Courted: Gowns & Crowns, Book 1 (4 page)

“Shock.” At his words, the woman huddled in front of him seemed to gather all her energy together, as if the sudden scrutiny was all that was needed to snap her back into place. She scrambled swiftly to her feet, swaying only a little as she clutched the blanket around her.

“It’s fine, Lauren, truly,” she said, and her voice was stronger too—clear and feminine, but not overloud. “I was out swimming and—this man…” She turned to smile gratefully at him, and Kristos felt like he’d been sucker punched. “He saw I was in trouble.”

“This man?” The woman named Lauren sniffed. She turned her narrowed eyes on him, then jolted in recognition as well. The effect of her undivided focus was impressive, but not in the same intensely personal way that he’d been affected by the woman he already wanted back in his arms. The blonde spoke again in the lilting tones that characterized his native tongue. “Well, I thank you, Prince Kristos, for coming to M’s aid. She is usually a very good swimmer, I assure you.”

“She
is
a very strong swimmer.” Kristos switched back to English for the benefit of the young woman named “M.” He quirked a glance at her. “You are feeling better, M?”

“Emmaline,” she said. Then she blushed, as if she’d just admitted an embarrassing secret. “Everyone calls me Em, though. And yes, I am feeling much better. The current did get the best of me, and you did warn me.” Her flush deepened, but she met his gaze, apology filling her eyes. “I’m sorry for causing you any trouble.”

“It’s no trouble at all,” he said. He watched emotions flood across her expressive face a moment more, then gestured to Dimitri. “We can have a doctor check—”

“No doctors, thanks,” Lauren said, still speaking in Garronois. She stepped in front of Dimitri when he would have helped guide Emmaline forward. “We’ll get one if we need one.” She dismissed the royal bodyguard with a wave of her hand, never mind that he towered over her in both height and breadth. “Thank you again for your help, Prince Kristos.”

Dimitri stared at the imperious blonde, clearly surprised and more than a little annoyed, and Kristos hid a grin. It was good to see the burly fighter flummoxed by someone, especially a beautiful woman. All too often, members of the fairer sex fell at the man’s feet. He nodded again to Lauren, speaking in English. “You are staying with us long? I hope you find the remainder of your visit to our shores more relaxing.”

The blonde’s shrewd gaze shifted to him. “A few days, yes.” This announcement earned her a startled glance from Emmaline, who shrugged out of the ultralight blanket, tidily folding it up with the manner of someone used to packing things away neatly and efficiently. She offered the blanket to Kristos, but Dimitri reached out, taking it from her while preventing her from touching Kristos again. Though Emmaline said nothing, a blush swept once more up her cheeks. She clearly realized she’d gaffed, but didn’t know how.

“It was a pleasure to meet you, Emmaline,” Kristos said, pushing past Dimitri to pick up one of her hands. It was small and still ice-cold in his own, the fingers trembling. “I hope I may do so again during your stay here.”

“Of course,” she murmured, but her expression was only polite now, her face a mask of deference. Not because she’d guessed his royal station, he suspected. It simply was her natural way.

“If you’re quite through, Your Highness? There’s much we have to accomplish today.” Cyril had appeared again at his side, speaking in their native tongue, and Kristos did sigh then. He turned away from the vision of the American Emmaline as his men formed a loose phalanx around them.

It was all part of the act, he knew, an act that he suspected greatly surprised Emmaline, if not her savvier friend. Even now he saw the two of them step back, their heads together.

He resolutely looked forward and swung into the waiting ATV, not wanting to see Emmaline’s reaction when she realized that she’d been rescued not by a respectable member of the Garronia National Security Force, but by some spoiled and pampered prince.

He scowled at the men falling into ranks around him. Just that quickly, he’d gone from protector to protected. He didn’t like it one bit.

So much of it was for show too. There was rarely any threat to the royal family of Garronia. They did not mine oil or rare minerals here, they did not harbor criminals from the international community, and their palaces, though fortified, were not positioned as strategic strongholds so as to make them desirable for other countries. More importantly, Garronia kept its success and riches close to the vest, held back to assist its own people in wartime, should wartime ever come again.

