by Sofia Stone
The sisters exchanged a glance before replying. “We’re sort of . . . personal assistants, I guess, is the best way to put it,” Lise said.
“More like slaves,” said Trees cheerfully. “We work for a relentless, crotchety old woman who likes to make us do her bidding at all hours of the day.”
“Trees,” her sister hissed, while Lady Nancy cleared her throat delicately. Trees winked across the table at Amelia, who hid her smile behind a napkin.
Lise cleared her throat. “Do you want to be an event planner forever? Is it something you’re passionate about?”
Amelia considered the question. “I like it a lot, yeah. My favorite thing is that I get to tailor events to the client, to their interests and passions, instead of having something generic. For one wedding, the bride just loved apples, so we were able to find an apple orchard to host the wedding at in spring when the trees were in bloom. It was gorgeous. That’s the best part—when you give someone something they really love, that’s all about them, that expresses who they are.”
The first course was whisked away from everyone’s left and replaced by a shallow, wide bowl of soup from the right.
“A bouillon vert in the Zavinian style,” intoned the chef.
Amelia explored it with her spoon. There were tender chunks of potato and spicy sausage swimming in a sea of finely chopped greens and broth. She brought a spoonful to her mouth. It was deliciously savory and a little smoky, but refreshingly light compared to the rich scallops and butter sauce.
“Have you ever thought about visiting Zavinia?” asked Edric from her left.
Amelia glanced around the room. “Everyone is so quiet,” she said pointedly. Someone further down the table cleared their throat and began a low conversation with their neighbor.
“I’d like to, but I’m not sure if I could. I’ve never had the money, and besides, everyone knows how hard it is to get in.” Zavinia had famously tight borders.
“You have a Zavinian father, though. Ow!” Trees rubbed her elbow where her sister had pinched her. “Or mother or grandmother, I wouldn’t know,” she added hurriedly. “My point is, maybe it would be easier for you.”
“I’ve never really looked into it. I’d like to visit someday, though. It would be nice to see the place my father came from. He passed away when I was six.”
Lise and Trees made sympathetic noises. “I’m so sorry,” said Lise.
“It was a long time ago,” Amelia rushed to assure them. “I just wish I knew whether I had any more family out there. He never really talked about his family—that I can remember, at least.”
For some reason, Lise and Trees both glanced at Lady Nancy. This is so weird, Amelia thought. It feels like . . . She hesitated, unsure exactly what it felt like. At moments it felt like everyone’s attention was on her, waiting on every word, but she couldn’t figure out why that would be, and she certainly couldn’t ascribe any malignant intentions to Lise and Trees, at least. Unless they were some sort of expert spies—which, given the evidence, Amelia seriously doubted.
The main course was a seared pork belly with a white wine, tarragon, and mustard sauce, served alongside gently steamed and buttered pea greens. The skin was crisped to perfection, and underneath it the pork belly was soft and velvety. It was a small portion of meat, and no wonder—it was incredibly rich, and paired perfectly with the sweet-tart sauce, which cut through it so it wasn’t overwhelmingly heavy. The tarragon was a special Zavinian variety, and it had a delicate herbal flavor that was different from any other. Amelia had to restrain herself from groaning theatrically after every bite. This was a meal she was never going to forget.
Even as she was enjoying herself, something still itched at the back of her mind. She had the sudden, odd image of a claw scratching at the bars of a cage, and distracted herself from it by asking Edric to describe his favorite places in Zavinia to her.
After the pork belly came a simple salad of frisée, slices of roasted pear, toasted walnuts, a scattering of blue cheese, and a few drops of Zavinian olive oil and lemon juice. Amelia didn’t normally count herself a fan of salads, but this one was a welcome relief, and surprisingly tasty.
The final course was dessert. “A torte of chestnut crepes brushed with blackberry syrup, layered with a chocolate-chestnut ganache, with whipped cream,” said the chef, looking rather proud.
