Stolen To Wear His Crown (Mills & Boon Modern) (The Royal Guard, Book 1)

by Marcella Bell

  “We’re all dying to know...well, everything. Start with that.”

  Mina waited for the laughter to die down before saying, “Well, I suppose I should start where it all began.”

  Jasper leaned in. “Yes. Do.”

  Mina laughed, unable to fight her growing ease in his presence. She moistened her lips, smiled wide, and said, “It begins with Cyrano, of course. In fact, I was born and raised right here in the capital. A dyed-in-the-wool, tried-and-true, homegrown Cyranese capital rat.”

  Jasper’s eyes flashed his admiration even as he smiled. “That’s right...that’s right,” he said. “They’re calling you ‘the commoner who caught a king.’ You are the very first commoner to marry into the royal family in Cyranese history. Did you know that?”

  Mina did not know that—had not, in fact, even ever thought of it. But, rather than miss a beat, she simply admitted it, saying, “No. I had no idea. I must admit for most of my life I’ve been focused on being appointed to the King’s council.”

  Jasper’s smile widened. “Indeed, you are a queen of firsts. But, of course, what we all really want to hear about is how you snared the most eligible bachelor in the kingdom.”

  Mina opened her mouth to reply, only to be drowned out by the collective gasp of the audience and Jasper at her side.

  All the attention in the room was focused on the man walking on stage to join her. And then the audience was on their feet once again.

  Without needing to turn, she knew it was Zayn. But when she did turn, he looked different.

  First and foremost, he had the beginnings of a beard, the dark stubble lending the hard planes of his face a sense of warmth and wisdom. His hair was styled neatly, but more naturally. And that was not the most dramatic change.

  For the first time since his father’s death, the King wore a color other than black.

  Admittedly, the very deep navy of his trim suit was not a far jump from his usual palette, but in someone as closely scrutinized as the King, the difference might as well have been a shout. Like a monarch of old, he had come out of mourning.

  In his lapel pocket was a burst of flowers, their colors a complement to her own attire.

  Breathless, she watched him cross the stage, his long legs eating up the short distance quickly.

  His scent enveloped her, an erotic caress in the room full of people, as he reached around her to shake Jasper’s hand in greeting. It wasn’t the King’s first appearance on the show.

  He sat on the other side of Mina, his body language relaxed and open, for all the world to examine. She wished she could project that kind of ease when she didn’t feel it.

  “Welcome, Your Majesty. It’s lovely to have you back on the show—even if you are late.”

  Zayn smiled at the mock censure in the other man’s tone, and there was a great sense of contentment in his expression. “I apologize for that. Traffic in this city is just out of control. Someone should do something about that...”

  The audience laughed, just as Zayn had intended, and Mina enjoyed the thrill of pride that came with recognizing that he was more than a match for Jasper.

  And he was hers.

  At least on paper.

  She was getting used to the stabbing sensation in her chest whenever her mind lingered on him too long.

  “Well, before you distracted all of us with your arrival, our lovely Queen Mina here was going to reveal to us all how she captured your heart.”

  Zayn caught her eyes then. The violet of his gaze was warm and welcoming, with no hint of the resistance she knew he was committed to.

  And yet despite that, even in front of an audience, she was still arrested by the locking of their gazes, frozen and lost at the same time.

  He would forever be the most beautiful man she had encountered in her life.

  His lips curled up at the edges and she felt the movement deep in the wet heat of her core.

  “Oh, was she, now?” he said, drawing out the words with a suggestiveness that had her blushing. “I’d love to hear that.”

  Jasper grinned, sensing the kind of show content that spiked ratings lurking in the heightened awareness thrumming between them, and Mina swallowed.

  “Then again,” Zayn said, drawing the focus to himself effortlessly, “you could just get the information from the source.”

  Jasper turned to the audience. “What do you think audience? His or hers?”

  Mina’s stomach dropped, and in that instant she realized she didn’t know which would be worse: hearing his answer, or having to fabricate her own.

  The audience, it seemed, was most concerned with accuracy, choosing to go with testimony from the primary source, and Mina braced her heart—as much as it was possible to brace the kind of organ that attached itself to another person regardless of whether or not he reciprocated that attachment or not.

  Zayn turned a wide smile toward the audience, ready to tell some canned lie, no doubt. “Now. You were asking how to win a king’s heart?”

  Jasper pointed to the King and said, “This guy!” before shrugging and adding the words, “Close enough.”

  The audience laughed, but quietened quickly. They wanted to hear what he said.

  Mina’s stomach turned.

  He slipped his hand around hers and squeezed, before beginning. “It helps to be the most brilliant scientist in the country. That’s a strong first step to getting caught by a king.”

  Rather than cringe, Mina found herself fighting the urge to snort. Getting “caught by a king” was certainly one way to say getting arrested. The tight knot in her chest eased just a fraction.

  Jasper pretended to take notes on his desk. “Step one: be a rocket scientist.”

  Zayn laughed along with the audience, the sound unfettered and genuine and, for Mina, completely disorienting.

  “Next,” he said, “one must naturally be stunningly beautiful.”

