The Prince's Stolen Virgin

“But you’ve had them resist. That says nothing good about you.”

He sighed heavily, taking them both up the steps and into the aircraft. His flight crew immediately mobilized, closing the door and beginning the process of readying for takeoff. As they had been instructed prior to his and the princess’s boarding.

“You say that as though it should bother me,” he said, setting her down in one of the plush leather chairs on the plane before sitting down in the chair across from her. “Don’t bother to try and get up and unlock the door. It can only be unlocked from the cockpit now. I made arrangements for some high-security additions to be added to the plane before coming to get you.”

“That seems stupid,” she said. “What if we need to get out and the pilots can’t let us out?”

He chuckled, reluctantly enjoying the fact that she seemed so comfortable running her mouth even though she had absolutely no power in the situation. “Well, I can actually control it from my phone, as well. But don’t get any ideas about trying to do it yourself. It requires fingerprint and retina recognition.”

“Fine. But if the plane catches fire and we need to get out and somehow your fingerprints have melted off and you can’t open your eyes and we die a painful death because of your security measures...”

“Well,” he said. “In such a case I will feel terribly guilty. And, I imagine continue the burning in hell.”

“That’s a given.”

“Are you concerned for the state of my eternal soul?”

“Not at all. I’m concerned for the state of my present body.” She looked around, and he could tell the exact moment she realized she had nothing. That she was wearing a hospital gown, that she had no identification, no money and no phone.

“I do not intend to harm you,” he said, reaching down and straightening his cuffs. “In fact, that runs counter to my objective.”

“Your objective is to...improve my health?”

“Does it need improving? Because if it does, I most certainly will.”

“No,” she laid her head back, grimacing suddenly. “Okay. Well, right now it needs slight improvement because I feel like I was hit by a taxi.” She sat upright, slamming her hands down on either side of her, her palms striking the leather hard, the sound echoing in the cabin. “Oh, yes! Because I was hit by a taxi!”

“Regrettable. While I orchestrated a great many things, that was not one of them. I would never take such a risk with you.”

“Maybe now is a good time for you to explain yourself. Since we’ve established I’m not going anywhere. And I assume that Santa Milagro is not a quick and easy flight. I suppose we have the time.”

“In a moment.” The engines fired up on the plane, and they began to move slowly. “I like a little atmosphere. And I don’t want to be interrupted by takeoff.”

The aircraft began to move faster and he reached across to the table beside him, opening the top and pressing a button. An interior motor raised a shelf inside, delivering a bottle of scotch, along with a tumbler.

As the plane began to ascend he opened the bottle and poured himself a generous measure of the amber liquid. He did not spill a drop. That would be a mistake. And he did not make mistakes.

Unless he made them on purpose.

“And now?” she pressed.

“Do you want to change first?” He took a sip of his drink. “Not that the hospital gown isn’t lovely.”

Her face contorted with rage. “I don’t care what I’m wearing. And I really don’t care what you think of it.”

“That will change. I guarantee it.”

“You don’t know very much about women, do you?”

He set his glass down on the table. “I know a great deal about women. Arguably more than you do.”

“You don’t know anything about this woman. I don’t know what kind of simpering idiots you normally capture and drag onto your plane, but I’m not impressed by your wells, by your title, by your power. My father did not raise a simpering, weak-willed idiot. And my mother did not raise a fool.”

“No, indeed. However, they were raising a princess.”

“I’m not a princess.”

“You are. The Princess of Verloren. Long-lost. Naturally.”

“That is... That is ridiculous.”

“It is the subject of a great many stories, a great many films... Wouldn’t you think that something like that, a story so often told, might have its roots in reality?”

“Except this isn’t The Princess Diaries and you are not Julie Andrews.”

He chuckled. “No, indeed.” He took another sip of his scotch. Funny, alcohol didn’t even burn anymore. Sometimes he missed it. Sometimes he simply assumed it was a metaphor for his conscience and found amusement in it. “A cursory internet search would corroborate what I’m telling you. King Behrendt and Queen Amaani lost their only daughter years ago. Presumed dead. The entire nation mourned her passing. However, in Santa Milagro it was often suspected the princess had been sent into hiding.”

“Why would I be sent into hiding?”

“Because of an agreement. An agreement that your father made with mine. You see, sometime after the death of his first wife, the king fell on hard times. His own personal mourning affected the country and led the nation to near financial ruin. And so he borrowed heavily from my father. He also promised that he would repay my father in any manner he deemed acceptable. He more than promised. It is in writing.” Felipe lifted a shoulder then continued, “Of course, at the time King Behrendt felt like he had nothing to lose. His wife was dead. His heir and spare nearly grown. Then he met a model. Very famous. Originally from Somalia. Their romance stunned all of Europe for a great many reasons, the age gap between them being one of them.”

“I know this story,” she said, her voice hushed. “I mean, I have heard of them.”

“Naturally. As they are one of the most photographed royal couples in the world. What began as a rather shocking coupling has become one of the world’s favorites.”

“You’re trying to tell me that they are my parents.”

“I’m not trying to tell you that. I am telling you that. Because when it came time to collect on the king’s debt... My father demanded you.”

“He did?”

“Oh, yes. Verloren, and indeed the world, was captivated by your birth. And when you finally arrived, a great party was given. Many gifts were brought from rulers all over the world. And my father—not in attendance because he was any great friend of yours, but because your father was obligated—came, but it was not with a gift. It was a promise. That when you were of age he would come for you. And that you would be his wife.”

Her skin dulled, her lips turning a dusky blue. “Are you... Are you taking me to your father? Is that what this is?”

He shook his head. “No. I am not delivering you to my father. For that, you should be thankful. You will not be his wife.”

“No,” she said firmly. “I will not be.”

He looked up at her then, his eyes meeting hers. She looked fiery, determined. Anger glittered in those ebony depths, and perversely he ached to explore that rage. Sadly, it would have to wait.

“You will not be my father’s wife,” he repeated, pausing for just a moment. “You will be mine.”

CHAPTER THREE (#u8bc81575-8f4f-51aa-8d90-18adc4777811)

SHE LOST CONSCIOUSNESS after that. And really, she was somewhat grateful for that. Less so when she woke up feeling disoriented, cocooned in a bed of soft blankets in completely unfamiliar surroundings.

At least when she woke up this time it wasn’t because he had kissed her.