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A Christmas Vow Of Seduction
Maisey Yates


A Christmas present for the man who has everything…With one band of gold Prince Andres of Petras can erase all his past sins – even though they were most pleasurable. But his prospective bride is untameable Princess Zara. And the playboy Prince must seduce her into compliance and crown her by Christmas!The wayward Princess of Tirimia’s fiery reputation hides the fact that she has never experienced real love. Her convenient husband-to-be seems determined to keep it that way, and yet his touch promises a sensual awakening that’s impossible to resist. But once Zara’s given him her hand and her body, it won’t be long before he has her heart…Discover more at www.millsandboon.co.uk/maiseyyates







“Come here,” he said.

Andres didn’t wait for her to obey. Rather he wrapped his fingers around her arm and pulled her deeper into the corridor, around the staircase.

Zara’s breath caught as he reached into his jacket and pulled out a small velvet box. The ache in her chest split open—harsh, tearing pain now. And along with it fear.

“No,” she said.

“I never pretended this was anything but inevitable.”

He opened the box and revealed exactly what she had feared. She looked down at the beautiful, ornate ring. A platinum band with a large square-cut gem at the center.

“Now it’s time for us to go in.”

He took the hand he had just put the ring on, curling his fingers around hers, leading her back toward the entrance to the ballroom. And she went. Because she was numb, and putting up a fight when you weren’t entirely sure if your feet were still on the ground was difficult.

No. This wasn’t what she wanted. She needed more time. She wasn’t ready.

He said he would marry you by Christmas. By the end of the month. You only have a few weeks. What did you think?

She hadn’t been thinking. She had been in denial of the fact that she had been brought here, given to Andres as though she were an object. A Christmas present for the man who had everything.


PRINCES OF PETRAS (#ulink_be5ae2da-f971-53a2-93b7-6b7476fb51db)

Wed by royal command!

In November … Playboy Prince Andres of Petras is bound by royal duty and must finally pay the price for his past sins. He has to marry the lost Princess of Tirimia—Zara! From fiery passion to sinfully seductive kisses, is this one Christmas gift the Prince will be keeping … for ever?

In January 2016 … King Kairos proves that underneath his calm and collected mask is a proud, passionate and powerful ruler who won’t let anything get in the way of his responsibility. Even the wife who so clearly loathes him! But, on the brink of breaking point, Tabitha has some shocking news. Now the King must claim his Queen once again … and his new heir!

Don’t miss this sensational new duet from Maisey Yates—available only from Mills & Boon Modern Romance!


A Christmas Vow of Seduction

Maisey Yates






www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


MAISEY YATES is a USA TODAY bestselling author of more than thirty romance novels. She has a coffee habit she has no interest in kicking, and a slight Pinterest addiction. She lives with her husband and children in the Pacific Northwest. When Maisey isn’t writing she can be found singing in the grocery store, shopping for shoes online, and probably not doing dishes. Check out her website: maiseyyates.com (http://www.maiseyyates.com).


To Dean Winchester. Carry on my wayward son.


Contents

Cover (#u30a4f11b-9984-5c75-83a1-9b32d57397ce)

Introduction (#ub8ea168a-eb1c-5ef8-a933-095389b49139)

PRINCES OF PETRAS (#ue904817e-c2c8-5bae-bfbd-7d15a0d5026b)

Title Page (#uc0d76845-3563-5d63-ac70-cc7ce0597f3f)

About the Author (#uacc2e3c6-40f1-5aae-807e-d0bba990f9f7)

Dedication (#u1869b1b7-4981-59ac-bb02-6910145d3e20)

PROLOGUE (#ulink_c25733f8-a187-5348-9c52-f23e2ac1cadb)

CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_58d92001-0ada-5249-8e53-65536aa0195d)

CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_41fd1da4-78c8-5211-be36-b1f5fc0e7cb5)

CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_518338f1-571e-54d7-94bf-aafdac521889)

CHAPTER FOUR (#ulink_c85cc85f-2e35-57dd-879b-446e592f4e10)

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)

EPILOGUE (#litres_trial_promo)

Extract (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)


PROLOGUE (#ulink_392c592f-9c57-5504-9974-81f6ed015f77)

THE GIFTS HAD been on parade for the past hour. Shows of wealth from Tirimia being trotted out before King Kairos as though he were a boy and this was Christmas morning. Baskets overflowing with the finest fruits grown in the orchards from Petras’s neighboring country. Art and jewelry from the most celebrated painters and silversmiths. But certainly the ambassadors from Tirimia had saved the most spectacular gift for last.

Kairos looked down from his position on the throne at the men who were standing before him, clearly awaiting his awe, and listened as they began to introduce their final treasure, the one they were calling the jewel of their collection.

“This will please you, my king,” the man, known as Darius, was saying. “The ultimate in Tirimian beauty and grace, for your palace. For the continued health of relations between Tirimia and Petras. The representation of how far we’ve come since the revolution. It was bloody, and we cannot erase that history. We can only show we are committed to moving forward.”

Darius was speaking of the overthrow of Tirimia’s monarchy some fifteen years earlier. Kairos had not been on the throne then, but his father had made sure he’d been well educated in what was happening. At the time, the rebels in Tirimia had even posed a threat to the borders of Petras. Earning back trust between the two nations had been slow. Which was why they had requested an audience with Kairos today. He was the newly installed king, and they were clearly keen to make the most of the clean slate they felt he might offer.

Too bad for them he wasn’t easily impressed with baubles. However, they had quite a few natural resources he was interested in, and war was never in the best interest of the nation. Which was why he had granted them the audience. And watched with decreasing patience as they brought forth their offerings.

“As a token of goodwill between our nations,” Darius said, a film of oil coating each word, “we present to you Princess Zara.”

The doors to the throne room swung open and there, standing in the center of the doorway, flanked by two large men, was a woman. Her hands were clasped in front of her body, bright gold cuffs gleaming from her wrists.

For a moment Kairos wondered if she was bound. Then she began to walk, her hands falling to her sides, and that momentary fear was alleviated. Her hair was long and dark, caught back in a braid that swung with her every step. Her face was decorated with gold paint, dots above her eyebrows, and a few down below her eyes. She possessed a dark, exotic beauty that stoked no fire in him. She was so unlike his cool, blonde wife, Tabitha. The only woman he wanted. The woman who had chosen to skip this very important procession.

He wished, very much, that Tabitha were here to see this. To see him gifted with a woman. He wondered if her blue eyes would burn with jealousy. If they were capable of burning with anything at all.

Very likely, she would simply sit there, passive and unmoved. She might even suggest he take the girl as his own. So little was her esteem for him these days.

He ignored the kick of regret in his stomach.

“There must be some mistake,” Kairos said. “I cannot imagine you intend to give me a human being.”

Darius spread his hands wide. “We have no need of a princess in Tirimia. Not now.”

“So you seek to give her to me?”

“To do with as you please. Preferably, you would take her as a wife. Her dishonor is not our wish. Though, however you intend to use her...it would be an honor in its way.”

Another wife. He could think of nothing worse. “I regret to inform you that I already have a wife,” Kairos said, regretting nothing of the kind.

“If you do not believe in taking more than one woman in matrimony in this country, we would find it acceptable if you took her as a concubine.”

“I have no positions available for a concubine either,” he said, hardening his tone.

“We demand security,” Darius said. “If we are to open up our borders to Petras, then we demand blood ties. This is the tried-and-true method of obtaining this level of security.”

“And here I thought you were a nation moving into the modern era,” Kairos said, looking down at the woman whose eyes burned with anger, who radiated energy, but kept silent, her dark head bowed low. “It seems to me that this stands in contradiction to that.”

“Our system of government is young, while our country is old. The marriage between tradition and modern reality is, at best, a clumsy one. We must keep our people happy while moving into the future. Surely you can appreciate some of the issues inherent in that.”

Kairos felt a smile curve his lips, an idea forming.

