To Steal a Prince

by Cora Caraway

  “Here we are.”

  We stand before a blue door. Damon guides me in.

  It’s like a tiny slice of paradise. One wall is painted with a mural of exotic birds. The other is open to the air, an archway leading to a low terrace. Most beautiful of all is a four-poster bed, silken curtains waving in the light breeze.

  Setting my bag down, I fall on the bed with a sigh. It’s so soft that I sink into it.

  Damon smiles indulgently, clasping his hands behind his back. “Are the accommodations adequate?”

  “They’ll do.” Rolling over, I snag one of the pillows. Not caring how improper it is, I slip it under my head. It feels like heaven.

  “Doctor Varna will be here to check on you soon.”

  “I told you, I don’t need a doctor.”

  “Humor me.” It’s not a question. “You should have everything you need here. I’ll be back later.”

  I sit up, feeling nauseous as blood rushes to my head. “You’re not staying?” I barely know him, but I don’t want to be all alone in this strange place.

  “You need some time to relax.” Damon reaches toward me. My heart races, anticipating his touch.

  There’s a rap on the door.

  He drops his hand to his side. “That’s the doctor now.” Damon crosses the room to let him in. My heart still pounds. Why do I feel so thwarted?

  The man bows slightly to the prince. His hair is turning gray at his temples, and a stethoscope hangs around his neck.

  “That’s your patient over there,” Damon says. “She flipped a car three times. I don’t want her to leave until you’ve determined that she’s healthy.”

  “Of course, Highness.” The doctor bows again.

  Damon leaves abruptly, without even a wave or a backward glance. Just as well. Hopefully he’ll forget me quickly.

  The doctor sets his bag on a table. “Flipped a car, huh? That’s one way to get a man’s attention.” He chuckles. “Of course, with Damon, the trick isn’t getting his attention, but keeping it. No, don’t get up.” He pulls a chair up to the bed. “If you haven’t heard, I’m Doctor Varna. I’ve taken care of two generations of Lions. I’m not sure I could survive a third.”

  He pats the edge of the bed, motioning me to sit in front of him. I decide that I like this doctor. It helps that we’re not in some sterile hospital room.

  My legs dangle off the bed as he puts on his stethoscope.

  “Do you mind?”

  I shake my head, and he places the stethoscope against my chest. The metal is cold even through my blouse. I try to breathe slowly. Damon has messed up my heartbeat, and I don’t want Varna to think I’m going into cardiac arrest.

  “Inhale. Exhale. Good. Your lungs are fine. Let’s see your eyes.” He shines a light in them. “Pupils aren’t too dilated. Everything seems normal. Does your head hurt at all? Any aches in your neck or back?”

  “No. I feel fine, except for my lip.”

  He wraps his stethoscope around his neck. “You’re a very lucky girl. I want you to rest here for at least a week. I’m sure you’re still coursing with adrenaline, and that might be masking any pain.” Varna hands me a bottle of pills. “Take two of these if you start to hurt. Even though you feel fine now, soreness could set in later.”

  He stands, grabbing his bag. “I’ll check back with you tomorrow afternoon. Please let me know if anything starts hurting. It’s been so long since I’ve had a chance to use my X-ray machine.”

  Varna bows, probably out of habit, closing the door behind him before I can say thank you. Maybe people aren’t used to being thanked around here.

  Flopping back on the bed, I stare at the silken hangings. Great. I’m going to have to stay here longer. I shove my face in the pillow. Why did I think Damon would stay with me? I can be so stupid at times. He probably had a busy day planned before I burst into his life.

  Someone turns the knob. I jump to my feet, heart singing. He’s come back!

  A girl in gray clothes enters. She stops short, looking surprised to see me.

  “Sorry,” I say, “this is my room.”

  “Of course, your ladyship.” She bows, and I see that her arms are loaded with cleaning supplies.

  “Oh. I didn’t realize.”

  The girl just bows again, turning to leave.

  “I’m sorry. Don’t go.”

  She straightens, as if she’s had enough. “I know a dismissal when I hear one. You may be a guest of the prince, but don’t let it go to your head. You aren’t the first girl to stay here, and you certainly won’t be the last.”

