A Christmas Vow Of Seduction

“This, Princess,” he said, his tone hard, “is my bathroom, in my bedroom. You were asked to move. It was brought to my attention that you refused.”

“I am comfortable here,” she said, sinking farther beneath the water, her expression stormy, her actions proving her words to be a lie. She was anything but comfortable, at least at the moment.

“What a terrible coincidence. I find that I am also comfortable here. As it is my room, with all of my things.”

“I was brought here against my will,” she said. “I am out of my element. I am frightened.”

Anger fired through him. He wasn’t sure why his reaction was so out of proportion with what was happening. It would cost him nothing to sleep in another room, and yet he found he couldn’t let this go. Probably because Kairos was already maneuvering him as though he were a marionette. He had no choice but to allow that, as Kairos was the king here in Petras. However, he did not have to let this little creature maneuver him too. And he would not. If she was to marry him, then she would need to understand that he was not to be trifled with.

He had a reputation as a playboy in the media, as the more laid-back half of the two Demetriou brothers. But that only held as long as he went untested. As he was a prince, very few people had attempted to test him. But Zara seemed intent on doing so, and he could not allow it.

“I do not believe you are frightened,” he said, moving nearer to the bathtub.

She lowered herself deeper beneath the surface of the water, until her chin was submerged, her large, dark eyes pinned on his. “Of course I am. You are very large. Much larger than I am. You have invaded my space.”

“Begging your pardon, Princess,” he said, moving closer to the bath, bracing his hands on the edge of the marble tile and leaning in. “It is you who have invaded my space. I did not invite you here. I did not get down on bended knee and propose to you, nor did I at any point surrender my own personal space to you for your continued use.”

She squirmed, and he could see her crossing her legs beneath the water, raising her arms to cover her breasts as best she could. The details of her body were indistinguishable as it was, and her belated show of modesty only drew attention to that which she was trying to hide.

She was beautiful. He could not deny that. Acres of smooth golden skin, wide, dark eyes that were just as pronounced now with all her makeup washed off as they had been when they were rimmed with black and gold. Her lashes were long and thick, her lips full, her cheekbones high, giving her a proud, sensual look that would certainly turn heads wherever she went.

When it came to appearance, she was everything he might have wanted in a wife, in a princess. It was her manner that left much to be desired. In fact, her manner left everything to be desired.

He had not often thought of what sort of woman he might take as his wife, because he had put off thoughts of a wife, even though he knew he would someday take one. Still, in the back of his mind he had thought he would probably marry a woman who exuded a kind of serene sophistication. One who would make his life easier. The perfect accessory to all events. As necessary and yet understated as a nice pair of cuff links.

Zara was no more a cuff link than she was a fruit basket.

“I’m distressed,” she said, her tone growing more arch by the second. “I was rooted out of my home only two months ago, held prisoner in the palace—”

“So I have heard. And while I do possess a small amount of sympathy for you, I am unsure what you expect me to do about it. You said yourself, I cannot return you to your family. You do not wish to marry me. You have told me that, as well. So here I have a short list of the things you cannot do, and the things you do not wish to do. If you could tell me one thing that you do want, that might be of greater use to me than hearing everything I am unable to do.”

“I find myself quite comfortable in this room, in this bath, at least I was until I acquired your company. With that in mind, perhaps you might let me stay here, as it is somewhat familiar.”

“Are you so fragile that moving down the hall will disrupt your sensibilities?”

“I am quite fragile!”

He had a feeling that, had she been standing on dry ground, she would’ve stamped her foot to add punctuation to the statement.

“You are a great many things, but I would not characterize you as fragile.”

“Leave me,” she said, issuing orders like a queen.

“No,” he said, “I think not.”

He reached beneath the water, uncaring if the sleeves of his shirt were soaking wet. He wrapped one arm around her shoulders and the other beneath her knees, straightening, holding her naked and dripping wet against his chest. He did not look at her, keeping his eyes fixed straight ahead as he strode from the bathroom back into the bedroom.

