Courted By The Mountain Prince: An Arranged Marriage Romance

by Frankie Love

  Besides, none of that matters when the fate of Elexia is resting on the shoulders of my sisters and me. Marrying an arrogant bastard is apparently the only way for me to ensure that my homeland can survive.

  Walking from the castle to the airstrip, where Cressia has sent a private jet, I feel a warm island breeze wash over me. I inhale deeply, not wanting to forget anything about my home.

  I blink; willing myself to remember that this isn’t about what I want. It’s about Elexia.

  “I wish I was leaving first,” Iris moans. “But since I’m not, you’d better do your job, Violet.” She waves a finger my way, jokingly. “Marry him, so I can get out of this boring country. Oh, and you have to remember to smile.”

  I hand my bags to a flight attendant. “I’ll smile,” I tell Iris, and give her a tight, fake-as-hell grin, annoyed at her digs about Elexia.

  She rolls her eyes.

  “What?” I ask. “I’m trying. This is me trying.”

  “You may need to try a little harder,” Dahlia says, walking up to us. Her voice is soft as she reaches for my hand. Our farewell is upon us. I’ve never been away from my sisters in my entire life. “Violet, Cressia won’t pay the dowry until you take your wedding vows and consummate the marriage.”

  Heat rises to my face, hearing my sister speak so frankly.

  “I know,” Dahlia says. “None of us has ever had a ... partner—but Violet, you can’t chicken out. We need this. Elexia needs this.”

  Iris laughs. “Oh, for heaven’s sake, we are way too old to be nervous about sex. Besides,” she says, “at least you know your husband-to-be is hot as hell. My man? There isn’t a single photograph of him anywhere on the Internet. I’m betting he has three heads.”

  Dahlia and I exchange a grimace. We do both know our husbands are at least attractive.

  And, if I’m being completely honest, I know Prince Hunter is more than handsome; he’s rugged in the most royal way. And while his personality turns me off—completely—I can’t deny that in every photograph Iris has shown me, his green eyes, stately appearance, broad shoulders, and intimidating height give me a lady boner. One I am absolutely trying to suppress.

  This marriage isn’t about feelings; it’s about what’s right for my country.

  And my father has been warning me all week to stay far away from Hunter until the wedding day. Apparently rumors have been flying that he isn’t that serious about his royal duties. If I slept with him, and then he tossed me aside, I would not only lose face, but also lose the dowry.

  I need to keep my lady boner in check, and my head on straight.

  Shouldn’t be hard, considering I’ve managed to keep my virginity intact for twenty-three years.

  “I love you,” I tell my sisters, wrapping them in a hug, wishing I could stay and see them off for their marriages.

  “We love you, too,” they both tell me, kissing my cheek.

  Father is waiting at the foot of the stairs leading to the jet.

  He nods solemnly, and my chest aches—for him, and for Elexia, and for me. This is not what I wanted.

  “I know you aren’t keen on this plan, my dear girl,” he says, setting his hands on my shoulders, “but your marriage was inevitable, you know that. And this alliance will mean great things for our people.”

  I brush a tear from my eye. “I don’t know why I’m crying. I’m not sentimental, you know that, Father. But Cressia is very far away.”

  “I know. It will be a big adjustment, moving to the snow-capped mountains, but you have faced everything in your life with a maturity that surpasses your age. Prince Hunter is a lucky man. Just make sure you get him to the altar. Tell him whatever you need to, in order to get him there.”

  “What are you suggesting?”

  “You are a smart woman, Violet. Some men want freedom, some want … ahem, mistresses. I don’t know. Meet Hunter and find his angle. Capitalize on it. Whatever you do, make sure you use your head.”

  I swallow my fear, wanting to make my father proud, to make Elexia proud.

  “I’ll do my best,” I tell him, as he hugs me good-bye.

  When the plane takes off, I find myself sitting in a plush leather chair. An attendant offers me a glass of champagne. “For you, Princess,” she says warmly.

  I take the flute, sighing as I look out the window, watching my country grow smaller and smaller as we gain altitude.

