The Prince’s Passion
A Fake Engagement Royalty Romance
Peter Styles
J.P. Oliver
Contents
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1. Daniel
2. Daniel
3. Amand
4. Daniel
5. Amand
6. Daniel
7. Daniel
8. Amand
9. Daniel
10. Daniel
11. Daniel
12. Daniel
13. Daniel
14. Amand
15. Daniel
16. Amand
17. Daniel
18. Daniel
19. Daniel
20. Amand
21. Daniel
22. Daniel
23. Daniel
24. Daniel
25. Amand
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1
Daniel
I stepped outside the Regelshof Airport still gawking like a first time traveler. Mountains towered around my friend and me, some peaks still sporting a cap of white. Calonia. I hadn’t been here before, hadn’t figured it was really worth the trouble. It was just a small European kingdom that rarely made news for anything more than its fantastic climate variety. Skiing in the mountains and sunbathing on the coast. However, my grandparents had emigrated from here so there was always a chance I might discover I had distant relatives somewhere in the tiny kingdom.
No matter how many times I had backpacked my way through Europe, I had intentionally missed this country. In the back of my mind had always been the knowledge of my Calonian roots, and maybe a fear of what I might find. Finally, though, the longing to explore them had grown, becoming part of the fascination in having Ricard as a roommate when we were grad students.
Yet, he had never seemed anxious to return home or even talk about Calonia until recently. So after a month of camping and hostels, we had arrived. With Ricard’s family here, I had high hopes of a shower that might be hotter than lukewarm for a change.
“Damn, Ricard, why didn’t you say this place was so freaking gorgeous? And exactly why did we have to wander everywhere else before coming here?” I glanced his way as I asked the question and made a face. My former grad school roomie was a native, but you’d think he was channeling an undercover agent. “What’s with the Yankees cap and the shades, dude? You have some crime family connections I need to know about?”
Ricard’s laugh was a bit too tense for my own peace of mind. “No. Let’s get going. I want a meal and a real bed.”
“Uh…no wheels. Don’t see a bus or a taxi, but there is a pony and cart coming along the road.”
“Funny, Daniel. While I admire your frugal traveler persona, I think we can hitch a better ride than that.”
“Lead the way. It’s your home turf.”
The view from behind Ricard would have been a whole lot better if his backpack didn’t cover most of his ass. I sighed. No matter how much I told myself I was over my crush from our roommate days, every once in a while, those feelings popped up again. Ricard and I were friends. Never any more than that mainly because the blondes Ricard liked to bed had boobs not balls.
If only he had a brother with those same tall, dark, and handsome looks. Maybe someone not quite so into partying.
I sighed again. What were the chances of that?
Ricard spun around and stuck his thumb out.
“What are you doing?”
He laughed. “It’s Calonia. Hitchhiking’s safe here.”
“Whatever.” I turned too, adding my thumb as a car that didn’t look much bigger than our backpacks approached then swerved to the gravel shoulder.
The driver leaned over to grin at us from the open passenger window. “You need ride? I’m going to capital city.”
“Yeah, thanks.”
I guess we must have had American stamped all over us, or maybe it was Ricard’s baseball cap. At any rate, our prospective ride was trying out his English. When Ricard answered him in Calonian, I tried to keep up with the conversation, but my native language skills didn’t go much beyond ‘where’s the bathroom?’ and ‘I’d like a beer, please.’
Ricard began sliding out of his backpack. “He says we can put one pack in the backseat with one of us, and the other in the trunk.”
I looked at the cramped backseat and Ricard’s long legs.
“I’ll ride in the back.”
Ricard grinned. “You are too good to me.”
“I get first dibs on the shower in return.”
It took some maneuvering, but I wedged myself and my pack into the postage-stamp-sized rear passenger compartment. Our driver grinned at both of us, put the car in gear and zoomed back onto the two-lane tarmac. Here in the valley where the airport was located, the road was straight and smooth, but I had the feeling that would change as we hurtled toward the mountains.
I leaned forward. “How far are we from your home, Ricard?”
He frowned at me, his sunglasses and cap still firmly in place. “The capital’s just beyond this first ridge of mountains. It’s not that far.”
I nodded, settling back in my cramped corner and turning my head to watch the scenery flying past. For something not much bigger than a toaster, our little car handled warp speed pretty well.
Blue sky, deep green pine trees and grass as vivid as emeralds, all framed by stark gray granite walls of the Western Carpathians. I could get used to this. Now we were here, I was hoping Ricard might want to stay a while. I had plenty of work to catch up on and really wanted to check out the family tree. As an orphan, family wasn’t exactly plentiful, and being able to say I was Calonian was about as close to having roots as I came.