Andres. This would be the perfect occupation for him. A perfect bit of revenge that would satisfy the small, mean part of Kairos that had never fully let go of his brother’s betrayal. It would also accomplish great things for the country. Vengeance that furthered his cause as ruler was a rare and glorious thing.

“As I said,” Kairos spoke, surveying the room, “I already have a wife. My brother, however, is most certainly in need of one. She will be just perfect for him.”


CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_aa19d403-1d66-5b8a-baa5-ad7ad7bc526d)

RETURNING TO THE palace in Petras was never Andres’s favorite thing. He preferred his various penthouses scattered throughout the world. London, Paris, New York. And a beautiful woman to go in each one. He was a cliché, but he was comfortable with it. If only because it was so much fun.

Petras was never half as much fun. It was where his brother, Kairos, used an iron fist, not for the people of Petras, but for Andres himself. As though he were still a boy needing to be taken in hand, and not a man in his thirties.

Invariably, his stays in the palace followed a staid and steady routine. Visits to hospitals and other approved public appearances where his every word was carefully scripted. Stilted dinners with his older brother and his wife, which were as boring as they were uncomfortable; and long nights spent in his vast royal bedchamber alone, because Kairos didn’t approve of Andres bringing lovers to stay in the hallowed halls of the Demetriou family. Though Andres thought that had less to do with propriety and more to do with the fact that Kairos was out to punish him for his past misdeeds in a million small ways, every day, until he died.

Which made his discovery, upon entering his bedroom, all the more remarkable.

He walked in tearing at his tie—too tight and constricting, like everything here—slamming the door behind him. Then he froze. There, in the center of his bed, knees curled up against her chest, long dark hair cascading loose over her shoulders like spilled ink, was a woman. They both regarded each other for a moment. Then she scrambled to her feet, stumbling backward on the mattress until her back was pressed against the large ornate headboard that had never been any use to him, as he’d never had a woman in this bed.

Until now.

Though she had not been invited, neither did she look very excited to be there. Both of those things were a bit of an anomaly.

“Who are you?” he asked. “What are you doing here?”

She tilted her head upward, her expression defiant. “I am Princess Zara Stoica of Tirimia.”

Andres knew very well that Tirimia was no longer a monarchy. In fact, the royal family had been driven from the throne during a bloody revolution back when Andres was a teenager. He hadn’t been aware there were any survivors, much less a princess who looked slightly more like a bedraggled creature than a woman.

Her bronzed skin was painted with gold, framing her dark eyes and eyebrows. Her lips were a deep shade of red designed to entice, but he had a feeling that allowing himself to be enticed could be a mistake. She looked much more likely to bite him than kiss him. Her hair hung down well past her backside, disheveled as though she’d been in a fight, or thoroughly pleased by a lover.

Because of the bed, it was tempting to imagine the latter. But judging by the expression on her face, it was most certainly the former.

“You seem to have the wrong palace, Princess.”

“I do not,” she said, her tone stiff. “I am a prisoner in my own country, and I was brought here as a gift to King Kairos.”

Andres’s eyebrows shot upward. His older brother wouldn’t know what to do with a woman as a gift, even if he weren’t bound by marriage vows. “In which case you’re in the wrong room.”

Her expression turned stormy. “He did not wish to keep me. He, in turn, gave me to his brother.”

Andres could not process the absurdity of the statement. This woman, was a gift for him? “Are you telling me that you’ve been regifted?”

She frowned. “I suppose.”

Clearly, she didn’t see the humor in this. But then, if he were the one being passed around like an unwanted present at a white elephant party, he might be humorless too.

“Would you possibly mind waiting here for a moment?” he asked.

Her expression turned stormier still. “I would not have been here at all if I had any other options. I have nothing to do but wait.”

“Excellent.” He turned on his heel and walked back out of the room, stalking down the hall, down the curved staircase that led to Kairos’s office. He would no doubt find his brother bent over important paperwork, looking grave and serious and not at all like a man who had just given his younger brother a woman as a gift.

Andres pushed open the door to the office without knocking, and as he had guessed, Kairos was indeed sitting there laboring over work.

“Perhaps you would like to explain the woman in my bed?”

Kairos didn’t look up. “Andres, if I were tasked with explaining every woman in your bed, I would never get anything else done.”

“You know what I mean. There is a creature upstairs in my chamber.”

Kairos looked up. “Oh, yes, Zara.”

“Yes. A princess of some kind? She claims she’s a prisoner.”

“It’s a bit more complicated than that,” Kairos said.

“Enlighten me.”

His brother actually smiled, the expression nearly knocking Andres to the floor. A smile on Kairos’s face was a rare sight. “She was given to me by dignitaries from Tirimia.”

“That much I gathered.”

“As you know, I’m trying to reestablish trade with them. They are our closest neighbor, and being at odds with them is pointless. More than that, it can be dangerous and costly.” Kairos’s expression turned serious again. “Our father didn’t see the point in mending bridges between the two nations. Here I sit, trying to restore Petras to its former glory, and this is one way I can accomplish that.”

“By accepting a woman as a gift like she was an expensive watch?”

“Yes, Merry Christmas a few weeks early.”

“Did you want me to keep her in my pocket and ask her the time?” Andres asked through clenched teeth.

“Don’t be ridiculous. You’re going to marry her.”

Anger settled like lead in Andres’s stomach. “Oh, I see. This is your belated revenge?”

“Again, don’t be ridiculous. I’ve got a country to run. I hardly have time to seek revenge to the detriment of the people. Now, make no mistake, I may enjoy your discomfort a bit, but it is no less necessary that you make this union a reality.”

“You have no reason to hold on to your anger where I’m concerned. You’re better off with Tabitha than you were with Francesca anyway.”

“That,” Kairos said, “is debatable.”

Andres had never been under the illusion that his brother and his wife were head over heels in love, particularly not given the circumstances surrounding the marriage. But this was the first time he had ever heard Kairos speak negatively about the state of things.

The fact that Tabitha, once his brother’s PA, had turned out to be such a suitable queen was one reason Andres had been able to absolve himself of his indiscretion with Kairos’s first fiancée five years ago in a Monte Carlo hotel suite.

He’d been so drunk that he hadn’t remembered what had transpired between himself and Francesca. But there were numerous photos, and some very explicit video footage plastered all over the internet the following day that had left things in a very unambiguous light. Kairos had been forced to call off his marriage, disgraced and humiliated by his fiancée, and his own brother. Kairos hadn’t loved Francesca, that much was clear, and his ire hadn’t been born out of a broken heart, but out of the sting of public humiliation.

Shortly after, Kairos had announced his engagement to Tabitha, and the royal wedding had taken place as planned, on schedule, with a different bride. Everything neatly swept under the rug, as though it had never happened. Which made it easy for Andres himself to forget the part he had played in the way the dice had fallen.

But if things with Tabitha weren’t all that they appeared...

“And what does that have to do with me?” Andres asked.

“I need you married. I need you to help with the relations between Tirimia and Petras. Princess Zara solves both of those issues. You need to grow up and start behaving yourself. I was lenient with you even after the stunt you pulled with my fiancée. I have been very patient until now. While you have continued to whore your way through Europe and the States, I took over the responsibility of running the country.”

“So you’re saddling me with a woman who seems to be here against her will?”

“You knew you would have to marry someday. This is no surprise to you.”

“I figured I might have some involvement in the selection of my bride.”

Kairos pounded his hand down hard on the desk. “Men like us never do. You have lived a life sheltered from the responsibility that faces us. I have not had that luxury. I know the reality of it. You marry appropriately. You do not marry for love. Yes, I suppose I should be thankful you spared me the scandal of having to divorce Francesca. But I selected Tabitha in haste and...it is entirely possible we are facing a larger problem than an issue of marital happiness.”

“Are you unhappy?”

“I never expected to be happy. Neither do I require happiness.” Kairos rubbed his temples. “What I require is an heir. It may have escaped your notice that I don’t seem to possess one.”

