Page 9 of Claimed By the Crown Prince

That look alone, along with her awareness of him, had unlocked something inside her. An understanding of herself becoming a woman. A sexual being.

Then he’d said, with casual devastation, ‘I believe that one day I’ll be your brother-in-law.’

It had taken a moment for his words to sink in. She’d been avoiding thinking about her arranged marriage very well up to that point. But with those few words it had rushed home with the speed of a freight train crashing into her.

The fact thatthis manin front of her, who was causing such a conflicting mix of emotions and sensations in her body and head, was someday going to be sitting at a table, maybe across from her, or beside her, as herbrother-in-law, had been suddenly horrifying.

So much so that she’d felt sick.

Her father must have seen her reaction, because he’d said something and ushered her away.

He’d put her reaction down to Prince Dax presenting himself in less than pristine condition. But the truth was that for long weeks afterwards Laia had been obsessed with Prince Dax. Looking him up online. Watching his exploits unfold as he made his way from Paris to London, New York to Rome—you name it, he was there—with the world’s most beautiful women on his arm and that devil-may-care grin on his face.

Gradually, mortified by her obsession, Laia had convinced herself that he disgusted her. That he revolted her with his blatant lack of consideration for anything but the good life. The incredibly louche life. Serving only himself and—by all accounts—his insatiable appetites. Whether it was for women or experiences or luxury properties or yachts...

But now that he was here, on her beloved island, sequestered with her for at least the next ten days, Laia knew she would have no choice but to face up to the fact that Prince Dax bothered her a lot.

And she was afraid that it was for far more complicated reasons than the simplistic antipathy she’d honed for years. She wasn’t normally a judgemental person—never had been. She prided herself on accepting everyone as she met them. Prince Dax, however, had always uniquely got under her skin.

She was afraid that her judgement of the man was about to blow up in her face in spectacular fashion...because really, all along, it had been based on the way he made her feel and not on his lifestyle choices.

Dax stood on the generous outdoor balcony of the guest suite. He had a view out over the treetops to the sea beyond, where he could see the security team’s yacht bobbing peacefully on the water. He idly wondered how long it would take to swim to the boat, climb on board, disable the bodyguards and call for help.

But, as appealing as that might be—if a little unrealistic—surely it was more prudent to win the Princess over to accepting her fate rather than coercing her into it. It was the twenty-first century after all. She was clearly a modern woman who was resistant to being treated like a chattel. Not exactly an unreasonable state of affairs.

In many respects, Dax had never really understood his brother Ari’s dogged acceptance of a wedding agreement made when he’d been only eight years old. Princess Laia had been just a baby!

In every other respect his brother was a forward-thinking, modern monarch. But not in this. Even when Dax had brought it up over the years, teasing Ari about what his wife might be like, how he could possibly agree to live with a woman he didn’t know, Ari had closed down the discussion. Usually by saying something like, ‘You saw how it was between our parents. Do you think I want to risk that again? I’m quite happy to marry for duty and responsibility and siring heirs. I don’t want anything more. Princess Laia has been bred for this. She knows the score.’

As if Dax needed any reminder of the hellscape that had been his parents’ unhappy marriage... His mother had had the audacity to fall in love with her husband, and the King had repaid her love by taking numerous lovers throughout their union.

It had turned Dax’s mother into a brittle and self-destructive shell of a woman. Dax had become her crutch and her confidant well before he should have even known about such things. But with Ari busy with lessons to prepare him for one day becoming sovereign, Dax had been the only one his mother had been able to turn to.

He diverted his mind from toxic memories now. He hadn’t thought about such things in a long time, and he didn’t welcome their resurgence.

Privately Dax had always thought to himself that while Ari was happy to accept his fate, maybe his future wife would be less so. And that was exactly what had come to pass.

Although he took no pleasure in that. Not when he was captive on a tropical island thousands of miles from his brother in Santanger. Thousands of miles from his own life.

He looked down to the ground level, where a wide lap pool looked very inviting. Sunbeds were laid out around it. The water shimmered green and blue from the mosaics underneath.

He turned around. The bedroom was palatial. Lots of wood, as was the custom in this part of the world. A massive bed dressed in cool white linen. It was a four-poster, with a simple wooden frame from which hung the very necessary mosquito net to protect him from small biting insects at night.

The bathroom was also huge, with a shower that was open to the elements. Very romantic. Dax smiled mirthlessly at the that notion. He was here with a woman who openly disdained him.

He wasn’t so arrogant as to think that every woman he met fancied him, but he knew that being blessed with a pleasing physical appearance together with vast personal wealth, both inherited and created, was a powerful cocktail.

For the first time he was in the presence of someone who appeared less than impressed.

Dax spotted another door and opened it. It led into a dressing room. It was full of clothes. All brand-new. With the tags still on. More or less in his size. There was underwear. Swimwear. Leisure wear. Casual clothes. Shoes. There was even a tuxedo.

Dax left his suite to make his way back down to the kitchen, but in the corridor he spotted a door opposite. Her room? Curious, he went and tested the door. It was locked, so presumably it was hers. He had to hand it to her, she was certainly prepared.

He went downstairs to where the Princess was now chopping a range of colourful vegetables. She’d tied her hair back and up into a loose knot, and it exposed the delicate line of her jaw and neck. Her hands were deft. Short, practical nails.

Something moved through Dax at that moment—a fleeting sense of almost...protectiveness.

Rejection of that notion made his voice sharp. ‘The dressing room is stocked with clothes. Did kidnapping me interrupt a lover coming to stay?’