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CHAPTER ONE
THEFURYBURNINGthrough Prince Alaric Van Ambrose’s veins surprised him with its intensity. He hadn’t thought it possible to experience this level of anger unless it involved his useless sire.
But it wasn’t his father staring up at him from the picture pulled up on Clara’s tablet. No, it was his ex-fiancée, Celestine Osborne, in the arms of not one but two men on the dance floor of some ritzy New York club. One man had his hands on her waist, his hips pressed provocatively against her barely covered rear. The other man’s hands rested just beneath the curves of her breasts, which nearly popped out of her plunging halter top.
Most women in that position would have been focusing on at least one of their admirers, perhaps even ducking away from the bright flash of the camera.
Celestine, however, had looked straight at the photographer, her tawny gold eyes defiant, her perfectly shaped chin raised as she smiled smugly. Some might find her apparent confidence sexy. But to him, her bared pearly white teeth reminded him of a piranha.
Slowly, he uncurled his fingers from around his phone and set it on his desk. He’d kept the photo pulled up when he’d called Celestine, a visual reminder to himself that he could no longer overlook her scandalous behavior. Their engagement of nine years had been a business agreement arranged by their fathers, but one he thought they’d both willingly entered into.
Except according to her and the acrimonious conversation that had ended with her screaming at him before terminating their engagement, marrying him had been the last thing she’d ever wanted.
What did it say that he was angrier that he’d wasted so many years waiting on Celestine and having her antics associated with the country he was trying to rebuild than mourning the loss of his future wife?
“I’m sorry, Your Highness.”
Clara’s cool voice soothed some of the tension tightening his neck. She had been his executive assistant for the past seven years. Dependable, professional and talented with words, she’d made herself indispensable.
But over the last year, whether it was the escalating tension with his father, the increasing audacity of Celestine’s behavior or terminating his last affair with a Spanish oil heiress, something had changed. He’d found himself seeking her out more, asking for her opinion on government matters, enjoying her company.
Red flags. She was his employee, and he was engaged.
Was, whispered the devil on his shoulder as he looked up to see her approaching his desk. It didn’t help that Clara was a beautiful woman. Usually, she wore pant or skirt suits, form-fitting enough to be professional but loose enough that he could easily dismiss thoughts that started to take on an inappropriate nature.
But tonight...tonight she wore a deep blue gown that reminded him of the North Sea just before the sun rose. The way the material wrapped around her slender body, clinging to her slight curves before cascading down into a swirl of silk around her feet, sent a bolt of forbidden desire through his body. Her pale blond hair, normally wrapped in a tight bun at the base of her neck, had been pulled up into an elegant twist with soft curls framing her elfin face.
She reached over and tapped something on the tablet. Celestine’s arrogant expression, simultaneously lewd and immature, disappeared.
“I’m not sorry.” He leaned back in his chair and scrubbed a hand over his face. “Actually, I am. I’m sorry that I didn’t have this confrontation sooner. Linnaea deserves better from its future queen.”
Clara’s lips parted for a moment, then compressed together in a firm line. He arched a brow.
“What?”
“It’s not my place to say.”
He chuckled. Rarely did he let his guard down, but with Clara, it had become easy to do. The woman didn’t pull punches. He always knew where he stood with her, and he also knew that she had both his and Linnaea’s best interests at heart.
“When has that ever stopped you from saying exactly what’s on your mind?”
The corner of her mouth slid up as something akin to a sparkle danced in her eyes.
A sparkle? Really?
“You deserve better, too, Your Highness.”
The sentiment tugged at his chest and catapulted him back to that night eleven months ago when she’d said almost the exact same thing. When, if he was being honest with himself, things had started to change between them, at least on his end.
He stood and stalked over to the floor-to-ceiling window behind his desk. The lake glittered silver beneath the light of the frost moon. Snow had covered the ground since late October, dressing Linnaea’s spectacular scenery in a veil of white.
There were two things Alaric had loved in his life; his late mother, Marianne, and his country. It had been because of his love for Linnaea that he’d agreed to the engagement with Celestine in the first place.
A bird soared across the lake, dappled white wings spread against the night sky. An eagle owl, judging by the wingspan. It dipped toward the water before lazily drifting back up toward the stars. He envied the owl’s languid pace, no schedule, committees or legislation to keep it chained to a desk.
No errant fiancées, either, constantly threatening what he’d worked so hard for since he was sixteen, old enough to realize that if anyone was going to save Linnaea, it sure as hell wasn’t his father, Daxon Van Ambrose. Daxon liked the title of king well enough; he just didn’t want to do the hard work that came with it, preferring to spend as if he had endless resources at his fingertips instead of the country’s dwindling treasury. The primary reason why Alaric had agreed to an engagement with a woman he’d never seen.
Nine years. Nine years since he’d met Celestine and her real estate tycoon father before he had signed the contract agreeing to give Max Osborne the one thing his billions couldn’t buy: a royal title. The contract allowed for up to ten years for the marriage to take place, with Max pumping money into Linnaea’s economy through various projects until Celestine officially became a Van Ambrose. After the marriage, a dowry consisting of a couple billion dollars would appear.
