The Prince's Captive Virgin

Belle was one of the first new people he had spent any time with in longer than he could remember.

“Seriously deranged.” She sniffed.

A few moments later, Athena appeared, along with kitchen staff carrying trays. “Tonight,” she said, casting a swift glance over to Belle, “we have lamb with mint and yogurt, couscous and assorted vegetables. For dessert there is baklava.”

“Thank you,” he said.

Athena lingered.

Adam sighed heavily. “Have you something to say, Athena?”

“I don’t approve,” she said, her tone stiff.

“And I don’t care,” he returned. “Leave us.”

Athena cast him a sad glance, and then turned the same look onto Belle. Then she shook her head and walked out of the room.

“Neither of your servants approve of you,” Belle said, looking the food over critically.

“And my captive doesn’t seem to fear me,” he said. “I must be doing something wrong.”

“I came all the way from California to face you down and get my father out of your dungeon. If I was going to freak out, I would have done it already.” She tilted her chin upward, her expression mutinous. And a little bit too committed to defiance.

“We shall see. Eat.”

He took his own command, digging into the food with relish. He picked up one of the lamb shanks, gnawing it close to the bone. He became aware a moment later of Belle’s watchful gaze on him.

“What?” he asked.

“I assumed that... I assumed that royalty would have some sort of exemplary table manners. But, unless your customs are different here...”

He set the meat down onto his plate. “Are you determined to insult me at every turn? I served you dinner. I installed you in a very nice room. All things considered, I find you ungrateful.”

“I’m sorry—am I not expressing adequate gratitude for my imprisonment?”

“You are a prisoner of your own design. You could have left your father here.”

“Right. I could have left my father here to die.”

He lifted a shoulder. “Plenty of people would have. A great many people possess more self-interest than that.”

“My father raised me,” she said, conviction in her tone. “He’s all I have. And it might be easy for you to dismiss him as nothing more than a paparazzo, but he’s everything to me. And you didn’t even let me say goodbye to him.”

“I’m hardly going to keep you captive for the rest of your life,” he said. “Don’t be dramatic.”

“He’s sick,” she insisted. “He might die while I’m away.”

Adam felt an uncomfortable stab of conscience. He was not in the market for his conscience to make any kind of resurgence. Not now. “I truly hope that isn’t the case. However, he was well enough to sneak into my palace and collect photographs of me only a few weeks ago. Then he sold those photos and would do nothing to reclaim them. Tell me,” he said, “since you are so well versed in matters of popular culture, do you know exactly how I got my scars?”

She looked down, shaking her head.

“All it took was a relentless photographer harassing my driver on a night with poor driving conditions,” he said, his tone hard. “And in the end, damage was done that could not be undone.”

He didn’t see the point in bringing up Ianthe. If she didn’t know, he wasn’t going to discuss it. Not something so intensely personal. Not pain that belonged to him, and him alone, so unquestionably.

“I...” She looked away from him, and she had the decency to look ashamed. “I didn’t know. I didn’t. But, my father didn’t endanger you.”

“No,” he said, his tone dripping with condescension. “He only broke into my home and invaded my privacy.”

“He’s harmless,” she said. “I mean, I know that a lot of people don’t understand the paparazzi thing. And I guess it can be a little bit...intense.”

“They are nothing but leeches. Bottom-feeders who leech off the fame of those who have either talent or power.”

“Fine. But my father isn’t a leech. When my mother decided she didn’t want me he took care of me. He’s always taken care of me. And yes, he did it by taking pictures of celebrities. That’s what fed me, all of my life. But nobody else was going to feed me,” she said, her voice vibrating with conviction.

“There are plenty of other lines of work to be in.”

“Says the Prince who was born with his job. Other people have to work. And not only that, they have to work hard to get work in the first place.”

“Are you lecturing me on how hard life can be?” He sat back in his chair. “Excuse me while I get a pen and paper so that I can take notes.”

“I’m sorry about your accident. My father didn’t do that to you.”

“But he was intending to use my personal tragedy for his gain.” He laughed. “In fact, he has succeeded.”

“Yes,” she said, sputtering. “But it isn’t that simple. He isn’t doing it to hurt you. He needs help. He needed to be able to afford his treatments.”

“Your justifications are hardly going to impress me. There is absolutely nothing I hate more than the press. Particularly the kind of fake press your father is a part of. But, it is of no matter to me. There is nothing I can do to prevent the publication of those photographs. Believe me—I have tried. But, I have figured out a way to take control of the situation.”

“What’s that?” she asked, clearly skeptical.

“I have not appeared in public since my accident. That’s why those photographs are so valuable, you know. Because everybody’s curious. How badly am I disfigured?”

She blinked. “You haven’t been in public...at all.”

“No. I think I mentioned when we first met—”

“When you took me captive.”

“If you prefer. I think I mentioned that I have someone ruling in my stead. However, the time frame on our agreement is running out, and if I do not regain control of the country, a general election will result. And so it will be the end of the monarchy as we know it.” He looked at the little woman sitting across from him and twisting her hands in her lap. “I would have thought you would have done a bit of cursory research on me before you tore off to my kingdom and offered to become my prisoner.”

“There wasn’t time. Whatever you think about my father, I hope that you can understand that I love him.”

“Love doesn’t matter except to the people it is between,” he said, thinking of his wife. The press certainly hadn’t cared that he’d loved her. They were always tormenting her, always working to dig up a scandal. “It is precious to no one else,” he finished, the words bitter.

“Tell me. Tell me your plans. Since I clearly factor into them.”

“I intend to keep you here with me, and then I intend to present you to the world as my mistress.”