One Night with the Forbidden Princess

by Amanda Cinelli

  She held her chin high as she delivered the blow, but Roman saw the telltale convulsive movement in her throat as she took a breath. He leaned casually against a nearby column, raising a single brow in challenge.

  Far from bowing under his scrutiny, she held his gaze evenly. ‘I assume you are here to make your apology?’

  Roman fought the urge to laugh. ‘I’m no stranger to handcuffs, Princess.’ He smiled darkly. ‘It would take more than five hours in a cushy palace detainment room to force me to my knees.’

  Her gaze lowered a fraction and Roman gave in to his mirth, a darkly amused smile spreading across his lips.

  ‘I don’t want you to be on your...’ She shook her head, exhaling hard. She crossed her arms below her chest—a gesture likely meant in defence, but all it served to do was draw his attention to the resulting swell at the neckline of her delicate yellow dress.

  ‘Well, you are free to go,’ she said, sarcasm dripping from her tone as she gestured towards the door to the main palace.

  For the first time in his life Roman was at a complete loss as to what to say. How he had not recognised that she was a royal instantly, he did not know. The woman before him seemed to exude class and sophistication in every inch of her posture. She eyed him with suspicion, her brows lowering in a mixture of challenge and defence.

  He should have left the moment he had been freed, and yet he had sought her out. He had told himself he needed to apologise, but right now, remembering the honest arousal in her eyes as he’d been pressed close to her... He wasn’t feeling quite so apologetic.

  He stood taller, hardening his voice. ‘In case you are planning another escape, the tunnel has been blocked. It is no longer passable.’

  ‘You certainly work fast,’ she said quietly, leaning back against the lip of the fountain. ‘I assume the Sheikh asked you to make sure my cage was good and tight?’

  ‘Your...cage?’

  She was oblivious to his confusion. ‘Of course it matters to no one that I am an adult with free will. By all means let him have the run of the palace. There will be bars installed on my bedroom windows next.’

  Roman raked a hand across the shadow beginning to grow along his jaw. He allowed her to a rant a moment, before clearing his throat pointedly. ‘You seem upset.’

  ‘“Upset” does not even begin to cover it. Everything about today has been unbearable.’

  Something about the faraway look in her eyes bothered him. It was as though she were on the edge of a complete meltdown, and he worried that it was his mistake that had brought her there. Perhaps there was a need for his apology after all—much as it pained him to admit it.

  ‘Princess, I need you to understand that I am not in the habit of holding a woman against her will,’ he said solemnly. ‘Earlier...when I searched you...’

  She looked back at him, her lashes half lowered with something dark and unspoken. ‘Will you be telling your fearsome Sheikh about that, I wonder?’

  ‘The Sheikh is not the villain you seem to think he is,’ Roman said quietly, inwardly grimacing at the thought of telling his best friend how he had manhandled his future wife. ‘I have never known someone as loyal and dedicated.’

  ‘Perhaps the two of you should get married, then,’ she said snidely.

  ‘I did not expect an actual princess to be quite so...cutting.’ He pressed a hand to his chest in mock injury. ‘Is it any wonder I mistook you for a common thief?’

  That earned him the hint of a smile from her lips. The movement lit up her eyes ever so slightly and he felt a little triumphant that he had caused it.

  Roman smirked, turning to lean against the fountain, taking care to leave a good foot and a half of space between them. It had been a long time since he had been this conscious of a woman’s presence.

  ‘You seem like quite the man of mystery, Mr Lazarov,’ she said, turning to look at him briefly. ‘Best friends with a sheikh...founder of an international security firm.’

  ‘You’ve been researching me?’

  ‘I only found out your name twenty minutes ago,’ she said honestly. ‘Does the Sheikh always fly you in for such favours?’

  ‘No, he does not.’ Roman felt the corner of his mouth tilt at her mocking. It had been a long time since a woman had been so obviously unimpressed by him. ‘I have my own means of transportation for such occasions.’

