Royally Loved: The Royal Romances Books 1-5

by McKenna James

  “May I ask what about?”

  Patrick’s eyes grew cold. “This evening’s formal gala,” he stated. “Would you please open the door? I’d rather not do this in the hallway. I promise not to take up too much of your time.”

  I hesitated for a moment, making quick study of the man. He was taller than me by a foot or so, but he had an incredibly slender frame. As annoyed as he looked, I didn’t get the sense he was here to do me any harm. I eventually stepped out of the way of the door and swung it open, allowing him to brush past me. In my line of work, it was better to be safe than sorry. I clicked the door closed behind me and turned to face him. Patrick reached into the inside pocket of his blazer, which immediately set off all the alarms in my head. He grabbed hold of something, concealed by the fabric. Instinctively, I reached out and grasped his wrist, holding his arm firmly against his chest.

  “What the hell?” he spat. “Would you calm down? It’s not a gun.”

  I blinked, cheeks feeling awfully hot. “What?”

  Patrick shrugged me off and pulled out a small beige envelope. He held it out to me, gritting his teeth. “Prince Sebastian wanted me to deliver this to you.”

  “What is it?”

  “How should I know?”

  “I thought you knew everything,” I quipped.

  His expression hardened. “I don’t like you,” he admitted with great ease.

  I scoffed. “Well, that makes two of us.”

  “Hurry up and open it. I was instructed not to leave until I could confirm you read its contents.”

  “The Prince put you up to this.”

  “He did.”

  Curiosity forced my hands to move before I even had the chance to think. Since when was it considered normal for the Crown Prince of Wyvernbank to send private messages to a foreign envoy?

  “He could have sent an email,” I muttered, half-joking. I carefully tore open the envelope, which had been sealed with red wax. It was almost a pity that the beautiful seal design cracked when I retrieved the cardstock from within.

  “Prince Sebastian didn’t leave any trace of his correspondence,” explained Patrick. “I’ve been instructed to destroy his message to you once you’re finished.”

  “This is all very cloaks and daggers.” I chuckled.

  “His Royal Highness has had bad experiences with leaked emails to the press in the past. He thinks it’s tedious to communicate this way, as well, if you must know.”

  I looked down at the message Prince Sebastian sent me, which had been handwritten. The script was elegant, like something out of an old fairy tale book. The ink flowed across the page with great ease, loops and spirals connecting letter to letter in an endless stream of movement.

  Dear Diplomat Alison Smith,

  It is customary at state dinners such as this one to formally request an invitation to dance.

  Would you do me the honor of being my partner this evening?

  Patrick will provide me with your answer.

  I breathed shakily, heart pounding in my chest as a giddy smile pressed itself onto my lips. Was this real? Was this some weird Wyvernbank joke that I didn’t understand? Running my fingers along the edge of the cardstock, a small chuckle of disbelief bubbled past my lips. I didn’t know what to say. I had to admit that there was something irresistibly charming about Prince Sebastian, an undeniable magnetism about his very being. But Klaus’ words of caution were still loud and clear in my head, soaked into every corner of my brain.

  I was terrified of the man.

  “Well?” urged Patrick, tapping his foot impatiently. “I don’t have all day, Miss Smith.”

  Part of me wanted to say no. I was here in an official capacity, not to go dancing into the night with a Prince of a foreign country. There were people who needed my help here, people counting on me to look out for them when they couldn’t for themselves. I had to be professional, distant by necessity.

  No more playing with fire, okay?

  I looked at Patrick and gave him a small smile, handing the card back to him. “Tell the Prince that I must unfortunately decline.”

  He rolled his eyes and snatched the card back, pulling out a lighter from his pants pocket. With a quick flick and a tiny spark, the Prince’s invitation went up in smoke within a matter of seconds.

