The King's Bride By Arrangement - Annie West

CHAPTER ONE

‘PRINCESS EVA OF TARENTIA.’

The chamberlain projected his voice across the glittering crowd that filled the ballroom’s gilded antechamber.

Heads turned, keen eyes sizing her up, from her brown hair, piled high, past the sapphire drop earrings to the ball gown of royal blue.

Eva felt their stares, as she always did, like hundreds of tiny pinpricks. But at twenty-four she’d learned to accept the public’s interest. She no longer shrank from the limelight as she had when young.

Besides, there was only one person here whose opinion she cared about.

There he was, chatting to a blonde in silver sequins. At the chamberlain’s words, he looked up to where she stood on the staircase above the throng. His mouth lifted in a smile.

Eva’s heart tripped a beat then hammered faster. She felt the pulse high in her throat.

Even from this distance Paul did that to her. She was too far away to feel the full impact of those stunning indigo eyes but his smile always unravelled her. From the day at fifteen when she’d first seen him, thundering down the polo field, so athletic, so handsome and so nice. After the match her brother Leo, who’d been on the opposing team, had introduced them and Eva had been instantly smitten.

Because the then Prince Paul of St Ancilla hadn’t thought it uncool to talk to his acquaintance’s little sister. He hadn’t seemed to notice her braces or the lingering spots that had erupted thanks to her monthly cycle. He’d been kind and friendly even when she’d been tongue-tied.

Eva had been in love with him ever since.

She moved down the staircase with practised grace, keeping her chin high. Woe betide any princess who couldn’t descend a grand staircase without looking at her feet. Even in a full-length dress and high heels.

She reached the floor and pinned on her social smile for the St Ancillan Prime Minister, who enquired if she’d had a good journey. As the flight from Tarentia in northern Europe to the Mediterranean Island of St Ancilla wasn’t long, the question was a formality. Yet Eva felt herself relax. After four years of regular visits to St Ancilla, she and the Prime Minister were well acquainted.

‘Here’s His Majesty now.’ The Prime Minister turned and inclined his head in a bow.

Instantly Eva’s smile solidified, the muscles in her cheeks stretching taut as she fought the urge to grin up into Paul’s face. The inevitable rush of excitement she felt around him always undermined her and she strove not to reveal her feelings. It was never a problem with anyone else but around Paul it was a constant worry.

Because she felt so much while he felt so little.

Her heart beat an urgent tattoo and moisture glazed the back of her neck as he neared. She angled her head up to meet his gaze. Eva’s breath released in a sigh of resignation as she met those amazing dark-blue eyes.

What had she expected? That absence would make the heart grow fonder? That in the months since they’d last seen each other he’d realised what a treasure she was?

That he’d developed feelings for her?

Or, impossibly, that she’d read the eager heat of desire in his face?

Deep inside, disappointment stirred.

Paul’s easy smile was the same one he gave the Prime Minister. The same one he’d worn when he’d tilted his head to listen to the blonde siren in shimmery silver.

The blonde who’d defied royal protocol and stood so close to the King it was a wonder a discreet bodyguard hadn’t hauled her away. Eva had noticed and had to repress a spike of unreasonable jealousy.

‘Princess Eva. You look as delightful as ever.’ Paul’s deep voice tugged at her vulnerable heart.

He took her hand and lifted it to his mouth, and Eva fought to stop her expression betraying her. Her forehead twitched and the corners of her mouth compressed with the effort not to grin with delight.

As it was, she hoped Paul couldn’t see the way her nipples hardened into needy peaks just because he touched her.

He was everything a king should be. Hard working, decent, dedicated and caring of his people. She loved all those things about him. But, even after knowing him for nine years, it was the angle of his high-cut cheekbones, the handsome line of jaw and nose and his vibrant aura of energetic, virile maleness that got to her every time. Even the way his coal-black hair had a tendency to flop over his forehead turned her insides to mush.

Reluctantly Eva tugged her hand from his,