Taming the Rebel Prince

by Victoria Hart

  A popular prince would be good for publicity and tourism, but she needed Eric to be popular for the right reasons. As he exited the limousine, Astrid was on his heels, guiding him through the chaos of reporters and photographers all yelling his name. Bodyguards stepped close around him and urged him forward, but he stopped, as Astrid had told him to. He turned to face the reporters representing the BBC, posing for the cameras as he answered their questions.

  A reporter pushed forward eagerly. “Your Highness, how does it feel to be free? What was it like to be in jail?”

  Eric answered the question as though he was speaking to an old friend, and not standing in front of the cameras. “It feels wonderful. I will never take my freedom for granted again, now that I know what it is to have it taken from me. I intend to fight for the freedom of repressed people around the globe.”

  “What is your relationship with Princess Serena of Jordan? Is it serious?” asked a young woman, her eyes bright with anticipation. “Our readers want to know if we can expect wedding bells any time soon?” She thrust a small recorder in Eric’s face.

  Eric slyly evaded the question. “Princess Serena is a smart, lovely woman and I have no further comment.”

  “May we take your answer to mean there is more to the story?”

  “Only time will tell. If you will excuse me,” said the prince, as he waved at the reporters, smiling and striking a pose like a runway model. Astrid was a few steps behind, and was impressed by the prince’s poise. The press was eager for every word, every picture, and Eric was using his charisma to his advantage. His playful gambit to have a bit of fun and act as though he was strutting down a catwalk was received with cheers and claps. Astrid smiled and shook her head. Eric was a natural. She only hoped she could keep the press on their side.

  The regency suite was reserved for the prince and encompassed the entire top floor of the hotel. It included rooms for staff and bodyguards, a luxurious apartment for herself and the prince, a valet, a butler, and a small army of maids. From the private balcony, the Paris of the Belle Époque spread before them for several blocks, mansard roofs and window boxes adding their charm to the breathtaking view.

  Inside, the suite was decorated in the opulent style of the Regency period, as the name of the suite suggested, although in Paris it was commonly referred to as the Empire style. Furniture upholstered with the finest silks was tastefully arranged in rooms filled with classically inspired accents and gilded trim. The curtains, sashes, and murals suggested the French obsession with grace and comfort.

  Fatigued from the flight, Astrid wanted a hot bath and a lengthy nap, but that was not in the schedule – a fact she reminded the Eric of as he slumped onto a settee in the salon and closed his eyes.

  “We have just enough time for tea and to dress for our next function.”

  “We can spare a few hours, can’t we? We’re in Paris, the romance capital of the world. Can we not sneak out of the hotel, dress as normal people and venture out into the city, incognito? We could go to a café and pretend we are lovers,” he said, opening his eyes and reaching for her hand.

  Two footmen stood in attendance, their eyes staring straight ahead, but Astrid knew they were listening and watching. She tried to remind Eric. “Your Highness, shall I order tea? We have attendants waiting at your beck and call.”

  “So we do, yes, order tea, if you must.”

  Astrid requested tea and the assistance of the valet and a lady’s maid. She and the prince were due at the opera and a gala event afterwards. The proceeds of the event were being donated to victims of Typhoon Son Pei, which had destroyed a quarter of the homes in French Polynesia. The combination of art, luxury, and charity seemed to be a perfect fit for Eric. Astrid rwas confident that the prince’s involvement would raise awareness for the charity which would lead to an increase in donations. Everyone won in the arrangement, or so she hoped, but her own feelings were not so clear where Eric was concerned.

  As the maid put the finishing touches on her make-up, Astrid tried not to think of how many times she had rejected Eric’s romantic overtures in the last few days. He was reaching out to her, wanting to hold her hand, to kiss her, to do more, and she could only tell him no. She refused him not because she wanted to, but because she didn’t think she had a choice.