“I assumed you were trying for one.”

Kairos curled his fingers into a fist. “We have never used birth control. Five years, and we have never tried to prevent pregnancy. Possibly more information than you would like, but now you know where things stand.”

“What is it you are leading up to here, Kairos? I’ve never been accused of being the smart one. You have to spell things out.”

“You may very well be responsible for producing the next in line to the throne. That means you need to marry. You need to marry royalty. Princess Zara is, in fact, royalty.”

“You expect me to exit bachelorhood and start producing babies on such short notice?”

Kairos waved a hand. “Don’t be so dramatic about it. Just because you marry doesn’t mean you have to change your behavior entirely. Certainly you will have to be more discreet.”

His brother suggesting something as shocking as carrying on extramarital affairs was surprising, and was almost as shocking as the fact that Kairos was essentially marrying him off. “Are you unfaithful to your wife?”

A muscle in Kairos’s jaw jumped. “No. I’m simply telling you that things don’t have to change all that much. Obviously your marriage will be one of convenience, and as long as you treat her with respect, I don’t see why you should have to pledge your fidelity to her.”

“I have no practice with fidelity. I would hardly stake my life on it.”

“You knew the day would come when you would have to take some responsibility for the nation. That day is now. It’s this. Father may have expected you to amount to nothing, but I certainly expect you to carry your weight.”

“I had no idea that as the spare, I was required to carry any weight unless you died.”

“Unhappily for you, that is not the case. I need you for political reasons, and practical reasons.”

Andres looked down at his brother’s dark, furious eyes. “If things are so terrible with Tabitha, why don’t you divorce her and find a woman who can give you the children you need?”

Kairos laughed, a hollow, bitter sound. “There are certainly some things you will have to learn if you’re to be a husband. I can no more cast off my wife because she can’t produce children than give a speech in front of foreign dignitaries without clothes on. I would be crucified by the press. I made vows to her, and I intend to keep them.” He didn’t sound happy about it, and certainly his devotion to her had nothing to do with love. That much was clear. “It’s time to atone for your sins, little brother.”

Andres was usually quite content in his sins, with no desire to atone for them at all. Except for Francesca. That he would take back a hundred times over if he could. Particularly now, with the stark reality of Kairos’s marriage to Tabitha laid out in front of him, he could hardly defend those actions.

“You’re overlooking a very important piece of the equation,” Andres said.

“And that is?”

“She does not want to marry me. That much was clear when I encountered her in my bedroom. We’re holding a kidnapped woman.”

“She has very few alternatives,” Kairos said. “I get the sense that if she goes back to Tirimia she’ll be in danger. For all that their government is playing nicely with us now, things are far too tentative for me to stake her life on presumed decency. She is safest here.”

“She’s feral. What do you expect me to do with her?”

“You’re a legendary playboy. The last thing you need from me is advice on how to deal with women.”

“She is not a woman. She’s a creature.”

He thought of that wild dark hair, her glittering, angry eyes. Somehow they were supposed to make a royal couple? He would need a woman twice as tame as Tabitha to convince the public of a change in him.

A woman such as her wouldn’t make his reinvention easy.

Kairos laughed, an even rarer occurrence than a smile. “I’m a married man, but even I noticed there was enough to recommend her. She’s beautiful, though, I confess not overly sophisticated.”

“I was too busy being surprised by her presence in my bedroom to notice her beauty.” A lie. He was not blind to her curves, her full, sensual lips. Despite the fact that, for all he knew, she might attack him if he approached her, she was a lush little package.

“My word is law,” Kairos said, his tone uncompromising. “And you owe me, brother. You will obey me on this. Tame her, train her, seduce her, I don’t really care, but by God you will marry her.”

Andres clenched his teeth together. He would find the moment more surreal if he hadn’t long suspected that it was coming. That someday he would stand before his brother and be informed of his fate. He was a prince, the second born to an old royal family. He had never imagined he would escape marriage, children. It had always only been a matter of time. And his time, it seemed, was up.

“Anything else, Your Highness?” Andres asked, his tone dry.

“Don’t take too long.”


CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_abd38345-4351-5e55-b9f2-6f11ecf28fd4)

PRINCESS ZARA STOICA, heiress to no throne at all, was tired of waiting on the whims of men. It was because of men that she had been uprooted from the palace as a child, sent out to live in the deep, dark woods with the nomadic people who inhabited them, kept safe thanks to centuries-old traditions of honor and hospitality. It was men who had stolen her from her safe haven fifteen years later, and elected to use her as a pawn to further political unions with neighboring nations. Of course, it had also been a man sitting on the throne here in Petras who had decided it was perfectly acceptable to keep her and pawn her off on his brother as a sort of postwar bride.

As a result, it was not a terrible surprise that it was a man who clearly owned this room, and who had burst in close to an hour ago, nearly terrifying the life out of her.

It occurred to her that it was entirely possible she had been installed in Prince Andres’s room. The man she was supposed to marry. The very idea made her shiver down to her bones.

Worse than fear was the restlessness starting to run through her veins. She was growing bored, closed up here in the bedroom.

There was a view of the city from a small window by the bed. She found no comfort in such a view. Houses clustered together tightly, high-rise buildings beyond that. Cars cluttering up the roads like a line of dizzy ants desperately seeking food. She preferred the crisp, clean air of the mountains. The silence held close around her by thick evergreens.

She had a difficult time marking passing hours while shut up in vast castles with nothing but man-made architecture sprawled out before her.

She flopped backward onto the bed, sinking deeply into the down-filled blankets and soft mattress.

It was shocking, being exposed to such comfort.

Her years spent living in caravans with her caregivers had been cozy, and not uncomfortable, but it had certainly been nothing like this. And when the new political leaders of Tirimia had brought her back to the old palace, they certainly hadn’t installed her in anything half as luxurious.

She looked up at the ceiling, at the ornate molding, the large chandelier that hung from the center of the room. She could not recall ever having been in a bedchamber with a chandelier. Tirimia was a much more modest economy than Petras, even before the revolution.

A sense of unease washed over her and she scrambled off of the bed. She did not want that man, whether or not he was Prince Andres, coming in and finding her like that again. It was unsettling. She paced the length of the room—and it was a fairly impressive length—before retracing her steps, pausing at a door that was firmly closed. She wrapped her fingers around the ornate knob and pushed it open, finding a vast bathroom on the other side. It was much more modern than the rest of the room.

There was a large shower in the corner of the room, glass panels closing it off from the rest of the space. There was also a large, sunken tub that nearly made her groan with longing. The very thought of submerging in warm water sent an intense craving through her that rivaled any she’d ever had for a dessert. A long, hot bath was something that was simply impossible out in the middle of the forest, and something that hadn’t been afforded her when she was brought back to the palace as a glorified prisoner.

It was a temptation, but if she thought being discovered in a bed that was not her own was humiliating, certainly being discovered in the bath would be worse.

She walked slowly across the room, moving to a large vanity and mirror mounted at the back wall. There were small bottles displayed on the clean marble surface. She wondered what a man did with so many bottles of lotions and scents. She reached out and took hold of one, unscrewing the lid and lifting it to her nose, sniffing cautiously. It was a cologne, smelling of sandalwood and other spices. She tried to remember if the man she had encountered earlier smelled of those things. She could not.

She set the bottle back down, picking up the next one. This one contained lotion, and it was a temptation too far for her. She tipped it cautiously, squirting a small amount onto her hands, before putting the bottle back in its place. She smoothed the thick cream over her hands, luxuriating in the feel. Her skin had grown rough from so many years of hard labor and living outdoors. A sign of strength, she often thought, and she had never regretted it. Still, it didn’t mean she couldn’t indulge in one small moment of softness.

“What are you doing?”

She turned sharply, backing herself up against the edge of the vanity, knocking several of the bottles over as she did. “I was bored,” she said, looking up to see the same man she had encountered earlier standing in the doorway glaring fiercely at her.

