He’d hovered over the attachments detailing the history of the four women now under the Crown’s care, spending the longest time on Emmaline’s before he finally closed out of his e-mail without clicking on any of the documents. If she’d been a true threat to his security, Stefan would already have tracked them down—and could have, easily enough, despite Theo’s assertions of the complete privacy of his computer setup. He had a feeling Stefan had overturned every rock in their tiny kingdom at one time or another, and Theo’s home was an easy guess. But, for the moment, his cousin seemed content to let Kristos remain hidden. His father had too, which could only mean one thing:
The castle must be besieged.
Kristos hadn’t had the stomach to watch the news beyond the quick clips of the girls’ information and one breathless reporter asserting that the disappearance of the young American and her friends inside the castle was the harbinger of wedding bells. Everyone was scrambling to find proof of a previous meeting, with the tabloids providing the wildest options, as usual. His parents had issued a warm statement about welcoming the friends of the crown prince into their royal embrace, but saying nothing further. Predictably polite, predictably vague.
And that, in a nutshell, was the life that was waiting for him back in the capital city.
Predictable.
But it wasn’t the life before him tonight.
“Did you see any of the media coverage?” His question seemed to recall Emmaline from wherever it was she was so used to going, her gaze jerking swiftly back to him as the sun set over the far western borders of the country.
“I turned it on long enough to see my passport photo. That was enough for me.” She grimaced. “But before I could get the remote to work, I caught sight of the limo taking Nicki and the others into the castle. I can’t imagine what that must be like for them, especially Nicki. She’s not used to being cooped up anywhere—she’s training for an adventure triathlon, and the only way she agreed to come on this trip with Lauren was if we stayed at places that allowed her full access to running and climbing routes.”
Kristos nodded. No wonder Stefan wasn’t bothering him as much as he could be. He probably had his hands full keeping track of an American who would think nothing of scaling the palace walls. “What of your other friends—Francesca and Lauren. How distraught would this make them?”
“Distraught?” Emmaline’s laugh was short but filled with affection. “Lauren doesn’t do distraught. It’s not in her vocabulary. And Frannie—she’s a psychologist. Even if she wanted to curl up and die inside, she’s trained not to show it.”
“A psychologist?” Kristos wouldn’t have guessed that about the woman. “That must be rewarding work.”
Emmaline hesitated a moment, swirling the wine in her glass. “It can be. She worked for a few years with returning military vets. Her coursework focused on PTSD treatment. But she burned out on that, I think. It’s hard, the way she sinks into her surroundings, almost like a chameleon, until whoever she’s treating thinks she’s part of the landscape. That’s when they talk, she says. When they think only the floors and walls can hear them.”
“And you? What about your studies? How long until you can join an orchestra?”
“First I’d have to audition.” Em took another sip of her wine. “An orchestra a long way off for me.”
“You’re too modest, I suspect.” Kristos watched her closely, trying to pierce her underlying melancholy. “You received a scholarship, did you not? To graduate school?”
“Well, yes. Back when I played all the time I—I wasn’t bad, I suppose.” Her smile was more genuine now as she shook her head. “I received a scholarship to get into undergrad too. But jobs for musicians are really, really rare.” She looked like she might say more, but her gaze returned to the forested vista, her mind shifting and tumbling through thoughts he could only guess at.
“So why the violin? Of all the instruments you could have chosen, why did you pick that?”
Emmaline snorted. “If I’d been smart, I should have held out for the tuba. But I had a mother who knew every fairy tale imaginable, and she was convinced I should play the violin. She had a thing about…” She shook her head, a blush flaring along her cheeks. “It doesn’t matter. Fortunately, I turned out to be okay at the violin, and so it was fairly easy to get a spot in various high school level orchestras—without ever having to go to band camp.” Her expression turned a little wistful. “I have a lot of hours of practice under my belt.”
