Page 1 of Claimed By the Crown Prince
CHAPTER ONE
HE’DFOUNDHER. A sense of intense satisfaction rolled through Dax as he took a seat in the beach bar—on the far opposite corner to where the woman sat at a table alone, with her laptop in front of her and a big floppy sun hat covering most of her hair and features.
She might have been any number of travellers in this laid-back beach bar on the beautiful Malaysian island of Langkawi. It was a mecca for backpackers and sun worshippers, with its white sand beaches and glittering green waters.
But Dax knew she wasn’t just any other traveller. And she certainly wasn’t a backpacker. For a start, he noted the not exactly discreet security detail keeping watch over her. Two burly men who looked as if they were desperately trying to blend in and failing miserably.
Because the woman was Crown Princess Laia Sant Roman of Isla’Rosa, a small independent kingdom in the Mediterranean. A long way away from here.
She was a queen-in-waiting. Heiress to an ancient line of kings and queens who had battled to protect their modest rock in the sea. Dax knew her history and lineage well—because he was also not just a random traveller, in spite of his khaki cargo shorts and short-sleeved shirt.
He was the Crown Prince of Santanger, the neighbouring island kingdom and heir to his own throne, if anything happened to his brother the King and until his brother had heirs.
Which was where this woman came in. She’d been promised in marriage to his brother since she was born. A pact made by their fathers—the two late Kings—in order to ensure lasting peace and diplomacy in the region after hundreds of years of enmity and war.
But to say she was reluctant was an understatement. Dax had vague memories of her father visiting Santanger when he’d been younger, but Laia had only accompanied the King a couple of times. Dax remembered her as small and dark-haired, with wide eyes. A serious expression.
Since her father’s death, she appeared to have turned avoiding his brother into an art form. And now, mere weeks before the wedding was due to take place, she’d flitted to south-east Asia.
She, unlike her security team, did fade into the crowd a little better. Especially for one so exceptionally beautiful.
Dax’s insides clenched with an awareness that he desperately ignored.
Not welcome. Not appropriate.
But it was there nonetheless. And it had been there ever since they’d crossed paths one night in a club in Monaco over a year ago—his first time seeing her again since she was a young girl. Like Dax, Princess Laia had cultivated a reputation as a lover of socialising, earning her the moniker of The Party Princess.
Except, strangely enough, while Laia had been photographed at almost every ‘it’ social event in the past four years—most of which Dax himself had frequented—he’d never actually seen her in the flesh. Even though they’d both appeared in the papers in the days following the said events.
Dax had his suspicions as to why that was, but he’d never had the opportunity to say it to the Princess until he’d seen her at that event for the launch of one of the biggest motor races a year ago.
She’d been on the dance floor in a green silk strapless jumpsuit, with a silver belt around her slim waist. High-heeled sandals. Hair down around her shoulders. She’d looked like the beauties who’d used to grace the iconic Studio 54 club in New York in the seventies. Except she was far more beautiful.
She’d had her eyes closed and had looked as if she was in a world of her own. Dax had felt almost a little jealous of her absorption. He’d walked over to her, and as he’d approached—as if sensing him—her eyes had opened and she’d looked directly at him.
Her eyes were huge and almond-shaped and very green. Long lashes. Exquisite bone structure. Straight nose. Lush mouth. A classic beauty, of that there was no doubt. And Dax, who was a well-known connoisseur of women, had felt—such a cliché—as if he’d never seen true beauty until that moment. Her effect on him had been like a punch to the gut.
He hadn’t been able to breathe. Literally hadn’t been able to find a breath for a long moment. She’d looked at him as if she’d never seen a man before. Eyes wide.
He’d seen her indicate to her security team that it was okay to let him approach. A subtle movement. The heaving crowd around them had disappeared. It had as if they were enclosed in an invisible bubble.
But then she’d blinked and, as if she’d come out of a trance, an expression of distaste had crossed her face. Dax would have sworn he’d felt a chill breeze skate over his skin. The temperature had definitely dropped a few degrees.
She’d made a small bow, but it had felt to him like a mockery. She’d looked at him.
‘Crown Prince Dax of Santanger... What a pleasure to meet you in your favoured habitat.’
Dax had been surprised at the unmistakable scorn in her tone. After all, they’d never really met face to face, and she was promised in matrimony to his brother. She would become his family.
He’d felt compelled to respond with a bow of his own, saying, ‘I could say the same of you, Your Highness. We seem to frequent all the same social events and yet you’re as elusive as the Scarlet Pimpernel.’
She’d paled dramatically at that.
He’d frowned and put out his hand to steady her, ‘Are you okay?’
Her arm had felt incredibly slim, yet strong, skin like warm silk. He’d had an impression of steeliness.
She’d pulled away from him, colour washing back into her cheeks. ‘Don’t touch me.’