  ‘Let me guess—something small and powerful with tinted windows?’

  ‘It is black.’ His lips twisted with amusement at her jibe. ‘But my yacht is hardly small. No tinted windows—I much prefer the light.’

  Her gaze wandered, the smile fading from her lips as she looked away from him. ‘A playboy’s yacht...of course.’

  ‘These things have not magically fallen into my lap, I assure you. I have worked hard for the lifestyle I enjoy.’

  ‘Oh, I didn’t mean...’ She turned her face back towards him quickly. ‘I envy you, that’s all.’

  He raised a brow, wondering not for the first time what on earth was going on inside her head. ‘There is an entire fleet of vessels moored in the harbour with the royal crest on their hulls. You’re telling me you couldn’t just choose one at will?’

  ‘I spent years learning how to sail at school. But I have yet to go on a single trip by myself,’ she said, looking up and meeting his eyes for a long moment. ‘It’s strange...’ she began, before shaking her head and turning her face away. ‘I’ve spoken more frankly with you today—a complete stranger—than I have with anyone in a long time.’

  Roman did not know how to respond to that statement. He swallowed hard, looking ahead to where a group of housemaids walked and chatted their way across the second-floor balconies. When he finally looked back the Princess had moved from beside him.

  He stood up, looking around him for a sign of where she had gone, only to see a glimpse of pale yellow silk disappearing through the archway that led to the royal apartments.

  He took a step forward, then caught himself.

  She was where she belonged—surrounded by guards and staff.

  It was time for him to get back to his own life.

  * * *

  The afternoon sun was hot on his neck when Roman finally walked out onto the deck of his yacht the next day. In his line of work he was no stranger to going to sleep as the sun rose, but his restless night had little to do with work. Being handcuffed in a room by himself had given him far too much time with his own thoughts. A dangerous pastime for a man with a past like his.

  Nursing a strong black coffee, he slid on dark sunglasses and sank down into a hammock chair. They would set sail for the isla soon enough, and he would be glad to see the back of this kingdom and all its upper-class pomp.

  He surveyed the busy harbour of Puerto Reina, Monteverre’s main port. Tourists and locals peppered the busy marble promenade that fronted the harbour—the Queen’s Balcony, he had been told it was called. A glittering golden crown insignia was emblazoned over every sign in the town, as though the people might somehow otherwise forget that it was the crown that held the power.

  Never had he met a man more blinded by his own power than His Majesty, King Fabian. Khal had insisted on them meeting two nights previously, so that the three men could discuss the situation of the Princess’s security—Khal was notoriously meticulous when it came to bodyguards and security measures.

  It had been clear from the outset that Roman would be treated like the commoner he was, so he had made the choice to leave, rather than sit and be spoken down to. His tolerance levels only stretched so far. It seemed His Majesty still harboured some ill will, as made apparent by the gap of five hours between the time he had been informed of the incident at the palace and the time at which he’d authorised Roman’s release.

  Roman’s fists clenched by his sides. He was no stranger to dealing with self-important asses—he’d made a care
er of protecting arrogant fools with more money than sense. But it was hard to stay professionally disengaged when one of the asses in question was your best friend. Khal had never treated him as ‘lesser’—he knew better. But he had not so much as made a phone call to apologise for his oversight.

  His friend knew, more than anyone, what time locked in a room could do to him.

  Roman tilted his head up to the sun and closed his eyes. He was not in a locked room right now. He was on his own very expensive yacht, which would be out in open water just as soon as it was refuelled. He exhaled slowly, visualising the clear blue waters of Isla Arista, his own private haven.

  Moments passed before his visualisation was interrupted by a loud car horn. He opened one eye and sighed as he saw a sleek black limousine edging its way through the crowds on the main street, flanked by four Monteverrian policemen on Vespas.

