Crowning His Convenient Princess

“I will take care of it,” she said, blinking.

“See that you do.”

Those blue eyes caught hers and held for a moment, and Latika did her best not to pay attention to the slight shift she felt in her stomach. Did her best to ignore the fact that suddenly the air felt a little bit thicker.

And she really tried not to examine what any of this new information—that he was not going into any of this kicking and screaming, that he had an endeavor that went somewhere beyond gambling and whoring—made her feel.

She was much more comfortable when she disdained Gunnar.

Anything else was unacceptable.

Prince Gunnar von Bjornland had settled into debauchery for far too long. He was at an end with it.

It had been one thing to engage in it when his father was living, and indeed it was something that he had enjoyed.

To throw in the face of his father, even as the old man attempted to sabotage Astrid. Their father was a relic of the highest order. A man who had not been able to fathom that a woman could possibly do a good job of running the country, regardless of the fact that there were many examples that proved they could, and just fine thank you.

No, his father had never gotten over the fact that his heir was a woman. And the fact that his only son had refused to take his side and engage in a coup, overthrowing his twin had been something that the old man could not accept even in the end.

Gunnar had never risen to his father’s bait, and to the contrary, had taken a perverse kind of delight in behaving in every way that Astrid did not.

As his sister had lived a serious and contemplative life, dedicating herself to service, Gunnar had waged an all-out war against propriety.

He had taken every sacred tradition and broken it at least once, had taken delight in running roughshod over deeply revered customs, and in general putting Bjornland on the world stage in the context of his behavior.

He had imagined that if nothing else he would be a rather colorful footnote in history.

But of course, it had never been enough for his mind. Hence the secret business endeavor.

But now that Astrid was Queen, and now that various and sundry accusations were being thrown at him as the narrative around his country shifted, he could see that it was time for a change.

This latest debacle had only served to highlight it.

A woman had come forward alleging that he was the father of her child. And no matter that Gunnar had never seen the woman before, there had also been a seed of doubt in him. He always used protection. But condoms weren’t entirely reliable, and he’d had to concede that there was a possibility the child could be his, no matter that he was always as responsible as a man could be while being indiscriminate.

The headlines had been scathing, the very fact that a paternity test had been conducted had been cause for scorn among the people.

And now the conversation had become that Astrid could not control her wayward brother. That her own brother despised every value held dear by the country. And when that had been aimed at his father, Gunnar had been happy enough.

But his entire reason for his behavior, his entire reason for being, had been to protect Astrid. Astrid was a strong woman, and always had been, but there had been a war waging beneath the surface of the polished exterior of the palace that she’d had no idea existed.

A war that Gunnar had been on the frontlines of.

He had always protected her. And if protecting his sister now demanded he behave differently, so he would.

And if it meant employing the use of his sister’s delectable, and irritating, assistant, then he would do so.

Latika might be delectable, but she was also as stiff as a plank of wood and no less bland.

She was beautiful. There was no argument to be had about that.

In fact, she was uncommonly lovely, and he had always found it a strange thing that a woman of such brilliant beauty be relegated to such a beige sort of job.

Though, he imagined a great many people would not find being personal assistant to a queen a beige sort of job. But in his world it certainly was.

A woman like her should be wrapped in silk, should be in jewels.

She should spend hours soaking in perfumed baths, readying herself for a lover.

She should not spend hours contemplating the merit of clipboards. Though, he had a feeling that was how she spent much of her time.

Her beauty was, in the end, a terrible farce anyway. She looked like a woman built for such things, with her generous mouth and beautiful curves, but she was through and through a woman of practicality and severity.

And he did his very best not to think about how much he would like to test that severity.

He did his very best not to think about just how satisfying it would be to tease that mouth out of that firm unnatural line she kept it in, and torment her until it became a soft “O” of pleasure.

Yes, he did his best not to ponder that.

His world was changing. He would need to find a wife, and he would need to be faithful to that wife.

The very idea of such a chore set his teeth on edge. He could think of no woman at all that would amuse him for the rest of his life, and if he quit engaging in risky behaviors such as racing cars around the autobahn and jumping out of helicopters, his life would likely have a longer expectancy.

Really, this was a terrible plan, but it was the only way he could see to help Astrid.

Though she did not know it, his life had been devoted to that protection.

He would not falter now.

Marriage was, in the grand scheme of things a small price to pay. And for her he would do it. Perhaps not happily, but it would be done.

Because Gunnar von Bjornland might never be King, but he was the master of his own life. And once he set his mind to something, he would damn well see it done.

This was no exception.

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

“HERE YOU HAVE IT,” Latika said, setting a stack of folders onto Gunnar’s desk. “Veritable binders of women.”

He looked at the stack, then back up at Latika, one elbow resting on the desk, one brow raised in an impudent manner. “I’m rather insulted you have brought me so much choice,” he said.

Latika blinked. “How is that insulting?”

“I should think that the criteria for becoming my bride would be so exacting that you would have little more than a slim volume to present me with.”

“I should have thought you would want choice,” she said, bristling against his rather pronounced lack of gratitude.

She had gone to a lot of trouble to dig up so many eligible women, lacking in scandal and in possession of beauty.