  This would all be easier if I hated my life, if I wanted to escape. But I don’t; I want to stay. Instead, I’m watching everything I love disappear before my eyes.

  When I step off the plane in Cressia, I think two things at once.

  It is frigid.

  And why are there so many flashing lights?

  I’m whisked into a massive, gleaming black SUV. A woman in her forties, wearing a massive fur coat, sits beside me. She introduces herself as Jemma, the royal publicist, but I’m not paying attention to her. I’m staring out the darkened windows as we roll through a snowy mountain towards a massive castle looming above us.

  “That’s where I’ll be living?” I ask, turning to Jemma, who’s tapping on a phone.

  She raises her eyebrows. “Perhaps,” she says with a heavy accent. “But Prince Hunter has lived in the woods for the past few years.”

  “This isn’t the woods?” I ask, looking out the window once more. A thick forest is blanketed in snow and the castle turrets are covered in white. We pass a group of buildings that are reminiscent of a Bavarian village, or a Christmas story I might have read as a child, with gingerbread trim and thatched roofs. It’s charming, in an ice-cold sort of way. But it appears much more rural than I expected—and if this isn’t the woods, I don’t know what is.

  “No, Princess. This is the capital. And Prince Hunter prefers to live in the wild. He has a good heart and loves this country; he shows his love in a different way than his father does. Living in his cabin gives him space for personal—err, for privacy. Though,” she says, patting my knee, “that may all change now the he is to be wed.”

  “Does he want to marry?”

  Jemma smiles tightly, a look I know all too well. I’ve been wearing a similar one most of the day. “This was quite sudden for him. And he’s … resistant to change.”

  “That’s the diplomatic way of saying he doesn’t want me for a wife, isn’t it?”

  When she doesn’t answer, my head drops against the seat. We pull up to the stately castle, and a footman opens my door.

  I brace myself for a husband who doesn’t want me any more than I want him.

  4

  Someone has set out a royal suit for me to wear. On the lapel is the insignia of Cressia; with this suit on, I look the part of a royal prince. A prince I never asked to be.

  I run my fingers through my thick dark hair, put pomade on my unruly beard, and walk into the formal sitting room with a tense jaw. Marrying Violet in a few days is the last thing I want, but I’m not ready to walk away from Cressia, and spurning the law my father has evoked would mean saying goodbye to the country I love.

  I don’t want that.

  My behavior would signify that I don’t give a fuck about a single thing, but that’s not true. I do care about Cressia, and the last thing I want is to lose my home because of some archaic law.

  Besides, I can have my cake and fucking lick the frosting off the slice. I can marry Violet, but that doesn’t mean I can’t do what I want, live where I want, be the man I want.

  “Ready?” my father asks.

  I give him a terse nod.

  “Be gentle with her. She didn’t expect this, either.”

  I laugh sharply. “I read a Wikipedia page depicting her home country as poor, backwards, and desperate. I’m sure Violet knew exactly what was coming.”

  My father smirks. “She may have known she would need to marry, but not to you.”

  I scoff at his words, annoyed at his depiction of me. Plenty of women have their panties soaked through, legs spread, mouths parted, after I spend
a few minutes with them.

  The sitting room doors swing open. My father and I stand.

  “May we present Princess Violet of Elexia.”

  In walks Jemma, our PR director, who steps quickly to the side to make way for Violet.

  A woman steps toward me, her head held high. She’s a slight thing, looks light as a feather, but she exudes unabashed confidence. Her hair is thick and black, with glossy layers that frame her face. Her eyes are blue like ocean waves, her skin bronze and warm like the sun.

  Everything about her reminds me of the pictures I saw of her country on Wikipedia. She looks like a summer day, even though we’re in the middle of October, snow is everywhere, and we’re standing in a drafty castle.

  But her clothing? Well, it’s all wrong—just a flimsy sundress with a light sweater.

  “Aren’t you freezing?” I ask, stepping toward her.

