A Christmas Vow Of Seduction. Maisey Yates
he had a woman in his life in any capacity other than his bed. In addition to the fact that she was his fiancée and not simply a lover, he did not want her in his bed. Not now.
He could no more imagine bedding that creature than he could imagine willingly sticking his hand into a badger den. Just another reason he’d tasked his brother’s staff with placing her in a different wing of the palace.
He had spent the earlier part of the night discussing the marriage with Kairos. And Kairos’s expectations. Of course, they would be figureheads for the nation. Actively involved in political and social events. A counterpart to himself and Tabitha, particularly important since it could potentially be up to them to produce heirs.
That meant they had to be at least half as respectable as Kairos and Tabitha, a feat Andres couldn’t imagine either of them managing.
A concern only deepened by the very worried look on the servant’s face. “Princess Zara refuses to be moved.”
Andres dropped his cards onto the table in front of him. “What do you mean she refuses?”
The man cleared his throat. “She was quite...adamant. She says she is comfortable.”
Kairos made a dismissive noise. “Unsurprising. She is already unwilling to leave your bed.” Kairos sounded...envious. Kairos had it very, very wrong.
“That is not it,” Andres said darkly.
Kairos raised an eyebrow, and Andres recognized his own features looking back at him. It was rare that he saw the similarities between himself and his brother, but he saw them now. “My wife quite happily has her own room.”
“Mine most certainly will,” Andres said, his voice a growl. “Perhaps a gilded cage is in order. One with a very firm lock.” He sucked in a sharp breath. “I don’t know how you expect me to make a princess of her.”
“She is a princess,” Kairos said, his tone bland.
“You know what I mean.”
“I thought, perhaps, it might cost you so much energy to tame her that you might tame yourself in the process.”
Andres glared at his brother, anger roaring through him. If only Kairos weren’t so far from the truth. It was the very idea of managing to tame both of them that made it seem so impossible. He said nothing else. He stormed toward the door, and the servant stepped out of his way.
“If you cannot remove her,” Andres tossed back as he walked down the hall, “I will do it myself.”
He walked to the staircase, taking the marble steps two at a time before striding down the hall toward his chambers. He pushed the doors open and was met with an empty room.
His future bride was nowhere to be seen. He stalked through the room and approached the bathroom, flinging the doors open wide.
He heard a squeak, then a splash. He looked toward the bath where he saw a very wet, indignant woman.
“What are you doing in here?” she demanded, as though she were the royalty in the room.
He supposed, in all fairness, she was one part of the royalty in the room. However, the only thing she had ever ruled over was a campfire, if the information he had received on her background was correct.
“This, Princess,” he said, his tone hard, “is my bathroom, in my bedroom. You were asked to move. It was brought to my attention that you refused.”
“I am comfortable here,” she said, sinking farther beneath the water, her expression stormy, her actions proving her words to be a lie. She was anything but comfortable, at least at the moment.
“What a terrible coincidence. I find that I am also comfortable here. As it is my room, with all of my things.”
“I was brought here against my will,” she said. “I am out of my element. I am frightened.”
Anger fired through him. He wasn’t sure why his reaction was so out of proportion with what was happening. It would cost him nothing to sleep in another room, and yet he found he couldn’t let this go. Probably because Kairos was already maneuvering him as though he were a marionette. He had no choice but to allow that, as Kairos was the king here in Petras. However, he did not have to let this little creature maneuver him too. And he would not. If she was to marry him, then she would need to understand that he was not to be trifled with.
He had a reputation as a playboy in the media, as the more laid-back half of the two Demetriou brothers. But that only held as long as he went untested. As he was a prince, very few people had attempted to test him. But Zara seemed intent on doing so, and he could not allow it.
“I do not believe you are frightened,” he said, moving nearer to the bathtub.
She lowered herself deeper beneath the surface of the water, until her chin was submerged, her large, dark eyes pinned on his. “Of course I am. You are very large. Much larger than I am. You have invaded my space.”
“Begging your pardon, Princess,” he said, moving closer to the bath, bracing his hands on the edge of the marble tile and leaning in. “It is you who have invaded my space. I did not invite you here. I did not get down on bended knee and propose to you, nor did I at any point surrender my own personal space to you for your continued use.”
She squirmed, and he could see her crossing her legs beneath the water, raising her arms to cover her breasts as best she could. The details of her body were indistinguishable as it was, and her belated show of modesty only drew attention to that which she was trying to hide.
She was beautiful. He could not deny that. Acres of smooth golden skin, wide, dark eyes that were just as pronounced now with all her makeup washed off as they had been when they were rimmed with black and gold. Her lashes were long and thick, her lips full, her cheekbones high, giving her a proud, sensual look that would certainly turn heads wherever she went.
When it came to appearance, she was everything he might have wanted in a wife, in a princess. It was her manner that left much to be desired. In fact, her manner left everything to be desired.
He had not often thought of what sort of woman he might take as his wife, because he had put off thoughts of a wife, even though he knew he would someday take one. Still, in the back of his mind he had thought he would probably marry a woman who exuded a kind of serene sophistication. One who would make his life easier. The perfect accessory to all events. As necessary and yet understated as a nice pair of cuff links.
Zara was no more a cuff link than she was a fruit basket.
“I’m distressed,” she said, her tone growing more arch by the second. “I was rooted out of my home only two months ago, held prisoner in the palace—”
“So I have heard. And while I do possess a small amount of sympathy for you, I am unsure what you expect me to do about it. You said yourself, I cannot return you to your family. You do not wish to marry me. You have told me that, as well. So here I have a short list of the things you cannot do, and the things you do not wish to do. If you could tell me one thing that you do want, that might be of greater use to me than hearing everything I am unable to do.”
“I find myself quite comfortable in this room, in this bath, at least I was until I acquired your company. With that in mind, perhaps you might let me stay here, as it is somewhat familiar.”
“Are you so fragile that moving down the hall will disrupt your sensibilities?”
“I am quite fragile!”
He had a feeling that, had she been standing on dry ground, she would’ve stamped her foot to add punctuation to the statement.
“You are a great many things, but I would not characterize you as fragile.”
“Leave me,” she said, issuing orders like a queen.
“No,” he said, “I think not.”
He