Once a Princess

by Johanna Lindsey

  "Stefan! Why did you not send word that you had returned?"

  Stefan embraced the older man with a laugh. "I would have, except Sandor's man was waiting in Danzig and left immediately to return here, so I didn't see any point in sending another with news you would already have."

  "What man? Sandor didn't send anyone. We as­sumed you would."

  "Then—" Stefan paused to glance at Tanya. "It would seem your would-be assassin was rather clever after all. And that means Alicia would know what he looks like."

  "Assassin?" Max exclaimed.

  But Tanya interjected first, with eyes narrowed. "If you're going to see your redhead to question her, Stefan, I'm going with you."

  "I don't even know if she was returning to Cardinia, but in any case, someone else can question her."

  Tanya was only slightly mollified. Maximilian Daneff wasn't at all. "Assassin?" he repeated, and regained Stefan's attention.

  "Someone has made two attempts on her life since we reached Europe," Stefan replied, then added in what was clearly an order, "I don't want another, Max. "

  "I will see to it personally. But I do not think Sandor should be told. His health has improved, but worry could cause another setback."

  "How improved?" Stefan asked suspiciously.

  "Now, my boy, none of that. You cannot really think your father would have staged—"

  "Would he not?"

  Max grinned. "Well, possibly, but as it happens, he did not. Your crowning was official. And I said his health had improved, not that he has made a complete recovery. However, the physicians are hopeful that he might have a few more years left, if he stays out of the throne room. Now, if I may welcome your betrothed, who certainly needs no introduction." Max turned to Tanya and bowed formally, then said, "You are the very image of your mother, Princess Tatiana, except for your hair, which is pure Janacek. Welcome home."

  She would never understand why tears suddenly sprang to her eyes, but they did. Perhaps it was because this man had known her parents well, had known her as a baby, could tell her things not even Stefan could. Or perhaps it was simply because home had been such an elusive thing to her all these years and now she was finally feeling as if she really had come home.

  At the first sign of tears, Stefan drew her into his arms and grinned over her head at the Prime Minister. "It was nothing you said, I'm sure, Max, so don't look so stricken. The wench is just emotional and high-strung. You would not believe what I have had to put up with—" At that point he got a fist in his side and grunted. "You see?"

  "You arrogant devil's spawn, you haven't had to put up with half of what I have. I'll have you know—"

  "Behave, Tanya, or I'll have to think seriously about putting you over my knee again. "

  "Like hell you will."

  "Now, children." Max chuckled, because it was obvious neither of them was truly angry at the other. "I think it will do Sandor good to see how well you are getting along." At Tanya's glance, he explained, "We were worried that Stefan would—"

  "That's quite enough, Max," Stefan cut in, and there was no doubting that this time he was displeased.

  Tanya looked up at him and smiled. "Secrets? As if I can't guess he was going to tell me how much you hated having to fetch me home, that if you'd had your way, I would have been left to rot in America. I keep telling you I'm not stupid, Stefan, but you keep forgetting."

  "That is a matter of opinion, as far as I'm concerned."

  "Ouch." She grimaced.

  "Now will you behave long enough to meet my father?"

  "If he's anything like you, I'm not at all sure I want to meet him."

  "Don't pout, little houri. Princesses concede gracefully."

  "But tavern wenches go for the jugular."

  He flushed. She did, too, realizing that no one here yet knew of her upbringing. But Maximilian made nothing of the remark, assuming they were merely jesting with each other, a private joke perhaps. And he was so delighted with this change in Stefan, he was barely listening to them. Sandor would be de­lighted too. They had both been so afraid that nothing was going to make Stefan accept the girl, whether he brought her home or not. But it looked as if he had more than accepted her.

  "I'm sorry," Maximilian heard the girl say.

  "Don't be," Stefan replied. "They, at least, have to be told, and it might as well be now."

  "Told what?" Maximilian asked, suddenly alarmed by their seriousness.