The impact of him was beyond that of a physical blow. She was accustomed to large men, men with a commanding presence that pushed you back, held you at a distance.

Some might call the people she had been raised with Gypsies, based on their simple, nomadic lifestyle, but they weren’t, not in blood heritage. They were part of a small, mostly destroyed minority group in Tirimia who still clung to the old ways. Not a warrior culture in the traditional sense, but fiercely protective of the camp and of anyone they felt to be under their care.

However, the gruff exterior of the men she had been raised around could not have been more different from the suave, confronting aura given off by this man. One would think that a man in a suit would not be half as intimidating as one in old jeans. This man should have appeared to be vastly more civilized, and yet it was that veneer of civility that she found frightening. Because she sensed so much beneath it. A hidden depth and strength, buried so deep she had no way of assessing it.

She didn’t like this at all. Didn’t like the fact that she was in the dark about so many things. At home, things had been so much simpler. She had been protected. She had been certain of her surroundings. The world had been small, containing the forest, her caravan, the cooking fires and people she had known for most of her life.

There were rules. And she had been certain in them.

Now she was here. In a strange land, confronted by a stranger.

A large, broad-chested stranger in a well-cut suit. With short black hair, a square jaw and strong, dark eyebrows. He was beautiful in the same way a predator was. Lethal, and difficult to look away from. She had never, in all her life, been held captive by a man in such a way. So far the men she encountered could easily be divided into two categories. Those she had grown up with and seen nearly every day of her life, and those she considered an enemy.

This man was neither, and that made him unique.

She might yet decide he was an enemy, but for now, she would hold off on that assessment. He might well be dangerous, but he could also very well be her only ally. She had realized two months ago, when she was kidnapped from the encampment, that she had only a spare few options. If she tried to escape her captors and go back to the clan, they would be punished. A poor repayment for shared food, clothing and shelter of the past fifteen years.

Escaping and staying in Petras was no more of a possibility.

She had no money, no form of identification. She didn’t know the layout of the city, or of the country beyond. She couldn’t drive, and she had no friends.

She would have to make one.

Zara eyed the man standing in the doorway of the bathroom. She wondered if she could make a friend of him. Well, not a friend. Not in the true sense.

But it would do no good to battle him all the way. She would need to be compliant, to a degree. To watch for the right moment to make her move. Whatever it might be.

“You were bored?” he asked, repeating her words back to her.

“Yes, I don’t know how long I’ve been in here, but it has been quite a while.”

“Perhaps we should start over,” he said. “I am Prince Andres. It appears we are to be married.”

Unease, followed by a rash of unexplainable heat coursed through her veins. “Is that so?”

His words confirmed her suspicions. That he was the owner of this room. That he was now the owner of her.

“I am informed.” He arched one dark eyebrow. “Perhaps you would like to continue this discussion in a more comfortable setting?”

She nodded slowly and began to walk toward him. Then her stomach growled, the sound echoing in the space. “I’m hungry,” she said. She realized then that she hadn’t eaten since very early this morning.

“Then I will arrange for you to be fed.”

It didn’t take long for Andres to procure the promised food. He had a tray of meats, cheeses, fruits and breads sent up to the bedroom, which was how Zara found herself sitting on the bed again, her legs covered with a blanket, eating the spread that had been placed before her.

She could feel his watchful gaze on her as she ate in near silence. He hadn’t interrupted her yet, but she could see that he wanted to. For the first time in a very long while she felt she might have the upper hand. A very slight upper hand, to be sure, but he seemed nearly as confused and put off by the entire situation as she was. Which was, in her estimation, why he was being so watchful. And why he was letting her eat undisturbed. He was circling her, as though she were a potentially dangerous creature and he was concerned about being bitten.

The thought sent a pleasurable rush of power through her, joining the sated sensation in the pit of her stomach brought about by the cheese. Her needs had always been simple. At least, they had become simple once she was sent to live with the nomads at just six years old. They had been simple by necessity. But lately, her needs had shrunk down even further. Warmth, food, shelter. If she had those things, she knew she could keep on going.

Good food and soft blankets were several notches more extravagant than she’d had in the past couple of months. And a bit of power? Very heady icing on top of this unexpected cake.

So she continued to eat in silence, sensing his growing impatience, allowing it to feed her small, mean satisfaction.

“How long has it been since you were fed?”

His question surprised her. “Since this morning.”

“You are too skinny,” he said, his tone matter-of-fact. His words offended her, and she couldn’t quite figure out why. She had never given much thought to her appearance. The men who had taken her captive had assigned a woman to make her beautiful for presentation to the king, but Zara couldn’t say it had mattered much to her. They had put too much makeup on her, the gold around her eyes her own addition, a nod to the culture she had adopted as her own. Her beauty had never been a topic of discussion among the nomads. She had been under the protection of the leader, Raz, and he had forbidden any man from touching her, or even looking at her in a disrespectful manner.

And now this man was telling her she was too skinny. And she was angry.

“I will say that my captors did not overly concern themselves with the quality of my food.”

“You are a captive?” he asked, his tone fierce.

“I’m surprised you care. Your brother did not appear to be similarly concerned. He was quick to accept me as though I were a...a fruit basket.”

He looked her over. “You are most certainly not a fruit basket, that much is evident.”

“I have been passed around like one.” She sniffed, allowing herself a moment to fully revel in the indignity of it all. At one time, she had been a princess. A member of the royal family in Tirimia. Being in a palace such as this would have been her right. Before she had been wrenched away from the only home she’d ever known, robbed of her family. Her birthright. “I suppose I can only be grateful no one has plucked at any of my grapes and taken small samples, so to speak.”

She looked up and caught his dark gaze, the sharp shock of heat piercing her straight to her stomach. She felt her face warm and she looked away. “Indeed, that would have been a shame. I’m glad your grapes remain...unsampled.”

A muscle beneath her eye twitched. “Remarkable under the circumstances, I should think.” She had spent a great many years being protected, but that did not mean she was ignorant of the ways of men.

“You were the princess in Tirimia,” he said, his tone vaguely accusatory.

“I am the princess. I have been replaced. Not by another princess, but by a farcical government who pretends to care about the freedom of the people, when, in truth, they only care about their own power.”

“I thought the entire royal family was killed during the revolution.”

Her insides grew cold. That always happened when she thought of her parents. Of her older brother. Her memories of them were soft around the edges now, worn like old, weathered photographs. But what remained, as sharp and terrible as ever, was the coldness she’d felt when she learned of their fates.

It hadn’t been sadness in its simplest form. It had been death itself. A chill that had stolen through her, replaced all of her blood with ice. It had taken months to thaw. Months for her to feel anything at all again beyond the frost that had taken up residence in her chest.

“Obviously I wasn’t,” she said, the words strange, thick on her tongue. Because they’d never felt right. None of it had ever seemed right. “Everyone else...my mother, father, my brother, they were all killed. My mother’s personal maid had family living in the forest, people who practiced the old way of life. And she brought me to them. They have kept me, protected me, for years.”

“Until now, clearly.”

She picked up a piece of bread and tore a chunk from it. “Obviously not through any fault of their own. They were ambushed and I was kidnapped.”

“And can you be returned to them?” he asked.

She weighed that question and all of the possible implications. If she told him yes, would he help her? Or was he intent on...marrying her.

The idea of marriage was ludicrous to her. Foreign. She was not in any way ready, or suited, to be a man’s wife. She had no interest in such things.

The very idea was her worst nightmare. Wearing a crown again. Placed on a throne.

A target would be on her back, and she would be up on a pedestal where she was an easy target.

She had lived through that nightmare once. She had no intention of entering into it again.

She should tell him to take her home.

And have the only people on this earth who tried to protect you destroyed?

That bitter, familiar cold lashed at her again. She couldn’t go back. It was too dangerous. It was selfish. They would protect her with their lives, and it was very likely their lives would, in fact, be the cost.