  His reputation and public persona were far too important to jeopardize by allowing a romantic tryst to happen between them, even if they both wanted it. If the press were to discover that Eric was having an affair with her, they would gobble that up and ask for more, ruining any chance he had of redefining his image. She’d tried to explain her position to him, but she didn’t believe he fully understood her constant rejection of his romantic gestures and advances.

  The maid finished Astrid’s make-up and hair. The result was perfection; she had never looked better. She tipped the maid and walked into the salon, where she was met by Eric, standing alone, looking debonair in his tuxedo.

  Taking a cue from Princess Serena, Astrid wore a dress she had purchased in Dubai: a steel gray evening gown with a plunging back, that shimmered like mercury when she moved. The gown was a daring choice for an English aristocrat, but Paris was far more forgiving than London.

  “Astrid, I will not be able to take my eyes off of you tonight, and neither will any other man at the opera.”

  “I could say the same for you. I have no doubt that every woman in Paris will fall madly in love with you at first sight.”

  Eric held out his hand. Astrid placed hers in it, and he spun her around, and into his embrace. “Why don’t we just stay here tonight? We could send out for a bottle of champagne and a small band, and dance until dawn.”

  As much as Astrid wanted to say yes, she had to tell him no once more. “Your Highness, the car is waiting downstairs. We’re on a mission and cannot allow ourselves to be distracted.”

  Eric sighed, his eyes downcast. “When this is all over, Astrid, what then?”

  “We will have to find out then, won’t we?” she answered.

  It was a vague answer, and it didn’t seem to fool him, but he escorted her to the door. “I suppose so.”

  Leaving the hotel, Astrid was careful to walk behind Eric. She didn’t want to give the impression that they were together, but it was difficult to control the impulse to run up to him, to put her arm in his and kiss him in front of the reporters. She wanted to announce to the world how she felt about him. At the opera, she sat in the same box, but in the back row, just beside his bodyguards. Later, they arrived at the gala together, but she was careful to stay behind him.

  Her heart ached as she watched Eric’s mere presence summon women of all ages to his side. Without warning, she heard the laugh of Princess Serena – a sound so unmistakable she’d know it anywhere. Astrid was not expecting the princess to be in Paris. Turning toward the sound, she watched as Serena zeroed in on the prince and joined his growing entourage.

  Clad in a body-hugging crimson gown, the princess was the most conspicuous –and attractive – woman at the gala. The gown plunged in the front and the back, and Serena’s mass of dark curls didn’t cover anything either, piled on her head in a perfect updo. An enormous teardrop diamond solitaire hung from a long chain, accentuating her cleavage. Eric would have to be a corpse not to notice this woman, Astrid thought to herself, standing back in the shadows.

  She watched Eric greet Serena and exchange pleasantries, and listened as he expressed surprise that Serena was in Paris. It was a sentiment that Astrid shared with him. What was Serena doing here? she wondered. As Serena placed her hand on Eric’s cheek and smiled, Astrid knew the answer to the question. Serena was following Eric; there could be no other explanation.

  The press was already chomping at the bit for any hint of a royal romance between two of world’s most glamorous royals. With the arrival of Serena at the gala, Astrid was confident that Eric would be frontline news all over the world. It was brilliant for publicity – a handsome prince dedicated to raising money
for charity, and at his side a princess who could easily have been a supermodel.

  If Astrid was thinking clearly, she would have approved of the match, but when it came to Eric she thought with her heart, which was both dangerous and painful. Unable to stomach any more of Serena’s flirtation with Eric, Astrid walked away.

  Chapter 12

  The sound of her phone ringing in the darkness woke Astrid from a deep sleep. Reaching for it, she glanced at the caller ID and read the name of the king of Rogandal. It was just before dawn.

  “Your Majesty,” she answered.

  “Lady Willoughby. I do hope I have not disturbed you this morning.”

  “I was just waking up,” she answered as she sat up in her bed, her mind foggy from her dreams. She wondered what prompted the king to call her at such an early hour. In her mind was a jumble of possibilities, and she tried to remain calm. “Is there anything wrong?”

