Crowning His Convenient Princess. Maisey Yates

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      “I’m sorry, what exactly did you want me to do?” he asked. “Ensure that the punch is spiked?”

      “I don’t know, something that wouldn’t send my assistant to an early grave. Since I am quite attached to her.”

      “Yes,” he said. “Something that I’m not sure I understand. You seem more fond of her than you are of me at times. And yet, for all I can tell, Latika seems to lack a sense of fun, or humor.”

      “That’s a phenomenon that only presents itself in your presence, Gunnar. I find her amusing and delightful.” His sister’s gaze was glued to him. “Perhaps it’s just you.”

      “Everybody likes me.”

      “Everyone thinks you can do something for them. That’s different. I don’t think Latika cares one way or the other whether or not you can do something for her.”

      That wasn’t true. Everyone was an opportunist. And everyone would use a person if the need was great enough. He’d learned that early, and he’d learned it well.

      Nothing could insulate you when someone decided to use you as a tool. Not even family. Not even blood.

      “She works for you. If she needs a favor… You’re the one she’ll go to,” he pointed out.

      “Are you implying she doesn’t actually like me?”

      “Did you not just imply that none of my friends actually like me?”

      “Are either of you going to threaten to have the guards shoot the other this time?” Mauro asked, his brother-in-law’s expression one of amusement.

      “Probably not,” Astrid said.

      “The two of you make me so sad that I was an only child,” Mauro said.

      “I can see where you would be jealous,” Astrid responded serenely.

      They settled in to eat breakfast then, and Gunnar was bemused by the domesticity before him. It was difficult to imagine himself settling into such a life.

      And yet, he didn’t think it would make him entirely miserable. Of course, he would never feel for his wife the way that Mauro and Astrid seemed to feel for each other.

      And there would be no children in his marriage.

      The line was guaranteed to continue without his help, and he was not the heir. Therefore the task wasn’t his.

      After the childhood he’d endured, he had no interest in exploring the relationship between a parent and child again. Even from the opposite side.

      The door opened, and Latika entered, her black hair swept back into a twist, her makeup sedate. And yet, she glowed. He ignored the tightness that he felt in his stomach. In his groin.

      “I do hope I’m not interrupting,” she said. “Queen Astrid, we have an appointment with your stylist. We must ensure that you are appropriately outfitted for the ball.”

      “What about me?” Gunnar asked.

      “You will wear a black suit,” Latika said, each word crisp.

      She was like a tart apple. Then he desperately wanted to take a bite of her.

      It was a shame. For with this new endeavor now before him, he never would.

      For years now, his dearest fantasy had been getting down on his knees before his sister’s prim assistant, pushing one of her tight pencil skirts up around her hips and draping her legs over his shoulder, her back against the wall, as he licked his way into her center.

      As if she sensed his thoughts, her gaze landed on his, locked there. She looked startled, like a deer caught in the headlights.

      “It seems to me that you are avoiding having to dress me,” he said.

      “I’m not avoiding anything,” she said. “Believe me, Gunnar, if you required dressing, I would accommodate. I’m sorry if that wounds your fragile masculinity in any way.”

      “Good to know,” he said.

      On a tightlipped smile, Latika turned and walked out of the room.

      Astrid fixed her cold gaze on him. “Can you not deliberately poke at her with a stick?”

      “I’m not poking her.”

      “You’re a pain in the ass. She’s been through enough without you harping on her constantly. Be a decent human being.”

      “That is, dear sister, the point of all of this.”

      If he could not fashion himself into a decent human in the realest sense, he would make himself look like one.

      In his world, facade was better than reality anyway.

      Two hours after the encounter with Gunnar in the dining room had left Latika trembling and feeling hollowed out, she found herself standing in Astrid’s chamber while her friend tried on a myriad of dresses.

      “It seems strange,” Astrid said, currently admiring a white gown with delicate silver beading that clung to her curves. “To draw attention to myself on what should be a ball in my brother’s honor.”

      “Yes,” Latika said. “I can see that. But you know, it is about improving the way people look at all of Bjornland. We have essentially put out a call to all the eligible ladies of the world that Prince Gunnar is looking to settle down. The media attention alone demands that you shine above all else. Especially all those eligible ladies. It won’t do to have anyone in attendance be more beautiful than the Queen.”

      Astrid laughed. “I imagine there will be a great many women there who are more beautiful. My brother attracts rare beauties like honey attracts bees.”

      “Yes,” Latika said. “Pity he is not actually sweet.”

      “I don’t think anyone would find him half so compelling if he were.”

      Compelling.

      That was an appropriate word for the man.

      Of course, there were other words too. None of them fit for polite company.

      “I think this color washes me out,” Astrid said. She looked over at the rack that was entirely filled with gowns. “And that orange would be hideous on me. It would look lovely on you.”

      She gestured to a gown with a long bodice and a full, sheer skirt that gathered at the side, with a close fitted lining beneath. It was orange, with shimmering gold geometric detail over the top of it.

      And, Latika knew she would look good in it.

      But, she needed stay in the background. Desperately.

      “I think I will opt for something black,” she said decisively.

      “Well,” Astrid said. “I will not. СКАЧАТЬ