“Your hands,” he said, nodding. “The fingers are calloused. I’d wondered why.”
“Oh! Yeah.” She didn’t seem surprised that he’d noticed, but simply lifted her left hand, her thumb running over her fingertips. “I don’t think Mom had that in mind when she was channeling her fairy-tale princesses, or the fact that I’d actually have to train my neck muscles to hold the violin. But I seemed to take to it naturally.”
“You still play, of course.”
“Hmm?” She blinked back at him as if he’d startled her once again, her gaze snapping into focus on his. “No. Not really, not anymore. Life has a way of reminding you what’s important.” Emmaline lifted her wineglass again and drained it, returning her gaze to the forest. The sun was beginning to dip down over the horizon, lending an almost ethereal air to the evening. “I have to thank you, though. You couldn’t have picked a more beautiful place to help me forget, for a little while longer, the world I’ve left behind.”
And why did she want to forget it? The odd phrasing of her words caught at Kristos, but no more so than the perfect curve of her cheek as she sat in half profile to him. In her borrowed clothes, she could be any one of Theo’s acquaintances that he’d encountered over the years—women of means, of great beauty, and some with fiery intellect too. He didn’t think he’d ever encountered a musician among them, however, and he thought of Emmaline’s abrupt dismissal of the idea that she still played. How could someone who’d dedicated her entire life to music suddenly turn her back on it? It didn’t make sense. She seemed like a woman out of place, not quite sure where she belonged.
He had a few suggestions of where she might try. In his experience, there were only a few things that could stave off the march of time. They all involved a woman.
And right now, they most definitely involved this woman.
Chapter 8
Em almost didn’t realize that Kristos had stepped up to her, holding out his hand. “The gardens are beautiful in the daytime, but I’ve always enjoyed them more at night. Would you walk with me?”
“At night?” She frowned at him as she stood. “But how can you see?” She drew in a sharp breath as Kristos stopped in front of a panel, punching a few buttons. Instantly, a cascade of fairy lights winked on over the space, leading in a path down to the manicured gardens. “Oh!” she exclaimed. “You’re totally losing your status as marauding prince, you know.”
He laughed. “Not at all. I’ve stolen your privacy from you, which is a very grave offense. The least I can do is burn a little of my friend’s electricity to take you on a walk.”
They stepped together down the long stair and onto the grassy path, and Em knew her shiver had nothing to do with the cool breeze that was now skirting along the carefully trimmed topiary bushes and ruffling the flowers. She was walking through a magical garden with a prince, for heaven’s sake. The only way she wouldn’t be shivering was if she were dead.
“When was the last time you were here?” she asked, pleased that her voice sounded steady. Normal, even.
Kristos considered the question. “Six months ago. I could have—perhaps should have—gone home with my unexpected leave, but I was in no rush to return to the palace. My father and his advisors were pretty clear on me needing to do my royal duty the moment I walked through the doors, so it seemed advisable to avoid the capital city until the last possible minute.”
“Which was this morning?”
“Yesterday morning, actually. After I made it through one
day unscathed, I actually was starting to feel a little hopeful that I still had some time left with my men.” He shook his head. “I should have known something was amiss by the mere fact that Cyril didn’t show up that first day. I wouldn’t put it past him to have created those maneuvers specifically so he could trap me on the beach. I should have seen that coming.”
“So being the crown prince is that awful?”
“Not awful, no.” His smile was rueful. “But it does mean I have to take on the responsibility of running the country instead of merely defending it. From what I’ve seen, running a country involves a lot of pointless meetings and being polite to foreigners while figuring out how to one-up them at the same time. It means a lot of travel, speeches, and dancing, none of which I’m good at.” Kristos’s teeth flashed in the artificial light. “And it means I can’t kiss a pretty girl on a beach without it becoming national news. So I’m not very much a fan so far.”
