Crowning His Convenient Princess

The massive, golden chandelier was lit, and it was like a sun burning brightly at the center of the room. Perfect. Gleaming and lovely. And in the next twenty minutes the ball would be full of fluttering flowers, all vying for Gunnar’s attention.

She heard footsteps on the marble floor, and turned.

And there he was.

He was devastating in that custom cut black suit, the one she had dismissed with a wave of her hand, saying that men needn’t be so concerned with such things.

There was nothing plain about Gunnar in a black suit. He was a weapon against all good sense, his broad shoulders waging war on every prudent thought.

His hair was still overlong, brushed away from his face, his beard just a bit unkempt.

And it put her in the mind of a Norse marauder, and she found that however she tried, she could not dislike the image.

And for the first time, a strange pain hollowed out her stomach.

Another woman would dance in his arms tonight. Another woman would dance with him from tonight, possibly into forever.

And she would never know what it was like to be held by those strong arms.

She clenched her teeth. That was an empty fantasy, driven by hormones. And she was not a slave to her hormones. She was a woman who never had such a luxury. She had been driven by the need to survive. By the need to press forward, always, and make for herself a life that she could not only stand, but that she enjoyed.

She had found a way to live.

It might not be her ideal life, yet. But it was wonderful.

And she was only ever proud of herself for that fact.

Gunnar served no purpose. Attraction to Gunnar served no purpose.

She did not even like the man.

“You have done a spectacular job,” he said, and she ignored the slight thrill of pleasure that went through her midsection.

“Thank you,” she said.

“Soon, I will be like a steak put out before the dogs.” The wicked glint in his eye bade her stomach turn over. She ignored the sensation.

“You will find there are no dogs here. Only a wolf,” she said, harking back to Astrid’s earlier words.

He grinned, and Latika thought it was decidedly wolfish. “Perhaps.”

“Sheep,” Latika said. “Sheep going before a wolf.”

“Very evocative. Does that make you Little Red Riding Hood in this fairytale of a metaphor? Because I must tell you, I feel my mouth is all the better to eat you with.”

And that was when she realized, he was not simply engaging in empty banter. No, there was a gleam in his blue eyes that spoke of intent. But there was no point to him making sexual promises toward her. Not when tonight, of all nights, moved any possibility of something happening between them out of reach.

She ignored the jolt of irritation that she felt over that. The intense regret.

Every time he had ever traded barbs with her she had assumed it was simply who he was, what he did.

She had never once thought that he might… That he might actually want her.

“I am not anyone’s version of a fairytale. And you would find, that I bite back.”

He moved closer to her, and a thrill shot down her spine. “Pity for you, that what you intended as a threat only sounds like a promise to me. I like a woman who gives as good as she gets.”

“Then I suggest you find one here in the room full of them.”

“I doubt there will be one sharp as you.”

“The trade-offs you make for respectability,” she said.

She turned away from him and began to busy herself with details that did not need her attention.

“Are you not respectable?”

“That depends, I suppose,” she said, “on your definition of respectability.”

Those blue eyes regarded her with open interest. “Someday, I should like to find out.”

She locked her teeth together. So tight her jaw ached. “Oh, but there is no someday. For you are getting married. And we all know your life will end as we know it.”

“A tragedy,” he said.

“Well,” she said, brushing her hands down the front of her dress. “It’s time to bring in the staff. And then it will be time to open up the doors. I suggest you get in position.”

He arched a brow, a wicked smile curving his lips. “Missionary? Did you have something else in mind,” he said.

Latika ignored the sharp shock of pleasure that shot straight down through her core. It was wrong for them to talk like this—worse to be talking like this tonight. Though in some ways, it pushed it further out of the realm of possibility than ever. Which made it…almost less wrong maybe? Or less dangerous.

“You will look a bit silly in missionary position on your own,” she shot back, unwilling to let him see that he had affected her.

“I suppose that depends on who you ask.”

The doors opened then, and the staff began to filter inside. Latika managed to busy herself and soon her interaction with Gunnar was forgotten. She had work to do. It distracted her, both from the strange sensation she felt whenever she was around the man, and from the underlying sense of fear she’d been feeling ever since she received that email.

The many, many palace guards in attendance made her feel safe.

No one would do anything to her while she was here.

She repeated all those things to herself as she made sure the food was in place, as she made sure all was well. And then, went back to the antechamber to ensure that everything was ready for Astrid to make her appearance.

