Of Royal Blood. Carolyn Zane

dally, or you’ll miss all the fun.”

      As Sebastian LeMarc watched Marie-Claire descend the grand staircase into the spectacular Crystal Ballroom—named for the priceless one-of-a-kind set of Austrian crystal chandeliers that shimmered fire the full length of the ceiling—he was transported back five years, to a night not unlike this.

      His eyes caught hers and held and the age-old tightening kindled within his gut. Just as it had every time he’d caught her eye for the last five years.

      Yes, it had been a night very much like this indeed. The second of September, to be exact. The air had been heavy that day, too. Muggy. Thunderclouds threatened harmlessly on the horizon, omitting an occasional distant rumble. The trees were only just beginning to turn into what would soon be a kaleidoscope of lemon-yellows, burnished golds, rusty oranges, and blood-reds.

      It was that hour of the day just before the sun fell off its tentative perch on yonder hilltops and cast an ethereal glow over the land, turning raindrops to diamonds and ordinary leaves into a vibrant, translucent mass of color that would rival any pirate’s treasure trove. Against the charcoal gray of the dramatic sky these colors came to life in a way that only the most talented old masters had been able to replicate on canvas.

      Sebastian had been out riding with friends when he reined in his mount in order to bask in the glory of this magic view. His friends—royal consorts and visiting dignitaries deep in a political discussion—hadn’t bothered to look up and rode on ahead for the palace stables.

      The air held anticipation.

      But of what? Sebastian couldn’t pinpoint the source of the restlessness he felt burning deep in his gut. Perhaps it was the changing of the seasons. Or, the melancholia of saying goodbye to another warm sunny time of year and heading inside to spend months beside the fire.

      Then again, perhaps it was the feeling that in three short years he’d be thirty. An age when people began to look toward producing a legacy of some sort. A marriage. An heir. To contribute to society in ways other than hunting with the boys and making the aristocratic social scene that had been handed him at birth.

      For a long moment, Sebastian sat on his mount and pondered his universe as the sun began its nightly descent behind distant hills and the shadows grew long.

      And then, just as he was about to turn homeward for the night, a blinding streak shot out of one of the royal stables farthest from the main compound. With a gleeful war whoop, this shrieking banshee took off across the meadow on a horse—or a bolt of lightning, Sebastian couldn’t be sure—and headed toward the woods nearly a kilometer away from the rear of the stables.

      Sebastian squinted into the setting sun. Where would a stable boy be charging off to at this hour? Unless he was up to no good.

      Reining his horse around, Sebastian set off after the boy, knowing that King Philippe would never have sanctioned such after-hours escapades. The quickest way to ruin prime horseflesh was to ride at breakneck speeds in the dusk.

      The wind whistled in his ears as he hunched low and followed the boy over the rolling hills of St. Michel to the edge of a great forest that was rumored still to harbor a fire-breathing dragon and a band of magical fairies. Well, Sebastian didn’t know about that, but when he caught up with this kid, be might just breathe a little fire himself.

      Upon reaching the forest, he had to slow dramatically to pick his way through the trees to avoid being clothes-lined by a low-lying branch. He could hear the horse and rider just ahead, crashing through the underbrush, and then the roar of falling water as a rushing river cascaded over a precipice at one end of the king’s well-stocked fishing pond.

      A poacher, no doubt. There to catch a few illegal fish for his undoubtedly lazy, thieving family. Jaw grim with determination, Sebastian stayed just far enough behind to keep this unsavory character in view, while at the same time taking care to avoid being detected. Slowly now, he wove amongst the dense foliage. It was darker deep in the woods, growing more so as the sun’s rays began to fade.

      Overhead, the sky rumbled an ominous growl, and Sebastian felt the first of several warm drops splat on his head and hands. Urging his mount forward, he peered through the branches and was instantly rewarded with a view that stole his breath away.

      This was no boy, standing on an outcropping of rock, hastily shedding his clothes.

      No.

      This was a young woman!

      Casually grazing, her horse was tethered to a tree near the water’s edge, about a dozen or so feet beneath the spot where she stood silhouetted against a fiery backdrop of fir trees. Lit from behind as she was by the sun, dusty rays fanned out in a long star pattern as she moved, giving her an almost wraithlike appearance.

      Unable to tear his eyes away, he watched as she snatched open her buttons and pulled her blouse free of her jeans. Next, she yanked down the zipper of her pants and eased them over her slender hips. An impatient kick sent them into a haphazard pile with her blouse to the shore below.

      Clad in only a pair of lacy wisps that left little to the imagination, she stood and surveyed the way the setting sun shimmered like gold coins bobbing on the surface of the gently lapping waves.

      Sebastian’s breathing grew shallow. Who was this woman? She was no stable hand, this he knew, as females were never hired in such a capacity in this particular kingdom.

      Her body was long and lithesome, yet curvy in all the right spots. Her thighs and calves were shapely, well muscled obviously from years spent riding, and her shoulder-length hair was wild, glowing gold with the slanting light of the setting sun.

      Sebastian’s mouth went dry. He knew he probably had no business standing there, staring at her this way, when she thought she was by herself, but on the other hand, she had no business being out here alone. It wasn’t safe. Anything could happen to a young woman out swimming after dark.

      Deciding to stay put, just in case she needed him for whatever reason, he watched as she moved to the edge of the outcropping of rock and surveyed the black water below. As if in slow motion, she balanced on her toes, crouched low, and then using the rock as a springboard, arched out over the water and executed a perfect, nearly splashless, dive.

      Sebastian felt as if he’d swallowed a golf ball whole as he watched her disappear from view. When the water’s ripples had calmed, his guts began to churn. Where the devil was she? She should have been up already.

      He stood in his stirrups and craned in her direction, mentally preparing to go in after her. He waited another three or four seconds.

      That did it.

      She was in trouble. Likely hit a rock, or maybe she was caught by the hair on some branch beneath the surface of the water.

      Throwing a leg over his saddle, he dismounted and hit the ground running in one fluid move. Just as he reached the edge of the pond, she burst forth from the water’s surface, like a phoenix rising, her giddy laughter ringing out as she whipped her bra and panties in a circle over her head and flung them onto the beach.

      Sebastian could only stand there and stare. His heart was beating ninety miles an hour and the battle he waged was whether to paddle this brat for scaring him so, or to kiss her because she was alive.

      And beautiful.

      In his life, the plastic, well-bred beauties that vied for his attention had jaded Sebastian. Aristocratic women could be so dull. Vain. In search of a trophy to call husband.

      But this woman was different, he could tell. Her complete lack of affectation captivated him, and he found himself wanting to know more. Was she a commoner? If so, who was her father? What did he do?

      Then reality struck.

      Could she be taken? She certainly did not act the staid, married matron. Her body and her carefree personality betrayed her youth and he judged her to be no more than twenty. Twenty-two at the most.

      A perfect complement to his twenty-seven.

      Watching her, he felt his