He should be proud, Amelia thought, slightly in awe. This is the most delicious-looking thing I’ve ever seen. Her slice of torte had at least a dozen slim, luscious layers. And it had everything in one bite: it was chocolatey, nutty, fruity, and creamy all in one. Heaven on earth.
“You said your father was from Zavinia,” Lady Nancy said finally, leaning back in her chair. She had been quietly observant throughout dinner, though Amelia had the impression she was listening and observing like a hawk. “Do you speak any French?”
“Some,” said Amelia. “I took French in high school and college.”
“Are you any good at it?”
“I haven’t had a chance to practice, so I don’t remember a lot of the vocabulary. But my teachers always said my pronunciation was good. Probably because of my dad. Why?”
Lady Nancy ignored her question. “Will you say something for me in French? Anything will do.”
Amelia’s fork clanked against her dessert plate. “Okay,” she said, irritated but trying to sound lighthearted, “this is starting to sound like a job interview or something.”
She looked around, expecting to get a laugh or two, but everyone was dead silent. You could have heard a pin drop.
“Well,” Lady Nancy said mildly, “it rather is, of a sort.”
“Uh, what’s going on here?” Amelia asked.
Lady Nancy also ignored that question in favor of stroking her cat. “What do you know about your father?”
Amelia tried to suppress her nervous laughter. “Um, what business of that is yours?”
“Did he truly never tell you anything about Zavinia? About his family? About—”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Amelia said flatly, folding her napkin and rising to her feet.
“—about yourself?” continued Lady Nancy, undaunted, looking up at her. She still managed to look like she was looking down on Amelia even as Amelia stood over her.
“What about me?” she couldn’t help but ask.
The room was so silent you could hear a pin drop. Even though Lady Nancy spoke quietly, Amelia could hear every word.
“Amelia, your father was a member of the Zavinian royal family. You are his daughter, and a princess of Zavinia.”
Amelia stared at her for five full seconds before bursting into full-bodied laughter.
“Okay, what is this?” she managed to get out, looking around the room. All the evening’s anxiety and restlessness came to a head. “Is this Punk’d? No, wait, I don’t think that’s around anymore. This is some kind of scam. I get it. It’s like the Nigerian prince deal, but instead of the scammer being the prince, the mark is the prince, right? Princess, I mean. You put on a super nice dinner, and I just need to give you a thousand dollars or whatever, so you can retrieve my documents and prove my birthright. Ha, ha.”
She looked around, and expected to see chagrin, or anger, or even a gun. Instead, everyone looked puzzled.
“Very good acting,” Amelia told them, her hands on her hips, glaring daggers at Lise and Trees. She’d liked them! “Did you all go to Juilliard or something? How much is she paying you?”
A cough at the other end of the table sounded suspiciously like “Not enough.”
“I’m telling you the truth, child,” Lady Nancy said calmly. “Your father, Noel, was my second-born son, and I am your grandmother.”
“Okay, no. I don’t believe that at all.” Amelia gestured between them. “We’re from completely different worlds, and we’re nothing alike. Also, you would be the worst grandmother ever. I bet you couldn’t spoil a child if someone paid you.”
“You’re n
ot even curious to know more about your father?”
Amelia froze. Yes, part of her yearned to say, a part of her that had been hungry since childhood for what Lady Nancy was offering. Tell me about him!
That was probably how they reeled people in, she realized. “I’m leaving now. Thank you for dinner, it was very nice,” she added sarcastically.
It took all of her effort to swallow down the urge to flee and just walk out of the room . . . but as soon as the door closed behind her, she broke out into a run. She didn’t even know why she was running, exactly, only that she had to get away, now.
She burst past a very confused hotel employee out the front door and into the fresh air.
Okay, okay, she thought to herself with her eyes closed, heaving in breath after breath. Someone just tried to scam you, but you’re fine, you just need to go home, it’s okay.