  The door snaps shut before I can come up with any more apologies. Miserably, I settle into the bed. It’s so soft that it’s hard to get comfortable. Closing my eyes, I try to sleep. I wonder how much more unpleasantness I’ll have to endure before I can leave.

  3

  Light streams into the room, making shadows dance over my eyelids. Stretching, I roll over. It still looks like the morning sun. I’ve slept either a few minutes or a whole day. My stomach rumbles, suggesting the latter.

  Spurred by embarrassment, I get out of bed. Cool tiles greet my feet. Padding to the bathroom, I try to assess my soreness. I’m a little stiff, but otherwise okay. Still, I can’t believe I slept the day away. Damon said he was going to come back, didn’t he? I probably missed him. No telling when I’ll see him again.

  The bathroom has a wide mirror edged with gold. Leaning against the vanity, I inspect my lip. It would take a lot of makeup to cover up that gash. Maybe I’m being too hard on myself. It probably doesn’t look that bad at 500 yards.

  I press my finger against my lip. Blood pulses underneath. A dull throb builds until I remove my finger. I sigh. I can try to ignore it, but my lip won’t help me make any good impressions. What I need to do is make up an intriguing story. Skydiving accident. Bear fight. Not that the real story isn’t exciting enough, but I don’t want to give anyone a reason to send me to jail.

  I splash water over my face, careful to avoid my lip. My hair is a mess from sleeping too long, and there’s still some white powder in it from the airbag. Really, it makes quite a statement when combined with my lip. I run my fingers through it, hoping that I can find a hairbrush soon.

  Idly, I open one of the drawers. To my delight, I find a new hairbrush, a pristine toothbrush, and a tube of toothpaste. I get ready, relieved that I don’t have to go hunting or begging for simple necessities. I should have brought my own, but in my haste, I forgot to pack my toiletries. To be fair, it’s not every day that a prince invites you over to his place.

  Once I’m finished, I shed my clothes. I can’t resist the urge to try out the shower. I halt before the smooth black walls. There’s no faucet, or any way to turn it on. Is this some kind of practical joke? I step in to look more closely. As soon as I do, water rains from the ceiling. Tilting my head, I let the drops wash over me. If not for the bottles of shampoo and three bars of soap stamped with the Lion family crest, I could pretend I’m in the rainforest.

  I’m loath to leave the shower, especially when I realize that the floor is slowly heating, but I have to if I want to find Damon. A fluffy towel is waiting for me when I get out. The water stops automatically. Wrapping the towel around my hair, I go back into my room. Digging through my bag, I find some clothes that aren’t too wrinkled. I scowl. They aren’t really clothes fit for walking around a palace.

  There’s a wardrobe in the corner. I wonder if it holds anything suitable. Yanking open the doors, I peer inside.

  It’s absolutely packed with clothes. Tank tops, light dresses, slacks, shorts, skirts. I take some off their hangers. They fit perfectly. A hanger slips from my finger. Bending to retrieve it, I notice that rows of shoes line the bottom of the closet. I’m more interested in new lock picking technology than shoe brands, but these impress even me. Jimmy Choos, Manolos, Louboutins. I can hardly contain my excitement. If Damon stocked this room, he’s a certifiable genius.

  I’m about to slip on a gorgeou
s pair of Louis Vuittons when I freeze. I can’t help but remember what that girl in gray had said. Everything is almost too perfect. Just how many women has Damon entertained here? Frowning, I put the shoes back. I’ll make do with my pair of sandals.

  As I pull them from my bag, I feel for the crown in the hidden pocket. My fingers trace its shape through the fabric, and I breathe deeply. It’s still safe.

  I need a look. Just one little look. Carefully, I unzip my bag. I don’t even have to take out the crown for the middle stone to glisten. It’s a brilliant green. I stare into it, enchanted.

  Abruptly, I zip my bag. I can’t risk the crown being seen. Not here. Throwing on a white tank and yellow shorts, I head back to the bathroom to blow dry my hair. I’m too impatient to do a good job, and it ends up looking like a lion’s mane. Well, it’s not like I’m trying to impress anyone. I puff away errant strands that try to settle on my face.

