Betrothed to the Prince. Raye Morgan

interest in getting to the bottom of this mystery. It disappointed her to have him brush it off, as if it hardly mattered, as if, like any rich and powerful person, he didn’t have to deal with the problems of the little people. This was exactly what she hated about the monarchy—and one of the main reasons she was determined to slough it off like a poorly fitting skin.

      He rose from his chair and she rose to face him. “Would you like to hold the baby before you go?” she asked hopefully.

      His eyes shone with a quizzical sheen. “No thanks,” he said dismissively. He hesitated, then added, “Dinner is at six in the game room.”

      “Oh, I can’t leave the baby.”

      He looked pained. “Of course you can. I’ll send up Bridget, the downstairs maid, to sit with the baby. She often watches Marcos’s children.”

      “No, I really don’t think…”

      “Tianna.”

      Her head jerked up at the tone of his voice. He hadn’t come right out and said, “Listen, wench, I think you’re forgetting who’s in charge here,” but he might as well have. The implication was clear as a bell.

      “I require your presence at dinner,” he said, his voice low but filled with steel. “Six o’clock in the game room.”