Stolen To Wear His Crown (Mills & Boon Modern) (The Royal Guard, Book 1)

by Marcella Bell

  “You are truly the gem my Helene claimed you to be.” His aunt’s voice sparkled.

  Surely his aunt—the sister of a queen herself, and the nation’s only remaining duchess—could see how unsuitable Mina was for her new role. Yet here she was, extending a warm familial welcome to the cuckoo in the nest.

  He’d always thought of his aunt among the least sentimental of the bunch. Of course, Mina had just complimented her child. Every mother had a weak spot when it came to flattery of her children.

  Roz led Seraphina away after a few more pleasantries, only to return with someone new. The woman was obviously determined they circulate, even if she had to bring people to them. The observation brought with it a mischievous spark he hadn’t felt since he and his cousin’s days of scheming to evade Roz “the dragon lady” and her plans.

  As it had then, Zayn’s mind bent itself to the creative task as Roz led away her latest guest to exchange him for another.

  Turning to Mina, he smiled, drawing her into the game that had only ever belonged to him and his cousin. “We’re going to dance,” he said.

  Unexpectedly, Mina shook her head in a fast and firm negative.

  “You can’t tell me you are enjoying this introduction train?” he asked imperiously.

  Mina swallowed, but she held her ground with another slight shake of the head.

  Out of the corner of his eye he saw Roz making her way through the crowd with the Dowager Countess of Redcliff. Their progress was slow, as the one-hundred-and-four-year-old Countess moved rather...deliberately.

  “You must,” he commanded, holding out his hand to assist her.

  If she did not take his hand it would be in the news tomorrow. He wondered if she’d realized that yet.

  Fortunately, she did not put it to the test, taking his hand with a sigh.

  “We’re not going to dance,” she insisted.

  And then he understood. And, like the spark that had had him leading her to the floor, a boyish thrill shot through his veins.

  “You can’t dance.”

  It wasn’t a question.

  She blushed, but gave a sharp nod.

  He laughed. “Of course you can’t.”

  Mina winced, but his grin only grew.

  “Don’t worry, Mina mine. I am an excellent lead.”

  “You’re something, all right,” she muttered.

  He led her on, riding high on the strange cocktail of youthful excitement and lust stirring in his blood. They passed Roz and the Dowager Countess as they made their way to the floor. Roz’s eyes narrowed at the King, and their glances were exchanged in the knowledge that she knew exactly what he was up to.

  His grin stretched wider, and even the indomitable Roz was affected, the firm lines of her glare softening.

  But softening was not the same as disappearing altogether.

  Catching Zayn’s arm in her bony talon as they passed, Roz hissed, “The unmasking will happen at the end of your dance! You’ll have to take the mask off for her—there’s a clasp in the back.”

  Then she let them go.

  Zayn led Mina to the dance floor, a pathway clearing before them. Other dancers left the floor as they approached the center, a warm spotlight finding them as they came to a stop, facing each other.

  He wasn’t sure whether it was due to the rush of success in dodging Roz, or simply the primal effect of Mina’s radiant glow in the spotlight, but although they were surrounded, the rest of the room slowly disappeared as he looked at her.

  Reaching out his arms, he took her by the waist and pulled her body flush against his. As tall as she was in the heels and the mask, her head still came only to his shoulder, allowing him to rest his cheek on the smooth front of her mask, his own expression shielded by the emanating rays.

  Her dress was a warm second skin beneath his palm and her lush curves pressed against the hard planes of his own body. Heat and blood rushed to his core as if this were the first time he’d ever drawn a woman close on a dance floor.

  Her palm came to rest softly at his shoulder while he stretched their arms out, hands gently clasped. She sucked in a breath, her breasts brushing against his chest in the process, the sensation stealing his own breath.

  The orchestra struck up his favorite waltz.

  He had no idea who the performers were, but they knew his favorite waltz.

  It was good to be King.

  Zayn drew her into the dance, and for first time since he’d met her she gracefully followed his lead.

  The floor had cleared completely by this point, and he took advantage of the space to set them a double-time pace, leaving her breathless and clinging to him. Smile wide, she seemed too focused on holding him to be nervous. Scientist that she was, she gave in to the momentum of their bodies, allowing her hips to press into his naturally, reminding him exactly why this dance had been banned during his country’s more conservative historical eras.

  So focused was his mind on the press and heat of her that it took him some time to realize that the joyful notes weaving their way into the music were the sound of her laughter. Bubbling around them, it wove its way into his blood like the finest champagne, silky and reserved for an exchange of goods that cost far more than money.

  He slowed down as the familiar chords came to their conclusion until they stood together in the large warm spotlight, chests pressed close and lifting in unison, eyes locked on each other.

  Conversation in the room fell silent.

  As if compelled, she lifted her hands to the sides of his face. Zayn closed his eyes as her fingertips trailed through his hair, seeking and finding the thin leather straps that held his domino mask in place. He felt a small surge of power as her eyes widened when she removed the mask. She would never be able to hide her reaction to him. Somehow he knew that.