She had lost too much already. Too many people who had believed deeply in their convictions cut down. To hear Raz speak of her parents, her father had been a man of conviction. Who had fought to change antiquated ideas in Tirimia, who had made a pact with Raz’s tribe to preserve their sovereignty within the nation.

For that, he had been killed. Out of loyalty and respect to her father, Raz had risked the tribe to protect her, to raise her.

She wouldn’t put them at risk again.

This was something she would have to figure out on her own. She would have to rescue herself.

“No,” she said. “I cannot be returned to them. It would be far too dangerous.”

“Wonderful,” he said, his tone at odds with the word.

“I will not be marrying you, of course,” she said, taking a grape from the platter and holding it between her thumb and forefinger.

“Is that so?” he asked.

She nodded, keeping her expression grave. “I have no desire to marry.”

“Why is that?” he asked, reaching out and plucking the grape from her fingers. “Concerned over having your grapes sampled?” He put the fruit in his mouth and she found herself transfixed, trying to untangle the wealth of meaning in his words while watching his lips, his jaw, work slightly as he chewed.

Why was the way he chewed interesting? It shouldn’t be. She’d never found chewing fascinating in her life.

“I don’t know you,” she said, looking away and picking up another grape, biting into it with no small amount of fierceness. “And that’s just for a start.”

“We have nothing but time to work this out. You could list your reasons. Extensively.”

“I won’t have a complete list until I know you better.”

“I think what you just described is marriage. Two people who truly don’t know each other and are somewhat blind to each other’s faults until time and proximity force them to really get a good look at the poor choice they made.”

“You make it sound so appealing,” she said, shifting her position, tucking her feet beneath herself and leaning forward, taking a piece of fig from the platter.

“I’m not a great believer in the institution.”

“Then why should we marry?” she asked.

“Because,” he said, his tone weary, “my brother has said it shall be, and so it shall be. There are a great many perks to being the spare in the royal family, Zara. Not the least of which is that I have been able to cast the mantle of responsibility off for the past thirty-two years with very few consequences. While Kairos has always been bound by duty, honor and all manner of other words that make me feel like I’m about to break out in hives. The downside,” he added, leaning in, studying the platter, but not taking any more food, “is that I am also beneath his rule.” Andres looked up then, his dark eyes meeting hers. He was close now. So very close.

And he did, in fact, smell like the cologne she had found in the bathroom.

“I see,” she said, barely able to force the words out past her constricted throat. “Are you going to tell me you’re a prisoner too?”

He straightened and she nearly sighed in relief. For some reason, having him so close to her was disturbing in ways she couldn’t quite work out.

“No,” he said, “I’m not a prisoner. Just a prince. That means there are certain expectations I’m obligated to fulfill. Make no mistake, I’ve spent the past decade and a half steeped in debauchery and generally ignoring all of my responsibilities. We all have to face a reckoning, eventually. You are mine.”

Arrogant. That was what he was. To sit there and call her his reckoning when she’d been dragged here against her will. To speak of his duty as such a burden when her father had lost his life upholding the crown in Tirimia, fighting for what was right.

What did this man do with his position? Nothing, from the looks of things.

“You speak of being a prince with such disdain. I am a princess, forced into hiding because of the title. My parents were killed because they were royalty, and yet you stand here, perfectly whole, complaining of being forced into marriage by your brother. How terribly sorry I am for you that your life of extended pleasure is being interrupted by duty. My parents died for duty.”

“Am I supposed to regret that that isn’t an option for me? Should I go offer my neck to the guillotine rather than my hand in marriage?”

“My parents are dead,” she hissed.

“And I am sorry. But I am not sorry that I don’t face the same peril. This is not the same country, nor am I in the same position.”

“You have your life and your opportunities and still you speak with such disrespect of the position.”

“And still, you will be my wife.”

“Never,” she hissed, knowing that now, with hair tousled and her posture mirroring that of an angry cat, she was looking every inch the feral creature he clearly thought she was.

“What are your options, agape?” he asked, the endearment strange to her ears. “You said yourself you cannot return home. Where will you go if you don’t stay here with me?”

Words churned through her mind, but when one would rise to the surface, it would slip back beneath just as quickly, before she could grab hold of it.

“Nowhere,” he said, answering for her. “You can speak of life and death all you want, as though it is all that matters, but here in this position you see that. There are many shades of gray within living and death, and unhappiness through a forced marriage is most certainly one of them. But you’re like me. You’ve hit a wall. You have no choice.”

“There is always a choice,” she said, not sure where the words came from, but certain, even as she spoke them, that they were true. “I live because of that truth. Because rather than giving up, my mother’s maid chose to save me. Because rather than sending me back, the clan chose to care for me. We always have choices.”

“I suppose you’re right,” he said, his dark gaze far too assessing. “Then this is my choice, and I’m making it. I owe my brother a debt, beyond the typical royal duty. I’m in no position to refuse his demands. And I choose to obey them.”

“What of my choices?”

“They are somewhat crippled in this situation. I won’t lie.”

“Crippled? They are completely incapacitated.”

He shrugged as though he were pushing her protests off his shoulders. “Perhaps. But this is the reality. Whether you want to or not, you, Princess Zara Stoica, will be my wife by Christmas.”


CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_4af3bf9b-86d3-5937-9720-078f055e3538)

“PRINCE ANDRES.”

Andres looked up, at the servant who was standing in the doorway of his brother’s study, the other man’s expression concerned. Andres and Kairos had spent the evening playing cards and drinking Scotch. Possibly both avoiding the women in their lives.

Andres still had a hard time believing he had a woman in his life in any capacity other than his bed. In addition to the fact that she was his fiancée and not simply a lover, he did not want her in his bed. Not now.

He could no more imagine bedding that creature than he could imagine willingly sticking his hand into a badger den. Just another reason he’d tasked his brother’s staff with placing her in a different wing of the palace.

He had spent the earlier part of the night discussing the marriage with Kairos. And Kairos’s expectations. Of course, they would be figureheads for the nation. Actively involved in political and social events. A counterpart to himself and Tabitha, particularly important since it could potentially be up to them to produce heirs.

That meant they had to be at least half as respectable as Kairos and Tabitha, a feat Andres couldn’t imagine either of them managing.

A concern only deepened by the very worried look on the servant’s face. “Princess Zara refuses to be moved.”

Andres dropped his cards onto the table in front of him. “What do you mean she refuses?”

The man cleared his throat. “She was quite...adamant. She says she is comfortable.”

Kairos made a dismissive noise. “Unsurprising. She is already unwilling to leave your bed.” Kairos sounded...envious. Kairos had it very, very wrong.

“That is not it,” Andres said darkly.

Kairos raised an eyebrow, and Andres recognized his own features looking back at him. It was rare that he saw the similarities between himself and his brother, but he saw them now. “My wife quite happily has her own room.”

“Mine most certainly will,” Andres said, his voice a growl. “Perhaps a gilded cage is in order. One with a very firm lock.” He sucked in a sharp breath. “I don’t know how you expect me to make a princess of her.”

“She is a princess,” Kairos said, his tone bland.

“You know what I mean.”

“I thought, perhaps, it might cost you so much energy to tame her that you might tame yourself in the process.”

Andres glared at his brother, anger roaring through him. If only Kairos weren’t so far from the truth. It was the very idea of managing to tame both of them that made it seem so impossible. He said nothing else. He stormed toward the door, and the servant stepped out of his way.

“If you cannot remove her,” Andres tossed back as he walked down the hall, “I will do it myself.”

He walked to the staircase, taking the marble steps two at a time before striding down the hall toward his chambers. He pushed the doors open and was met with an empty room.

His future bride was nowhere to be seen. He stalked through the room and approached the bathroom, flinging the doors open wide.

He heard a squeak, then a splash. He looked toward the bath where he saw a very wet, indignant woman.

“What are you doing in here?” she demanded, as though she were the royalty in the room.

He supposed, in all fairness, she was one part of the royalty in the room. However, the only thing she had ever ruled over was a campfire, if the information he had received on her background was correct.