  “Wrong? No, nothing is wrong. I had failed to give you credit for your expert handling of the Japanese incident, and then the manner in which you were able to solve the legal crisis in Grenada. Those strategies were nothing short of incredible. I have to admit I was impressed, but this is your best work so far. I wanted to call you and commend you on a job well done.”

  Astrid was suddenly fully awake, her mind no longer hazy from sleep or jumbled in confusion. Her thoughts raced as she stumbled in the darkness to her laptop. “Your Majesty, it was good of you to call me,” she said as she tried to stall him, to figure out exactly why the king was impressed this morning.

  The laptop powered on, and the news feed was filled with rumors of the prince’s romance with Serena – and pictures. Astrid’s eyes scanned the headlines quickly as she listened to the king’s praise. “Lady Willoughby, not only have you successfully promoted my son’s new image with this royal romance but because of this story, the press has forgotten about my daughter’s recent brush with scandal. You have managed the impossible, and you have succeeded admirably.”

  “I appreciate the compliment, I do, but this was due to circumstance, I assure you.”

  “Your modesty is becoming. I recognize your expert hand in this, Lady Willoughby. If this trend continues, I may have to insist that you remain at the court of Rogandal; you are too valuable an asset to lose.”

  “You are far too kind, Your Majesty. Are you any closer to a decision? May we call Eric your successor?”

  “I am closer. You have restored my confidence in my son but I have much to consider. We will be speaking very soon, I wish you a good morning, Lady Willoughby,” said the king as he ended the call.

  Astrid sat in the darkness, the laptop a blur of images of Eric and Serena dancing, flirting, and drinking champagne together, smiling and beautiful, a fairytale royal couple. Dawn’s first light peered through the clouds, barely visible in the bright Paris skyline. Astrid sighed and closed the laptop.

  Crawling back in bed, she pulled the comforter around her shoulders, and an involuntary shiver raced down her spine. In only a few more days, she would be finished with the assignment. Her responsibility to the royal family of Rogandal would be at an end. She realized Eric would undoubtedly be wed in the near future. She would never again be this close to him, this close to being in love.

  She lay in bed alone, thinking about the way her work had become her life. She was not sure when she became so devoted to her work and forgot to live. It may have been after the love affair with Prince Ahmed, Fayed’s older brother. It was a memory she had tried to forget. She preferred not to remember that she had the capacity to feel love – and to experience heartbreak.

  Ahmed had taught her an invaluable lesson: never to let a man into her heart. It was a lesson she’d learned too well, as evidenced by her empty bed in a city devoted to love and romance. It had been many years since she’d felt the stirrings of love in her heart, except lately, with Eric. She’d been foolish. Eric was not the right man for her; she knew that. He couldn’t be – there were too many reasons why she couldn’t be with him. It would end just like her relationship with Ahmed, both of them hurt, obligations and expectations dividing them.

  She thought of Ahmed, his smile, his eyes, and his sense of humor. She missed him, and yet she couldn’t help comparing her feelings for the two princes. Until she met Eric, Ahmed was the man she swore was the love of her life. Now that she had known Eric she wondered if she had ever truly known what love was. She had never felt the emotion as strong as she did in her heart when she thought of Eric, a feeling that was growing despite her attempts to restrain it.

  Ahmed broke her heart and she recovered, but after Eric, she wasn’t sure if recovery would be possible, if she would ever be the same. Daylight crept into the sky, the clouds golden in the sun’s rays. The shadows of the night were dispelled, but not the shadows that were creeping into her peace of mind. Her mind was at odds with her heart and her heart was no longer able to fight the feelings she had for Eric.

  Unable to fall back to sleep, Astrid picked up the phone on the bedside table. She ordered a breakfast tray and coffee to be brought to her room, and she threw the covers off and climbed out of bed. Shuffling to the bathroom, she yawned. It was going to be a long day.