  4

  Sebastian

  The banquet hall that had been selected wasn’t as elegant as the one in Father’s summer palace in the northern part of the country, but it was still a sight to behold. There were rows upon rows of circle tables, covered over with pristine white tablecloths that dangled an inch above the polished tile floor. Every table had a floral centerpiece of red and blue lilies, representative of the Royal Family’s colors. All of the silverware had been polished within an inch of its life, and the gold-rimmed dinnerware had been set before every chair. The platform at the very front of the room had its own row of tables, designed for me, my personal advisor, and a space left open for our absent King. It was tradition at events such as these to leave a chair open for my father, symbolic of his overarching presence even when he wasn’t available to attend.

  I stood at the front entrance, surrounded on all sides by my security detail, as I begrudgingly greeted every single guest that walked through the front doors. I shook so many hands that I started to lose count. The forced smile I wore was really starting to become exhausting. But I had to keep up appearances, represent my country well. Father said that it was good practice, to be able to look one way when you really felt the other. That was all politics was–a game to see who the better liar was. Some of the greatest Kings to ever rule Wyvernbank were known to sweet-talk their way into favorable deals, sometimes even bed their enemies.

  But I didn’t know if I had what it took. I’d only been shaking hands for the better part of an hour, and I was already eager to lie down and take a nap. It was honestly no wonder that my father chose to skip the conference in favor of his private beaches up north. His excuse had been that he was attending to other matters, but I knew better than that. He was probably lounging about somewhere, relaxing as his assistants met every single one of his needs and wants. I’d much rather be anywhere else, but nobody could deny King Regis. Especially not if he demanded something of you in person. That wasn’t the way things worked around here, no matter how inconvenient his request.

  Patrick arrived half an hour after the first guests started to show. He immediately shook his head upon seeing me. Taking his place at my side, he leaned forward to mumble in my ear. “My apologies, Sebastian. She said no.”

  Disappointment settled in my chest, but I couldn’t say that I was surprised. “Shame,” I mumbled. “I was really hoping to get a chance to speak with her.”

  “There are plenty of eligible women here tonight,” he reasoned. “Why not ask one of them? I’m sure King Regis would approve of your choice.”

  I shook my head at his suggestion. In truth, the only person who’d managed to capture my interest was Alison Smith. There was something electric about her, something that had me thoroughly tantalized. I liked the way that she spoke, the way she held herself with certainty and calm. The other women at the gala didn’t compare. I supposed that if I absolutely had to, I could ask one of them to the first dance of the evening. But an air of dissatisfaction loomed over my head. I didn’t feel like talking to any of these other guests. I felt like talking to the only woman in the room with a sharp tongue and quick wit. She was just as intriguing as she was elusive, which made me want her even more.

  But the rate at which guests trickled in began to slow, and Alison Smith still hadn’t arrived. Patrick eventually had to clear his throat and tap me on the shoulder, gesturing with an open palm to come inside. Dinner was about to be served, and the cooks could no longer wait for me to take my seat. After all, festivities couldn’t start without me. I did my best to hide my displeasure, but took a deep breath in through the nose, puffed out my chest, and held my head high. I was the Crown Prince of the Kingdo
m of Wyvernbank. Nobody was allowed to see me as anything but.

  Once I took a seat at the head of the room, a swarm of serving staff expertly weaved through the tables to deliver dishes of steaming hot food. The banquet hall quickly filled with the sound of boisterous conversations, laughter, and the clinking of forks and knives of plate surfaces. Part of me wanted to be a part of the conversations, but that was an impossibility because of where I was. I sat above everybody else, isolated on the platform to only Patrick’s company. It wasn’t that he was a bad conversationalist. It was just that when he did speak, it was always work-related. The guy wouldn’t know a good joke if it hit him over the head with a brick.

  “Would you please cheer up?” he asked me after our first course plates were quickly busked away. “I don’t understand why you asked her in the first place.”

  I tilted my head to the side and exhaled. “I don’t know. Maybe I did it because I knew it would annoy you.”

  “That you’d ask a Sunyata? Of course, it would annoy me.”

  “The war was ten years ago, Pat. Don’t you think you should be over it by now?”