Amelia let out a controlled, steadying breath. The bus stop was to the left, down the street, she told herself, and began walking on curiously shaky legs.
She only made it a few steps before someone called out her name from behind her.
“Amelia!”
Instinctively she turned, before realizing that was stupid. But it was too late.
The speaker was a man—the man she’d seen before she came in, the one with the earpiece, she realized. The incredibly good-looking man who made her knees go weak. His brown hair was pulled back, and now that she had a proper look at him, he was more devastatingly handsome than she could have dreamed.
Everything changed when they locked eyes. His were a piercing gray, and something in them shot straight inside to the heart of her and unleashed a long-caged beast.
A pair of wings unfurled inside her ribcage, newly freed.
He’s ours, hissed a long-forgotten voice inside her head, a voice she thought she would never hear again. He’s our mate.
“Oh no,” Amelia breathed.
Chapter Two: Gabriel
W hen Gabriel heard her say I’m leaving now, he knew he had to act—why, he didn’t know, but his dragon insisted. He jumped up, his napkin falling on the floor in his haste. “I’ll follow her,” Gabriel announced. “No one else.”
Chasing her outside proved easy. The hard part was that he had no idea what to say to her—how to convince her—he wasn’t even sure why he should, except that his dragon wanted him to. Strange, as his dragon had never taken such an interest in matters of state.
Outside, as he watched her walk away, he knew it was almost too late.
“Amelia!” he cried.
She turned, and Gabriel’s world turned upside-down. She was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen—her blue dress clung to her curves, and her auburn hair fell like water over her shoulders, glowing in the last light of the sun, a crown fit for a queen.
And her eyes—blue as the ocean’s depths, electric with feeling. Behind them he could see the dragon within her rising, and his own dragon responded with a fervor Gabriel had never before felt.
This is our mate, his dragon roared. She is ours forever, and we are hers!
And then she said two words that shattered him: “Oh, no.”
She didn’t want him. Of course she didn’t. Why should she? She was a princess of Zavinia, and he was only a lowly bodyguard, a bastard in the eyes of the nobility. Not worth a moment of her time. The old wound of his birth tore at him, leaving him ragged.
But she didn’t run away again. Maybe she did feel their connection . . .
She is our mate, his dragon said. She knows we are connected as well as we do.
Amelia licked her lips and swallowed as he watched her, struck dumb.
“What do you want?” she asked finally, with reservation.
You, he thought, but of course he couldn’t say that. Say whatever you must to make her stay, his dragon urged.
“To talk,” said Gabriel. “That’s all I want.”
“Talk about what?” The suspicion on her face wavered.
Part of him wanted to prove himself to her—to convince her he was worthy of her love. He swallowed that part down. He was here on behalf of Zavinia, not himself.
“You know what about. I know it must sound fantastical, but it’s all true, what she said in there. We need your help.”
“Why should I believe you?” Her voice was tremulous now. Her extraordinarily blue eyes searched his, as if she wanted to trust him and was searching for evidence.
He spread his empty hands out before her. “I know you have no reason to trust me. You don’t even know me. But I’m telling you the truth.”
She will believe us. She is our mate, she knows we would never hurt her and that we can be trusted to keep her safe. His dragon sounded confident, but Gabriel was not so sure.
Amelia was looking at him warily. “You have to tell me more.”
Gabriel held out a hand. “We’ll go back inside. It will be all right, you will be safe, I promise.”
But she shook her head, and he dropped his hand, disappointed. She hesitated, biting her lower lip. “Not anyone else. Just you.”
She trusts us, his dragon said, pleased.
He nodded toward a coffeeshop down the street, making her turn. The wind blew her auburn hair around her cheek, and his fingers itched with the desire to push it back behind her ear.
Oh, no, he remembered her saying, and unclenched his hand.
Gabriel cleared his throat. “Let’s sit somewhere and talk, then. In public. I want you to feel safe with me.”
She is safe with us, his dragon muttered. How could she be anything but?