  He pulled the mask from her hand and dropped it to the ground without a glance, then drew the pads of her fingertips to his mouth, to place small kisses on each one. Then he drew her closer to reach his hands around her neck and find the clasp at the back of her mask.

  He pressed the release and the mask unlocked.

  With two hands, he lifted it from her head slowly. Two servers appeared at his side to carefully carry the solid gold creation away.

  Bright curls exploded around Mina’s head, replacing the mask to bathe and halo her face in light.

  Her face was even more of a masterpiece than the mask. Gold flakes sparkled in the emerald of her irises, and the creamy golden brown of her skin glowed in the light. She was all sparkling eyes and slightly parted plush lips, and there was nothing for him to do but thrust his fingers into her hair, cup the back of her skull where it met her neck, and possess her.

  Her breath caught as their lips met, etching the moment into memory through all of his senses—taste, touch, sight, scent, and sound. Her lips were velvet-soft and plump as she leaned into him, returning the kiss, as lost as he was to the current sweeping over them.

  The crowd erupted into cheers, abruptly grinding the madness to a halt—he was the King and this display was unseemly—and yet he still broke the kiss gently, unable to rip himself away from her despite his horror at what he had just done.

  Her eyes fluttered open, clouded still with the haze of their kiss, and, fighting the urge to pull her back to him, he acknowledged that forgetting decorum seemed to be one of the results of proximity to Mina.

  Slowly, but with a flourish, he spun her out to his side and raised her arm, the smooth flow of his movements smoothing over his breach of etiquette and giving him some distance from its cause at the same time.

  Another cheer rang out from the crowd. Cyrano loved its new Queen. Now Zayn just had to figure out what to do about it.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  A MASSIVE POUNDING shook Mina from a heavy sleep and what she was sure had been a pleasant dream. Warm
lethargy lingered in her body and almost had her rolling over to try to find it again.

  Unfortunately, the pounding continued.

  Groaning, she sat up—only to realize that not all the noise was coming from outside her head.

  And here, she’d always heard that fine champagne didn’t have consequences...

  Lifting the weighted comforter in order to get up, she was startled to realize she wore only the thin strip of cloth that the styling team all seemed to agree was underwear.

  To her horror, the golden dress lay in a puddle on the floor beside the bed, alongside the heels that had had her feet aching by the end of the night. She realized she had no idea what had become of her mask.

  The sheets were smooth and slick where they touched her bare skin, which should have been a soothing counter to the pounding in her head, but as she typically slept in an oversized T-shirt rather than au naturel, the sensation only served to accentuate the sense of unfamiliarity.

  Once covered, she answered her suite door.

  Moustafa and d’Tierrza stood on the other side, the latter grinning like a fool.

  “Good morning, sunshine! You’ve been summoned.”

  Her brow crinkling, Mina’s voice was a dry croak. “Summoned?”

  D’Tierrza rolled her eyes. “His Royal Majesty has commanded your presence at breakfast.”

  Mina frowned. Not once in the time since she’d been at the palace had Zayn requested her presence for a meal. Of course, that had been before he had kissed her in front of the entire country.

  The memory of it flooded her senses as she stood in the doorway.

  He’d kissed her on the dance floor, in view of everyone in attendance, and then there had been too many toasts to count, as if they were celebrating the dawn of a new year, rather than a new queen.

  Mina groaned and squeezed her eyes shut. Now, at least to the rest of the world, their marriage was very real.

  Dressing quickly, she met her guards at the door, flashing her best determined smile and saying, “Lead the way.”

  The two guards led Mina through a new series of twisting hallways and corridors until they came to yet another set of high wooden doors.

  Moustafa and d’Tierrza pressed them open for her and Mina walked in, her head high. She would face the King this morning with dignity—even if she had no idea how you faced someone you had kissed.

  The King sat at the end of a long table, face hidden behind his newspaper. It occurred to Mina that the length of the dining table and hall seemed particularly excessive when one was slowly approaching one’s mercurial husband who had kissed one the night before.

  A staff member in crisply starched attire rushed forward to pull out her chair as she neared, and the King finally lowered his paper.

  As always, his beauty struck Mina like a physical blow. In the fresh morning light the darkness of his hair and the deep violet of his eyes were so pure she could drown in them. As usual, he wore all black. This morning his clothing consisted of a perfectly tailored black button-up shirt with a sheen to it, and trim black pants that appeared to flow with the line of his leg like water.

  The table was set with breakfast for two, and it crossed Mina’s mind that her presence had been assumed. Summoned, indeed...

  The King cleared his throat as the breakfast server pushed her chair in for her, and his brows came together in a frown as he took in her appearance.

  “They’re calling it a love match,” he said.

  “Excuse me?” she choked out.

  “The nation’s media outlets are quite abuzz about it this morning. They say I fell madly in love with a commoner. The story is currently the most trending topic online in Cyrano.”

  Mina’s stomach twisted. “Should we correct them?”

