The Rebel Prince. Raye Morgan

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СКАЧАТЬ looked up at the three young men who were staring at him blankly. “Of course I mean Will. Get him. Now.”

      The three of them looked surprised, but they jerked into action, hurrying off. He felt a fleeting sense of satisfaction that he’d managed to conjure up a tone of command. That was something he was going to have to do often and better if he was really going to end up as the king of Meridia—if this really wasn’t just a bad dream he was going to wake up from and laugh at.

      Meridia—the crazy little country that knew him as Sebastian Edwardo Valenza Constantine Marchand-Dumontier, prince of Meridia and second son of King Donatello and Queen Marguerite, both deceased. And now that his older brother Julius had abdicated the throne, Sebastian was crown prince and heir apparent. If he actually let them do this to him.

      He looked down at the young woman he’d decked and swore softly, his heart doing a quick stutter. She had to be okay. If she was seriously injured…

      “I’m not dead,” she murmured suddenly, though her eyes didn’t open.

      His heart lurched in relief. She could talk. Thank God, he said silently, but aloud he was less reverential.

      “Then why are you pretending?” he asked, not really keeping the exasperation from his voice.

      “I’m not pretending,” she said drowsily. “I’m resting.”

      Sitting back on his heels, he stared at her. “Strange place for a sudden nap,” he noted dryly.

      She opened large blue eyes at that, eyes that widened at the sight of his bare, muscular chest, jerked up to meet his gaze, then quickly snapped shut again.

      “Too much, too soon,” she muttered softly, snuggling down under the towel as if she were holding the world at bay.

      Her words were barely audible and he frowned. She wasn’t making any sense.

      “What was that?” he said sharply.

      She didn’t respond. She was lying so still he could almost believe he’d imagined her talking a moment before.

      He wanted to run his hands over her, looking for injuries, but he was fairly sure she wouldn’t accept that without protest. And he couldn’t blame her. After all, if he found an injury, what was he going to do about it? Better to wait for Will, who was supposed to know what he was doing in this arena.

      At least her color was returning. She was beginning to look less like an accident victim and more like a perfectly healthy young woman. No visible signs of harm. So why was she just lying there?

      Women. Who could figure them out under the best of circumstances? Luckily, for most of his life he hadn’t had to. Women came and went like the weather—a different type for every season. Very early he had learned to keep his emotions out of relationships. That way he didn’t have to try to analyze motivations. When you didn’t expect much, you didn’t feel shortchanged.

      Still, she wasn’t bad to look at. He’d never seen her before, but he assumed she worked here in the castle—and as he hadn’t been around lately, he no longer knew all the staff. She seemed small and defenseless, all rounded corners, no sharp edges. No makeup, either, which made her seem awfully young at first glance. A second glance revealed a young woman in her late twenties. Honey-colored hair curled around a face that was pretty in a girl-next-door sort of way.

      Not his type, though. Not at all.

      “Listen, you’re going to have to communicate with me,” he ordered firmly. “I’ve got to know if you’re badly hurt.”

      She stirred.

      “Hurt?”

      Opening her eyes again, she risked another quick look in his direction, her face scrunched up in bewilderment. Then she looked around as though she’d forgotten where she was.

      “Wait a minute. Where am I? What happened?”

      She didn’t remember? That seemed odd. Despite her claim to be resting, she’d obviously been stunned. He supposed a blow to the head could knock the memory center for a loop—but hopefully it was just temporary.

      “You’re at the indoor castle swimming pool where you very inconveniently placed yourself in the path of a stray water-polo ball,” he told her lightly. “Next time, I advise you to duck.”

      Her gaze settled on him and her eyes narrowed suspiciously. “I see,” she said, her hand going to her head, probing for lumps. “And who threw this stray ball?”

      He ignored the sudden unaccustomed flash of guilt. “To tell you the truth, I guess I did.”

      She blinked as though trying to figure something out and he realized her mind still wasn’t really clear.

      “Were you aiming at me?” she asked, her voice slightly slurred.

      His wide mouth twisted. “If I’d been aiming at you, the ball wouldn’t have bounced first.”

      The look of bewilderment deepened and he quickly added, “No, of course I wasn’t aiming at you. I was trying to shoot around a defender and the shot got away from me.”

      “So it was an accident.”

      “Of course.”

      She nodded and closed her eyes again.

      “Actually, it feels so good to just lie here,” she murmured drowsily. “I’m so-o-o tired. I haven’t slept for days.”

      Neither had he, for that matter. Ever since he’d been told to wrap up his affairs and head back to Meridia to prepare for his own coronation, sleep had been elusive at best.

      He’d flown in to Chadae, the capital where his ancestral castle stood, only a couple of hours before. Hitching a ride on a friend’s private jet had allowed him to arrive unheralded and given him the time to unwind with a short water-polo game before facing his uncle and the rest of the council.

      “What’s your name?” he asked her gruffly.

      “Emma. Emma Valentine.”

      She was peeking at him from beneath thick eyelashes. He stared right back at her.

      “Do you work here at the castle?”

      “Sort of. I’m a chef. But I just arrived last night.”

      Pacio came skidding back into the pool area as she spoke and Sebastian noticed she closed her eyes more tightly instead of looking up to see what was going on. She still seemed to want to ward off reality. He wondered what she was afraid of.

      “Hey, Monty,” Pacio cried, calling Sebastian by the nickname, short for Dumontier, often used for him. He was grinning and motioning toward the scene he saw, with Emma still stretched out before the prince. “This is just like Sleeping Beauty. Maybe all she needs is a kiss from…”

      Sebastian shot him a quelling look before he’d finished that sentence and cut him off with a demand.

      “Where’s the doctor?”

      Pacio СКАЧАТЬ