Em’s brows lifted. She used to be told she was pretty all the time. Still, “college guy pretty” and “prince pretty” had to be on two different scales. And at this point in her life, as weathered as she felt from her day-to-day chores and constant worry, any nod of appreciation was, well, appreciated.
“But now you’ve gotten away from all of that for a little while, it looks like.” She held up a hand at his glance, forestalling his response. He had to understand that she knew the score here. “I know it’s only for a couple of days, until things die down and you go back to your world and I go back to mine.”
Kristos’s words were unexpectedly cautionary. “It might be more than a couple of days.”
“That’s not the point.” She walked ahead a few steps, trailing her fingers along the blossoms that looked lush and velvety under the tiny white lights. “Kristos—I’m walking in a gorgeous garden on a private estate with a man named Kristos. It’s a memory I won’t ever have to give up. If I’ve learned nothing else in the past few years, it’s that you sometimes don’t get to choose how things go in this world. You sometimes get handed something you didn’t plan for, aren’t prepared for, something you really don’t like. So good memories are worth celebrating.”
She felt the urge to cry, suddenly, and she stamped down that feeling as ruthlessly as she pushed away her nerves, her tension—even her sense of propriety. She was alone with a prince, and he’d already kissed her! If she didn’t at least manage a serious make-out session with the man while she was here, then she had only herself to blame.
She forced herself to look at Kristos. He hadn’t followed her down the pathway but was now staring at her, apparently shocked by her words. Well, she probably deserved that. She struggled to try to explain. “Because sometimes, like right now, you get handed something you never could have expected, something you didn’t plan for either, aren’t really prepared for—but that you do really like. And those times, it makes sense to make the most of the opportunity, you know? To take it and live it to the fullest, because God knows when you’ll get the chance to live it like this again.”
“Emmaline.” Kristos’s words were fierce, and she took an involuntary step backward as he strode the few steps to reach her and just that quickly, pulled her into his arms. He smelled of warm sunshine despite the darkness drawing down, and when he bent to kiss her, she lifted herself up as well. The moment their lips touched, Kristos tightened his hold. His strength seemed to lock in place, and her own desperate need leaped higher as well, her heart beginning to race, a shiver rolling down her spine.
He broke away from her, but only to begin the slow trail of kisses up her jawline until he reached her ear. He took the soft lobe into his mouth, and she willed herself to stand perfectly still, though her knees wanted to buckle and her fingers yearned to twist into his shirt, to pull him to her and give herself over to him completely.
Down girl, she implored herself. For all her talk of wanting to live life to the fullest, she didn’t want to be some kind of crazed American who threw herself at his—
At that moment, Kristos breathed a soft, warm whisper of breath against her ear, murmuring something in Greek or Garronois or whatever, who cares, and Em swayed against him, unable to keep herself upright without his help. His chuckle reverberated through her.
“As tempting as it would be to continue this here, I am almost certain Theo has cameras throughout the grounds,” he whispered, this time in English. “No, no.” He pulled away, shaking his head as she stiffened. “Once again, you have done nothing wrong. But I couldn’t keep looking at you and hearing your words without touching you.” His gaze was an invitation, warm and sure. “I don’t think I will tire of touching you for a very long time.”
He turned, and instead of taking her hand in his, he brought his hand to her shoulder, pulling her close to him, so their bodies pressed against each other. And as they strolled back toward the chateau, Kristos’s hand slid down the thin material of her dress until his palm rested against the small of her back, the act so unconsciously possessive that once again Em felt out of her element. Her brain scrambled to make some sense of what was happening. Were they—there was no way they weren’t going to have sex, right? She wasn’t reading all these signs wrong? It’d been way too long, granted, but surely she wasn’t screwing this up? Because that really would be a tragedy.