“What are you doing?” She began to squirm, surprisingly strong, and difficult to maintain a hold on as she did.

She was also, he noticed, very soft. Soft to the touch, soft the way a woman should be.

And joining the flame of anger in his stomach was a sudden burst of arousal that took him completely off guard. He tamped it down, ignoring it, his teeth clenched tightly together as he fought the temptation to look down at her naked body.

This was not about sex. It was about reclaiming the territory that she had attempted to stake as her own.

If he was to marry this little devil, he would have to show her that he would have the upper hand. That she would not be dictating to him.

That went for his body, as well.

He had to take utter control, of her, of himself. There was no other option. He would have to be firm with her. Starting now.

“Let us get one thing straight,” he said. “This is not a hotel. This is my bedroom. This,” he added, tossing her down with no gentleness whatsoever onto the center of his bed, “is my bed. I do two things in this bed. I have sex and I sleep. If you intend to stay in my bed, you will partake in both of those things with me. Otherwise feel free to find a more suitable accommodation.”

Again, he resisted the temptation to look at her body, though he imagined she was currently spread out for him like a particularly delectable buffet. But he intended to scare her off, not violate her in any way.

She wasn’t still for long. She scrambled across the mattress and buried herself beneath the blankets, shielding her body from his view. “You,” she said, her voice shaking, “are terrible.”

“We are to be married,” he said. “Nothing I’ve done or said should be all that shocking.” He knew full well he was being shocking; he just didn’t care.

“I don’t know you.”

“But you will know me quite well in only a couple of months’ time. We could start now.”

“We shall not!”

“Then you shall vacate my bedroom. I find that I am quite tired.” He reached up, grabbing hold of the knot on his tie and loosening it.

Her eyes went wide, her hands curling tightly around the white comforter on his bed, digging sharply into the material like claws. “You wouldn’t,” she said, her shocked tone spurring him on all the more.

He kept his eyes on hers as he tugged his tie off and cast it to the floor before undoing the top button on his shirt. “As I said, I find I am quite tired. This is my bed. I have already given you the list of activities performed therein.”

He undid a second button on his shirt and watched as her eyes grew even rounder. He undid another, then another, moving closer and closer to the bed. He found his own heart was starting to pound harder. He would not touch her. He knew this would end with her running away before he had to. Still, that didn’t stop the blood from firing harder and faster through his veins.

His mind might be well aware that he was a modern man who would never take advantage of a woman in such a way, but his body clearly hadn’t gotten the memo. All he knew was that he was a man, and she was a woman. A very beautiful woman.

And in that moment he started to forget exactly what he was doing here.

He undid yet another button on his shirt, and suddenly she rolled to the side, wrapping the blanket around her body and landing on the floor. She stood up, the blankets concealing her curves. Her dark hair was wet, stringy and partly covering her face. And with all that, she was still trying to look imperious. “All right. You may arrange separate quarters for me.” She turned to the side, kicking the excess fabric from the comfort her out of her way. “I am going to dress. When I return I expect for things to be arranged.”

He laughed at her retreating form, and her shoulders grew stiff, her frame all but vibrating with rage.

He took his phone out of his pocket and made a call to his brother’s chief of staff, letting him know that the princess was ready to be shown to her room. Zara returned before the staff came to escort her away. She was dressed in a pair of soft pink pajamas that looked as though they belonged on a much younger, much less venomous girl.

“Am I leaving soon?” she asked.

“Listen to you. Quite impatient to go now.”

“You make a very persuasive argument.”

He chuckled again, amusement at her open hostility irresistible. He was not used to this reaction from women. But then, he was not used to being engaged to a woman. A woman who clearly didn’t want to be engaged to him any more than he wanted to be betrothed to her. “Most women don’t run away from me when I start taking my shirt off.”

Her lip curled. “I am not most women, you will find.”