  She frowns, dropping into a curtsy. When she stands, she walks to my father, offering him her hand. He kisses it, then smiles broadly before they both turn to me.

  My eyes are on this contradiction of a woman. Both delicate and unnerving, small but demanding. Her gaze is severe, yet sincere.

  “Princess Violet,” my father says. “This is my son and your fiancé, Prince Hunter.”

  She lowers her head and offers me her hand as well. I kiss it, my lips pressing against her soft, sun-kissed skin. Her hands are ice.

  “You are frozen through, Sunshine.”

  She lifts her chin, licks her lips. Says nothing.

  I smirk. “I can warm you up.”

  Her eyes widen in disbelief.

  “Hunter,” Jemma scolds as my father shakes his head. “Violet needs a tour of the property, the castle. She also needs to be shown her chambers for the next week, until the wedding. I’ve sent you an email listing the week’s schedule, but James will keep you on point.”

  I shake my head slightly, looking back at Violet. She looks utterly delicious in that tiny dress—and I hate that thought, considering she is the woman my father picked for me. I want to resist everything he chooses for me, as juvenile as that may be.

  “Do I really need an assistant, Vi?” I ask her.

  I need to figure her out, get her alone so I can understand how she and I are going to work out this arranged marriage. Will I be fucking her twice or thrice daily?

  If she’s to be my bride, I certainly plan on taking my husbandly duties seriously.

  When she doesn’t respond, I add, “I’m sure Violet and I will be fine. I heard women are good at cracking the whip.” Violet covers her mouth, and I shrug, knowing my first duty as this woman’s prince is to loosen her up. “Jemma, I can give Violet the tour, take her around the grounds, show her to her room. When shall we be ready for dinner?”

  “Dinner is at eight. It’s two now, so you have plenty of time to relax before the meal. This will be a quiet affair, but in a few days the palace will be bustling with wedding activity. We thought we’d make sure you had time to recover from jet lag, Violet.

  “Tomorrow you have a wedding dress and royal jewel fitting, as well as a wardrobe assessment. Both of you have a packet of information you need to go through. Oh, and you’ll need to answer some questions before the next press release.”

  Violet bites her bottom lip and I see her wring her hands tensely. This is information overload.

  “That’s enough for now,” I tell Jemma. “Plenty to get us started.”

  “All right,” Jemma agrees, looking at the clipboard in her hand. “Oh, and Violet, to help with the cold, there are several clothing options for you upstairs. Including a winter coat.”

  “I think I can find some other ways to warm her up,” I say with a wink.

  My father coughs. “This wedding is to give you a better public image, Hunter. Enough with the antics.”

  “You’re the one who sprang me on her an hour ago.”

  “An hour?” Violet asks. “You’ve known of the marriage for one hour?”

  It’s the first thing she’s said to me since she set foot in this room, yet her voice doesn’t surprise me. It’s exactly as I’d expect: soft yet sure, strong yet sweet. A perfect melody.

  “Yes, my father thought I might do something drastic if I had time to plan, I suppose.”

  “But you won’t do anything drastic, will you, Hunter?” my father asks, his eyes narrowed. Hell, he wants to plan my life? I’ll make sure to make him regret it.

  I smile, broadly and with the cocky self-assurance I was born with.

  “Oh, I plan on doing plenty of drastic things, Father.”

  I take hold of Violet’s elbow, knowing it’s time we get started with this royal tour.

  5

  The thing is, I don’t want a royal tour from Prince Hunter. And not because I don’t trust myself in front of this man—this man who is more ruggedly handsome that I prepared myself for, this man who seems to know exactly who he is and what he wants.

  I don’t want the royal tour because it will break my heart to see the place that’s going to be my home, a place so far from my actual castle. I bite the inside of my cheek, determined not to cry. I must not let down my guard. If I have to do this, I don’t want them to think I’m weak.

  I force myself to keep my shoulders straight and my resolve strong. I can do this.

  And then he leans closer, his hot breath on my ear; my heart rattles in my ribcage, a resounding warning that this prince is trouble.

