I push out a breath.
There’s only one option open to me. I need to keep my distance from him, at least physically. I need to ensure I never put myself in the position I was in at the archery lesson again.
Physical attraction is one thing, but the last thing I can do is develop feelings for my enemy’s son.
With an application of lipstick—battle-ready red, naturally—I take one final steadying breath before I collect my clutch and make my way down the hallway, with its deep red carpet and high ceilings. The painted eyes of dead royals follow me as I leave the private rooms and enter theformal area. Instantly, my heels click against the marble floor, the sound echoing around me in this hallway.
I pass the entrance to the Red Salon and slow my pace. Without even thinking about why I’m doing it, I grip one of the door handles and push my way inside.
The room looks the same as it did in my memories, although maybe a little smaller. The red and gold silk wallpaper, the huge Venetian mirror above the ornate marble fireplace, the collection of delicate objects on the mahogany side table by the window. It all combines to create an atmosphere that’s both grand and austere, and a cold shiver prickles my skin.
This is where it happened.
This is where I crouched behind these doors all those years ago, watching through the crack as the king announced my father’s disgrace to a roomful of officials.
This is where my dad pleaded his case to deaf ears. Where I watched him leave with his head hung low.
It might have been a lifetime ago for me, but it’s as raw as though it were yesterday.
I make my way over to the table and pick up an old porcelain music box with a painted pheasant on the lid, the symbol of Ledonia. I remember being fascinated by this music box as a child during those boring adult conversations, watching the ballerina inside spin, her porcelain arms raised elegantly above her head.
I lift the lid, and the ballerina springs to life as a melody sounds out around the room. It’s something classical that makes my chest ache for my younger self. And just like that, I’m transported back to a simpler life, a life where I didn’t need to pretend to be someone else, a life where I was just me, Valentina Romano, daughter of Lord Romano. Happy. Free.
I watch as the ballerina spins and spins, mesmerized.
“Finding your way around, I see, Fabiana,” a deep voice says, and instantly, I snap the box shut, the music coming to a sudden halt. With my heart hammering against my ribs, I spin around to see who it is.
Prince Max.
Of courseit is.
He’s standing in the doorway, outdoing 007 himself in his perfectly tailored dinner suit and crisp white shirt. His dark hair is neatly styled, and he has a deeply unimpressed look on his face. His eyes are fixed on me with an intensity that makes my breath catch—and it’s not just from the shock.
He looks... devastating. Yup. That’s the word.Devastating.
I grip the music box behind my back as though I’m hiding contraband in my prison cell, an appropriate metaphor for me in this palace.
“I-I think I’m lost,” I reply weakly, because let’s face it, we’re both aware I didn’t exactly walk into this room and make it all the way over to this chest thinking this is where tonight’s reception is.
The fact that there are no other people in the room might have been my first clue.
“Lost?” he asks as he moves closer to me, and his tone confirms my fear that he doesn’t believe a word.
I lift my chin and double down. What else can I do? “That’s right. I was lost, and I found myself here.”
“And you thought you might look at some priceless artifacts in an empty room to help you find your way?” His gaze travels over me, and something shifts in his expression, something that suggests he likes what he sees.
Although I might be misreading it.
I hope I’m misreading it.
Don’t I?
I shrug, aiming for nonchalance. “I figured I was early.”
Another bald-faced lie, and not a very convincing one.
I grip the music box tighter in my hands. “It’s a big palace. It’s easy to get turned around here for those of us not familiar.”
