Page 13 of Prince She Shouldn’t Crave (Royal House of Halrovia #2)

‘Your Highness…’ came the soft voice. ‘Sir.’

It was as if the weight pressing down on him had lifted.

He’d only ever seen Lena polished and professional, yet tonight she was in jeans with a soft pink top covered in butterflies.

Her hair slightly damp, as if she’d just come out of a shower.

He refused to dwell on that thought, on how rivulets of water would look running over her golden skin…

‘How was this evening’s dinner?’ she asked.

The truth didn’t bear mentioning. He’d done his duty—been polite, chatting to the guests, and then leaving. It had been cordial, but a pointed reminder from his parents as to what they expected from him.

‘Walk with me,’ he said as he set off towards his room. To remove his suit. Wash away the evening of expectation like a taint from his skin.

‘How are things back home?’ she asked.

He was fully aware she’d be keeping a pulse on what was going on—that was part of her job—but small talk suited him right now as the anger churned in his gut. He was an adult, and yet he was still being served missives by his parents through intermediaries.

That lack of communication irked him. He realised tonight how often so much went unsaid in his family.

At least with Lena, she said what she thought.

There was no guessing. In the palace and with the courtiers it was all about subtle messages you had to unravel.

Reading between the lines. He was tired of it.

They arrived at his suite and Gabriel walked straight to the credenza and poured himself a whisky. He held up the glass.

‘Would you like one?’

Lena shook her head and held up a mug.

‘Hot chocolate’s my choice.’

Was that why she’d smelled like chocolate so often?

Of course, it’d be improper to ask. She placed her lips round the rim of the cup and took a sip.

As she did, her eyes fluttered shut as if in pleasure.

The hint of a chocolate scent teased his senses.

That smell of rich sweetness. Would her lips taste as sweet if he kissed her?

He slammed the door shut on those imaginings.

‘The ambassador thinks an effective strategy is for me to marry.’

Lena was mid-sip when he said the words. She stopped, pulling the cup from her mouth. ‘Well, people do love weddings.’

‘Do you think it would be an effective strategy?’ he asked.

‘Spending the rest of your life with someone isn’t a strategy.’ The words sounded bitter in her mouth.

‘Do I detect some cynicism?’ he asked.

‘You tell me—you’re the one who’s talking about getting married to improve your popularity. I can’t think of anything more cynical than that.’

He shut his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, the pressure in his head building, because he agreed. Gabe wondered why that expectation had never really bothered him before. He’d always understood his duty, it had just seemed so distant before.

‘Anyhow, who is the ambassador to say something like that to you?’

Wasn’t that an excellent question? ‘He’s a friend of my parents, and he’d invited some suitable candidates as well.’

‘Did any take your fancy?’ Lena asked.

He’d realised their purpose—a few who might tempt his eye as potential brides.

Whilst his parents would expect a princess, the women present were still eminently suitable members of various aristocracies.

Then there were a few others who might tempt him in a different way, should that be where his inclinations lay.

Once again, beautiful, polished, interesting, and yet he had no interest in any of them.

‘If they had, I’d still be there.’

Lena pursed her lips, displeasure written all over her face. ‘Pardon me for speaking plainly, but I find the whole thing odd.’

He took another slug of alcohol, somehow enjoying how prickly she’d become.

‘So do I,’ he said.

‘Then why subject yourself to it? How dare people tell you how to lead your life?’

She seemed all flash and fire and he didn’t quite understand why in that moment the thought of him having to marry for his role, and not for love, seemed to anger her.

It was the way it tended to be done in most royal families, though the pretence of choice was still there.

Put two people who met the correct criteria together, point them in the right direction with some solid encouragement and they usually got the message.

Although Cilla and Ana had seen fit to break the mould…

‘You’re curating my life.’

‘That’s different and you know it. I’m showing people a glimpse, giving them some good news. But I’m not faking. I’m just giving people the best of you. It’s what everyone does.’

Yet he was faking it in many ways. He wondered again, how she’d feel if she knew about his reading difficulties.