  Back in the main room, I collect my bag. I feel good enough that there’s no need to keep my appointment with Dr. Varna. I’m sure he has better things to do, and I want to get out of here as soon as possible. Swiftly, I tuck in my bed sheets, smoothing out the wrinkles. Maybe that will make the girl in gray hate me a little less, but I doubt it.

  Time to leave. Just as my hand touches the knob, I see a tray of food on a low table. Someone’s been in here.

  I try to relax. It’s unlikely that a servant’s been rifling through my things. That’s probably a good way to get fired. My stomach rumbles. The tray is covered with colorful fruits, along with a pastry shaped like a star. I don’t think I’m capable of passing it up.

  I’ll stay a few minutes. Just long enough to eat it. Picking up the tray, I carry it out to the terrace. I nearly drop it when I find Damon lounging in the sunshine.

  “Ah. You’re up.”

  “What are you doing here?”

  “Good morning to you too.” Rising, he takes the tray from me. He sits back down, setting it beside him.

  “I thought that was for me.” My voice isn’t quite as steady as I would like. Then again, I wasn’t expecting to have to defend myself against a prince’s charms so early in the morning.

  “It is. As long as you sit next to me.”

  Eyeing him warily, I sink into one of the turquoise cushions.

  He laughs. “Is that really such a high price to pay?”

  I take a grape from the tray. Does he know what I have in my bag? Is he trying to get me to confess over a nice breakfast? It’s going to take more than a pastry to make me talk.

  Damon leans back. “How was your night?”

  “You mean whole day?”

  “That too.” Damon stretches, putting his hands behind his head. His biceps strain his shirt as he curls his arms. He doesn’t seem to be showing off, just reveling in the feeling.

  What was he asking, again? His arms are very distracting. Oh right, about my day.

  “It was great,” I say. “I had everything I needed, just like you promised. You must entertain a lot.” I pick a dark red strawberry from the pile, trying to keep my expression neutral.

  “You have to, as a prince.” He studies me. It looks like he’s trying not to grin. “If you don’t entertain a lot of women publicly, people will start to wonder if you’re entertaining men privately.”

  “Oh? Is that such a terrible thing?”

  He steals a piece of pineapple from my tray. “It does decrease the number of interested women.”

  “Fair enough.” Strangely, I feel a pang of jealousy. But what’s to be jealous about? I didn’t care about the prince’s love life yesterday. Why should I care now that I know him? It’s not like I have a chance, anyway.

  “Eat.” He pushes the tray toward me. “You didn’t have anything yesterday.”

  “I almost had a muffin.”

  He laughs again, making my heart leap. I love that I can make him laugh.

  Biting into another strawberry, I fold my hands in my lap so I can pinch myself. I have to stop mooning over this poor man. He is my mark, after all. I can’t fall in love with him, or even like him. What kind of person would I be if I stole from a friend?

  I’m glad the tray separates us. The farther I am from him, the less susceptible I am to his green eyes.

  I pinch myself again. I need to stop this. I’ve already stolen from him, I just need to finish the job. I’ll keep our conversation light, finish this tray of food, and be on my way. Besides, he’s filthy rich. It’s not like one little crown will break the bank. He can buy twelve more, then comfort himself with his remaining piles of money.

  “This is a delicious breakfast,” I tell him. “How did you guess my one weakness?”

  “Oh, just one? And what’s that?”

  “Grapes. And strawberries.” I’ve saved the star for last, and I can’t wait any longer. I take a bite. It’s so soft, and still warm. “Mmm, and pastries.”

  “I’ll remember that.” Damon doesn’t sound like he’s joking.

  Damn. Why does he have to make this so hard? I shake my head slightly. He was raised to be polite. I’m sure he’s like this with everyone. I’m nothing special, especially not to him.

  I finish the pastry, licking icing off my fingers. “I’m going to wash up.”

  Damon rises when I do, making me blush. Luckily, he doesn’t notice because his phone rings.

  “Perfect timing.” He fishes it from his pocket. “This should only take a minute.”