He rubbed his chin, eyeing her figure, certainly not displayed to any advantage by the flannel she was currently wearing. “This may be a problem, as I expect you to be very like a woman when it comes to our marriage. You must be both a wife to me and a suitable public display for my country.” And he had to be the prince his brother needed him to be.

“I am unsuitable,” she said, far too quickly.

“And yet my brother says you are suitable. The only suitable choice, in fact. So there we have a problem.” He regarded her even more closely. Her dark eyes were glittering, and for the first time he saw that there was quite a deep well of fear beneath her prickly exterior. For the first time he questioned the way he had handled her. He was angry at being maneuvered, and he was taking his anger out on her. But she was not a part of this, any more than he was. “You have nothing to fear from me. You have nothing to fear from Kairos, even though he can come across as quite the tyrant. Neither of us is going to hurt you.”

He saw no signs of relief on her face. “But you are going to use me,” she said.

“You are royalty, Zara. Had you not been thrown out of the palace as a child and spirited away to live with the Gypsies, you would certainly be facing an arranged marriage anyway. Just as I expected I would be one day, though not quite with such short notice.”

“Don’t you dare lecture me on the responsibility of royalty. My life as a royal was stolen from me.”

“And here you have it back. The price of admission into the life is marriage.”

“I did not expect it,” she said, her tone stiff.

“Did you ever expect to marry?”

She blinked. “I’m only twenty-one.”

“Not so young in your country. So I ask you again, did you ever expect to marry?”

She lifted her shoulder. “Were I a typical part of the clan I was raised in, I would likely be married by now. But I was not. I was under their protection. So different things were expected.”

“Is that your very long, uninteresting way of saying you did not expect to marry?”

Her expression darkened. “I may have someday. But I was in hiding to spare my own life, in order to save myself from a fate such as this. I hadn’t given it much thought. I knew I would have to leave if I was ever going to pursue a normal existence...”

“I suppose this isn’t exactly normal.”

“Indeed.”

“You will need to be trained,” he said.

Her frown deepened. “Oh, really?”

“Yes. I think it’s entirely possible for you to be made into a suitable bride. You have the looks for it. You simply need...taming.”

“Am I so wild?”

“You have no sense of decorum. Your burrowing into my room is evidence of that. Your hair, your posture... You exude.”

“I exude what?”

He let out a long, slow breath. “You exude. In general that isn’t something a princess should do. You need to be...placid. Serene. As I said before, tame.”

She clenched her hands into fists, her expression filled with rage. Her dark hair hung lank down her back, making her look all the more wild. “I refuse to be tamed.”

He wasn’t entirely sure what to say to that, and he resented her for making him feel as if his back were up against a wall. Kairos had given his orders, and Andres had sins he needed to atone for.

Part of him wondered why he was making an effort. He failed, that was what he did. Their father had always been quick to remind him of that fact when they were boys, and still when they were men. Kairos was the responsible one, the heir, thankfully, as he took his role so very seriously. Andres had been the one his father could always count on to create a scandal, to make a mess, to create disaster.

There was a reason he’d been barred from official events as a child. Reasons he had spent state dinners locked in his room while the rest of the family put on a show.

Their father might be dead now, but the feel of his cold eyes on Andres remained. Of the hard disappointment that had laced every word the old man had ever spoken to him.

He had given Kairos his word, and he would not fail. Not again. In this, he would triumph.

It was only marriage. And she was only a woman. How could he lose?

He was a legendary playboy renowned for his skills of seduction. Surely he could seduce this scraggly waif easily enough.

“You will not refuse me,” he said. “What is it you want, anything besides freedom? I will see that you have it. Surely there must be something. Surely we can trade.”

She looked down, hesitating for a moment. “I wish to be sure my people are cared for. Beyond that, that those who raised me are safe.”