“This, Princess,” he said, his tone hard, “is my bathroom, in my bedroom. You were asked to move. It was brought to my attention that you refused.”

“I am comfortable here,” she said, sinking farther beneath the water, her expression stormy, her actions proving her words to be a lie. She was anything but comfortable, at least at the moment.

“What a terrible coincidence. I find that I am also comfortable here. As it is my room, with all of my things.”

“I was brought here against my will,” she said. “I am out of my element. I am frightened.”

Anger fired through him. He wasn’t sure why his reaction was so out of proportion with what was happening. It would cost him nothing to sleep in another room, and yet he found he couldn’t let this go. Probably because Kairos was already maneuvering him as though he were a marionette. He had no choice but to allow that, as Kairos was the king here in Petras. However, he did not have to let this little creature maneuver him too. And he would not. If she was to marry him, then she would need to understand that he was not to be trifled with.

He had a reputation as a playboy in the media, as the more laid-back half of the two Demetriou brothers. But that only held as long as he went untested. As he was a prince, very few people had attempted to test him. But Zara seemed intent on doing so, and he could not allow it.

“I do not believe you are frightened,” he said, moving nearer to the bathtub.

She lowered herself deeper beneath the surface of the water, until her chin was submerged, her large, dark eyes pinned on his. “Of course I am. You are very large. Much larger than I am. You have invaded my space.”

“Begging your pardon, Princess,” he said, moving closer to the bath, bracing his hands on the edge of the marble tile and leaning in. “It is you who have invaded my space. I did not invite you here. I did not get down on bended knee and propose to you, nor did I at any point surrender my own personal space to you for your continued use.”

She squirmed, and he could see her crossing her legs beneath the water, raising her arms to cover her breasts as best she could. The details of her body were indistinguishable as it was, and her belated show of modesty only drew attention to that which she was trying to hide.

She was beautiful. He could not deny that. Acres of smooth golden skin, wide, dark eyes that were just as pronounced now with all her makeup washed off as they had been when they were rimmed with black and gold. Her lashes were long and thick, her lips full, her cheekbones high, giving her a proud, sensual look that would certainly turn heads wherever she went.

When it came to appearance, she was everything he might have wanted in a wife, in a princess. It was her manner that left much to be desired. In fact, her manner left everything to be desired.

He had not often thought of what sort of woman he might take as his wife, because he had put off thoughts of a wife, even though he knew he would someday take one. Still, in the back of his mind he had thought he would probably marry a woman who exuded a kind of serene sophistication. One who would make his life easier. The perfect accessory to all events. As necessary and yet understated as a nice pair of cuff links.

Zara was no more a cuff link than she was a fruit basket.

“I’m distressed,” she said, her tone growing more arch by the second. “I was rooted out of my home only two months ago, held prisoner in the palace—”

“So I have heard. And while I do possess a small amount of sympathy for you, I am unsure what you expect me to do about it. You said yourself, I cannot return you to your family. You do not wish to marry me. You have told me that, as well. So here I have a short list of the things you cannot do, and the things you do not wish to do. If you could tell me one thing that you do want, that might be of greater use to me than hearing everything I am unable to do.”

“I find myself quite comfortable in this room, in this bath, at least I was until I acquired your company. With that in mind, perhaps you might let me stay here, as it is somewhat familiar.”

“Are you so fragile that moving down the hall will disrupt your sensibilities?”

“I am quite fragile!”

He had a feeling that, had she been standing on dry ground, she would’ve stamped her foot to add punctuation to the statement.

“You are a great many things, but I would not characterize you as fragile.”

“Leave me,” she said, issuing orders like a queen.

“No,” he said, “I think not.”

He reached beneath the water, uncaring if the sleeves of his shirt were soaking wet. He wrapped one arm around her shoulders and the other beneath her knees, straightening, holding her naked and dripping wet against his chest. He did not look at her, keeping his eyes fixed straight ahead as he strode from the bathroom back into the bedroom.

“What are you doing?” She began to squirm, surprisingly strong, and difficult to maintain a hold on as she did.

She was also, he noticed, very soft. Soft to the touch, soft the way a woman should be.

And joining the flame of anger in his stomach was a sudden burst of arousal that took him completely off guard. He tamped it down, ignoring it, his teeth clenched tightly together as he fought the temptation to look down at her naked body.

This was not about sex. It was about reclaiming the territory that she had attempted to stake as her own.

If he was to marry this little devil, he would have to show her that he would have the upper hand. That she would not be dictating to him.

That went for his body, as well.

He had to take utter control, of her, of himself. There was no other option. He would have to be firm with her. Starting now.

“Let us get one thing straight,” he said. “This is not a hotel. This is my bedroom. This,” he added, tossing her down with no gentleness whatsoever onto the center of his bed, “is my bed. I do two things in this bed. I have sex and I sleep. If you intend to stay in my bed, you will partake in both of those things with me. Otherwise feel free to find a more suitable accommodation.”

Again, he resisted the temptation to look at her body, though he imagined she was currently spread out for him like a particularly delectable buffet. But he intended to scare her off, not violate her in any way.

She wasn’t still for long. She scrambled across the mattress and buried herself beneath the blankets, shielding her body from his view. “You,” she said, her voice shaking, “are terrible.”

“We are to be married,” he said. “Nothing I’ve done or said should be all that shocking.” He knew full well he was being shocking; he just didn’t care.

“I don’t know you.”

“But you will know me quite well in only a couple of months’ time. We could start now.”

“We shall not!”

“Then you shall vacate my bedroom. I find that I am quite tired.” He reached up, grabbing hold of the knot on his tie and loosening it.

Her eyes went wide, her hands curling tightly around the white comforter on his bed, digging sharply into the material like claws. “You wouldn’t,” she said, her shocked tone spurring him on all the more.

He kept his eyes on hers as he tugged his tie off and cast it to the floor before undoing the top button on his shirt. “As I said, I find I am quite tired. This is my bed. I have already given you the list of activities performed therein.”

He undid a second button on his shirt and watched as her eyes grew even rounder. He undid another, then another, moving closer and closer to the bed. He found his own heart was starting to pound harder. He would not touch her. He knew this would end with her running away before he had to. Still, that didn’t stop the blood from firing harder and faster through his veins.

His mind might be well aware that he was a modern man who would never take advantage of a woman in such a way, but his body clearly hadn’t gotten the memo. All he knew was that he was a man, and she was a woman. A very beautiful woman.

And in that moment he started to forget exactly what he was doing here.

He undid yet another button on his shirt, and suddenly she rolled to the side, wrapping the blanket around her body and landing on the floor. She stood up, the blankets concealing her curves. Her dark hair was wet, stringy and partly covering her face. And with all that, she was still trying to look imperious. “All right. You may arrange separate quarters for me.” She turned to the side, kicking the excess fabric from the comfort her out of her way. “I am going to dress. When I return I expect for things to be arranged.”

He laughed at her retreating form, and her shoulders grew stiff, her frame all but vibrating with rage.

He took his phone out of his pocket and made a call to his brother’s chief of staff, letting him know that the princess was ready to be shown to her room. Zara returned before the staff came to escort her away. She was dressed in a pair of soft pink pajamas that looked as though they belonged on a much younger, much less venomous girl.

“Am I leaving soon?” she asked.

“Listen to you. Quite impatient to go now.”

“You make a very persuasive argument.”

He chuckled again, amusement at her open hostility irresistible. He was not used to this reaction from women. But then, he was not used to being engaged to a woman. A woman who clearly didn’t want to be engaged to him any more than he wanted to be betrothed to her. “Most women don’t run away from me when I start taking my shirt off.”

Her lip curled. “I am not most women, you will find.”

He rubbed his chin, eyeing her figure, certainly not displayed to any advantage by the flannel she was currently wearing. “This may be a problem, as I expect you to be very like a woman when it comes to our marriage. You must be both a wife to me and a suitable public display for my country.” And he had to be the prince his brother needed him to be.

