Free Royal Captive by Dana Marton Page B

reason on earth why the thought of that should annoy her.
    She turned to the sea. She needed to quit engaging him at every turn. It wasn’t as if he’d come on to her.
    He’d offered a moment of solace. End of story. He probably had someone waiting for him back at the palace.
    “Don’t you have a girlfriend?” European tabloids were always full of their princes’ exploits.
    From the corner of her eye she caught as his body stiffen. She turned back to him. The grin faded from his face. She’d hit a sore spot, obviously.
    “Not really.”
    “She left you?” Curiosity got the better of her. “I can’t blame her. Must be tiresome to kowtow to a prince 24/7. I know I couldn’t do it.”
    He said nothing, a shadow passing over his face.
    “Hurts the masculine pride, doesn’t it?” She smirked. He’d been in full control from the moment they’d met, prejudiced against her and judging her without apology, so she enjoyed turning the tables on him. “Let me guess, she’s an actress or a dancer or something.”
    His gaze darkened.
    “No, no wait. The debutante daughter of a nobleman. Did you meet at court?”
    “We met in a pit of mud,” he said the words on a low voice but distinctly.
    For a moment, she thought he was joking but the way his lips flattened hinted otherwise.
    She kept the tone light. “How romantic. I didn’t know you were a fan of mud wrestling.”
    If looks could kill…
    “She was an archaeologist, the most honorable woman I know.” He looked at her pointedly, then added, “A member of the Royal Valtrian Academy of Sciences.”
    She almost said, How boring, but that was caught her attention and kept her quiet.
    “We met at an excavation. Her find.” Pain came alive in his voice.
    She couldn’t have spoken now if she wanted to. The sudden vulnerability in his eyes made him seem more real, more ordinary, more approachable than she’d ever seen him before. His guard was down, for the first time since they’d met. There was a moment of connection where none had existed before.
    “Amalia died last year. A tunnel collapsed on her,” he finished.
    “Were you there?” she asked at last, after a stretch of silence.
    He shook his head somberly.
    And she understood that it was part of his pain. That he hadn’t been there when Amalia had needed him.
    She felt the same at times about her mother. She’d been there, but had done nothing. Granted she’d only been six, but she could have thought of something. Her father had been on his way. All she would have needed to do was find a way to delay.
    “I was there with my mom. They hooked her up to an electric cable and made her scream into the phone for my father. I don’t think they meant to kill her. She had a bad heart that just couldn’t take it. I got loose and rushed to her. My fingertips got burned. And the top of my ears.” She rubbed one absently. “That’s why I don’t like electricity,” she whispered.
    “I’m sorry.” He seemed completely subdued all of a sudden, his gaze—filled with nothing but sadness—steadfast on her face.
    She drew a deep breath, then scooted across the distance that separated them and slid back into his arms.
    “Why are you doing this?” he murmured into her hair.
    “Damned if I know. I didn’t exactly plan it.”
    His comfortable warmth, the pillow of the nook of his arms and the gentle swaying of the ship made her sleepy. She had only rested in fits and starts in the past two days, always surrounded by danger. She wished they were off the ship and someplace safe so she could sleep.
    The sun was low in the sky by the time she woke and found him watching her with an unreadable look on his face.
    She blinked. “Did I miss anything?”
    “There’s land ahead.” He pointed when she pulled away.
    “Close enough to swim to?”
    “Not yet, but we seem to be heading that way.”
    “Turkey?”
    “Too soon.”
    Her mind was still fuzzy from sleep, surprised that she had nodded off, could sleep so