  The Sheikh of Zayyar did not simply take a taxi, he supposed dryly as he reached forward to drain the last of his coffee and then tilted his head back to the sunshine. When he finally looked up again Khal was standing a foot away, his face a mask of cool fury.

  ‘It was nice of you to finally come to my rescue, bratik.’ Roman raised a brow from his perch on the deckchair, but made no move to stand and greet his oldest friend.

  Khal’s mouth twisted. ‘I was under the impression that the untouchable Roman Lazarov never needed help.’

  ‘And I was under the impression that our friendship came before brown-nosing the King of Monteverre.’ Roman spoke quietly, venom in every word.

  Right now, looking at Khal in his perfectly pressed white royal robes, a good old-fashioned punching match didn’t sound like the worst way to start his day. Back on the streets of St Petersburg it was the way most fights were resolved. Fighting had sometimes been the only way not to starve.

  Roman scowled, realising the hunger in his gut was doing nothing to help his already agitated mood and the dark memories of his past threatening his control.

  ‘I was not aware that you had been held in custody until this morning.’

  Khal interrupted his thoughts, frowning with genuine concern.

  Roman tipped his head back, propping one foot lazily up on the low table in front of him. People generally afforded the almighty Sheikh of Zayyar a certain level of ceremony and pomp. But not him. He usually went out of his way to take Khal down a peg whenever they were alone.

  ‘Oh, just five hours in a windowless room with my hands cuffed behind my back—no big deal.’

  ‘I find it hard to sympathise, considering you’d held my future wife hostage like a common criminal,’ Khal said simply.

  ‘An interesting choice of words, Your Highness,’ Roman snarled, derision in every syllable.

  A silence fell between them—not the comfortable kind that came from years of close friendship. This was a silence filled with tension and frustration.

  A friendship like theirs had no clear rules, different as they were.

  Khal came from a long line of royalty—had been educated and privileged and born with power in his blood. Whereas Roman had fought for everything he owned, clawing his way out of the gutter he had been abandoned in as a child. Over the years he had refined his harsh manners and learned how to act like a gentleman, but underneath he would always bear the marks of his past. The darkness had branded him—quite literally—and that was something his friend had no experience of.

  Khal cleared his throat loudly. ‘You know, in ten years I don’t think you’ve changed one bit.’

  Roman ignored the barely veiled insult, shrugging as he put one leg casually across the table. ‘I have a lot more money.’

  ‘And an even bigger ego.’ Khal frowned.

  ‘Need I remind you that I came here as a favour? I did not have to dirty my hands for you, Khal. No matter what debts I may owe you.’

  ‘Is that the only reason you came? And here I was thinking you cared for my happiness.’ Khal’s mouth tightened. ‘Four years is a long time to hold on to your guilt, Lazarov.’

  Roman shook his head, standing to pace to the railing that edged the upper deck. He had enough painful memories affecting his concentration today—he didn’t need more reminders of the long line of blackness he left in his wake.

  ‘I came here because you needed help, bratik. Nothing more.’

  For the first time Khal looked weary as he rubbed a hand across his clean-shaven face. He sat down in the deckchair Roman had vacated and stared up at the clear sky above them.

  ‘This whole situation is rapidly getting away from me. My trip was supposed to be simple and straightforward, tying everything up. And now I stand to lose everything I have staked.’

  Roman frowned at his friend’s unusual display of weakness. ‘It will be fine. I will apologise to the Princess and smooth things over for you.’

  Khal looked at him, realisation dawning on his dark features. ‘You don’t know? The Princess has disappeared, Roman. Half the Palace Guard is out searching for her.’

  Roman froze with surprise. ‘Disappeared? I just spoke with her last night.’

  ‘You spoke with her?’ Khal’s voice raised an octave. ‘What on earth would possess you to speak with her after what you’d put her through?’

  ‘She had me put through far worse, trust me.’

  ‘So this is even more your fault than I had originally thought?’

  ‘Khal, I had the tunnel blocked, extra guards assigned. How on earth could she have just walked out of there?’