He could share it with her, right now. She’d signed a non-disclosure agreement but, even more, he was sure she’d never breach his confidence even without that formal document.

He took another sip of his drink, priming himself.

Yet he couldn’t find the right words. Time enough for confessions later.

Instead, Gabe focussed on something easier, the desire to know what Lena thought was the best of him.

That seemed vital. He supposed he could look at his own social media account, but he never had before.

The one piece of advice he took away from his brief interactions in that public space, and warnings from Cilla when she’d first suggested Lena for the role was, never read the comments .

It seemed like wise advice.

‘So, how do you curate your own life?’ he asked.

She took another sip of her drink. He joined her with his own.

‘I don’t have social media in my real name. And I don’t post for myself. It feels too much like work. I tend to people-watch instead.’

Something about her was shuttered. Closed off.

As though there were things she didn’t want to talk about, and he was treading close to them.

He was assailed by a grasping need to find out why, to throw all her doors open and to peer inside.

Yet he had no rights to the information as her employer.

But for a woman who was happy to lay people’s lives bare online, he found it surprising she wanted to keep herself hidden.

‘What about your work? Surely that’s all about being online?’

‘Word of mouth’s important. I got my job with you because of your sister.

No one wants the most important person in their story to be the employee who manages their PR and social media.

My job is to stay in the background, make my employer look good.

As for the rest? I’m unimportant in the general scheme of things. ’

He didn’t know why those words seemed wrong.

Was that how she thought of herself? Or was it someone else putting those thoughts into her head?

He knew too well how family could cut. His sisters, particularly Cilla, had borne the brunt of his mother’s disapprobation.

The public’s too, for not fitting a mould cast for her.

Then Ana, who the press had loved as Halrovia’s ‘Perfect Princess’ before she had her accident, withdrew from public life and the narrative had changed. The criticisms starting.

What if, at those times, they’d had someone like Lena to show the world who they really were?

‘You’re not unimportant, Lena.’

She looked up at him, a gentle smile teasing her lips.

Barely there, but the hint was enough. The look of pleasure at his comment.

It flooded him with sensation, something warm and bright, of wanting to make her smile more often.

When had he ever felt like this, enjoying the simple pleasure of making a person happy?

Never, and he craved more of it.

He looked down on her, hair long and loose about her shoulders.

Her skin smooth and golden. Plush lips a soft pink.

So fresh and beautiful. The collar of his normally comfortable shirt became too tight, the room too hot.

Even though he knew his rooms were perfectly climate controlled, he wanted to throw open a window and let in the cool night air.

Instead, he took another sip of his drink.

The heat of the whisky burned, hitting his stomach.

‘And you’re not unimportant either—what you think, what you feel,’ Lena said. ‘So where does the ambassador get off raising marriage with the man who’s one day going to be his king?’

There was a sharpness to her voice, a story there that he wanted to hear. And he found he wanted to know a great deal more about her. Her likes, dislikes. Her passions…

‘I assume it’s a message from my parents—a not so subtle hint via their friend, if you will.’

‘Our parents and their desire for children to marry to solve all their problems.’

‘You’ve had experience of this?’ he asked.

The corner of her mouth kicked up. It wasn’t a smile. There was sadness in that wry kind of grin of hers.

‘My mother thought if I married it’d sort out her issues. It didn’t seem to matter what I wanted, so I’m familiar with the sensation.’

‘What did your father think?’

Something about her closed off immediately. One minute her face was open. Warm. Sympathetic. The next, it was as if she were made of glass. Cool and brittle.

‘My father’s dead.’

He started forward, an ache in his chest. Feeling terrible for bringing back painful memories.

‘I’m so sorry.’

She shrugged. ‘He wasn’t much of a father. More a donor of genetic material. I’m surprised you don’t know that already, what with the investigations your palace would have done to ensure I…fit.’

He guessed she was right and that she’d been investigated closely, but he hadn’t bothered looking into it. If Lena had been cleared to come to an interview with him, the relevant checks hadn’t shown up anything of concern.