“I am unsuitable,” she said, far too quickly.

“And yet my brother says you are suitable. The only suitable choice, in fact. So there we have a problem.” He regarded her even more closely. Her dark eyes were glittering, and for the first time he saw that there was quite a deep well of fear beneath her prickly exterior. For the first time he questioned the way he had handled her. He was angry at being maneuvered, and he was taking his anger out on her. But she was not a part of this, any more than he was. “You have nothing to fear from me. You have nothing to fear from Kairos, even though he can come across as quite the tyrant. Neither of us is going to hurt you.”

He saw no signs of relief on her face. “But you are going to use me,” she said.

“You are royalty, Zara. Had you not been thrown out of the palace as a child and spirited away to live with the Gypsies, you would certainly be facing an arranged marriage anyway. Just as I expected I would be one day, though not quite with such short notice.”

“Don’t you dare lecture me on the responsibility of royalty. My life as a royal was stolen from me.”

“And here you have it back. The price of admission into the life is marriage.”

“I did not expect it,” she said, her tone stiff.

“Did you ever expect to marry?”

She blinked. “I’m only twenty-one.”

“Not so young in your country. So I ask you again, did you ever expect to marry?”

She lifted her shoulder. “Were I a typical part of the clan I was raised in, I would likely be married by now. But I was not. I was under their protection. So different things were expected.”

“Is that your very long, uninteresting way of saying you did not expect to marry?”

Her expression darkened. “I may have someday. But I was in hiding to spare my own life, in order to save myself from a fate such as this. I hadn’t given it much thought. I knew I would have to leave if I was ever going to pursue a normal existence...”

“I suppose this isn’t exactly normal.”

“Indeed.”

“You will need to be trained,” he said.

Her frown deepened. “Oh, really?”

“Yes. I think it’s entirely possible for you to be made into a suitable bride. You have the looks for it. You simply need...taming.”

“Am I so wild?”

“You have no sense of decorum. Your burrowing into my room is evidence of that. Your hair, your posture... You exude.”

“I exude what?”

He let out a long, slow breath. “You exude. In general that isn’t something a princess should do. You need to be...placid. Serene. As I said before, tame.”

She clenched her hands into fists, her expression filled with rage. Her dark hair hung lank down her back, making her look all the more wild. “I refuse to be tamed.”

He wasn’t entirely sure what to say to that, and he resented her for making him feel as if his back were up against a wall. Kairos had given his orders, and Andres had sins he needed to atone for.

Part of him wondered why he was making an effort. He failed, that was what he did. Their father had always been quick to remind him of that fact when they were boys, and still when they were men. Kairos was the responsible one, the heir, thankfully, as he took his role so very seriously. Andres had been the one his father could always count on to create a scandal, to make a mess, to create disaster.

There was a reason he’d been barred from official events as a child. Reasons he had spent state dinners locked in his room while the rest of the family put on a show.

Their father might be dead now, but the feel of his cold eyes on Andres remained. Of the hard disappointment that had laced every word the old man had ever spoken to him.

He had given Kairos his word, and he would not fail. Not again. In this, he would triumph.

It was only marriage. And she was only a woman. How could he lose?

He was a legendary playboy renowned for his skills of seduction. Surely he could seduce this scraggly waif easily enough.

“You will not refuse me,” he said. “What is it you want, anything besides freedom? I will see that you have it. Surely there must be something. Surely we can trade.”

She looked down, hesitating for a moment. “I wish to be sure my people are cared for. Beyond that, that those who raised me are safe.”

“Then those will be the conditions of us forging trade alliances with Tirimia. You will have much more power here, on this throne, than you will have hiding in the forest back in your homeland. That I can promise you. You will have the ear of the king who is both good and just. You will be a princess in her rightful place. Surely that is better than hiding in a burrow like a little mouse.”

She frowned, her dark eyebrows drawn tightly together, a crease forming between them. “You are fond of comparing me to animals.”

“You are closer to animal than human female at the moment, sadly for me.” And he was much closer to a wolf than a man. “So you will allow me to fashion you into a suitable bride. In return, I will give you what you want.” There was a knock on the door to his bedchamber. “That will be the servants, ready to take you to your room.”

She nodded slowly. “All right.”

Some of the fire had gone out of her in the past few minutes. He found he did not like it.

That makes no sense.

No, it didn’t. But nothing about the past twelve hours made any sense at all.

“We start tomorrow. Meet me in the general study after breakfast.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Tame you, of course.”


CHAPTER FOUR (#ulink_226f7504-0d56-5c83-82ac-734945c7e48e)

IT TURNED OUT that Andres’s definition of taming her actually meant attempting to smother her in yards of silk and tulle.

She did not feel tame in the least. Instead, she felt slightly indignant and more than a little bit irritated. Though that had been her state of being since he threw her out of his bedchamber last night.

Just thinking about it sent a hot flush over her skin, exacerbated by the cool slide of the silk that was currently being fitted to her form. She assumed the rash of heat was brought about by anger. She was angry. The way he had plucked her out of the bath, holding her against him, as though he had every right to touch her, as though she belonged to him in some way, was nothing less than enraging.

Except it didn’t feel like any rage she had ever experienced before. But then, she was in a palace unlike any she’d ever been in before, wearing clothes the likes of which she had never even dreamed up before, so she imagined that was in keeping with the theme.

“Keep your shoulders straight,” the seamstress said, her tone stiff, as stiff as Zara’s shoulders were starting to feel.

“You heard her,” Andres’s voice came from beyond the screen she was standing behind. “Keep still, or it will take longer.”

“I am not a child,” she said, addressing both of them. “I don’t need to be spoken to like one.”

“Then do not fidget like one,” the woman said.

Zara fought the urge to fidget just to cause trouble.

This was very strange, being the focus like this. The closest experience she had in her memory was when she had come to live at the encampment. She had been a curiosity then, but they had also been careful with her. She was a little girl who had lost her family, who was traumatized, steeped in grief.

Resources there were limited, and no one had ever procured her a new wardrobe. She’d had clothing crudely fitted to her before. Hand-me-downs that she’d acquired within the camp.

In her life before the revolution, she was certain she had experienced things like this, but there was a veil drawn over those years, memories she found difficult to access. Everything was reduced down to feelings. Still pictures in her mind. Smells, tastes.

She’d only been six when she was taken away. So much more of her life spent away from the palace than in it.

She was trying to hate it, but in truth it was difficult. The dress she was wearing at the moment was irresistible. She had never imagined she would find a dress irresistible, but she definitely had strong feelings about this one.

The bodice was fitted, soft with iridescent pink vines stitched over the silk. The skirt billowed around her like a pink cloud. And in truth, she would love to hate it for its impracticality. But it was just too pretty.

Though, even if she was having a hard time resenting the dress, she could still easily resent Andres.

“Would you like to see this one, Your Highness?” The woman spoke to Andres as though Zara weren’t standing right there.

“Why not?” He sounded bored, which she found insulting. Though, had he sounded eager, she probably would have been similarly offended. He could not win with her. She had decided.

She would not allow him to. She would not marry him. She would find another way.

Though it has been said you catch more flies with honey than vinegar. And you need his help.

She ignored that thought. Yes, it was true she needed him in some capacity. But she would not be pouring out the kind of honey a man like him wanted. Andres had not been ambiguous about his intent for her. He’d told her last night that if she didn’t leave he was going to...

She felt her skin growing hot again, just as the seamstress moved the screen to the side, removing the buffer that stood between herself and the rather imposing prince.

She drew in a deep breath, her breasts pushing against the tight, structured bodice. She was very conscious of the fact that his eyes were very much focused on said part of her body. He was doing it to make her uncomfortable. There was no other reason. Men did not waste time staring at her chest. Men did not waste time staring at any part of her.

