Courted: Gowns & Crowns, Book 1 (6 page)

As if following his line of thought, Jasen’s eyes grew harder. “If you wish to contribute to those conversations, then you must show your commitment to your role as crown prince, Kristos. It is not a role you can play at when the mood strikes you, nor one you can resist forever, no matter what you might believe. Your brother had all the same objections that you did, yet he also knew it was time for him to step into his duties as heir.”

“Yeah, that worked out really well for him.” Kristos didn’t hide the bitterness in his voice, and his father, to his credit, didn’t flinch.

“Death cannot be ruled by anyone,” he said calmly. So calmly that Kristos wanted to shake him. “Life, however, can. That’s the option you have before you, none other.”

“And you’re telling me that it’s somehow my royal
obligation
not only to give up my work in the military—which is where I belong, and you know it—but that in addition to being forced to play nice with the press, an effort I despise, I also need to find a wife in the next week in order to ensure order in the kingdom? Why? Who could possibly care?”

“Ah…gentlemen.” Stefan’s quiet words sounded from the corner of the room, but Kristos didn’t have time for the well-spoken aristocrat right now. In many ways, Stefan was more royal than he was, with a lineage that stretched deep into Garronia’s history. But while his cousin might hold the floor on matters of international intelligence, today’s issue was substantially closer to home. Kristos focused on his father, who at least had the grace to meet his gaze.

“The financial unrest among our nearest neighbors has not gone without notice of the Council, Kristos. Garronia is stable, but we are stable because we give the impression of being a country outside the realm of world politics. Our people feel differently about us because we do
not
endure high unemployment, and we do
not
send all our young soldiers to die upon battlefields we did not choose. Our financial strength is not undervalued or overvalued, or subject to the vagaries of the international market. We live in a bubble, and bubbles are fragile and require constant vigilance. The illusion of our country is one that generations of monarchs have struggled to uphold. Would you be the one to change that?”

“I still fail to see how a
marriage
can matter one way or another in that discussion.” Kristos’s gaze narrowed. “Our finances are strong, you said. We are not facing bankruptcy. Our military may not be adequately equipped, but the ranks are full to bursting of willing men and women, unless I have misread the reports.”

His father gave a short laugh. “No. Those are not our concerns.”

“Gentlemen.” Stefan’s voice was more insistent. Kristos continued to ignore him.

“Then what is this truly about, Father? Is there some Garronois family you owe a favor to? Someone you already have picked out for me once I agree to the wisdom of your plan?” He saw the flicker of surprise in his father’s face, and his back went rigid. “Then
no
. Just no, no, and no. I don’t care who she is. I don’t care what you promised. The answer is no. I am not going to be railroaded into a forced alliance with someone I don’t know, not even for the good of the country. That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard of in my life. And if you think—”

“Kristos!” Stefan’s voice was like a gunshot, and Kristos turned, then saw his cousin’s gaze wasn’t fixed on him at all but on the infernal bank of monitors at the back of the room. Monitors which now were all tuned to the national media service of Garronia—and an eerily familiar-looking man and woman struggling out of the water to collapse on the white sands of the country’s famed Royal Beach.

“What the hell! Turn that up!”

Kristos strode several steps toward the screens as the images zeroed in on him pulling Emmaline tenderly into his arms, rocking her on the beach as he stared down at her with abject adoration. Where had the cameraman been to get such a shot as that? Across the bottom of the screen, a caption read: “Mermaid princess for the crown prince?” and the reporter, a sharp-eyed woman he instantly disliked, spoke about the “prince’s heroic rescue of a woman who clearly holds a special place in his heart—as well as his arms. A woman we were lucky enough to speak to briefly on the steps of the Visitors’ Palace this—”

“What?” Kristos whirled, scowling at Cyril, who was already in motion, pushing his way past Stefan with a phone at his ear and signaling for the aides to follow him. “What is she talking about? Why is Emmaline at the Palace?”

His father stared at him wide-eyed, and damned if there wasn’t a smile playing around the old man’s face. “You could have told me you were dating, Kristos.”

“I’m
not
dating.”