  My personal advisor took a sip of his sparkling wine. “You were too young to understand, Sebastian. I, however, was not.”

  “Do you think it was unwise of me to agree to Miss Smith’s terms?”

  “I didn’t say that. You could have let her sweat a little.”

  “But she made some very good points,” I reasoned. “She’s right. My people are dying due to my father’s negligence.”

  Patrick glanced at me with concern. “Careful what you say here, my Prince. I made sure to have the security team sweep for cameras and to keep news reporters as far away from the venue as possible, but you never know who could be listening in.”

  “It’s fine, Pat,” I sighed. “You worry way too much.”

  “It’s kind of in my job description.”

  “Is it?”

  He nodded. “I had it officially rewritten a while ago.”

  “Dear God, did you just make a joke? Today’s full of surprises.”

  “Speaking of surprises,” he mumbled, looking toward the entrance of the banquet hall.

  I followed his line of sight to find Alison Smith and her personal assistant walk in through the large glass doors. She looked stunning. In fact, to say she was stunning was an understatement. There were simply no words to describe what she looked like. She’d let her hair down, gentle curls of raven-black locks cascading down past her shoulders. She still wore here eyeliner bold and sharp, but she replaced her bright red lipstick with a shade of pink to give her overall ensemble a softer appearance. The color of her lips complimented the grey floor-length A-line dress she wore. The front of the fabric had an intricate pattern of crystals sewn into it, catching the light like the bubbles in Patrick’s sparkling champagne. Her dress hugged her form in all the right places, accentuating the curves of her hips and the delicate slope of her exposed shoulders. If I didn’t know better, I could have mistaken her for a Princess rather than a diplomat.

  “Your Royal Highness?” came a voice.

  I had to tear my eyes away and settle them on an older gentleman and a young woman who now stood before me, looking up expectantly. The man was in his late sixties, dressed in a poorly fitted tuxedo. There was a faint red wine stain on his white dress shirt, hastily wiped away and smudged into the fabric, but I decided not to draw any attention to it. The young woman beside him shared his pointed chin and widow’s peak, so I assumed she must have been his daughter. There was no denying her beauty, what with long hair like liquid gold dripping from the top of her head, and pale skin that drew attention to her kind eyes.

  Patrick stood and cleared his throat. “Prince Sebastian, this is Ambassador Clavets of Dulan. And this is his daughter, Elena Clavets.”

  The ambassador bowed low, whisking an arm out in front of him. His daughter was slightly more subtle, curtseying with a quick bend of the knees.

  “I wanted to thank you,” said the man, “for hosting such a lovely evening. We’re having a wonderful time. Isn’t that right, Elena?”

  “Yes,” his daughter said obediently. Her eyes were glossed over, her attention not entirely all there.

  “I’m afraid I can’t take all the credit,” I said calmly. “It wouldn’t be much fun had you and your fellow ambassadors not taken the time to attend.”

  “We wouldn’t have missed it. Any chance to visit the Kingdom of Wyvernbank is an absolute pleasure. Right, Elena?”

  The girl squirmed, shifting where she stood. “Yes,” she repeated softly.

  Ambassador Clavets placed a hand on the small of his daughter’s back, forcing a smile that stretched from ear to ear. “My daughter can’t wait to dance,” he said, looking directly at me. He chuckled, a little nervous. “It’s all she’s been going on about since I told her I’d bring her to the gala.”

  Beside me, Patrick nudged his elbow into my ribs. It wasn’t like I needed the hint; I was simply praying that I wouldn’t be forced to ask. When neither of the Clavets said anything, didn’t bother to move on, Patrick nudged me again. The only thing my advisor hated more than Sunyatas was awkward silences. I slowly rose from my chair and smiled down at the poor girl, feeling nothing but pity. I knew what it was to be a pawn in someone else’s gains. I’d lived in my father’s shadow long enough to grow accustomed to the feeling. My only responsibility to King Regis was to comply with everything he told me to do, just as it was Elena’s to follow her father’s wishes. She’d get used to it sooner or later–preferably sooner.