Yes, she had been well protected, prior to being kidnapped and returned to the palace to be used as a political pawn, but it had not seemed to be a particular challenge for the leader of their clan to keep men away from her.

Quite the opposite, Zara felt sometimes as if she repelled people when she walked through a crowd.

The heat in his eyes was certainly not real. Which made it all the more offensive, even if it should have made it less offensive. Things with Andres simply weren’t going to make sense, she had accepted that already.

“Well?” she asked, the word coming out as a command.

He put his hand on his chin as though he were considering. “You certainly look more like a princess than you did yesterday.”

“I suppose it depends on your cultural point of view,” she said, raising an eyebrow.

“Indeed?”

“Yes. Among my people the gold makeup is considered the mark of royalty. A mark of beauty. The robe I wore yesterday, the purple with gold thread signified that, as well. This is just a pretty dress.”

“This is couture,” the seamstress said, speaking out of turn, her tone harsh.

“Will you allow her to speak to me like that?” Zara asked.

“Yes. You were offensive,” Andres said.

“My apologies,” she said, not feeling particularly apologetic. It was difficult when she still felt maneuvered. Forced. Imprisoned. “I am tired.” She lifted up the heavy, voluminous skirts and turned, sitting on the edge of the bed, the fabric billowing around her.

“Yes. I imagine trying on gowns all day is incredibly taxing,” he said, his tone dry.

“Is it perhaps as taxing as sitting there watching someone else do it?”

“Probably not as taxing as measuring a fidgeting, surly girl.” He leaned against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest, his expression laconic. “Elena,” he said, addressing the seamstress, “I’m sure you could use a break. The princess and I can handle things from here.”

“Yes, Your Highness.” The woman was clearly unhappy with being dismissed, leaving her dresses behind for someone other than her to handle. But she obeyed.

Zara didn’t think she would ever get used to that. The fact that ultimately Andres would have to be deferred to, and beyond him Kairos. She fell somewhere beneath the two of them.

It isn’t as though you had any power back in the encampment. People put you on a pedestal, but you had no choices.

She ignored herself again, focusing instead on the growing sense of dread she felt as Elena walked out of the room, leaving her alone with Andres.

“So?” She lifted her hands, then brought them back down, gripping the fabric of the gown. “Am I suitably altered into your preferred image?”

“You have a ways to go yet,” he said, his tone dry. “You still look a bit wild.”

“Perhaps because I am a bit wild. Have you ever thought that no amount of work will change that? No matter how sleek you make me look, it will not change what’s inside?”

“As far as I’m concerned, outward appearance is the best place to start. Changing who you are on the inside is a much more difficult task.”

“Speaking from experience?”

One side of his mouth curved upward. “Experience at not managing to change it, certainly.”

“If you haven’t managed to change after all your years of living in this palace, what makes you think you will manage to change me and in only a couple of months?”

“I don’t have to change you, not really. I only have to make it look as though you have changed. And that, I have ample experience with.”

“I thought the ultimate goal was taming.”

The other corner of his mouth turned up, and he was smiling now. Yet she didn’t get the sense that there was any humor in it. “Let me ask you this. Do you think I am tame?”

She looked him over, at the perfectly tailored lines of his suit, the aristocratic cut of his features. He could have been carved, rather than made. A Greek statue with life breathed into it, rather than a man born of a woman.

He was beautiful. She found nothing feminine about the descriptor. She would call the forest, the mountains back in Tirimia beautiful, while they were, at the same time, uncompromising and dangerous. She had a feeling Andres was both of those things in addition to being beautiful. His brother, Kairos, exuded danger, authority. With Andres it was less immediately apparent.

But she could see it. She could sense it.

Possibly that was due more to the fact that he had pulled her out of the bathtub yesterday and thrown her onto his bed, than any kind of sixth sense on her part.

Still, she was confident in her answer to his question.

“No. You aren’t,” she said.

“But I appear to be. Or rather, I appear to be when it suits me.”

“Is that what you are suggesting I do? Behave the part of princess in public?”

“I should like for you to be a little bit more tame than you already are, as I have no interest in being bitten.” Something changed in his eyes as he said the words. Anger morphing into something else entirely. To a molten heat she could swear radiated from him. Something she couldn’t quite sort out. There was a lot of that between them.

“I have never bitten anyone in my life. Your concerns are unfounded.”

He arched an eyebrow. “Are they?” He took a step toward her, his dark eyes boring into hers. “If I were to grab you now and throw you down on that bed, you wouldn’t bite me?”

Her heart was fluttering so fast she could scarcely catch her breath. “Why would you do that?”

“Do not tell me you are so naive that you are unaware of what a man wants from a woman,” he said, something hard, dangerous in his tone.

“Of course not,” she said, her throat feeling tight, her face hot.

“You know what a husband wants from his wife, then,” he said.

It felt as if a fire had broken out over her body, burning her in the most intimate places. She should strangle him with his own tie for daring to speak to her in such a manner. She should certainly not be overheating. “But I am not your wife.”

He reached out, taking her chin between his thumb and forefinger, his hold firm, his eyes locked with hers. She should move away from him. She should kick him. She did neither.

“You will be my wife. In every sense of the word. I do like that dress,” he said, his gaze roaming over her body. “I do wonder, though, if I would like it better on the floor.” He leaned in closer, and her breath caught. “I wonder, if I stripped it from your body, if I were to try and claim you, would you try to bite me then?”

“Try it,” she said, her voice trembling, “try it and see, you bastard.”

“Dirty talk. I like it. If you think that’s going to push me away, I hate to disappoint you.” He moved closer then, his lips a whisper away from hers. And she found that rather than wanting to draw away, perversely she wanted to lean in closer to him. She could feel a connection forming between them, physical, real, tangible. She wanted to solidify it. She didn’t want to break it. How long had it been since she felt connected to anyone? How long had it been since anyone touched her? “Sadly, for you, disappointing people is what I do best.”

Then he moved away. She felt his withdrawal like a gale-force wind. Making her feel disheveled, cold.

“I resisted the urge to eviscerate you with my teeth,” she said, trying to keep her tone stiff. “Perhaps I am not as uncivilized as you seem to think I am.”

“Perhaps I’m not as civilized as you think I am.”

“If you’re trying to frighten me into submitting to your marriage plan, I’m afraid I must deliver the disappointing news that it will not work.” She swallowed hard, calling on all her strength to form the next sentence, to meet his gaze while she spoke the words.

He laughed, a dark, humorless sound. “Silly woman. I don’t need your submission. I need your cooperation.”

“Is there any way I can help you without marrying you?”

“No. There isn’t.”

She gritted her teeth. “That’s very inflexible of you.”

“I am inflexible. In this instance largely because my brother is. I owe him. I disappointed him once, and I cannot do it again. This is my atonement. You are my penance.”

“I suppose in that case lowering yourself onto my body will be much like crawling over broken glass.”

He chuckled, which angered her because those words had cost her. Because she was dealing in subject matter she was not well versed in, trying to play that she was sophisticated. As if the things he said were unremarkable. And when she reached for a comment she thought might shock him, he didn’t even have the decency to look fazed. “To the contrary, I imagine lowering myself onto your body—as you so eloquently put it—will be the most enjoyable portion of our enforced union.”

“Why marriage?” she asked, feeling desperate. “Why not... I suppose I don’t understand what else I could do, because I’m not entirely certain why it is you need me.”

“I must marry you because Kairos gave the order for me to do so. Kairos asked me to do so to improve relations between Petras and Tirimia. Presumably there are more detailed explanations available, but he didn’t give them, and I didn’t ask. The reasoning was irrelevant.”

“And yet you do not seem like a man who would normally feel that way. I can’t imagine that you’re docilely lying down and engaging in something against your will, simply because it’s the right thing to do. There is something else to this. There has to be.”

She had no idea how she was so certain of this, only that she was. Nothing about Andres was docile. She was right, he wasn’t tame. Not in the least. And yet he was allowing himself to be collared and muzzled by his older brother. It made no sense.




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