boss, but also her friend and confidant, had asked her to take on the task of reforming Gunnar, and she was going to do it.

In a minute.

“Stop lurking outside my door.”

She jolted. “How did you know I was outside the door?”

The door swung open, revealing a man who was more Viking God than mere mortal. His blond hair was pushed back from his face, a slightly darker beard covering his jaw. His light blue eyes were the color of ice, but somehow contained heat nonetheless.

And his body.

It was an assault to all her good sense and she hated and loved it in equal measure. She both prayed he would find some sense of decorum in himself and learn to put on a shirt whenever they might encounter one another.

And prayed he would not.

Ever.

His chest was broad, and currently bare, a light dusting of hair over the toned, taut skin there. He took a breath, his well-defined abs shifting as he stepped to the side, as if allowing her entry into his bedchamber.

“How did you know I was out here?” She asked again, not making the move toward entering.

“I could feel the tension radiating through the door. And only you give off tension quite like that, Latika.”

“Ah, yes,” she said, giving a slight nod of her head. “You’re very funny.”

“I can hear you. You do not wear sensible shoes, like my sister. You wear those hard, spiky heels, and they make a very particular sound on the marble. I suppose, were I given to any great sense of shame, I would be concerned that sound can travel so freely through my bedroom door. One assumes then the sound can travel out just as well.”

“A grave concern for you,” she said, clipped. “I can only imagine.”

He shrugged a broad shoulder, making all the muscles in his body shift and bunch. “It isn’t really.”

“It should be.” She looked around the room. There were no signs of recent debauchery, at least. By that she meant, there wasn’t a redhead or a blonde lying sprawled out in his bed, or anything quite like that.

However, the bed was unmade, and he had clearly just arisen from it, and likely just pulled the jeans he was wearing on.

It made her wonder if there was anything underneath.

She gritted her teeth, angry with herself without thought. “Astrid has asked me…”

“I would like you to find me a wife,” he said, cutting her off and silencing her effectively.