Feeling as if I was being watched, I glanced in the rearview mirror, but our driver’s eyes were firmly on the road. What I saw, though, made me swivel. Behind us, and catching up fast was what appeared to be a small fleet of limos and SUVs, fluttering Calonian flags attached to the front fenders.
As I opened my mouth to say something, a short blast of a siren was followed by a disembodied order in Calonian to pull over that even I understood.
“What the—”
Ricard’s gaze jerked back over his shoulder. “Shit. Shit. Shit. Here we go.”
“I must pull over,” our driver said, his grin now gone.
How many times I had gone through this in countless countries, usually though, it wasn’t in Europe. I located my passport and glanced out the rear window again. Two tall men dressed in dark suits strode forward from the SUV in front. Sure didn’t look like the average border patrol.
“Ricard, man, what’s going on?”
Fr
ont and rear doors were opened. Before I could grab it, my backpack was in the hands of one of the men, while the other one bowed to Ricard and stepped aside.
“Please come with us to the palace.”
Palace? This couldn’t possibly be the standard arrival spiel for a couple of backpacking tourists. My heart was pounding. Ricard looked resigned.
“Let’s go Daniel. I think you’ll find a bit more leg room in our new ride.”
“Look, guys,” I said to the one now removing Ricard’s pack from the trunk. “I think there must be some misunderstanding. Ricard here is a native. I’m an American with a legal passport.”
I extended it to the guy next to Ricard, but my friend shook his head. “Just relax and enjoy the ride to the palace.”
“Palace?” I asked out loud this time.
As if he did it every day, Ricard waited while the limo door was opened for him before waving me in and sliding in after me. What the hell? While I gazed around me in confusion, doors shut, our escorts in front re-entered the SUV and we were back on the road, passing our driver who stood next to his car with his jaw agape. Kind of how I felt.
The limo driver glanced at Ricard in his rearview mirror. “We should be arriving at the palace in approximately a half hour. Welcome back to Calonia, Your Highness.”
I stared at Ricard. “Your Highness?”
I was beginning to feel like a parrot—and not a very smart one.
Ricard removed the baseball cap and sunglasses, tossing them in disgust on the seat between us. “Allow me to introduce myself, Prince Ricard Juvany, youngest son of the King of Calonia.”
My brain whirled, and I’m sure I must have picked my jaw up off the floor because I finally managed to say, “You didn’t think that was important enough to mention until now?”
* * *
Amand
We have the packages.
As I glanced at the text alert on my phone, I allowed myself a slight smile. At last, the hound captured the fox. Weeks of chasing my younger brother across Europe finally over by catching up with him in Calonia no less. I sent the motorcade as soon as airport security alerted me of Ricard’s arrival, but—as always—thinking nothing of protocol, he and his companion hitched a ride as though they were nothing more than peasants.
I stopped the pacing that had only slightly alleviated my fury and returned to my desk. With a move and a click of my computer mouse, I now viewed the inside of the royal limo. My brows snapped together. A baseball cap. A prince of Calonia with a baseball cap. My fingers ached to wrap themselves around my little brother’s neck.
He had no regard for our family, our traditions. And now he returned home with an American. I studied the golden hair and blue eyes of his companion. The man was gorgeous. Lust and fury warred inside me, twisting my guts. Was this photographer Ricard’s lover? At best he could be only a bad influence; at worst, I battled images of the two of them locked in a passionate embrace.
The door opened. Only two men dared to enter my study without knocking—my father, King Gregor, and my elder brother, the Crown Prince, Constantin.
“Amand,” my brother said, a smile on his face. “Security has informed me they are on the way here with Ricard and his friend. What is his name?”
“Daniel Leifsson, a photographer and travel writer. No wealth, no family. No doubt another of the penniless hangers-on Ricard is so adept at attracting. Take a look for yourself.”
I handed him the dossier I had compiled on Leifsson. The Crown Prince leafed through the file, pausing at the photograph of the American.
“He looks harmless enough. You might not appreciate it, but he is Ricard’s friend. You would do well to relax, Amand. Coming down on Ricard like a blacksmith’s hammer has only served to drive him away.”
I glared. “As princes of Calonia, we have no friends. You know that. I will drive this American away. Ricard needs to take up his responsibilities here. His wildness should not be tolerated.”
“And I tell you if you want a different result than your past attempts to tame our baby brother, then you need a different approach this time around. Why not try to be hospitable? Perhaps this American can help ease the transition for Ricard from his playboy lifestyle so that we might mold him into the brother we need.”
