Page 34 of The Prince's Secret Twins

Then Joran’s gaze landed on Marianna.

Red.

Why the hell was his seventeen-year-old sister wearing red? Had she not thought about the political implications of such a bold color? Red was powerful, defiant—meant to draw attention. And it was working.

Joran’s unease deepened when he noticed Marianna’s expression—a flash of shock, recognition, and something else. She was staring at the prince as if she knew him. That wasn’t possible. Was it?

Joran’s sharp gaze flicked to Prince Amit, and sure enough, the man seemed to have eyes only for Marianna. His posture remained composed, but there was a peculiar intensity in the way he studied her. Was it because of the dress? The cut was demure enough, but the color… That was like waving a flag in front of a charging bull. And Amit definitely looked like he was ready to charge.

Joran shifted his stance, the instinct to step between them almost overwhelming. His little sister was seventeen. And this man—what was he? Thirty? No. That wasn’t right. Joran mentally flipped through the information he knew about the prince. Twenty-five.

Still too damn old.

Khal, ever the composed one, cut through the tension. “You demanded this meeting,” he said, his voice flat. “How can we help you?”

Amit gave Marianna one last glance before stepping forward. “It has come to our attention that three citizens of Uftar were kidnapped and brought to Lativa.” His tone remained polite, but there was a blade-sharp edge beneath the civility. “After an extensive investigation, we discovered that there were actually two attempts that evening.”

He paused, looking directly at Joran. “One attempt was made by a bumbling idiot of a neighbor. However, that man described in great detail how an elite group of men prevented him from entering a woman’s home.” Amit’s voice held weight, each word carefully measured. “We were able to track that elite force here—to Lativa.”

Then he turned to Khal, his expression unreadable. “I am here to demand their return.” A pause, deliberate. “Immediately.”

The single word rang with undeniable menace.

Joran’s fury ignited, white-hot and explosive. “You’re not taking my fiancée or my sons!” he snarled, stepping forward, muscles coiled, fists clenched.

Amit’s gaze flicked to Joran’s tense hands, his dark brows lifting as if mildly intrigued.

“Interesting,” he murmured, almost as if he were mentally taking notes, cataloging their reactions. Then, as if this was all mere negotiation, he continued smoothly, his voice light, unbothered.

“Fine. We’ll trade.”

The room froze.

His gaze shifted back to Marianna. Pinning her in place.

“I’ll take her in exchange.”

The sharp inhale of collective gasps filled the air.

Crown Prince Amit had just suggested trading Tila and her babies… for Marianna.

The reaction was immediate.

“Get the hell out of here, you bastard!” Raj snapped, lunging forward. But before he could get closer, Joran shoved him aside, ready to tear into the prince himself.

“Stop!” Khal’s voice cracked through the room like a whip.

Everything halted.

Raj and Joran were bristling, poised to strike. But Amit? He stood completely still. Calm. Too calm.

His focus never left Marianna.

Marianna, who looked… afraid.

Joran’s gut twisted. His sister was staring at Khal now, silently pleading for him to not agree.

Khal’s expression hardened. “Get out,” he ordered. “Don’t you ever set foot in this country again.”

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