  Jasper nodded mock seriously, “Naturally.”

  “But I don’t mean just ordinary beauty. I mean a beauty that collects everything there is to love about our island nation and puts it into the form of a woman.”

  An instant of silence greeted Zayn’s statement, wherein not even Jasper Caspian could think of something clever to say.

  The words sank into all of Mina’s soft tissues, anchoring themselves in a way that she knew would make every other compliment pale in comparison for the rest of her life.

  The audience recovered first, responding with a loud sigh of longing.

  Looking at Mina, Zayn began to speak again. “But that is the mere surface. The kind of sparkling tinsel that catches the eye of every foolish man. In order to truly capture a king, you must first make a habit of squaring your shoulders and facing every challenge head-on.”

  The tenor of his voice had changed, and despite the fact that he spoke for the all the world to know, in truth it was as if he spoke to his Queen alone.

  “You must be cool-headed and controlled when your dreams are crushed. You must be earnest. You must meet every curve ball thrown at you.”

  Mina’s mind was filled with their hasty chapel wedding with the Archbishop, its details becoming even more surreal in memory.

  “You must be willing to walk miles when you have just fallen from the sky, finding beauty along the way. You must know how to cook a mean tagine.”

  Here Jasper broke in with, “A queen that cooks? Now, there’s a keeper, folks!”

  The audience took the break as an opportunity to let out the collective breath they were holding on a laugh, before leaning closer for more.

  Zayn continued, his attention still focused on Mina. “It takes more than a surprising talent to steal a king’s heart, of course. You must offer true partnership, a safe haven, and a place to be an ordinary man.”

  Mina’s eyes pricked with the tears, but she would
be caught dead before she’d let herself shed them during her first television appearance.

  “You must also be willing to stand up against the opinion of a king. You must be indomitable. You must accept what you cannot change, but demand change when you know you can. Most of all, you must never accept less than you deserve.”

  Mina swallowed again, the knot in her throat bearing a suspicious similarity in thickness to barely restrained emotion.

  Letting Zayn’s words rest in the air for a moment, Jasper was less irreverent when he next spoke. “Well, my dears. There you have it. What it took to woo the King. Sounds easy enough—am I right?”

  The audience chuckled appreciatively.

  Eyes still on Mina, Zayn said, “She certainly makes it look so.”

  More of that internal knot loosened, even as a part of her grabbed at its strands, trying to keep it together, a tight ball of resentment to block him from digging in any deeper.

  Jasper fanned himself. “Folks, it is just as hot sitting here by these two lovebirds as it seems. I admit I didn’t expect the change in you, Your Majesty. It seems like it was only a few months ago you were here on this show, a completely different man.”

  “That’s the impact of a good woman.”

  “I can see why you were so quick to scoop her up into matrimony. Though you denied us all the pomp and fun of a royal wedding!” Jasper’s pout was a consummate expert’s.

  A mischievous glint lit in Zayn’s eyes. “You know, Jasper. You’re right. I acted quickly when the opportunity presented itself. But you, and certainly my lovely bride, deserve something better than that.”

  And then he got down on one knee in front of her. Jasper and the audience gasped, and a sheen of tears came to Jasper’s eyes that Mina knew had nothing to do with romance and everything to do with ratings.

  The audience erupted into applause.

  Zayn smiled. “I would marry you every day, Mina. Over and over again.”

  She wanted to believe him. She did. But they were in front of a live studio audience and he had a scandal he wanted people to forget about. Even though he was asking, he wasn’t really.

  She had a clear line in this drama and she did her part, nodding, and the cheering went up another few notches before it began to calm down to a reasonable level.

  When the moment came, Jasper said, “Well, you saw and heard it on the Jasper Caspian Show, folks. We’re going to get a royal wedding after all!”

  The audience came to their feet in raucous applause and Mina let Zayn clasp her hand, lifting her arm high as they came to their feet before he led her off the stage.

  As soon as they entered the green room, however, Mina shook her hand free.

  “No,” she said.

  “What do you mean, ‘no’?” he asked.

  “I’m not going to marry you again in a big public display in order to distract your people from your recent behavior. Our relationship will not be a tool in your arsenal, and what’s more I will not be Queen on your terms. I’m tired of being swept up in the plans and requirements of the men in my life, never being asked what I want. If we’re to do this like colleagues, then we keep to business hours and business topics. If we’re to be more—” she took a breath before meeting his eyes “—then you owe me an apology.”

  He stared at her, left her words hanging between them.

  She frowned as his silence grew, her eyebrows drawing slowly together and the corners of her mouth tilting down just slightly, her always too revealing eyes wounded. He just watched her as she gave up hope and then squared her shoulders.

  She took a breath and said, “I’ve lived my entire life on other people’s terms, Zayn. My father’s, academia’s, yours...” She used a finger to quickly dash away a falling tear. “I’m done with that now. I will be Queen on my terms. You can contact my secretary to coordinate our activities, but I will not put my heart on the line for a farce.”

  And she turned her back on him and started toward the door.

  “Stop.”

  The word wasn’t a command, but a plea.

