Crowning His Convenient Princess. Maisey Yates

heard footsteps on the marble floor, and turned.

      And there he was.

      He was devastating in that custom cut black suit, the one she had dismissed with a wave of her hand, saying that men needn’t be so concerned with such things.

      There was nothing plain about Gunnar in a black suit. He was a weapon against all good sense, his broad shoulders waging war on every prudent thought.

      His hair was still overlong, brushed away from his face, his beard just a bit unkempt.

      And it put her in the mind of a Norse marauder, and she found that however she tried, she could not dislike the image.

      And for the first time, a strange pain hollowed out her stomach.

      Another woman would dance in his arms tonight. Another woman would dance with him from tonight, possibly into forever.

      And she would never know what it was like to be held by those strong arms.

      She clenched her teeth. That was an empty fantasy, driven by hormones. And she was not a slave to her hormones. She was a woman who never had such a luxury. She had been driven by the need to survive. By the need to press forward, always, and make for herself a life that she could not only stand, but that she enjoyed.

      She had found a way to live.

      It might not be her ideal life, yet. But it was wonderful.

      And she was only ever proud of herself for that fact.

      Gunnar served no purpose. Attraction to Gunnar served no purpose.

      She did not even like the man.

      “You have done a spectacular job,” he said, and she ignored the slight thrill of pleasure that went through her midsection.

      “Thank you,” she said.

      “Soon, I will be like a steak put out before the dogs.” The wicked glint in his eye bade her stomach turn over. She ignored the sensation.

      “You will find there are no dogs here. Only a wolf,” she said, harking back to Astrid’s earlier words.

      He grinned, and Latika thought it was decidedly wolfish. “Perhaps.”

      “Sheep,” Latika said. “Sheep going before a wolf.”

      “Very evocative. Does that make you Little Red Riding Hood in this fairytale of a metaphor? Because I must tell you, I feel my mouth is all the better to eat you with.”

      And that was when she realized, he was not simply engaging in empty banter. No, there was a gleam in his blue eyes that spoke of intent. But there was no point to him making sexual promises toward her. Not when tonight, of all nights, moved any possibility of something happening between them out of reach.

      She ignored the jolt of irritation that she felt over that. The intense regret.

      Every time he had ever traded barbs with her she had assumed it was simply who he was, what he did.

      She had never once thought that he might… That he might actually want her.

      “I am not anyone’s version of a fairytale. And you would find, that I bite back.”

      He moved closer to her, and a thrill shot down her spine. “Pity for you, that what you intended as a threat only sounds like a promise to me. I like a woman who gives as good as she gets.”

      “Then I suggest you find one here in the room full of them.”

      “I doubt there will be one sharp as you.”

      “The trade-offs you make for respectability,” she said.

      She turned away from him and began to busy herself with details that did not need her attention.

      “Are you not respectable?”

      “That depends, I suppose,” she said, “on your definition of respectability.”

      Those blue eyes regarded her with open interest. “Someday, I should like to find out.”

      She locked her teeth together. So tight her jaw ached. “Oh, but there is no someday. For you are getting married. And we all know your life will end as we know it.”

      “A tragedy,” he said.

      “Well,” she said, brushing her hands down the front of her dress. “It’s time to bring in the staff. And then it will be time to open up the doors. I suggest you get in position.”

      He arched a brow, a wicked smile curving his lips. “Missionary? Did you have something else in mind,” he said.

      Latika ignored the sharp shock of pleasure that shot straight down through her core. It was wrong for them to talk like this—worse to be talking like this tonight. Though in some ways, it pushed it further out of the realm of possibility than ever. Which made it…almost less wrong maybe? Or less dangerous.

      “You will look a bit silly in missionary position on your own,” she shot back, unwilling to let him see that he had affected her.

      “I suppose that depends on who you ask.”

      The doors opened then, and the staff began to filter inside. Latika managed to busy herself and soon her interaction with Gunnar was forgotten. She had work to do. It distracted her, both from the strange sensation she felt whenever she was around the man, and from the underlying sense of fear she’d been feeling ever since she received that email.

      The many, many palace guards in attendance made her feel safe.

      No one would do anything to her while she was here.

      She repeated all those things to herself as she made sure the food was in place, as she made sure all was well. And then, went back to the antechamber to ensure that everything was ready for Astrid to make her appearance.

      Several guests arrived before the Queen was to be seated. And Latika had the task of making sure that Astrid’s entrance went smoothly, and according to plan.

      Astrid and Mauro looked beautiful, the pair of them absolute perfection. Astrid had ended up choosing a deep emerald gown, and her husband was in a black suit. Mauro was a handsome man. There was no denying it. Tall, dark and Mediterranean, with wicked eyes and a mouth that looked like it was made for sin.

      And yet, it was no particular sin that called to Latika. No, there was something about the cold, wild beauty that Gunnar possessed that seemed to ignite thoughts of sin.

      Sin that sorely tempted her.

      She put her head down, resolutely making her way through the ballroom, now filled with women that were bedecked as tropical birds, fluttering about in bright colors.

      She knew that Gunnar had expressed a preference for two women in particular, but the guests did not. And every one woman—single or not—had dressed to impress him.

      Latika cued everyone to Astrid and Mauro’s entrance, and the royal couple alit, walking through the crowd and taking their positions in their honored seats.

      It was all going so smoothly Latika wanted to celebrate. That was the thing. She might not have a husband or children yet. She might not be fully living the life of her choice, but she was living well.

      She’d been seen by her parents as a bargaining chip. Her only value had been how she could marry. And here she was, operating in a very stressful and important career.

      And she did it well.

      She allowed that to buoy her mood. To take away the sour feelings that had begun to roil in her stomach earlier.

      With them settled, Latika felt the need to check on the kitchen. She turned and slipped out a side entrance, heading down the hall. And what she saw there made her stomach twist. It was him.

      Ragnar.

      He didn’t have the decency to be hideous. No, instead he was a severe