  Slipping into the bathroom, I check to see if I’m still blushing. Not too much. Hopefully I’ll be fine by the time I return to the terrace. I run my hands under cold water, trying to formulate a reason why I need to go. If Gabe had only kept his mouth shut, I could tell Damon that I’m needed at work. I dry my hands, but I can’t come up with a better excuse. What’s wrong with me? I’m usually great at talking my way out of trouble.

  I come back to find Damon still on the phone. Good. It’ll buy me a few more moments of brainstorming.

  “Oh no. Really?” His tone is troubled. What would trouble a prince?

  “Yes, I’ll be right there. Thanks. Bye.” He hangs up, his eyes haunted.

  “What is it?” I am concerned, but maybe now I won’t have to think up an excuse. Damon has to leave for something too.

  “That was the City Museum.” He trails off, uncertain whether he should reveal more.

  He doesn’t have to. My throat constricts, and blood rushes to my head. A call from the City Museum can mean only one thing, since I was there yesterday. I’ve been discovered.

  “I’m sorry. I have to go.” He holds a hand to his mouth.

  “That’s okay.” I try to sound casual. “I should probably be going too.”

  He turns abruptly. “Will you come with me?” His eyes are red. Is he about to cry? Is this really that upsetting?

  I stand before him, speechless. The Museum is really the last place on earth I want to visit at this moment, but I can’t stand seeing him in such pain.

  “All right. I’ll go with you.” The words fly from my mouth before I can stop them. I wince. What the hell am I doing?

  Damon puts on his sunglasses. “There’s a car waiting for us.” Taking my hand, he leads me from the room. I don’t know if he can sense my hesitation, but he’s not going to give me a chance to change my mind.

  We walk down the long hallway, then out into the sunshine. I realize that I’m still holding my bag. Am I really going to take the crown back to the scene of the crime? Damon opens the door for me. I don’t really have a choice.

  The dividing window is up, so I can’t see the driver. Damon takes his seat, knuckles white. We drive in silence.

  My much-neglected conscience starts nagging me. I stole the crown from the royal family. They were just an abstract concept, people I didn’t want to think about too hard. But Damon is very real, and very upset.

  Quietly, I drum my fingers against my seat. Why am I being so altruistic all of a sudden? Why should I care about some rich guy, anyway? I could
tell him that I need to leave when we’re outside of the museum. Then I would be free. He wouldn’t stop me.

  That’s the problem, isn’t it? He’s too damn nice. I totaled his car, and he made me see his doctor and gave me a place to sleep. I might owe him something for that. And maybe… Maybe this could go somewhere.

  I bite the inside of my cheek as hard as I can stand. Don’t be dumb. This isn’t going anywhere. He’s just a kind person, who must know a thousand women more eligible to date than an unrepentant thief. This is the life I lead. I steal things, and I can’t let emotions enter into the equation.

  We stop outside the museum. The marble columns look ominous. I can’t go in there. Something terrible will happen, I can feel it.

  Damon steps out of the car, walking around to open my door. I haven’t unbuckled my belt. I try to think of what I can say to let him know that I can’t follow.

  He looks down on me, his eyes hidden behind his sunglasses. “Please,” he whispers.

  My defenses crumble. I take his hand.

  We walk up the white steps to the entrance. My bag weighs heavy on my shoulder. Why didn’t I leave it in the car? I can’t go back now. I’m going to have to hope that security isn’t that concerned with things coming in today.

  They don’t even glance at us as we enter. I’m not sure if it’s because Damon’s royalty, or because they’re too busy muttering into their walkie-talkies.

  “Your Highness,” a young security guard flags us down. “This way, please.”

  “Lead the way.” Damon’s voice is hard. I’m a bit taken aback. He can be imposing when he wants to be. I guess I shouldn’t be so surprised. He is royalty.

  The guard swipes a card, then leads us down a sterile hallway. Unlocking a heavy door, he ushers us into a room.

  “The director will be with you shortly.” Bowing, he leaves us.

  We’re alone. The lights are so bright that they hurt. It takes a minute for my eyes to adjust.

  Whipping off his sunglasses, Damon stalks to one of the tables. The false crown is there, on a silver sensor. Its weight is displayed in red LEDs. I feel a flutter of pride. The replica is 317 grams, just like the original. I’m good at what I do. So why does his expression make me want to throw it all away?