  She stopped, blowing out a frustrated breath, her heart in her throat.

  “You’re right. I apologize, Mina.”

  She turned around, her attention caught.

  “I should never have left you like that. I was scared—of what I feel, of how I lose control when it comes to you.” He laughed, and the sound was self-recriminatory. “It’s not comfortable to know I have it in me to cause a diplomatic incident where you’re concerned.”

  “About that—”

  She opened her mouth, ready to tell him that she had secured the relationship with Farden. It had taken a long video-call, in which she had explained what had happened to the Chancellor and bonded with her over their shared love for the same chocolate bar. The call had ended not only with the establishment of a diplomatic relationship, but also a sincere apology from Farden over Werner’s conduct.

  “It’s not important, Mina. Nothing is more important to me than you. Not Cyrano, not being King—not a thing.”

  Mina’s heart thundered but she kept her eyes shuttered. “What changed?”

  Facing her, he smiled. “The difference between a boy and man is that a man can admit when he’s wrong,” he said. “You have made me a better king at every instance, Mina. My loving you is not only no threat to the nation, it will be its savior.”

  “How do I know you won’t disappear again?”

  He smiled, likely sensing the weakening of her defenses. “You will have to trust me. But to help...no more separate wings. And we’re going to have a real wedding, with both of our mothers in attendance. And this.”

  He dropped to one knee again, pulling out a small black box.

  Opening it to reveal the astounding diamond ring within, he said, “Dr. Amina Elin Aldaba. You alone have shown me what it means to truly love. I can think of no woman better suited to sit at my side as my Queen. Will you marry me?”

  Mina nodded through happy tears and a wide grin stretched across her face, her wild curls bouncing with the movement. He slipped the ring on her finger before coming to his feet. Weaving his fingers through the soft springs to cup the back of her head, he pulled her close, and as their lips met she realized that, although she hadn’t always known their shape, her dreams had finally come true.

  Coming next month

  THE COST OF CLAIMING HIS HEIR

  Michelle Smart

  ‘How was the party?’

  Becky had to untie her tongue to speak. ‘Okay. Everyone looked like they were having fun.’

  ‘But not you?’

  ‘No.’ She sank down onto the wooden step to take the weight off her weary legs and rested her back against a pillar.

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because I’m a day late.’

  She heard him suck an intake of breath. ‘Is that normal for you?’

  ‘No.’ Panic and excitement swelled sharply in equal measure as they did every time she allowed herself to read the signs that were all there. Tender breasts. Fatigue. The ripple of nausea she’d experienced that morning when she’d passed Paula’s husband outside and caught a whiff of his cigarette smoke. Excitement that she could have a child growing inside her. Panic at what this meant.

  Scared she was going to cry, she scrambled back to her feet. ‘Let’s give it another couple of days. If I haven’t come on by then, I’ll take a test.’

  She would have gone inside if Emiliano hadn’t leaned forward and gently taken hold of her wrist. ‘Sit with me.’

  Opening her mouth to tell him she needed sleep, she stared into his eyes and found herself temporarily mute.

  For the first time since they’d conceived—and in her heart she was now certain they had conceived—there was no antipathy in his stare, just a steadfastness that lightened the weight on her shoulders.

  Gingerly, she sat beside h
im but there was no hope of keeping a distance for Emiliano put his beer bottle down and hooked an arm around her waist to draw her to him.

  Much as she wanted to resist, she leaned into him and rested her cheek on his chest. loz!

  ‘Don’t be afraid, bomboncita,’ he murmured into the top of her head. ‘We will get through this together.’

  Nothing more was said for the longest time and for that she was grateful. Closing her eyes, she was able to take comfort from the strength of his heartbeat against her ear and his hands stroking her back and hair so tenderly. There was something so very solid and real about him, an energy always zipping beneath his skin even in moments of stillness.

  He dragged a thumb over her cheek and then rested it under her chin to tilt her face to his. Then, slowly, his face lowered and his lips caught her in a kiss so tender the little of her not already melting to be held in his arms turned to fondue.

  Feeling as if she’d slipped into a dream, Becky’s mouth moved in time with his, a deepening caress that sang to her senses as she inhaled the scent of his breath and the muskiness of his skin. Her fingers tiptoed up his chest, then flattened against his neck. The pulse at the base thumped against the palm of her hand.

  But, even as every crevice in her body thrilled, a part of her brain refused to switch off and it was with huge reluctance that she broke the kiss and gently pulled away from him.

  ‘Not a good idea,’ she said shakily as her body howled in protest.

  Emiliano gave a look of such sensuality her pelvis pulsed. ‘Why?’

  Fearing he would reach for her again, she shifted to the other side of the swing chair and patted the space beside her for the dogs to jump up and act as a barrier between them. They failed to oblige. ‘Aren’t we in a big enough mess?’

  Eyes not leaving her face, he picked up his beer and took a long drink. ‘That depends on how you look at it. To me, the likelihood that you’re pregnant makes things simple. I want you. You want me. Why fight it any more when we’re going to be bound together?’

  Continue reading

  THE COST OF CLAIMING HIS HEIR