Stefan snorted. “You are now. At least she’s pretty, I’ll give you that.”

Kristos turned back as the newscast resumed, with the reporter approaching a woman with soft, shoulder-length brown hair. She turned, and Kristos was rooted in place as Emmaline’s lovely heart-shaped face filled the screen. He hadn’t really focused on any one element of the woman when he’d practically bowled her over in the sand, though he’d remembered her pretty face, her startled eyes. Later, when he’d held her in his arms, she’d been coughing like a drowned rat and trembling all over, but she’d still been attractive on almost a soul-deep level, someone he simply did not have the strength to resist.

But this Emmaline wore some kind of filmy white dress and enormous gold jewelry, her hair long and soft, and her eyes…

“Kristos.”

Kristos waved off whoever was speaking, focusing on the screens. He could barely make out what the female reporter was saying, but Emmaline’s expression was radiant, and her words sounded like something out of a Garronia tourist guide. “—a fairy tale come true,” she said, and her voice and eyes were so earnest, her emotion so clear, that Kristos found himself half wishing he could meet her…and he
had
already met her. He’d had her wrapped in his arms, in fact, or at least an earlier version of her.

Then he paid attention to the words crawling across the bottom of the screen, and his eyes sharpened. “Who’s writing these captions, and how can they make these statements? Who are these people?” He whirled on Stefan. “Make a call. Get this
off the air
.”

Stefan looked at him with real amusement. “You’re way beyond that. This has already been piped halfway around the world.”

Cyril stuck his head back in the room, distracting him from the wall of monitors. “We’ve located her. She’s on the official tour of the Visitors’ Palace.” He scowled at Kristos. “You want me to let her know she’s about to make international headlines as your bride-to-be?”

The curse that followed Cyril out the door could be understood in any language.

Chapter 4

“I could probably get used to this royalty thing, you know,” Frannie said dryly as they walked into the grand atrium of the Visitors’ Palace. “I’m sure that says something not very flattering about my self identity, but I thought I’d put it out there.”

Above them, the soaring glassed-in roof showed a flawless summer-blue sky, and Em sighed, looking up at it, imagining what it would be like to dance beneath a starlit night. Surely that had to be the number-one use for this space.

The tour guide confirmed it, detailing the recent balls hosted by the royal family, all of them to benefit one or another of the queen’s favorite charities, or to honor visiting dignitaries who had helped soothe issues or broker agreements among their war-torn or financially bankrupt neighbors. How did little Garronia manage to keep hold of its money when no one else did?

She snorted. Probably because barely anyone knew it existed. Though a popular European destination, the country was too far east to tempt most Americans, even those looking for the quintessential Mediterranean escape. In fact, they were among the only Americans in the entire tour, most of the guests hailing from Australia or Italy or England.

They’d lost the couple with the enormous camera almost immediately, and she imagined them roaming through the palace unchecked. Maybe they were invited magazine people or something like that, photographing décor for
Royal Living
. She wondered who the typical reader would be for such a magazine. Not her, certainly, but for the discerning multibillionaire, she was sure that the Visitors’ Palace’s gracious furnishings might inspire at least a few redecorating touches—such as the Waterford crystal chandeliers, the deep-pile Persian rugs, and the vases that she hoped weren’t Ming, given their size and the fact that they weren’t sitting behind thick velvet ropes, but probably were.

“It really is perfect here, isn’t it?” She shook her head. “Lauren was right, this is going to be one of my favorite memories of this trip.”

“Well, hello, it’s about to get more perfect. Prince Charming and his posse of hotties are at your twenty.”

“My what?” Em looked up, startled at Frannie’s suddenly tight words. Then she saw him too. Kristos Andris had been unbelievably beautiful on the beach, no question, but he’d also been just a man, a soldier—not a prince. And he’d been soaked to the bone in a scruffy tank top and scuba pants, his hair matted to his head and sand streaking his wet skin.