Kristos paused at the garden entrance long enough to turn out the fairy lights, and the gloom that plunged around them seemed to urge them toward the beautiful white chateau. It gleamed from a sweep of security lights that winked on and off as they passed, and then they were at the wide veranda. Dimly, through her haze of desire, Em noticed that the table had been cleared away. Her gaze only swung forward, though, when Kristos went stock-still, his entire body at attention. She blinked and realized he was staring at a man who stood half-hidden in the shadows, watching them. A man she recognized.
Kristos’s next words were once again in his native tongue, but there was no mistaking the sharp, guttural slap of his curse.
“Who is dead?” Kristos demanded, scowling at Dimitri Korba. “Because someone had better be dead for you to be here.”
“You didn’t check in, and you have no security detail in this place.” His bodyguard’s goofy grin had turned warm for the benefit of Emmaline as he switched to English. “I didn’t mean to startle you,” he said. “I have been sent to ensure your safety.”
“Safety! Has there been any trouble at the castle?” Emmaline went still beside Kristos, all her heat seeming to roll off her like a discarded coat. Dammit. He was used to women responding to him with eagerness, with excitement and anticipation. And some could even handle the moment where they saw what his military life had done to him, their image of a perfect prince altered forever. But with Emmaline, it was different. She’d held on to him not with the need of a desperate woman or even a simply aroused female willing and ready to share his bed. No. Her need had been more fundamental, more basic, and it called to him on a level that seemed as crucial as life itself.
He’d sensed her skittishness too, her desire to push things further, but also her uncertainty about what she could do or say that wouldn’t be inappropriate. He had no problem putting her at ease on that score as well. In fact, there was no end to the things he was happy to show her—but now, over two hundred pounds of muscle and attitude stood in his way, and he suspected that everything about his plans for the evening had suddenly become a lot more difficult.
“No trouble, I have been assured.” Dimitri’s gaze took in both of them. “I have not been on-site since your friends were safely delivered, and the attention at the castle seems contained for the moment—though, admittedly, the prospect of a wedding announcement has turned things up a notch or six. They have begun external patrols of the walls and surrounding villas, to root out the paparazzi looking for a shot inside. The women have been asked to remain indoors for the time being, but they are in danger of nothing more than an errant photograph at this point. Cyril is keeping watch, and every member of the GN
SF in the city has been pressed into guard duty, though more for show than with any expectation of a need for force. After all.” He waggled his brows. “We have a prince and his bride-to-be to protect. If we didn’t put up a good front, people would begin to suspect all was not as it seemed at the castle.”
“Uh-huh. And how did you escape?”
Dimitri’s expression turned even more gleeful. “By not being there when the limo arrived. Stefan radioed me that you’d gone rogue, and there were only so many chateaux you would be likely to choose, given where you had the fruit truck dump you off. Neatly played, that. There’s been no indication that you were seen.”
Kristos nodded. “And the driver of the truck?”
“Shot.”
As he’d intended, Em gasped and drew back sharply, allowing Dimitri to wave his hands at her. “Kidding, kidding,” he said, his laughter echoing around the veranda. “He was well paid to keep quiet, and since he is the only one who knew where he dropped you, if that information were to reach the press, there would be little doubt as to how it got there. He knows that as well, so he has additional incentive to keep his mouth shut.”
“And now what?” Kristos motioned them all forward, his arm still anchoring Emmaline to him as they entered a large sitting room, its windows opened to allow the soft breezes to filter in through the curtains. A fire had been laid in the hearth of the central fireplace, which took the chill off the breeze, and soft lights beckoned. “You can’t imagine I’m in any danger up here.”
Dimitri looked around, then strode to the center of the room, where more wine was laid out along with the thick, sugary pastries of Garronia. The bodyguard helped himself to a large glass of wine, then offered the bottle to Kristos before returning it to the table. “For myself? No, I do not think there’s any danger here,” he said, continuing to speak in English. “For the king and Cyril, I will be more cautionary in my reports. Otherwise they’d probably drag me back there to terrify the photographers.”
Courted: Gowns & Crowns, Book 1 Page 9