Still, that did not mean that the Crown was going to take any chances with the only remaining heir to the throne. If Kristos was truly about to take on the mantle of royal responsibility, he knew that meant taking on the tedium of royal security as well.

“I’m scheduled to fly out again tomorrow on maneuvers, you know. It’s been planned for weeks,” he warned Cyril as the advisor joined him in the ATV, though he knew it was an empty challenge. Cyril didn’t bother looking back at him. This battle had been decided in the throne room of the king. Cyril was simply the messenger.

“Not anymore. Your cousin Frederick will now be called up to serve in your place.”

“Frederick.” Kristos allowed his disgust to register in his tone. “Then we really are doomed. I should warn my men.”

Cyril’s lips twisted, but he didn’t disagree with Kristos. The advisor had spent nearly twenty years in the royal armed forces, and he knew Frederick well. “He will learn.”

“Not likely.” Still, Kristos continued to roll onward. “I assume there’s been no word of any further discoveries.”

Cyril did not have to ask him what he was talking about, but his reply was more measured when it came, almost kind. “None,” he said. “Your brother is sorely missed by the entire family, Kristos. The search has been exhaustive to reclaim his remains for proper burial. But we must move forward now, for the good of the country. You understand that more than anyone.”

“I understand it.” And he did. If his parents had seen fit to have other children besides himself and his brother, he would gladly have abdicated his role to a younger sister or brother so he could continue doing the work he was meant to do. But they had not, and now his role was clear. His father was nearing sixty years old—still more than capable of running the kingdom—but to assure the proper succession, there had to be a prince by his side until the Crown officially changed hands.

That prince was supposed to have been Ari. Instead, Kristos would have to take up the kind of duties for which he’d never been prepared. He would sooner take a bullet than answer a reporter’s prepared question; and the idea of dancing attendance on a host of coddled diplomats made his stomach churn.

“So what’s on the agenda first, then? I’ve not exactly been paying attention to your memos, I’m afraid.”

“The gala reception to celebrate your official accession as crown prince is in three days’ time,” Cyril said, his relief apparent that Kristos had apparently turned the corner. “Your mother and father have put everything in place, and now that they have returned from France, we will make the official announcements.” He hesitated. “It would be best if we also announced your engagement at the gala or shortly thereafter.”

Not this again.
“No.” There was a limit to his patience with royal tradition. “We talked about that six months ago, Cyril. My position hasn’t changed.”

“And you agreed that you would consider the weight of your responsibilities.”

“Which I have. And
after
that consideration, I’ve decided that every tradition makes sense when it serves a purpose.” They had left the sand and laughter, turning down cobblestoned streets lined with the small businesses and restaurants that made Garronia such a picturesque destination for tourists. Here, they abandoned the ATV and continued on foot, and the security detail surrounding them could ease back, allowing the prince and his advisor more privacy as they wound their way through the old city. “However, catering to dictates set down centuries ago, when the average life expectancy was thirty-five years, no longer serves a purpose. I’m not going to die before having a
child
, Cyril. Give me a chance to live a little first.”

As soon as the words escaped his lips, a chill iced his bones. How many times had his own brother said the same thing to Cyril, to his parents, to anyone who would listen? Kristos had proven his worth to the Crown in combat, but his brother had had to face an entirely different scope of responsibilities as the eldest son.

And now he was gone. Kristos pictured the faces of the mourners who had filed past his brother’s empty coffin at the official state funeral months earlier, the look of blank sorrow in his parents’ eyes. He and his brother cared little about tradition, but that was perhaps beside the point, now. He had a kingdom full of people who did care, and parents who were still so filled with grief that their decisions had begun to seem weak, ineffectual in the eyes of even their closest advisors.

Perhaps Garronia needed its traditions for a little while longer.

But Kristos was
not
the man they needed to fulfill them.