  “Sunshine, let me give you a tour. We can finish it up in your royal chambers.”

  I let out a meager sigh of consent as he leads me away from his father and into a grand hallway, even though I absolutely have no intention of letting him in my room.

  But being difficult isn’t going to help my cause. No man wants a difficult wife. I need to get married, make sure my father gets his money for Elexia, and then I can figure out what I’m going to do with the rest of my life.

  Prince Hunter doesn’t notice my lack of excitement. He seems to think I’m already smitten—he must, the way his hand rests on the small of my back.

  I will not let his touch sway me.

  “Let me show you the way,” he says in my ear. “Perhaps a woman like you is overwhelmed with the big, wide world. Elexia is quite a small country, is it not?”

  “It is small,” I admit. “Though she be little, she is fierce.”

  He smirks. “They teach Shakespeare in your provincial country, as well? Shocking.”

  I want to smack him for that. How dare he act dismissive when he’s never even seen Elexia?

  I need to marry a prince; that doesn’t mean I need a real husband. I have always been the big sister who took care of things, especially after Mom died. I don’t need a man now to keep me in check. I’m completely capable of that myself.

  We walk down the hall together, and I’m determined not to drop my guard.

  “This is the hallway,” he says in a mock-serious voice as if he is a tour guide and not just a devastatingly handsome prince whose hand is pressed against my back ever so firmly. My core tightens as I imagine him pressing against other parts of me.

  My body betrays my mind.

  I blink, refocusing on the present.

  “And this is a wall. That is … errr, a painting. And that is a vase of flowers.” Prince Hunter points to objects that are quite obvious and I forget about being weak in the knees and remember that this grown man is just a playboy who knows that putting his hand on the small of my back will get a reaction from me. “That is a staircase and th—”

  I cut him off. “I can gather that all by myself, but thank you, Prince Hunter, for your attempt at the tour.” I reach behind me, grab hold of his warm fingers, and remove them from my back. “However, I think I’ll go back and ask Jemma to take me to my room, show me around. I don’t think I’ll need your assistance.”

  Hunter smiles smugly as if he has me all figured out. He crosses his arms over his broad chest and looks me up and down in the empty hallway. Th
e carpet beneath us seems to move.

  He is much too handsome for me to look at squarely. My eyes meet the floor. I came here to marry a prince with a reputation for being a liar, a playboy, a child. The last thing I need is to start crushing on him and thinking of him as a man.

  He’s Prince Hunter; he can have any woman in the world. I may be his bride-to-be, but I’d be a fool to think he’d ever choose me as more than a conquest. My body is all he’d be interested in.

  Even that’s a novel idea. I’ve read tabloids depicting his supermodel lovers, and I’m not in the same league.

  But then why is he looking at me like that?

  It doesn’t matter. If I let him use me, my country will pay for it.

  The price is much too high. He smirks, his finger lifting my chin, forcing my eyes to meet his. Damn, he is trouble. He has moves. Me? I have nothing of the sort.

  “Jemma won’t be taking you anywhere, Violet.”

  “She won’t?” Part of me thinks that perhaps Hunter wasn’t just teasing, back in the sitting room, about warming me up.

  Maybe he really wants to.

  Maybe the sight of me is getting him as excited as the sight of him has gotten me.

  Maybe he wants me in my room to consummate this relationship within ten minutes of meeting one another.

  “No,” he says. “You and me, we need to talk.”

  Swallowing, I realize he wasn’t making a pass. Of course he wasn’t. He wants to talk, not rip off my panties. I’m such a fool.

  Nodding, I say, “Okay, I can do that. We can talk.”

  That seems to satisfy Hunter. He nods, offers me his elbow in a diplomatic way, and leads me down the hall as if this is a perfectly normal way to spend the day.

  “It’s settled. We’ll go your room, so you can change into something warmer and we can talk. Privately.”

  I give him the biggest smile I can muster, and nod. I can do this. Talk. Tour. One thing at a time. No one is asking me to strip down to nothing.

  But then he says, “In fact, I can help you out of those clothes.”