That wasn’t the case now. As he strode out of a large doorway at the back of the grand ballroom, the crown prince of Garronia looked positively regal in a gleaming white shirt open at the collar and a sharply tailored black suit, the jacket unbuttoned, a glint of silver at his wrist and polished loafers on his feet. His expression was open and relaxed, and Em’s heart surged as their gazes connected and his smile deepened further. She gripped Fran’s arm to keep herself standing upright. He didn’t seem like he was annoyed that she’d played the tourist card by showing up here, thank God. In fact—

“Girl, for those who are keeping score, Lauren was completely dead-on about this guy. He is way into you.”

“He’s just being polite.” Em turned to Fran. “You have your camera, don’t you? Do I look okay? Lauren thought he’d be willing to do a photo. Do you think she’s right?”

“Oh, she was so right. He’s coming your way.” Still, Fran’s eyes widened as she glanced again over Em’s shoulder. “And the attending guard isn’t slowing down either. They look a little too purposeful, honestly. There’s something a little…off about this.”

“What?” Em turned around and blinked, startled at how close Kristos already was. Close and coming fast. He gazed at her with unquestionable warmth, and Em immediately felt herself going stiff, wary, despite his welcoming expression.
Am I supposed to curtsy or something? Is that what you do?

The prince—before she’d known he was a prince—had
bowed
to her after he’d almost tackled her on the beach. Was bowing a common practice? Was that what she should do? What was proper Garronia royalty etiquette and
why don’t I already know?

“Um, here’s what I think,” Frannie murmured beside her. “He’s acting a role here, and you’re a very important part of it.”

“Acting,” Em managed without changing her expression. She watched Kristos approach, as if they were some kind of long-lost friends. “Why would he be acting?”

“No idea, but he definitely is.” Frannie spoke quickly. “So he needs you to be delighted to see him as well, delighted and
not
stiff,
not
freaked out. Whatever his lead, you go with it, okay? At least until we can figure out what happened to set him off.”

Em nodded as she surveyed the crowd, the other tourists in the great atrium. They’d noticed the prince as well, of course. Cell phones were up, photos were being taken, and a sudden buzz of conversation swept through the room like an eager rise of bees. What were they talking about? Em wondered. A few of the tourists and then more glanced her way, and she felt their interest like a physical touch. Suddenly, it seemed like there were people all around her—too close, too intense.

“No, you don’t, Em. I’m serious, chin up.” Fran’s hand was firm on her elbow. “You’re allowed only one near-drowning experience a day, and you already punched that card.”

“But there are so many people looking at us.”

“Too many, yeah,” Frannie agreed, her eyes sharp on the crowd. “Which means
something
happened, something that everyone knows about except—” Her face suddenly cleared, a mixture of understanding and surprise, with a touch of dismay chasing over her features. “Oh shit.”

“What?” Em tore her eyes away from the prince and his suit to stare at Fran. “Oh shit what?”

“Paparazzi. Why didn’t I think of that?”

“What are you
talking
about?”

“You were seen, honey.” Fran gave her another hard squeeze. “Someone took your picture out there on the beach with your royal rescue committee. The prince here is clearly about to do damage control by acting like you two are old friends. You got it?”

Em got it, but she didn’t have time to respond to Frannie, because Prince Kristos was suddenly right there, saying her name as if it were some sort of magic charm.

“Emmaline.” He walked the last few steps without his men, who fanned out in a watchful semicircle, a move that simultaneously guaranteed they wouldn’t be attacked by the crowd—but also that they’d fully captured everyone’s attention. The solarium had gone completely silent as well, something that would have been unheard of in the States, but here it seemed that the event of a royal prince speaking to a commoner whom he’d just called by name was enough of a moment to merit listening closely. “This is a wonderful surprise. You should have told me you wanted to see the Visitors’ Palace, I would have taken you around myself.”

“Ah…” Em scrambled to keep her expression equally relaxed. “I didn’t want to interrupt you.”

“Nonsense.” Kristos’s warm tone indicated to her that she was playing her role well. His eyes were encouraging, and his hand, when he brought hers toward his mouth, squeezed her fingers gently. He brushed his lips across her knuckles, and Em couldn’t help but freeze, trying to fix the image in her memory so diligently that she would never forget it. “You are always welcome in my home.”