outrageous and she knew it. But it was her power. Her only power.
Impotent, it turned out.
Six months ago, when her father had introduced her to Makhail she’d breathed a sigh of relief that he was no longer a field agent. That he wouldn’t be guarding her personally. Because he … well, he was just too disturbing. Far too big. Too masculine. Broad shoulders and cropped brown hair, a square jaw, a mouth that looked as if it had never smiled. And his eyes … gray like the barrel of a gun. And they were every bit as cold.
And now here he was. It was one thing to mess around his goons. Easy too. They were far too interested in what was going on around them. But Makhail focused in on her in a way that no one else ever did. It was as if he was looking into her. She didn’t like it at all.
“Perhaps a girl could ask for more diamonds in her gilded cage?”
“You think because I’m rich I have no right to complain?” she asked.
“Not at all. I’m not here to have an opinion. An opinion would imply that I care. I don’t. I am here to do a job. Keep you safe, keep you scandal-free. I will do it.”
“Until my marriage?”
“After, if I must.”
A strange thought. That she would be guarded even after her marriage was secured, and yet she knew it was true. She was a royal, destined to marry a royal. From the moment she’d been born, her life had been controlled down to what shoes she was to put on in the morning.
And of course, the man she would marry was also to be carefully selected. Just like her breakfast cereal.
It had been over six months since she’d woken up to a terrible, clawing fear that she would never be able to make a decision for herself. Not one. Not about what she wore, not about where she went, or what she ate. That was when the serious rebellion started. So Makhail Nabatov could talk about duty and spoiled brattiness all he wanted, but he didn’t know what it was like to be her.
He was the enemy.
“I dare say my husband will have his own guards intent on ensuring my submission.”
“And what makes you think they’ll be any better than your father’s guards?”
He didn’t look at her, never took his eyes from the road, his profile strong, uncompromising. A crooked nose that looked as though it had been broken at least once, a square jaw that verged on being too sharp. A mouth that looked incapable of smiling.
“They may not be. But maybe I won’t try to escape. That all depends on who my father selects, I suppose. Or if I fall in love with him.”
She doubted she would. She had a vague idea of who her father might find suitable, because there weren’t very many royals just lying around for her to marry. A few minor members of nobility, and of course there was Bastian, King of Komenia, a small principality in eastern Europe, actively looking for his queen. She felt nothing for him, no matter how hard she tried. And she did try.
Because he was the likeliest candidate. The one who would bring the most strength, the most power, financial and military resources to Kyonos.
How she felt—love, attraction—didn’t come into it as far as her father was concerned. And Bastian was nice. He was even rather handsome. But there was no spark. He touched her and she felt nothing. He wasn’t the one.
But it was looking as though she would never have the chance to find that man.
“You want love, do you?” he asked, maneuvering the car through the narrow streets, café tables pressed in so close to the roadway that if she rolled the window down she could reach out and steal a cappuccino. Unless of course the windows were locked. Likely, under the circumstances.
“Of course I do. Don’t we all?”
“No,” he said. No explanation, just no. She wasn’t sure why she was surprised. Except she was. And then it made her angry. Because he could have love if he wanted it. He could marry whomever he wanted to, and he didn’t have anyone trying to make the decision for him.
But he just … said no, he didn’t want love. Probably because he was more interested in cleavage, anonymous cleavage, than he was in a real woman. That was what she’d noticed with the other men who guarded her. That was how she’d shaken them.
Makhail was no different, though he was more focused when he needed to be, clearly, since he hadn’t even noticed the busty cocktail waitresses at the entrance of the casino.
But still, he had all the freedom in the world and he wanted to waste it on shallow, frivolous things. Not that her night in the casino had been anything more than shallow and frivolous. But it had been fun, and she’d had a shortage of fun in her life.
“Well. I do,” she said, looking out the window again, her stomach tightening as they neared the palace.
“Why?”
“What do you mean why?” She turned to his profile again. “Everyone—well, not you, we established not you—most everyone wants love. Love is …”
“A lot of work.”
She looked down at his hands, his grip tight on the steering wheel. There was a platinum band there, thick and prominent, on his left ring finger. “Are you married?”
“Not anymore,” he said. There was no emotion in his voice. No hint of how he felt about the subject. Yet he still wore his ring.
“Why?”
He flicked her a glance for the first time. “I did not realize we had to become friends in order for me to protect you.”
“Let’s get one thing straight,” she said, annoyance coursing through her. “You aren’t protecting me. Not really. You’re keeping me out of trouble. Or perceived trouble. I’m an adult woman. I’m twenty, you know. Almost twenty-one.”
“Ancient,” he said, his tone dry.
“Anyway, no, we don’t have to be friends. I suppose us being friends would be impossible, actually, seeing as we’re working with opposing agendas.”
“And what is your agenda, Princess?”
They pulled up to a wrought-iron gate, guards stationed out along the perimeter of the pale stucco wall that stretched around the palace, backed by the Aegean Sea.
“If I told you, Mr. Nabatov, it would be much too easy for you to gain the upper hand.”
“IT was online, on every trashy news website you could think of, before you ever left the casino, Eva.” Her father paced in front of her, his hands locked behind his back, his expression fierce. “Rolling dice, men on your arm. You looked like a common college student.”
An insult from her father’s lips. There was no mistaking that. Anything common, as far as Stephanos Drakos was concerned, was beneath the hallowed