“Then those will be the conditions of us forging trade alliances with Tirimia. You will have much more power here, on this throne, than you will have hiding in the forest back in your homeland. That I can promise you. You will have the ear of the king who is both good and just. You will be a princess in her rightful place. Surely that is better than hiding in a burrow like a little mouse.”

She frowned, her dark eyebrows drawn tightly together, a crease forming between them. “You are fond of comparing me to animals.”

“You are closer to animal than human female at the moment, sadly for me.” And he was much closer to a wolf than a man. “So you will allow me to fashion you into a suitable bride. In return, I will give you what you want.” There was a knock on the door to his bedchamber. “That will be the servants, ready to take you to your room.”

She nodded slowly. “All right.”

Some of the fire had gone out of her in the past few minutes. He found he did not like it.

That makes no sense.

No, it didn’t. But nothing about the past twelve hours made any sense at all.

“We start tomorrow. Meet me in the general study after breakfast.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Tame you, of course.”

CHAPTER FOUR

IT TURNED OUT that Andres’s definition of taming her actually meant attempting to smother her in yards of silk and tulle.

She did not feel tame in the least. Instead, she felt slightly indignant and more than a little bit irritated. Though that had been her state of being since he threw her out of his bedchamber last night.

Just thinking about it sent a hot flush over her skin, exacerbated by the cool slide of the silk that was currently being fitted to her form. She assumed the rash of heat was brought about by anger. She was angry. The way he had plucked her out of the bath, holding her against him, as though he had every right to touch her, as though she belonged to him in some way, was nothing less than enraging.

Except it didn’t feel like any rage she had ever experienced before. But then, she was in a palace unlike any she’d ever been in before, wearing clothes the likes of which she had never even dreamed up before, so she imagined that was in keeping with the theme.

“Keep your shoulders straight,” the seamstress said, her tone stiff, as stiff as Zara’s shoulders were starting to feel.

“You heard her,” Andres’s voice came from beyond the screen she was standing behind. “Keep still, or it will take longer.”

“I am not a child,” she said, addressing both of them. “I don’t need to be spoken to like one.”

“Then do not fidget like one,” the woman said.

Zara fought the urge to fidget just to cause trouble.

This was very strange, being the focus like this. The closest experience she had in her memory was when she had come to live at the encampment. She had been a curiosity then, but they had also been careful with her. She was a little girl who had lost her family, who was traumatized, steeped in grief.

Resources there were limited, and no one had ever procured her a new wardrobe. She’d had clothing crudely fitted to her before. Hand-me-downs that she’d acquired within the camp.

In her life before the revolution, she was certain she had experienced things like this, but there was a veil drawn over those years, memories she found difficult to access. Everything was reduced down to feelings. Still pictures in her mind. Smells, tastes.

She’d only been six when she was taken away. So much more of her life spent away from the palace than in it.

She was trying to hate it, but in truth it was difficult. The dress she was wearing at the moment was irresistible. She had never imagined she would find a dress irresistible, but she definitely had strong feelings about this one.

The bodice was fitted, soft with iridescent pink vines stitched over the silk. The skirt billowed around her like a pink cloud. And in truth, she would love to hate it for its impracticality. But it was just too pretty.

Though, even if she was having a hard time resenting the dress, she could still easily resent Andres.

“Would you like to see this one, Your Highness?” The woman spoke to Andres as though Zara weren’t standing right there.

“Why not?” He sounded bored, which she found insulting. Though, had he sounded eager, she probably would have been similarly offended. He could not win with her. She had decided.

She would not allow him to. She would not marry him. She would find another way.

Though it has been said you catch more flies with honey than vinegar. And you need his help.

She ignored that thought. Yes, it was true she needed him in some capacity. But she would not be pouring out the kind of honey a man like him wanted. Andres had not been ambiguous about his intent for her. He’d told her last night that if she didn’t leave he was going to...

She felt her skin growing hot again, just as the seamstress moved the screen to the side, removing the buffer that stood between herself and the rather imposing prince.