Several guests arrived before the Queen was to be seated. And Latika had the task of making sure that Astrid’s entrance went smoothly, and according to plan.

Astrid and Mauro looked beautiful, the pair of them absolute perfection. Astrid had ended up choosing a deep emerald gown, and her husband was in a black suit. Mauro was a handsome man. There was no denying it. Tall, dark and Mediterranean, with wicked eyes and a mouth that looked like it was made for sin.

And yet, it was no particular sin that called to Latika. No, there was something about the cold, wild beauty that Gunnar possessed that seemed to ignite thoughts of sin.

Sin that sorely tempted her.

She put her head down, resolutely making her way through the ballroom, now filled with women that were bedecked as tropical birds, fluttering about in bright colors.

She knew that Gunnar had expressed a preference for two women in particular, but the guests did not. And every one woman—single or not—had dressed to impress him.

Latika cued everyone to Astrid and Mauro’s entrance, and the royal couple alit, walking through the crowd and taking their positions in their honored seats.

It was all going so smoothly Latika wanted to celebrate. That was the thing. She might not have a husband or children yet. She might not be fully living the life of her choice, but she was living well.

She’d been seen by her parents as a bargaining chip. Her only value had been how she could marry. And here she was, operating in a very stressful and important career.

And she did it well.

She allowed that to buoy her mood. To take away the sour feelings that had begun to roil in her stomach earlier.

With them settled, Latika felt the need to check on the kitchen. She turned and slipped out a side entrance, heading down the hall. And what she saw there made her stomach twist. It was him.

Ragnar.

He didn’t have the decency to be hideous. No, instead he was a severe looking older man with salt-and-pepper hair and a neat beard. He was handsome. And a great many women—regardless of their age—would have been thrilled with his attentions. But Latika knew how cruel he could be. And she knew that a life with him would be equal to misery.

The fact that he had come after her after all this time, likely less out of an attraction for her specifically, and more because he wished her harm, sent fear rattling through her.

“My dear, Latika,” he said. “It has been quite some time.”

“Not accidentally,” she said, stopping in her tracks and beginning to edge back toward the ballroom. There was security there. And she would be able to call for help.

“Do not think I’m so foolish as to try and take you from the palace. I simply wanted you to know how close I am. If you try to leave the country, my agents will intercept you. And I know you are here. Ultimately, as long as I can reach you, you are not safe. I will have you brought back to Norway, and married to me before you could ever protest.”

“And why would I marry you?” She asked, fighting to keep her composure.

He liked fear. He liked to cause pain.

She would allow him to see neither in her.

“Because you will find the alternatives so unpleasant. You have made for yourself a little problem here. You thought that by making yourself invisible you would become invisible to me, but you are not just invisible to me, but the whole world. And that is where you have failed yourself, my darling girl. Because when I take you, I will be able to hide you. Your Queen may miss you, but how will she mobilize forces beyond the borders of her country? The public outcry will never be sufficient enough.”

The words settled down to her bones, the truth of them making her feel fear. Real and heavy.

He continued. “I have you between a rock wall and me. And you know that it is true. For now… I will be here all night.”

“I can have you removed,” she said, craning her neck.

“I have done nothing,” he said. “And my removal would create an international incident. As you well know. I know you do not wish for an incident. You are too smart of a girl for something like that.” She swallowed hard, and turned and fled, running back into the ballroom, shutting the door behind her, pressing her hand to her chest.

And she saw Gunnar. At the center of the room dancing with a woman. The brilliant Nigerian activist.

And suddenly, she had an idea.

Times were desperate. And so was she.

She made her way across the ballroom, heading toward the opposite door she had just come in. A door that would take her away from Ragnar.

With purpose, Latika left the ballroom, and headed toward her room.

Though she didn’t know it at the time, Astrid had given her an escape. And Latika knew well enough to take it.

Gunnar was dancing with his third potential bride of the night when a hush fell over the ballroom. He turned, following the gazes of everyone in the room. And there he saw her. Standing at the entrance to the ballroom, dressed in orange and gold, her black hair a glossy wave over one side of her shoulder.

Latika.

She did not look like an assistant. She looked like a princess.

And when she began to descend the stairs, the crowd parted for her as if she was. And then she looked at him. Deliberately. Intentionally.

