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The forest-green eyes were suddenly very direct. ‘And is that to be my role for the evening?’ she questioned quietly. ‘That I am to moderate my behaviour in order to please the catering staff?’
‘Of course not, Your Royal Highness,’ he said stiffly. ‘That was not what I meant.’
Zabrina saw the way the bodyguard’s jaw tightened with obvious disapproval and in a way she couldn’t blame him, because she probably was coming over as spoiled. But her behaviour was motivated more by self-protection, rather than petulance. She had been pacing her room restlessly ever since she had met Constantin Izvor at the beginning of this journey, glad to shut the door on him and mop her hand over her sweating brow. She had peeled herself out of her constricting gown and tried blaming that for the acute aching of her breasts and the increased sensitivity around the nipple area, which was making her feel oddly excited but deeply uncomfortable. She had convinced herself that if she dressed down in the comfy clothes she had secreted into her luggage without her mother’s knowledge then she would quickly feel as relaxed as she sometimes did when she was gathered together with her siste
rs and brother, watching American films and eating popcorn in the palace games room.
But she had been wrong.
Despite the slouchy pants and baggy top, all those feelings of earlier were still there, only more so. In fact, she had only to look at the powerful bodyguard for her heart to start racing as if she had been galloping her horse at great speed.
But it was wrong to feel this way about the brooding servant. She was on her way to marry another man!
Conditioned by years of inbred royal etiquette, she sat up straight, put her shoulders back, pressed her knees together, and smiled as she tried to ignore the fake intimacy of the candlelit scene beside the window. ‘Forgive me,’ she said. ‘I am not quite myself. This whole situation is so...’
His steely eyes narrowed. ‘So what?’ he questioned, as her words tailed off.
She shook her head. ‘It doesn’t matter.’
‘But—’
‘I said—’ her voice was cool now, and properly regal ‘—it doesn’t matter. And I meant it. Really, it doesn’t. So why don’t you order supper, Izvor, because the sooner you do, the sooner I will be able to retire for the night and you can go back to your guard post?’
It puzzled her that a look of faint irritation crossed his face and she wondered what on earth his agenda was. Was he so arrogant about his undoubted good looks that he found it hard to believe that a woman would want to cut short her time with him? Maybe she had been right in her initial assessment of wondering if his closeness to the King might have given him ideas above his station. Or maybe he was dating one of the chefs and determined that their culinary skills would be properly appreciated by the new Queen! Was that why he seemed so determined to have her eat an elaborate and possibly heavy meal when that was the last thing she wanted?
And then the strangest thing happened and it took her completely by surprise. A dark streak of something she didn’t recognise shot through her body like a sweeping arrow and Zabrina felt her chest tighten as she imagined the bodyguard with another woman in his embrace.
Hugging her.
Kissing her.
She swallowed as he reached for the bell, realising that the emotion was one of jealousy and that she’d never felt it before. It unsettled her even more, because surely to feel such an emotion about a servant was very, very wrong. ‘I wonder, could you also organise something to drink for me?’ she croaked.
‘But of course. Is something the matter, Your Royal Highness? You look...’ His steely eyes narrowed, as if he was suddenly remembering it was not his place to offer his opinion on how she looked. ‘I trust you are not ill?’
‘No, of course I’m not ill and nothing is the matter. I would just like a drink, if that’s not too much to ask!’
She saw his brow darken with what was almost a scowl, before he replaced it with a bland smile.
‘Of course, Your Royal Highness. Your wish is my command. Might I offer a little wine, perhaps? I could recommend a superb Petrogorian vintage, ma’am. Some say it is even finer than the finest of French wine—though obviously the French themselves are not among that number!’
Zabrina rarely drank alcohol—not even on high days and holidays—and, much as she longed for something which might help ease the terrible tension which was spiralling up inside her, she knew it would be foolish to accept a drink from Constantin Izvor. Because alcohol loosened the inhibitions—didn’t it?—and instinct was warning her that was the last thing she needed to do right now.
‘International comparisons between alcoholic beverages do not particularly interest me, if it’s all the same to you,’ she answered coolly. ‘But I would like a drink of water.’
‘Certainly, Your Royal Highness,’ he said, a nerve working in his cheek as he rang the bell, as if he were having difficulty dealing with her testy orders. A manservant answered his summons and took the order, reappearing moments later, carrying drinks on a silver platter, before silently exiting the room.
She watched as Constantin poured sparkling water into a glass, lowered his head and sniffed it as though he were judging a fine wine and then solemnly sipped.
‘Perfect,’ he murmured, filling another crystal goblet and handing it to her, and as he did so his fingers brushed against her skin.
And Zabrina could do nothing about the shiver which whipped over her body, even though it angered her. Because wasn’t it insane that such a brief touch could make her breath catch in her throat? How could something so small and so meaningless make her want to sit there gazing at him in rapt and eager wonder? She was behaving like a love-struck schoolgirl! Lifting up the glass, she took a mouthful, but even as the cool liquid quenched her parched throat all she could think about were the bodyguard’s lips, which were gleaming in a way which was making her feel strangely stirred-up inside.
It was worrying.
It was more than worrying.
She was on her way to marry another man and all she could think about was the one standing before her.
