One Night With The Forbidden Princess. Amanda Cinelli

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      The last word came out in a disbelieving whisper. She fought a distinct urge to walk over and bang her fist on her father’s chest, to knock over her mother’s glass, to make them both react in some way other than with this muted nothingness.

      Today’s events had shaken her to her core, and yet she felt as though she were intruding on their peace with her inconvenient outrage. Surely her own father should be shocked and outraged that his daughter’s safety had been at risk inside their own home. Unless… Unless he wasn’t shocked at all.

      ‘What do you mean by a misunderstanding?’ she asked, not bothering to hide the challenge in her voice.

      ‘Libby…’ Her father sighed, raising a hand for her to quieten.

      ‘Please, don’t “Libby” me.’ She placed one hand on her hip. ‘Tell me exactly what is going on. Did you know about this man?’

      The King twisted his mouth in discomfort. ‘Well…not directly, no.’

      ‘Indirectly, then. You knew that someone would be here today? In our home.’

      King Fabian strode to the window, placing one hand on the sill and looking out in silence. ‘The man you met today was Roman Lazarov, founder of The Lazarov Group, an international security firm.’ Her father sighed heavily. ‘He is a very close friend of Sheikh Khalil and I have been assured that he is the authority on high-class security operations. But after the complete muddle he made today, I’m not so sure of his expert status…’

      He laughed weakly, his voice trailing off as he took in her expression of horror.

      ‘Don’t look at me that way. It was a gift from Sheikh Khalil—very thoughtful of him to want to ensure your safety, I thought.’

      Olivia felt a headache begin at her temples. This was all becoming too much. She closed her eyes a moment, unable to bear her father’s apparent disregard for his daughter’s privacy or independence.

      ‘No, Father. In fact I find it horribly thoughtless. And intrusive, among other things.’ She felt her breath coming faster, her temper rising like a caged bird set to take flight. ‘This is the last straw in a long line of things I have overlooked since you began vaguely mentioning a possible marriage. I am not a piece of livestock to be insured and fenced in, for goodness’ sake.’

      He sighed. ‘You are overreacting.’

      ‘No, I’m really not. Did anyone consult me before all my charity events were cancelled? Was I informed when I was assigned five new bodyguards for all trips outside the palace?’ She shook her head, her knuckles straining with the tightness of her fists by her sides. ‘And now this. Did you even think to ask me before you sent a bloody mercenary into my room? I’ll never feel safe there again!’

      ‘Lazarov was simply going to attempt to gain entry to your rooms. To find any weaknesses in our security. Besides, you were supposed to be at the races with your fiancé.’

      The tightness in her throat intensified. ‘I have not yet agreed to this marriage. Until today I had no idea that you were truly serious about it! And if this is how the Sheikh shows his concern…’

      She tightened her lips, willing herself to say the words. To tell her father that the whole deal was off. She didn’t want this. Any of it.

      King Fabian’s voice lowered in warning. ‘Olivia, these negotiations are months old—we have discussed why this is a necessary step.’

      She blinked. Months old? ‘For the kingdom, yes. I understand what we stand to gain from a political union.’ She cleared her throat, her voice sounding all of a sudden smaller. ‘But what about for me?’

      Her father’s brows rose imperiously. ‘You will be serving your kingdom.’

      ‘I don’t see why I must get married to a complete stranger in order to serve Monteverre. I am doing good work with Mimi’s Foundation—I am making a difference.’

      ‘Your grandmother and her damned charities…’ Fabian scowled darkly, draining the last of his whisky. ‘You think teaching a handful of scrawny kids to read will change anything about our situation?’

      ‘My grandmother taught me that charity is not always about money. It’s important to nourish the youth as well as to do our best to help those in need. She was beloved by this kingdom.’

      ‘Ah, yes, the eternally perfect Queen Miranda! My mother spent so much time on her charities she didn’t even notice her country’s economy crumbling beneath her feet.’ His mouth twisted cruelly. ‘Don’t you see, you silly girl? We are facing financial ruin without this union.’

      Olivia opened her mouth to protest, only to have her father’s scowl stop her as he continued on his own personal rant.

      ‘The Kingdom of Zayyar is overflowing with wealth, thanks to this man. He is an economic genius. But the civic history of his country still stands in the way of true acceptance from the west. To put it bluntly, they need our political influence and we need their money.’

      ‘Money…’ Olivia bit her lip, wanting to ask just how much she was worth, considering he was essentially trading her body for cash.

      ‘Sheikh Khalil has the capabilities to take Monteverre back to its glory days—surely you want that for your people? What good is being able to read if they have no money to feed themselves?’

      She had never heard her father speak so frankly, and his eyes were red-rimmed with half-madness. Olivia knew that Monteverre was in trouble. A series of bad leadership decisions and banking crashes had left them neck-deep in debt and with many of the younger generation emigrating to greener pastures. They were bleeding, and it appeared that this Sheikh had come offering a magic bandage. At a particular cost…

      ‘Trusting an entire country’s economic future to one man’s hands? That seems a bit…reckless. Surely there is another way without the marriage—?’

      ‘No,’ he cut across her, his voice a dull bark in the silent room. ‘There is no going back on this. I won’t hear another word.’

      Her father’s eyes were dark in a way she had never seen them before, as though he hadn’t truly slept in months.

      ‘Everything you have had since birth is thanks to your position. It’s not like you have an actual career to think of—you spend most of your time looking pretty and waving. None of that would even change. Your life would continue just as it has been—only as the Sheikha of Zayyar.’ He took a breath, smiling down at her as if he had just bestowed upon her some enormous gift. ‘This is your duty, Olivia. To Monteverre. It’s not about you.’

      She felt his words sink into her skin like an icy breeze, setting off goose pimples down her bare arms. Did being born a Sandoval really mean surrendering every aspect of your life to the good of the kingdom?

      As the second daughter she had naïvely believed that her life would be different from her older sister’s. She was not first in line to rule Monteverre—she didn’t bear that crushing weight of responsibility and she had always been infinitely glad of it.

      ‘The Sheikha of Zayyar…’

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