Crowning His Convenient Princess. Maisey Yates
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age—would have been thrilled with his attentions. But Latika knew how cruel he could be. And she knew that a life with him would be equal to misery.
The fact that he had come after her after all this time, likely less out of an attraction for her specifically, and more because he wished her harm, sent fear rattling through her.
“My dear, Latika,” he said. “It has been quite some time.”
“Not accidentally,” she said, stopping in her tracks and beginning to edge back toward the ballroom. There was security there. And she would be able to call for help.
“Do not think I’m so foolish as to try and take you from the palace. I simply wanted you to know how close I am. If you try to leave the country, my agents will intercept you. And I know you are here. Ultimately, as long as I can reach you, you are not safe. I will have you brought back to Norway, and married to me before you could ever protest.”
“And why would I marry you?” She asked, fighting to keep her composure.
He liked fear. He liked to cause pain.
She would allow him to see neither in her.
“Because you will find the alternatives so unpleasant. You have made for yourself a little problem here. You thought that by making yourself invisible you would become invisible to me, but you are not just invisible to me, but the whole world. And that is where you have failed yourself, my darling girl. Because when I take you, I will be able to hide you. Your Queen may miss you, but how will she mobilize forces beyond the borders of her country? The public outcry will never be sufficient enough.”
The words settled down to her bones, the truth of them making her feel fear. Real and heavy.
He continued. “I have you between a rock wall and me. And you know that it is true. For now… I will be here all night.”
“I can have you removed,” she said, craning her neck.
“I have done nothing,” he said. “And my removal would create an international incident. As you well know. I know you do not wish for an incident. You are too smart of a girl for something like that.” She swallowed hard, and turned and fled, running back into the ballroom, shutting the door behind her, pressing her hand to her chest.
And she saw Gunnar. At the center of the room dancing with a woman. The brilliant Nigerian activist.
And suddenly, she had an idea.
Times were desperate. And so was she.
She made her way across the ballroom, heading toward the opposite door she had just come in. A door that would take her away from Ragnar.
With purpose, Latika left the ballroom, and headed toward her room.
Though she didn’t know it at the time, Astrid had given her an escape. And Latika knew well enough to take it.
Gunnar was dancing with his third potential bride of the night when a hush fell over the ballroom. He turned, following the gazes of everyone in the room. And there he saw her. Standing at the entrance to the ballroom, dressed in orange and gold, her black hair a glossy wave over one side of her shoulder.
Latika.
She did not look like an assistant. She looked like a princess.
And when she began to descend the stairs, the crowd parted for her as if she was. And then she looked at him. Deliberately. Intentionally.
And a fire ignited in his gut.
He had no idea what game she was playing. He had made it plain earlier that he was attracted to her, because he had never been the sort of man to be coy about such things.
She looked completely different than she had earlier. Though, she had still been delectable in the slinky black dress she’d been wearing, it was the sort of dress designed to make her blend in. And had she been a different woman, it might have been successful. For him, Latika would never blend in.
His greatest concern in life at this moment was that she would go on always as an unanswered need.
And he was not a man who understood denial. Not in his adult life. When he’d escaped his father’s power, when it had become clear to the man that Gunnar could not be manipulated, and when it would have taken the involvement of palace guards to continue his grand experiments on Gunnar, Gunnar had taken the chance to escape into a world of sensual pleasures.
Food. Drink. Women.
Luxurious surroundings.
Most of his time spent in warm climates rather than the harsh chill of Bjornland.
He had forgotten denial. He had forgotten need.
Until her.
And while he had no moral qualms about taking Latika to his bed between now and his wedding, he did feel that perhaps the ball where he was supposed to meet his future wife was perhaps not the ideal venue for such an encounter to begin. But Latika didn’t seem to agree.
She crossed the room, heading straight toward him, the expression on her face one of seductive intensity.
He wanted her. And he had, ever since she had come into his sister’s employ. Every time they had sparred, it had only increased his desire for her.
And now, she paraded herself before him. As if she thought he would not be able to take action here. As if she thought he would be leashed.
“If you would excuse me,” he said to his partner, a woman whose name he could no longer recall.
He stepped away from her, making his way toward Latika. And much to his shock, she increased her pace and nearly flung herself into his arms. “I would be delighted to dance with you,” she said.
“What are you doing?” he murmured.
“I am sorry,” she said. “You have no idea how much. But I need you. Desperately. And I think that I will not harm your objective. I think that I will further your cause.”
“Do you?” he asked, keeping his voice low.
“I need you to marry me,” she said. “And I need you to announce it now.”
“Latika…”
And then, she did something truly shocking. She launched herself forward, and captured his mouth with her own.
Gunnar was a difficult man to surprise, indeed, until this moment he would have said it was impossible.
People were boring in their predictability.
And up until this point, Latika had been scarcely different.
She had bantered with him. She had brought their exchanges of wit to the edge of propriety, but she had never crossed it. And while he found her enjoyable, she had never truly shocked him.
But in this moment, she turned the whole ballroom—maybe the world—on its head.
There was something desperate in her kiss, and he responded to it. He wrapped his arm around her waist, pressing her tightly against his body, forgetting they had an audience. Because what else mattered when he was finally tasting this woman that had vexed him for years.
He took control of the kiss, tightening his hold on her and angling his head, taking advantage of her surprise, of her slightly parted lips, and slipping his tongue between them.
She gasped, and he took it deeper.
And only then did he fully realize that while he might have ensnared her at this very moment, she had caught him in her trap.
“Everyone has seen,” she said. “If you were to reverse course now, no one would believe you. You have clearly staked your claim on me.”
“Minx,” he said. “Was this your game all along?”
“I