  At the King’s decisive shake of his head she felt some of the tension ease in her. She didn’t know what that reaction said about her integrity, but the thought of clarifying the nature of their relationship for the public was more than she could bear.

  “It serves no purpose. However, I prefer that my personal life not be the nation’s most trending topic. Therefore, we’re going to the summer palace, in order to give the public time to find something else to fixate upon.”

  “We are?”

  “We’ll leave by the end of the day. The Champions League finals begin in three days. That should be enough distraction to supersede any gossip about us. We will be gone for five days, as we must be here in attendance for the Ambassadors’ Dinner on the fifteenth. Are you going to eat or simply stare at your plate?”

  “Yes...” Mina said, reaching to serve herself from the platters of fruit and pastries and fluffy golden eggs laid out in front of her—though she wasn’t sure she was hungry, and this was the first she was hearing about the Ambassadors’ Dinner. Her secretary probably thought she had enough to deal with before then.

  “We will leave here at five p.m. We’ll have a late meal at the summer palace, and then enjoy the island. The Ambassadors’ Dinner is one of the less glamorous royal engagements. Returning for that should keep any mention of us to the government pages, rather than the front page of the culture section.”

  He indicated the paper he’d set aside earlier, and Mina noticed the picture for the first time.

  It was her and Zayn, their bodies molded to one another, lips pressed close—the very picture of a man and woman in love, or at the very least in lust.

  Her cheeks heated, flushing beet-red through the brown of her skin.

  The passion between the couple in the photo was undeniable, and yet none of it was real. Her husband was a stranger who could barely stand the sight of her. He certainly didn’t harbor any passion for her.

  Her stomach churned again, threatening to upend the few bites of breakfast she had managed to swallow.

  The King appeared indifferent, as if being discussed in the newspapers and photographed in such a personal embrace was a common occurrence for him. Though, come to think of it, it probably was. He had likely been photographed kissing women more times than he could count—whereas she could say with certainty that she had never been photographed anywhere so near in flagrante delicto as this.

  It was easy to be certain when you had only ever had one kiss in your whole life. And now hers had been immortalized on the front page of the “Arts & Culture” section of the Cyranese Times.

  She wondered if this was what her father had had in mind when he’d given her away to the King. He’d certainly been vigilant in protecting her chastity.

  “Boys? Sss! No boys! You have no time for boys. Not when you must work. Work hard, my Princess, for the good of Cyrano.”

  She hated it that what had seemed like memories of normal fatherly protectiveness had come to take on such a cynical nature now. And it wasn’t just her memories. It was her entire life.

  She had been so proud of her accomplishments. It hadn’t been easy to become the youngest female scientist ever nominated for the King’s council. But the years of sacrifice, the endurance, the at times cruel reshaping of herself—now she couldn’t figure out exactly why she had done any of it.

  She had thought it was because it was the one thing she had left of her father—the final living ember of a love that she had thought as transparent as it had been absolute. But she had been wrong—so wrong. All of it had been done so that rather than being a private miracle, her first kiss could be the stuff of headlines.

  The thought was like a rock in her stomach.

  She ate without noticing flavor or texture, her mind churning over the photo and the kiss. It seemed Zayn wasn’t going to mention it at all. Was a front-page kiss so commonplace to him that it didn’t bear remark?

  Looking at him surreptitiously out of the corner of her eye, she imagined that, once again, the answer was yes. A kiss wouldn’t mean much to a man who looked like him—let alone one
who had grown up as the heir to the throne and then become King. She imagined women had been throwing themselves at him since long before it had been allowed according to the Cyranese age of consent laws.

  He ate deliberately, clearly feeling no need to fill the silence that stretched between them. In the absence of conversation, the sounds of their eating filled the quiet morning—however, instead of feeling awkward, the experience of eating breakfast with the King was somehow more intimate for its lack of forced chatter.

  Mina was reminded of the mornings of her childhood, the details of individual days blurring together to emphasize what had been commonplace: her mother and father moving in sync through the steps of their morning routine with the practiced familiarity of a long marriage.

  The memory was a painful twist in her chest. The silence of those mornings had been companionable, unlike the quiet that enveloped her and the King now, and yet the comparison lingered in her mind just the same.

  She and the King shared no loving glances, and their eyes were not full of the previous night’s memories and plans for the day ahead. Neither of them reached toward the other with small caresses or touch points. And yet they were still a man and a woman—husband and wife—sharing a meal. She certainly hadn’t shared the experience with any other men in her life.

  The realization was both revealing and sad. It was becoming more and more clear to her that she should have gotten out more. She hadn’t needed to sow her wild oats, but it wouldn’t have hurt her or derailed her career to go on a date once in her life. And it would have certainly gone a long way toward her not being the kind of woman so starved for companionship that she was finding it in a stilted meal with a stranger.

  “Where is the summer palace?” she asked, both to break the silence and to stem the internal tide of self-recrimination.

  Turning the full power of his attention to her, the King replied, “Cantorini Island.”

  She started. She’d heard the name of the famous private island, but had had no idea it was tied to the royal family. “I’ve heard it’s beautiful there.”