She drew in a deep breath, her breasts pushing against the tight, structured bodice. She was very conscious of the fact that his eyes were very much focused on said part of her body. He was doing it to make her uncomfortable. There was no other reason. Men did not waste time staring at her chest. Men did not waste time staring at any part of her.

Yes, she had been well protected, prior to being kidnapped and returned to the palace to be used as a political pawn, but it had not seemed to be a particular challenge for the leader of their clan to keep men away from her.

Quite the opposite, Zara felt sometimes as if she repelled people when she walked through a crowd.

The heat in his eyes was certainly not real. Which made it all the more offensive, even if it should have made it less offensive. Things with Andres simply weren’t going to make sense, she had accepted that already.

“Well?” she asked, the word coming out as a command.

He put his hand on his chin as though he were considering. “You certainly look more like a princess than you did yesterday.”

“I suppose it depends on your cultural point of view,” she said, raising an eyebrow.

“Indeed?”

“Yes. Among my people the gold makeup is considered the mark of royalty. A mark of beauty. The robe I wore yesterday, the purple with gold thread signified that, as well. This is just a pretty dress.”

“This is couture,” the seamstress said, speaking out of turn, her tone harsh.

“Will you allow her to speak to me like that?” Zara asked.

“Yes. You were offensive,” Andres said.

“My apologies,” she said, not feeling particularly apologetic. It was difficult when she still felt maneuvered. Forced. Imprisoned. “I am tired.” She lifted up the heavy, voluminous skirts and turned, sitting on the edge of the bed, the fabric billowing around her.

“Yes. I imagine trying on gowns all day is incredibly taxing,” he said, his tone dry.

“Is it perhaps as taxing as sitting there watching someone else do it?”

“Probably not as taxing as measuring a fidgeting, surly girl.” He leaned against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest, his expression laconic. “Elena,” he said, addressing the seamstress, “I’m sure you could use a break. The princess and I can handle things from here.”

“Yes, Your Highness.” The woman was clearly unhappy with being dismissed, leaving her dresses behind for someone other than her to handle. But she obeyed.

Zara didn’t think she would ever get used to that. The fact that ultimately Andres would have to be deferred to, and beyond him Kairos. She fell somewhere beneath the two of them.

It isn’t as though you had any power back in the encampment. People put you on a pedestal, but you had no choices.

She ignored herself again, focusing instead on the growing sense of dread she felt as Elena walked out of the room, leaving her alone with Andres.

“So?” She lifted her hands, then brought them back down, gripping the fabric of the gown. “Am I suitably altered into your preferred image?”

“You have a ways to go yet,” he said, his tone dry. “You still look a bit wild.”

“Perhaps because I am a bit wild. Have you ever thought that no amount of work will change that? No matter how sleek you make me look, it will not change what’s inside?”

“As far as I’m concerned, outward appearance is the best place to start. Changing who you are on the inside is a much more difficult task.”

“Speaking from experience?”

One side of his mouth curved upward. “Experience at not managing to change it, certainly.”

“If you haven’t managed to change after all your years of living in this palace, what makes you think you will manage to change me and in only a couple of months?”

“I don’t have to change you, not really. I only have to make it look as though you have changed. And that, I have ample experience with.”

“I thought the ultimate goal was taming.”

The other corner of his mouth turned up, and he was smiling now. Yet she didn’t get the sense that there was any humor in it. “Let me ask you this. Do you think I am tame?”

She looked him over, at the perfectly tailored lines of his suit, the aristocratic cut of his features. He could have been carved, rather than made. A Greek statue with life breathed into it, rather than a man born of a woman.

He was beautiful. She found nothing feminine about the descriptor. She would call the forest, the mountains back in Tirimia beautiful, while they were, at the same time, uncompromising and dangerous. She had a feeling Andres was both of those things in addition to being beautiful. His brother, Kairos, exuded danger, authority. With Andres it was less immediately apparent.