Page 8 of The Princess Stakes
“Commander Rhystan Huntley,” his reporting officer, Vice Admiral Markham, intoned. “Maharaja Devindar Rao, and his daughter, Princess Sarani.”
From a distance, she had been beautiful. Close up, Rhystan was struck speechless. Other names were said, he was sure of it. He heard none of them. Somehow, he managed to bow and mumble a tongue-tied greeting, though he felt his neck heat with embarrassment.
A hint of deviltry curled the corner of the princess’s lip, but it was gone before he could take stock of its appearance. She nodded regally, and then it was over, thankfully.
Disgusted with himself, Rhystan held up a pillar after the dinner concluded and the dancing began. The princess swirled past in a froth of silky skirts, her gaze touching him for a moment in what felt like a tangible caress.
God, thoseeyes.
He’d been lucky not to have seen them before. On the surface, she might have been the perfect royal jewel—pristine demeanor, elegant features, graceful bearing. But those expressive eyes of hers had told a different story. Something fierce had spun in their green-flecked brown depths, reminiscent of a free, defiant spirit undaunted by the trappings of nobility. It called to something equally untamed in him.
“Why haven’t you asked me to dance?” a voice like cool velvet on hot skin asked.
Rhystan whirled, the scent of jasmine curling around his already overheated senses as the princess came into view. Several guards hovered behind her, ever vigilant. His jaw slackened as she laughed softly at his expression. He was still struggling to take in the honeyed rasp of her voice, to deal with the musical, chest-tightening sound of her laughter that followed. “Apologies, I assumed your card would be filled.”
“It is,” she said. “But I dance with whomever I please.”
Once more, she laughed, causing him to fixate on her lips. They were perfect, a dark rose pout that curled in amusement. Gulping, he took in the rest of her face, from those entrancing eyes and strongly drawn nose to the golden freckles dancing over a pair of sweeping cheekbones. By God, she had to be one of the most stunning women he’d ever seen. His tongue felt thick in his mouth even as his heart raced.
“Are you naturally quiet?” she asked after he escorted her into the first turn of the next dance. “Or just shy?”
“I’m in awe of your beauty.”
She sniffed and tossed her head. “A woman’s worth is not only in her looks, sir.”
Rhystan forgot about their audience and suddenly wanted to sample that saucy mouth, see if it was as tart as it sounded. “What other attributes should I be looking for?”
“Her intelligence, her compassion, her knowledge, her wit, her strength.”
“I see no lack thereof, but then again, we’ve only just met. You could be a coldhearted, book-burning, humorless harpy for all I know,” he teased, his chest leaping at the delighted curl of her lips.
She threw a dramatic palm to her heart and blew out a breath. “Take that back, you rascal! I love books, more than people, in fact.”
Rhystan grinned, the flash of a mischievous pair of dimples in her cheeks making him want to tease them out again. They parted in a swirl of skirts and came back together. “Besides reading, what else do you enjoy doing, Princess?”
“I am fond of simple pleasures, Commander Huntley.”
“Rhystan.” It was the only word he could safely say after the wordpleasuresfell from her lips and his mind was blanketed with all manner of wicked things. Like kissing. Kissing her senseless, specifically. Sweat beaded under the collar of his uniform. This girl could be the end of him. He cleared his throat. “I mean, my name is Rhystan.”
“Calling you by your given name in public would not be proper, Commander.”
His voice lowered. “In private, then.”
He expected her to slap him. To lift up the voluminous silk of her skirts and flounce away in indignant rage. But a thick fringe of jet lashes lifted as those storm-bright hazel eyes caught his, wicked mirth in their depths, her whispered cadence matching his. “In that case, you may call me Sarani. In private.”
And in that moment, Rhystan was lost.
From that day onward, he spent every available moment he could in her presence. If an opportunity came up to accompany the princess, he volunteered for it, and if his commanding officer was noticing his obsession or disapproving of it, Rhystan didn’t care. She was as intoxicating in intelligence as she was in beauty, and he was utterly lost.
However, he should have known it couldn’t last, and after a few months, Vice Admiral Markham summoned him to his quarters.
“End it,” he said without preamble.
“End what, sir?” Rhystan asked.
Markham did not look up from his papers. “This unpalatable distraction you have with Rao’s daughter.”
Rhystan stiffened. “Unpalatable?”