And a fire ignited in his gut.

He had no idea what game she was playing. He had made it plain earlier that he was attracted to her, because he had never been the sort of man to be coy about such things.

She looked completely different than she had earlier. Though, she had still been delectable in the slinky black dress she’d been wearing, it was the sort of dress designed to make her blend in. And had she been a different woman, it might have been successful. For him, Latika would never blend in.

His greatest concern in life at this moment was that she would go on always as an unanswered need.

And he was not a man who understood denial. Not in his adult life. When he’d escaped his father’s power, when it had become clear to the man that Gunnar could not be manipulated, and when it would have taken the involvement of palace guards to continue his grand experiments on Gunnar, Gunnar had taken the chance to escape into a world of sensual pleasures.

Food. Drink. Women.

Luxurious surroundings.

Most of his time spent in warm climates rather than the harsh chill of Bjornland.

He had forgotten denial. He had forgotten need.

Until her.

And while he had no moral qualms about taking Latika to his bed between now and his wedding, he did feel that perhaps the ball where he was supposed to meet his future wife was perhaps not the ideal venue for such an encounter to begin. But Latika didn’t seem to agree.

She crossed the room, heading straight toward him, the expression on her face one of seductive intensity.

He wanted her. And he had, ever since she had come into his sister’s employ. Every time they had sparred, it had only increased his desire for her.

And now, she paraded herself before him. As if she thought he would not be able to take action here. As if she thought he would be leashed.

“If you would excuse me,” he said to his partner, a woman whose name he could no longer recall.

He stepped away from her, making his way toward Latika. And much to his shock, she increased her pace and nearly flung herself into his arms. “I would be delighted to dance with you,” she said.

“What are you doing?” he murmured.

“I am sorry,” she said. “You have no idea how much. But I need you. Desperately. And I think that I will not harm your objective. I think that I will further your cause.”

“Do you?” he asked, keeping his voice low.

“I need you to marry me,” she said. “And I need you to announce it now.”

“Latika…”

And then, she did something truly shocking. She launched herself forward, and captured his mouth with her own.

Gunnar was a difficult man to surprise, indeed, until this moment he would have said it was impossible.

People were boring in their predictability.

And up until this point, Latika had been scarcely different.

She had bantered with him. She had brought their exchanges of wit to the edge of propriety, but she had never crossed it. And while he found her enjoyable, she had never truly shocked him.

But in this moment, she turned the whole ballroom—maybe the world—on its head.

There was something desperate in her kiss, and he responded to it. He wrapped his arm around her waist, pressing her tightly against his body, forgetting they had an audience. Because what else mattered when he was finally tasting this woman that had vexed him for years.

He took control of the kiss, tightening his hold on her and angling his head, taking advantage of her surprise, of her slightly parted lips, and slipping his tongue between them.

She gasped, and he took it deeper.

And only then did he fully realize that while he might have ensnared her at this very moment, she had caught him in her trap.

“Everyone has seen,” she said. “If you were to reverse course now, no one would believe you. You have clearly staked your claim on me.”

“Minx,” he said. “Was this your game all along?”

“I promise you it was not.”

“Does my sister know that you are little more than a fortune hunter?”

“Your sister knows the truth.”

He looked over at Astrid, who was seated in her throne still, watching what was taking place before her with a surprising amount of equanimity. If Astrid suspected that Latika was trying to snare him as a fortune hunter in some way, he knew that she would be on her feet.

That she would have crossed the room, making her way to him, and to Latika, demanding that the farce be ended.

But she was not. Instead, she was sitting and watching. Waiting. Clearly.

“You must say that you’ll marry me,” she said. “Because if you do not, there is another man here. And he is going to take me away. Not from here, but if I ever set foot outside the palace, he has promised that he will take me. If I ever leave the safety of your land. And he said… He said that my anonymity is what has cursed me, and he is not wrong. If I were to go missing, no one would know. No one would care. But if I was your wife… Gunnar, if I was your wife not only would I improve your standing in the world, but you would save me from this man. If I was your wife, I could hardly go missing without notice. Then he could not force me to marry him. I need you to protect me.”

On this, Gunnar did not need a moment to think. They could work out the details later, and they would, but if what Latika said was true, she needed protection. And it was no matter to him which woman in this room he married. It might as well be the one who needed help. It might as well be the one who lit his body on fire.

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