  Khal shook his head. ‘Clearly she wanted to get away badly enough to risk her own safety. What did you say to her?’

  ‘We barely spoke two words. Mainly she insulted me and then she walked away.’

  Both men were silent for a long moment, facing off in the midday heat.

  ‘The girl is reckless,’ Roman said darkly. ‘Are you sure that you want to marry someone so...unpredictable?’

  ‘My kingdom needs it. So it will be done.’ Khal smoothed down the front of his robes. ‘I have been heavy-handed with my approach so far. I worry that perhaps I have scared her off completely.’

  ‘How so?’

  ‘I ordered a stricter security regime. I needed to make sure she was protected adequately before her name was linked with mine. In case...’

  Roman saw the haunted look in his friend’s eyes and immediately stopped. How had he not realised before now?

  He moved towards him, placing a hand heavily on his shoulder. ‘Khal... I understand why you felt the need to ensure her security...believe me. But there is such a thing as smothering with safety.’

  ‘We both know the risks for any woman who is by my side,’ Khal said, standing to his feet.

  The moment of weakness had passed and he was once again the formidable and controlled Sheikh of Zayyar. But Roman could still sense the heaviness in the air, the unspoken worries that he knew plagued his friend and had likely tortured him for the past four years.

  Nothing would bring back his friend’s wife. Her sudden death had shifted something in the easy friendship that had once bonded them together, and nothing would erase the pain of knowing that he hadn’t been there in Khal’s time of need.

  Roman cleared his throat. ‘I will go and find the Princess,’ he said gruffly.

  ‘No. Definitely not.’ Khal turned back to him, crossing his arms. ‘Your presence would only aggravate the situation further.’

  ‘If it was my actions that caused her to rethink the engagement, then let me be the one to apologise and bring her back.’ Roman pushed his hands into the pockets of his trousers, feeling the weight of his own error settle somewhere in his gut. ‘This is my fault.’

  ‘Yes. It is.’ Khal raised one brow. ‘And I hate not knowing if I can trust you to fix it.’

  Roman’s jaw clenched. Khal was like a brother to him—his bratik. The closest thing
to a family member he had ever chosen for himself.

  ‘You have trusted me with your life in the past. Are you telling me you don’t think I’m capable of retrieving one errant little princess?’

  ‘This is important to me, Roman.’

  ‘I will bring her back. You have my word,’ Roman said, meaning every syllable.

  He would find the little siren and bring her back to her royal duty if it was the last thing he did.

  * * *

  This had been a terrible plan.

  Olivia slumped down in her seat, tucking an errant strand of bright red hair back into her dark, wide floppy-brimmed hat. Because of the dark sunglasses she wore, and the rather plain white shift dress, thankfully so far nobody had looked at her twice.

  Olivia sighed. Had she really been so naïve as to think that she could just check in to the next commercial flight without question? The realisation of what she had almost done suddenly paralysed her with fear. She had almost broken the law, for goodness’ sake.

  She was hyper aware of her surroundings, noticing every little movement of the people in the departures hall. Every time one of the airport security guards looked at her she unconsciously held her breath, waiting for the moment when they would realise who she was and unceremoniously haul her back to the palace. And to her father.

  She didn’t even know exactly what she was trying to achieve here. Honestly, had she really been so immature as to think that her father would take her more seriously just because she had attempted to run away from her engagement? In reality this little stunt had done nothing but ensure that she would have even less freedom than before.

  She closed her eyes, leaning her head back against the seat and wishing that she had never come up with this stupid plan. She felt the air shift to her right, a gentle breeze bringing with it an eerily familiar scent of sandalwood and pine.

  ‘A risky choice, hiding in plain sight,’ a deeply accented male voice drawled from beside her, bringing memories of strong, muscular arms and eyes like gunmetal.

  Roman Lazarov lowered himself casually into the seat beside her and lazily propped one ankle on the opposite knee.