  "We will tell you both together, Max, so warn him that we're here. I don't want to surprise him by just walking in."

  Max did as he was told, though reluctantly, and the next hour proved uncomfortable for all of them, but especially for Tanya as she listened to him sum up her life as nothing but a bleak and depressing existence. To hear Stefan tell it, you'd think she had suffered the agonies of hell, so she finally broke in to paint a less severe picture, leaving out the hardship and remembering only the lighter moments, in par­ticular the years shared with Iris.

  But Sandor was visibly affected nonetheless, and she realized why when he said to her, "You must hate me, girl."

  "Why? I don't even know you."

  "I'm the one who sent you off with Tomilova. She was your mother's closest friend. She would have protected you with her life. But not once did I con­sider she might die, leaving you helpless and at the mercy of peasants."

  Tanya doubted Dobbs would appreciate being called a peasant. White trash he was used to, but peasant? The thought made her smile. She turned it on Sandor to reassure him.

  "You don't regret what you never knew about in the first place, just as it would be pointless to regret what is done and past, so don't think I regret my life up to now. I don't. It taught me a lot, qualities a pampered and spoiled princess would never have learned. And there is something to be said for total self-reliance. I believe my upbringing has made me strong, certainly strong enough to put up with your son and his royal temper."

  Sandor hooted with laughter. "Spoken like a Jan­acek. That branch of the family always did have the better diplomats. We are grateful for your under­standing, child. You are going to make a truly splen­did queen."

  "When?" she and Stefan asked almost at once.

  "Will next week be too soon? After all, this is something we have waited years to see, and the preparations have been in the making for months."

  A mere week before the wedding? Tanya didn't mind. Sandor might have been waiting for years to see it happen, but she felt as if she had been waiting forever for this ceremony that was going to give her the right to call Stefan her own.

  Chapter 48

  It was the day before the wedding when Tanya finally realized she hadn't seen Stefan but a few times all week, and those times only briefly. The making of her wedding gown was a major affair that had required hours and hours of fittings. Then there had been even more fittings for another wardrobe that was being made for her, for which gowns had appeared each day for her to wear to the special functions she had to attend, where she'd been introduced to the court and the more important nobles of the land, as well as to the foreign ambassadors and dignitaries who would be present at her wedding.

  There also had been the hours of interrogation she had gone through, when Maximilian had shown up with his security men to learn every possible detail of the attempts on her life. She had had to almost reenact that first incident, right down to her rolling out of bed, before they were satisfied she could tell them no more. But their very seriousness had brought home the fact that she was still in danger, and it was a horrible feeling, knowing that someone was very intent on killing her.

  Then there had been the tutors who had appeared each day and taken up most of her time. Lord help her, the lessons she had to learn, on the history of Cardinia, the history of her ancestors, on deportment, foreign policy, diplomacy, even language. She hadn't realized how fortunate she was, for communication's sake, that English had been one of the six official languages taught at court for the last forty years. Ther
e was even a woman whose task it was to gossip with her, or at least that's how Tanya saw it, for the lady was instructed to apprise Tanya of all current scandals so she wouldn't make the mistake of being friendly with anyone who was presently in disgrace.

  The interviews had also begun that week, whereby she had to choose her Women of the Bedchamber, those ladies in waiting and maids of honor who would be her constant attendants once she was queen, one of the positions Lady Alicia had been so sure would be hers. In this Tanya had had the help of Stefan's aunt, a lady who wasn't at all like her arrogant son, Vasili, and for whom Tanya was already developing an affection. But at least she hadn't had to make any definite decisions there. Next week would be soon enough, she'd been told.

  All in all, she'd been kept so occupied, there hadn't even been time to miss Stefan or wonder what he was doing. But on the eve before the wedding, a time quite natural for introspection and doubts, she realized that although she and Stefan had arrived in Cardinia on amicable terms, they hadn't actually resolved any of their past difficulties.