She might not know that, Gabriel replied.
Amelia quirked an eyebrow at him. “There are a lot of people there. Come on—won’t they overhear us divulging state secrets?” She said it a little mockingly, as if she still didn’t believe him.
He shook his head. “It’ll be loud—that’s the point. If it’s quiet, people will be able to overhear what we say.”
The wrinkles of skepticism in her brow smoothed. “That’s a good point,” she said grudgingly. She regarded him uncertainly, then seemed to resolve some inner conflict and come to a decision. “Let’s go, then.”
The walk down the street was short, but plenty long enough for his dragon to berate him thoroughly. Among his complaints were that Gabriel must have done something wrong to offend her, that he wasn’t doing enough to make it right, and that the longer he waited to resolve the issue the longer it was going to be until he could have her in his arms.
Gabriel gritted his teeth and did his best to ignore his animal. This was made particularly difficult by his proximity to Amelia. They walked side-by-side and occasionally their arms brushed. Even though their clothes it sent a tingle down his skin. Though she didn’t feel the same way—the second time it happened, she muttered an apology and sped up so she was walking in front of him, clearly not wanting it to happen again.
She shouldn’t be running away from you, his dragon said sulkily. Fix it.
It’s not that simple, you dumb beast, Gabriel replied testily. The situation is complicated.
Humans always make things more complicated than they have to be, said his dragon. She’s our mate, we’re her mate, that’s it.
With a start, he realized Amelia was giving him an odd look. They were stopped in front of the café and he had gotten lost in his inner conversation.
“I can’t imagine actually eating anything else,” said Amelia, patting her stomach as they got in line. “Or drinking, for that matter. Just water for me. What about you?” She was getting out her wallet.
Gabriel eyed the menu of American coffee-flavored beverages with suspicion. “I’ll have the same, I think.”
In front of them, a teenaged girl was growing increasingly flustered as it became clear that she didn’t have enough money to complete her purchase.
Amelia stepped forward and handed the cashier her credit card with a smile. “Here, I’ll cover it.”
Our mate is kind and generous, observed his d
ragon. This time, Gabriel couldn’t help but agree.
Waters in hand, they sat at a tiny table, Gabriel folding himself into the small chair with a little difficulty. As she watched him, Amelia’s mouth twitched, and Gabriel returned the smile, watching her cheeks turn charmingly pink.
Then her smile faded, and she took a more serious expression. “So, who are you, exactly? Some kind of prince? I don’t even know your name and yet . . .” She didn’t finish her sentence, her eyes flicking away self-consciously.
It was the first time she’d come close to mentioning the mate bond, and it made Gabriel’s heart leap. “I’m Gabriel. And . . .” He hesitated, but knew he had to get it out. “I’m no prince, Amelia. I’m merely a bodyguard serving at the pleasure of the crown.”
Amelia raised an eyebrow. “Merely an elite royal bodyguard, he says. Okay. How did you get into that? Did you go to school for it?” Her tone was lightly teasing.
He laughed. “No, and it’s not as glamorous as you’re imagining.”
“No? Hard to believe.” With one side of her mouth quirked, she gave him a quick but thorough look up and down.
Arousal rushed through him, settling in his groin. See? She does want us, his dragon said smugly. Now is not the time, Gabriel thought back, but it was difficult to force his mind back to their business.
A more serious expression settled onto her face. “So, you’re a bodyguard. And all that”—she waved a hand vaguely in the direction of the hotel—“was . . . what exactly? Some kind of test?”
“Of a kind, yes. You must understand, we needed to get a sense of who you were before telling you.”
Her eyebrows rose. “And one five-course meal was going to tell you if I could rule a country?”
His dragon wanted to protest, to assure her of her perfection and suitedness for the role. “I know it must sound mad to you. But our position is difficult.”
“How so?”
Gabriel hesitated. “Currently the King of Zavinia is your uncle.”