Cyril had the good sense not to comment, allowing Kristos to stew in his own thoughts. They reached the lower gate of the palace, a simple affair cut into the cliff rock, looking more like the entry of a storage vault than a passage up to the premier royal residence. Still, the illusion of the bored guards stationed at the entrance was just that: an illusion. Developed over long years to keep the royal family out of sight and mind of all but the most diligent tourists, except in ways that were carefully orchestrated by the Crown.

The residential palace of Garronia was a simple affair to the outside eye, an aerie perched at the top of Mount Nazar overlooking the city and beach, unassailable from the ground due to the sheer cliff walls, and well protected by the thick forests and rising mountains surrounding it from the other three sides. The palace was more fortress than fairy-tale castle, and generations of Garronia royalty had wisely kept it that way. The Visitors’ Palace across the city was used for state events and celebrations, and it had all the ethereal charm the country could wish for, without any need for the protracted security measures required in a permanent residence.

A residence he would one day share with a
wife,
Kristos thought suddenly—sooner rather than later, if Cyril had his way.

Wincing, Kristos wondered who the advisor had picked for him, if anyone yet. What daughter of the aristocracy had earned the right through the Crown’s unofficial selection process to be presented to him as a candidate for royal bride? He’d have to be polite about whoever it was, and who knows? Maybe she too would be open to a long,
long
engagement, at least long enough to give Kristos time to get out of this mess.

His mouth tightened. Or maybe she would take one look at his ravaged body, and simply let him go.

He had to return to the military. It was the only place he could truly belong at this point.

But for now, he had to bide his time, and play the role expected of him. He could only hope that word of his arrival at the castle today hadn’t made it to the media, or the circus would begin in earnest. Would it be so much to ask for him to have one more day of relative normalcy before any chance at personal freedom was wrenched away from him?

Kristos thought fleetingly of the young American:
Emmaline
. A name as unexpected as she was. A name he suddenly wanted to speak again, now that he was losing her behind walls and gardens and layers of expectations too thick for anyone to battle through without creating lasting damage.

Maybe far too much damage.

The gates of the royal palace closed behind him.

Chapter 3

“What do you mean we’re not all going zip-lining? I thought we’d agreed to get our adventure on today! We can’t just lie around the beach the whole time!”

Em looked up from her tour book as Nicki and Lauren approached. Beside her, Fran snapped her attention away from her copy of
Psychology Today
. “We’re canceling zip-lining? I may not actually die in the jungles of Garronia? Praise God.”

“You and I are still going zip-lining, yes,” Lauren said to Nicki, her voice holding a note of authority that Em knew well. It was her
please don’t make me kill you
voice. Zip-lining actually seemed kind of fun, but there was no mistaking the set to Lauren’s jaw. “But Em is touring the Visitors’ Palace with Fran.”

Fran looked at Em. “What’s the Visitors’ Palace? Is that where your prince lives?”

“I have no idea.”

When Lauren had ushered Em back to the safety of their brightly colored beach ensemble, they’d found Nicki and Fran waiting for them, so Lauren had promptly recounted the tale of Em’s rescue by the crown prince of Garronia. Em was still having a hard time processing the whole thing.

How could she have missed out on the fact that she was being kissed by a
prince
?

She’d known vaguely about the death of the older brother, Aristotle Andris—it had made international news a year ago on all the entertainment channels. But she hadn’t ever really thought about the younger military-focused brother beyond seeing him as part of the royal family, dressed in mourning colors for the state funeral. The story had slipped away in a blink, and the world had churned on. Yet here she was, halfway around the world, starring in her own fairy-tale story where she’d gotten
kissed
by a
prince
.

Now she could only shake her head as Nicki swung her gaze between Lauren and her. She wasn’t going to lie. If she saw the inside of Garronia’s ceremonial palace, it would only make the story better, giving her images and details that she could carry back home, maybe even helping her come up with a story to delight her fairy-tale-loving mother.

Frannie lifted her champagne drink and toasted Lauren. “You know what? It doesn’t matter—this is the best news I’ve had all day. Here’s to the Visitors’ Palace!”