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“Neither. You’d be a royal consort,” the ambassador said.
He stared at the computer with a wrinkled brow. “What does that even mean?”
“It means you need to run. Run fast,” Isabelle said.
He was actually thinking about doing this. Actually debating marrying her. Her heart lurched at the thought of him as her husband.
What would that be like? How would it feel?
“That’s a complicated question. I’ll give you the simple, yet wide-reaching answer,” her father said. “You’d be expected to attend functions. Help with court hearings and hold a seat on the house—”
“Stop it.” Isabelle fisted the skirt of her dress. “He’s not marrying me, and I’m not marrying him. I refuse. You hear me? I. Refuse.”
“Enough, Belle.” Gordon stood up, his face stony and hard. He reached for her, but she leaped back. “It’s over. We got caught, and now we have to look at our choices before—”
“No.” She backed toward the door, shaking her head as she went. “I will not be a part of this.” Tearing her eyes off Gordon, she glowered at the computer. “And I will not marry him.”
Princesses don’t run away—but this one was.
Whirling on her heel, she left the room and slammed the door shut behind her. She only made it two steps before she saw the two royal guards blocking the hallway on either side. She stopped mid-step. “What are you doing?”
“Keeping you here.” The man to her left bowed. “Sorry, Princess. We’re under the order of the King.”
Looking back and forth between the two men, she swallowed hard. “Seriously?”
“Yes, Princess,” the other man said.
She collapsed against the door, her hands fisted at her sides. Closing her eyes, she counted to three in her head. This was all going to go away. It was all a big nightmare come to haunt her. As soon as she opened her eyes, she’d wake up in bed alone.
Gordon wouldn’t be forced into marriage—and actually considering it—and she would still be dreading having to marry a man she didn’t know.
It would all have been a dream. A big, horrible, stupid dream.
Except when she opened her eyes…she was still in the hallway with two royal guards babysitting her. And it was all real. Very, very real. “Right.”
“Princess?”
“Nothing,” she said quickly. “I’ll just stand—oof.”
The door opened behind her, and she collapsed backward. Strong arms closed around her, catching her before her butt hit the floor, and she knew without looking who caught her. Gordon—her future husband, if everyone else had their way.
“Jesus, Belle. Are you okay?”
Gripping his forearms, she nodded. “I’m fine.”
“I’m not.” He set her on her feet, then glanced at the two men staring at them. “Leave us. Now.”
“I can’t.” The man to the left swallowed hard, his gaze drifting over Gordon with apprehension. “I’ve been ordered to—”
Gordon opened the door. “Lose the detail, or I’m out.”
“Hans? Christopher?” The ambassador peeked out. “Inside, please. Mr. Waybrook will see to it that the princess stays safe. He’s a decorated military officer, you know.”
The man on the left looked at him with new respect. That was something everyone in her whole country agreed upon—soldiers of any sort were to be treated with the upmost respect. “Sir, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”
Gordon stared at him. “Uh. Thanks.”
“An honor.” The other man bowed. “Sir.”