  An hour later, Astrid sat in her bedroom, her laptop open as she busily scanned the headlines and gossip on the internet site, Planet. Eric was the hot topic of the morning news feed. His coy answers at the hotel about his relationship with the lovely Princess Serena were analyzed and dissected by experts. The news stories included albums of pictures of the royal couple together, dancing the night away at the gala.

  Astrid’s phone rang. Picking it up, she recognized the number – it was her contact from the intelligence office. In the brief conversation, she learned that Eric’s sister was guilty of much more than sabotaging Eric’s public persona, she was also guilty of embezzling from the Royal Rogandal Charitable Foundation. Astrid asked for evidence, and was assured she would have the documents forwarded to her e-mail within the hour.

  If Princess Eirinia was responsible for embezzling funds, Astrid wondered if she should tell the king before alerting the press. It was a powerful story, one that would undoubtedly make the princess look terrible in the press and at home. It would be one way to ensure that Eric was named successor. He may have been a drunk and led a dissolute life, but he was not a thief. Stealing from a charity was not an easily forgivable offense.

  Astrid was uncertain about her best course of action. If she used the story, she would never be able to repair the damage she would cause to Rogandal, and to Eric’s relationship with his family. The story about his sister and Ben could be explained as being leaked to the press by the disgruntled former bodyguard, Gunter, but the embezzlement story would be harder to disavow.

  For the sake of the charity, Astrid considered telling Eric about his sister’s embezzlement, allowing him the opportunity to rectify the situation quietly and without the knowledge of the press. It would keep the name of the foundation free from scandal, but Eirinia would not be held responsible for her actions. It was a tough decision and one that Astrid was in no mood to make the day after the gala.

  On the other side of her closed bedroom door, Astrid heard the familiar sound of Eric’s voice. Her heart raced, and she wanted nothing more than to fling open the door and greet him, wish him good morning and shower him with kisses. Looking down at her laptop with the images of him with Serena, she knew that he had already been showered with enough kisses already, and did not need hers.

  Confused about her feelings and what to do about his sister, Astrid sat in her room, the untouched breakfast tray on the table. She needed time to think and to plan, but they had a full day scheduled. The need to think was usurped by her responsibilities; she needed to get dressed and face the day.

  “Astrid,” said Eric as he knocked on the door. “I need to speak with you.”

  “We can talk later. I have to get dressed.”

  “We need to talk now. Please open the door.”r />
  Opening the door, she said only, “Good morning, Your Highness.”

  “Can I come in?”

  A quick glance at the footmen and the maids convinced Astrid that their conversation would not be private. She said softly, “Dismiss the staff, and then we can talk.”

  Eric did as Astrid suggested, and they were alone at last. Astrid walked out of her bedroom, joining him in the salon.

  She reminded him about their agenda. “We have a busy day ahead of us. First you have the interview with the French news agency, the press conference, the art gallery opening – and then the dinner at the American embassy. We need to brush up on the topics you will want to discuss. If you play your cards right you have an opportunity today, an opportunity that you cannot afford to miss.”

  Eric joined Astrid on the settee. “I know, you’ve arranged my schedule beautifully, one event after another, endlessly stretching on until I am named successor to my father. But tell me, why have you not made room in that schedule for you and me?”

  “Eric,” she spoke his name softly, afraid to admit the truth. “I think you know why. You feign ignorance, but we’re both adults here, and you know the reason.”

  “I do? I know that we never have five minutes alone, that you’ve kept me at a distance since we left Grenada, and I want to know why. What you confessed that day, the way you felt only four days ago, did you mean that or was that the Caribbean sun, the beach and the margaritas talking for you?”

  “I meant it, every word of it, but don’t you understand? We’re not meant to be, we never were, and we never will be. You’re a prince and one day you’ll have to marry. What happens to us then?”

  “Astrid, I can’t think that far ahead, but if I wanted to marry you, I can’t think of one reason why I shouldn’t.”

  “You’re a prince,” she repeated stubbornly. “I may be a lady, but I am not royalty.”

  “That doesn’t matter, not to me. Why can’t you let us happen, to see what would become of us, what we could be?”