  She knew she wanted him, knew he wasn't quite as adverse to her now either, but was she actually going to marry him without knowing how he really felt about her? Knowing that he had decided he liked making love to her just wasn't enough. What about his aversion to her looks, his remark that they just weren't compatible? What about all those insults he'd heaped on her every time he was reminded of her supposed past? Was she going to have to deal with those things again and again in the years to come?

  The man didn't even know that she loved him. Of course, it was plainly obvious that she did. Hadn't she forgiven him for everything? But he'd never heard her say it.

  Tanya was on her way down the corridor before she knew exactly what she was going to ask Stefan, or tell him. Her personal guards fell into step behind her. She had been assigned twelve of them until the assassin was apprehended; they worked in three shifts, standing outside her door and following her everywhere she went, so at any given time she had four men dogging her footsteps, or stopping anyone who wasn't expected from entering her quarters.

  But she didn't reach Stefan's rooms. Maximilian Daneff was coming down the corridor with his secretary and paused for a word with her.

  "You should be resting, your Highness."

  "Yes, I know, but—"

  "If you are looking for Stefan, he is spending the evening with his father. He has been so busy since his return, they haven't had much opportunity to talk."

  Did that ever sound familiar. And she wasn't about to interrupt them. But she looked so disappointed, Maximilian asked, "Perhaps I can be of service?"

  "No, I . . . well, actually, maybe you can."

  She looked pointedly at the secretary until Max dismissed the man. Her own guards had stepped back discreetly. There weren't too many people they would do that for. Their own Prime Minister hap­pened to be one.

  "Now, what can I do for you?"

  Tanya simply came right out and asked it. "Do you know why Stefan wouldn't like the look of me?"

  "The look of you?"

  "He liked me better when he thought I wasn't pretty. I never have understood that."

  Maximilian smiled. "I would imagine it has to do with the same reason he was against bringing you home."

  "Just because he didn't want to marry me?"

  "Because he was certain you would not want to marry him. He left here expecting you to be a beauty. If he saw you as other than that to begin with, he was likely greatly relieved to find it so."

  "I still don't understand."

  Maximilian frowned. "Has no one told you how sensitive he is about his scars?"

  "Those damn scars again?" she scoffed. "Yes, I suppose they have been mentioned or implied. But what do they have to do with how I look?"

  "Everything. Stefan stopped pursuing beautiful women after he was scarred. He felt they could not see beyond his disfigurement. I have seen it happen myself in a crowded room, how some women turn away from him, hoping he won't give his personal attention to them. I am sure he has had worse ex­periences. But the truth is, he did not want to marry you because he was sure you would be as repulsed by his scars as those other vain women were."

  Tanya shook her head, bemused. All that difficulty she'd had, at least half of Stefan's hostility, all be­cause he'd thought she wouldn't like the look of him? Alicia had insinuated the same thing. His men had asked her if she minded the scars. Even Stefan had finally asked her if she was prepared to accept him as he was, scars and all. God, what it must have taken for him to ask her that. And she hadn't even answered him. Why hadn't she seen that he consid­ered himself less than attractive? Because she didn't see him that way; in fact, she saw him as too attractive for her own good. But she still should have realized what the problem was.

  "And I keep telling Stefan I'm not stupid?" she mumbled in disgust. "He knew better all along."

  Maximilian merely chuckled. "I could see from the day you arrived that you were different. Stefan must have been greatly relieved to discover this."

  "Stefan doesn't know it, but if you'll leave him a message to come to my rooms before he retires to­night, I'll make sure that he does."

  "You mean he still thinks—"

  "I don't know what he thinks. That's what I intend to find out."

  * * *

  It was a little after ten o'clock when Tanya heard the knock on her door, so light in sound that she knew Stefan thought she was likely asleep by now, and he wasn't going to disturb her if that was so. Throwing open her bedroom doors without knocking had been his way before, but her king was being much more considerate these days.

