Page 47 of Back to Claim His Crown
‘He’s no longer Crown Prince.’
‘That change in the law went through?’
‘There was no objection to its speed either.’ But Lucian wasn’t satisfied on that score yet. He wanted Anders found and to face justice for the hurt he’d caused those women and who knew what other cruelties.
He drew a breath, focusing on what he could do here and now. And the one thing that he wanted that he could actually make happen was for Zara to attend the ball. ‘So we’ll find you something else to wear.’
‘I don’t need anything else.’
He rolled his eyes, annoyed with her rejection on many levels. ‘You know that’s not how these things work. You’ll look all the more pitiful if you’re in a plain ill-fitting number with no bling.’ He paused and appealed to the pride he knew she had. ‘You need a revenge dress.’
She looked at him for a second and then laughed with such amusement that he couldn’t help but join her.
‘Wow,’ she breathed. ‘Well, you are the King of Revenge Dressing, what with the bare-chested cathedral moment.’
‘And we’re back to that.’ His amusement—his attraction—soared.
‘It isn’t something I’m ever going to forget. Honestly, it was the highlight of that horrific day. The one thing that saved it.’
He faux flexed in response to the compliment. ‘Aside from the small fact that you didn’t end up marrying an absolute jerk.’
She sighed.
‘And I remember other moments from later in that day that weren’t so awful,’ he added. ‘Plus I know how to make you change your mind about certain things,’ he said softly. ‘All I have to do is take off my shirt.’
‘Well now, that wouldn’t be fair,’ she whispered.
‘Life isn’t fair, Princess. You and I both know that already.’
‘Which is why we respect each other’s space.’
He read the conflicting emotions in her beautiful eyes. Slowly, reluctantly he released her hand. He noticed she slipped it beneath the table into her lap, a trembling fist.
He gritted his teeth as his delight evaporated. But he refused to regret all that had happened between them. Never those moments in the throne room, when that explosion of emotion had culminated in the most shattering experience of his life.
But if she came to this ball she would be back in society—possibly for the last time as a princess. And if she renounced her title, if she left and lived in England, she would meet other people. Other men. Abetterman than him, no doubt.
He glanced down and saw his own hands were curled into fists now. He made himself inhale. Exhale. Relax even, as he faced hard facts. Shecouldn’tstay hidden here indefinitely. She had to go. She had to live her life as she wanted.
From the moment she entered that ballroom anything between them would be over.
CHAPTER TWELVE
ZARADIDN’TWANTto be cast adrift in the ballroom alone, but it was a necessary moment for her to live through. Just to prove to herself that she could. To prove it to Lucian too. Though, in fairness, she knew he already believed in her. That he considered her brave gave her the lift she needed to take the final step inside.
It also helped that he’d imported a team from an eye-wateringly expensive Parisian fashion house to help her get ready. They’d signed a non-disclosure agreement and arrived armed with an assortment of couture, jewels and make-up. There’d been no need to be stitched into her gown this time. Nor was it a loud, overly ornate showstopper that she drowned inside.
It was a deep blue simple column that clung to some curves then fell in a silky sweep to the floor. The bodice rose right to the base of her throat, it was long-sleeved, high-backed. In fact it would be considered extremely demure if it weren’t for the tiny buttons that ran from that high neckline to her narrow waist. The buttons were set beneath each other a few inches apart, while each half of the fabric they held was set the merest millimetre apart—so from her neck to her navel, all the way down her sternum, there were glimpses of skin exposed and no hiding the fact she wore no bra. Though one had to stand close to seethat. The only jewels she wore were the sapphire earrings that had arrived in her rooms that afternoon. They were astonishingly light, unlike the heavy diamond drops from her failed wedding day.
The ripple that ran through the crowd as her entrance was announced was impossible to ignore. Unfortunately, most of the guests were already in place in the ballroom but it had taken longer for her hair to be done than she’d anticipated. Every last one turned to stare. She felt the familiar prickling sensation over her skin but kept her chin lifted. She wasn’t going to hide the impact of her emotions on her body. She wasn’t going to let herself down. And she was also here for Lucian. Serene and secure, like Monrayne itself.
She knew that tonight was essentially a dress rehearsal for his formal coronation in a few months and she wanted to do everything she could to help it be a success. He needed this—he needed belief in himself. Her presence was a symbol of healing—that he’d not done harm to her by interrupting her wedding.
The days before the ball had slid by too quickly. And throughout every one she’d regretted requesting that they not repeat the intimacy they’d shared in the throne room. But neither of them was in a position to have any kind of relationship. She was trying to be wise. But it was so very hard to be sensible when they’d still dined together each night. Still discussed the day. Still laughed. And perhaps that was the mistake. Because that was the connection they had—it wasn’t only that earth-shattering sex. And even though she still saw him then, more and more she missed him terribly and she slept less and less.
After navigating the steep stairs and enduring everyone’s eyes, she scanned the room. He stood with his back to the wall, ensuring he could visually check the ballroom in a single sweep. But right now his gaze was fixed on her. Even from this distance she felt his heat singeing her heart.
She made herself turn. Made herself do what she’d said she would.