  I stepped down from the platform and met with the Clavets face to face. Extending my hand, I took Elena’s hand in my own and kissed the back of her fingers. “Miss Clavets, would you do me the honor of this evening’s first dance?”

  Her eyes widened in surprise, mixed in with a whole lot of worry. She quickly looked to her father, who was nodding furiously. Elena took in a shaky breath and started to mimic the ambassador’s movements, nodding quickly.

  “O-of course,” she stuttered. “It would be my pleasure, Your Royal Highness.”

  I guided her by the hand onto the dance floor, which was an open space clear of any tables at the front of the room. A crowd started to form almost immediately, curious eyes falling on us. The live band, which had set themselves in the corner of the room, started to play a gentle tune. It was hard not to notice how badly Elena was shaking as I led her about the floor. She kept looking down at the floor, either too shy to look me in the eye or too worried that she’d trip over her own feet.

  “You look very lovely this evening,” I said politely.

  “T-thank you, Your Royal Highness.”

  “You’re not having much fun, are you?”

  Elena blanched. “T-that’s not true. This is loads of fun.”

  “It’s okay,”—I chuckled—“you don’t have to lie. This was your father’s idea, right?”

  She shivered, a streak of bumps popping up on her forearms. Elena nodded slowly, cheeks flushing a light shade of pink. Now that the song was in full swing, several other couples joined us on the dance floor, placing more space between us and her father.

  I whispered into her ear. “It’s just one dance. Why don’t you tell me about yourself? Do you have someone waiting for you at home?”

  “Y-yes, I do. His name’s Tomas. How did you know?”

  I shrugged. “I’m really good at reading people.”

  “I didn’t mean to offend you.”

  “Don’t worry. No offense taken. Overbearing parents are the worst, huh?”

  Elena’s face lit up. “I know, right?”

  “Does your father approve of this Tomas?”

  “I suppose he doesn’t mind him. He comes from a good family.”

  “But does he treat you well? That’s the only thing that matters.”

  “Yes,” she giggled. “He’s very sweet to me.”

  “Good. Hold on to him if you can.”

  When the song ca
me to an end, so did our dance together. Elena curtseyed again and smiled up at me sweetly. “Thank you,” she said. “I hope you get to dance with someone you actually want to dance with.”

  “I hope so too,” I admitted. “Enjoy your evening, Miss Clavets.”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of Alison Smith leaving through the back doors of the banquet hall. The gala was far from over, so I was interested to know where she was going so early. My heart picked up its pace, and my legs willed me forward. I hadn’t been afforded the opportunity to speak with her yet. Not on a personal level, that was. I weaved my way through the crowd, which frankly wasn’t difficult because people tended to step out of the way when they saw me approach.

  “Where are you going?” Patrick called after me.

  “Fresh air,” I managed. “I need some fresh air.”

  “Take one of the guards with you.”

  “I’ll be two minutes,” I insisted before leaving Patrick behind entirely.

  The back entrance to the venue led out into a flourishing garden beneath a dark sky, illuminated only by the glow of the full moon and the soft twinkle of stars. Beads of moisture covered every petal, leaf, and blade of grass beneath my shoes. All was quiet out here, terrifyingly still in contrast to the loud music and festivities inside, now muffled behind closed doors. But I wasn’t paying attention to how chilly the air felt against my skin, or how wonderful the flowers smelled. All I could focus on was the woman sitting on a stone bench, looking out to the horizon.

  “Miss Smith?” I said, keeping my voice low in an attempt not to startle her.

  She turned, lips parted in surprise, before curling to form a sweet smile. The woman rose and bowed her head respectfully. “Prince Sebastian,” she said coolly. My throat suddenly grew dry. It was the first time I’d heard her speak my name. It disturbed me just how heavenly it sounded on her tongue.

  5

  Alison

  “Are you enjoying your evening, Miss Smith?” he asked softly.