Constantin’s lips pursed in amusement before he continued, “I see no criminal record, no drugs in this dossier. The American travels where the wind wills, writing books and taking pictures to support himself…and he is handsome. Perhaps you should befriend him. You could use a companion who might lighten the dour demeanor with which you now approach life.”
My brother tossed the dossier back on my desk. “Let him stay. It will lower Ricard’s guard.”
I watched him go, my fists clenched inside my trouser pockets. The Crown Prince had spoken, and that carried nearly as much weight as if the King himself had ordered it. But he could not order me to befriend the American. I would never again be as Ricard was. Those days were gone, and they would be for my younger brother as well. The Juvany family had ruled Calonia for centuries with care and dignity. Ricard must be brought to heel. He must learn to work for the welfare of Calonia. It was the duty of anyone who claimed the name Juvany.
2
Daniel
Ricard had gone silent on me, and with a driver listening in, I hardly felt like asking any probing questions—things like why he had never told me he was a freaking prince or that he grew up in a palace. Our caravan rolled through the city with other traffic giving way. On a hill overlooking everything was a palace of yellow stone and red clay tiles. It by no means rivaled Neuschwanstein, but I also hoped it hadn’t been built by a madman either.
Our motorcade turned onto a narrow drive taking us straight toward the imposing palace. Any hope I might have had that palace had been an exaggeration was now gone.
“Ricard!” I hissed at him, but he had his head tilted back and earbuds stuck in. I let my head drop against the cushioned leather seat back and stared out the window. We pulled through an imposing arched portcullis into a cobblestone courtyard, finally halting before heavy wooden double doors.
“We’re here,” Ricard pointed out as though I might not have noticed.
“Right.”
I was a little slower to exit than he was, taking my time to look around me in astonishment. How had I not known this about my former roommate? I mean, I suppose interjecting the fact he grew up in a castle doesn’t come up in everyday conversation, but still it wasn’t as though we just met on the airplane yesterday.
Doors opened as if by magic, and immediately, servants were there to take our backpacks. Ricard gave me an absent smile. “Relax and make yourself at home. I’ll see you later.”
Before I said anything, a uniformed young man bowed in front of me. “If you will follow me sir, I shall show you to your suite.”
His English was flawless, if heavily accented, but it was still light years ahead of my Calonian. Since my backpack was disappearing with him, I had no choice but to follow. Up two flights of stairs, the servant finally opened a door into a large room with a small terrace that overlooked the city. I had never even stayed in hotels fancy enough to have bellmen, and now I was following servants? Life had certainly taken a turn for the weird.
“If you have need of anything, sir, simply use the house phone by the bed. Anyone who answers will be happy to assist you. Will there be anything else right now?”
“Um…no?”
With a small smile, my escort was gone, the door whispering shut behind him because I doubted seriously that anything in this place would dare to squeak. Blowing out a long breath, I ignored my pack to take stock of my surroundings.
This was definitely a step up from the cheap hotels and hostels I was used to. The bed had an actual canopy, with drapes around it that could be pulled shut. I bounced on the mattress. No lumps. When I kicked off my boots, my feet sank into what felt like a foot of carpeting. Did people actually live like this? I laughed. I guess so
. My, how Ricard must have been slumming it in our ancient walk-up apartment with the drafty windows and dripping faucets.
I had no idea where Ricard was, or even if this really was his home. Everyone seemed to assume that I had a clue what was going on. Whatever. I had spent my life having to adapt to new situations. I could handle this one...as long as the place setting for dinner didn’t go beyond about three knives and three forks
First thing on the agenda was a shower and a fresh change of clothes. The marble and gold in the bathroom was a bit daunting, but the hot water was plentiful and actually hot. After a shower and a shave, I felt a whole lot better. Like everything else in life, it was simply a matter of outlook. Maybe I could give myself the grand tour while I tried to find Ricard. Once I did, he owed me some answers.
“May I escort you anywhere, sir?” an older man similarly uniformed to my initial escort asked as I shut the door to my suite.
“Thanks, but I think I’d just like to poke around outside while it is still light. Is it all right to explore the palace grounds?”
“If you use these stairs you came up and exit to the side door in the hall, you will be able to avail yourself of the palace’s public gardens. They are quite lovely at this time of year.”
“Thanks, man.”
The servant’s eyes widened slightly. “Of course, sir. It is no trouble. Enjoy your stay.”
The Prince’s Passion: A Fake Engagement Royalty Romance Page 1