  She smiled to herself as she called for him to enter. He closed the door behind him before he located her in the large room. When he did, he visibly tensed.

  "Did you invite me here to seduce me?"

  Tanya laughed, knowing exactly why he said it, and in such a suspicious tone. She sat curled up in a chair by the fire, her black hair loose and flowing about her shoulders; she was wearing the white negligee that had been made for her wedding night, having decided it could be put to better use tonight. It was cut very low, and so thin it was almost transparent. The long sleeves were transparent.

  "Actually, that's not a half bad idea, but no, I felt we ought to talk."

  "You still aren't sure, are you?" he demanded as he came forward and, instead of taking the chair next to hers, stood glowering in front of her.

  "Sure?"

  "About marrying me."

  His belligerence was acting up, and she didn't quite know why. "I'm sure, but what I want to know is, if it wasn't a duty, if you weren't bound by your father's wish to see it done, would you want to marry me?"

  "Yes!"

  The vehemence of his response startled her. "Then what are you angry about?"

  "When the bride asks to see the groom before the wedding, it is usually to cry off."

  A tender warmth entered her eyes. "Couldn't she just need a little reassurance?"

  "You?"

  "I did happen to have some doubts today. I mean, you've never made any pretense about not wanting to marry me. You said we weren't compatible—"

  "Can a man not change his mind?"

  "And you hate the fact that I'm, as you say, beautiful," she went on as if he hadn't interrupted and given her a measure of the reassurance she'd asked for. "Which I never understood—until today."

  He stiffened. "What do you understand?"

  Again she went right on without acknowledging the question. "Are we going to have a normal marriage, where we sleep together, make babies together—?"

  He jerked her up out of the chair so fast, Tanya gasped, but his intention was only to kiss her, albeit very fiercely. The subject, she supposed, had got to him, where her negligee had not. Or maybe he was only trying to shut her up long enough to get a word in edgewise, since she hadn't been acknowledging his interruptions. But it was a long time before he ended that kiss, and then he said nothing, merely held
her in his arms.'

  Tanya sighed into his chest and said very softly, "You don't have any idea how attractive I find you, do you, Stefan Barany? I don't even think it's just your looks, though I'm grateful you aren't ugly since I have to marry you, but more your personality—­aside from your anger, that is, though even that I never really minded after I got accustomed to it. It's the way you—"

  "Enough!"

  She stopped him from setting her away from him by reaching up and clasping his cheeks. "You don't believe me, do you? I'm sorry, I shouldn't have tried adding a bit of levity to a subject you are so touchy about. But personally, I don't understand why it's a touchy subject to begin with. When I first noticed your scars, and it took me a while to notice them because I found your eyes so fascinating, I merely felt an empathy with you, thinking here was a man who had suffered pain just as I had." She smiled then, bravely, because he was looking so stern, and gently ran her fingers over each one of his scars. "These aren't even there when I look at you, because all I see is the darkly handsome devil who first in­troduced me to passion. No other man has ever made me feel what you do, Stefan." And then she asked him outright, " Do you think I could want you so much if your scars bothered me?"

  He didn't answer her, and she knew instinctively it was because his answer would have been insulting, something to do with her sordid past, probably that she could want any man if the price were right, and he was going to give her a whole damn kingdom, wasn't he?

  She stepped back and an unbidden spark entered her eyes, but she just couldn't help it, he was being so pigheadedly stubborn. "All right, this is a night for confessions, so you might as well hear the big one. When I arrived in Danzig with you, I was still a virgin. And let's be clear about this, since you barely remember that night. You didn't take my vir­ginity, I gave it to you. But if you think I'm going to repeat that again and again until you finally believe it, think again."

  "Do you honestly believe I wouldn't know the difference?" he asked incredulously. "What you are suggesting is impossible, Tanya."