Page 427 of Sweet Royal Romance Suspense

Madeline Prescott kept her spine straight and her chin tilted as if she were the royalty as she thanked the guard who opened the ten-foot wooden castle door for her, leaving the warm July weather outside and entering the gorgeous, light-filled, and spacious castle. She handed her suitcase to another guard, not sure if he’d hold on to it or put it in one of the guest suites, and followed the guard who’d brought her up from the barricade at the edge of Greenville Village. The village was nestled at the edge of the lake and the mountainside, below the towering and imposing castle of the royal family of Augustine. Her fellow parliament member, Joseph Aritheline, had dropped her off. She didn’t appreciate his parting words of caution. “Don’t fall for the king when you owe me a date.”

Silly. She wasn’t falling for anyone, and she didn’t need to date Joseph or any of the dozen other men who asked. The last man she’d granted a few dates, Roger Pitcher, had used her to try to kill the king and the entire royal family and their guests at Prince Malik and Sophie’s wedding. With her track record, she should swear off men completely.

But King Nolan … The confident, enticing, and revered king.

She sucked in a breath, prayed for strength, and gave herself a stern talking to.

You’re tough. You’re brave. He’s only the king. He’s not attractive. His blue eyes are not magnetic. He’s not fun to tease with. Dancing with him seven months ago did not fill you with delicious tingles, mess with your level mind, or change your life’s trajectory. King Nolan won’t hate you when you reveal why you’re here. You have no need of any man but Chad in your life.

Her heels clicked on the granite floor as she clung to the strap of the large purse slung over her shoulder and almost believed her pep talk. She was wearing her favorite business suit—dusty pink, knee length with short sleeves to showcase how hard she worked to stay fit at fifty-three years old. She’d heard many times from far too many men that the suit flattered her and made her emerald green eyes pop. The tailored suit helped her feel feminine, attractive, successful, and powerful all at the same time.

Powerful? She wasn’t powerful. Not compared to the king of Augustine. He reminded her of Russell Crowe in Gladiator—strong, brave, and irresistible. King Nolan August could hurl her out of his gorgeous castle, especially with the strength she’d seen in his chest and felt as she’d touched his perfect shoulder while they danced. He could have her arrested or worse, tell her he would never love anyone but his beautiful, ideal, and angelic deceased wife.

Stop, she commanded herself. None of that talk was helping her nerves at all. The king was too gracious to arrest her or kick her out, though anyone would be angry at the message she brought and the emissary mission she’d volunteered for. In her defense, she was protecting him from worse emissaries. Or was she selfishly wanting him all to herself?

The dreams of him noticing her as a woman were unrealistic and should never be on her radar. King Nolan had loved Queen Anne deeply, as had the entire royal family and country. He’d never even attempted a date in the eighteen months since his beloved wife had died.

He and Madeline had shared that one incredible dance at Prince Tristan and Jennifer Shule’s wedding. Any woman would have felt swept off their feet that night. Was it even possible to be at that romantic royal wedding, in the insanely gorgeous ballroom, asked to dance by the illustrious and handsome king, and not fall in love?

She rolled her eyes. It wasn’t love. Goodness. She doubted King Nolan even remembered the way their gazes had connected, the tension that had crackled between them, the way both of them had stumbled over their words, and his sweet compliments. There was no way he had noticed, or would ever notice, Madeline the way she noticed him. Since their dance, he’d been warm, cordial, and bantered with her when she teased him. Just like normal. Normal was good. Why did she want more than normal with the king, of all people? Impossible.

The royal guard rapped on the door to the king’s office. Not the receiving room. Why had the king wanted her to come to his office? Simply busy, or did he want a more intimate setting?

“Please enter,” King Nolan called in that deep, inspiring voice that sent tendrils of longing down her spine.

He was commanding and inspiring in all the right ways. She had to stop herself from fantasizing about their dance. It had been eighteen months that he’d been widowed, but it was common knowledge that the king had no intention of moving on or dating anyone. Not for a shortage of options, certainly. She’d watched videos of him climbing out of his Lamborghini, power, confidence, and charm clinging to him as he moved. He could take control of parliament with one well-spoken line. She’d never forget watching him dance with his adorable granddaughter Sunny—tender and alluring.

What woman wouldn’t be interested in the king? Maybe that was why he claimed no interest in dating, to keep all the women at bay. She couldn’t blame him.

Was Madeline special? Could she change his mind? Good heavens, no. He couldn’t possibly be healed from losing his wife.

Queen Anne’s death had been a horrific tragedy and quite the scandal with the former prime minister and his wife being involved and the Rindlesbacher family wreaking havoc and manipulating and blackmailing many people in the kingdom. Unfortunately, that scandal was now being resurrected by two members of parliament and approved by Prime Minister Carrera.

That was why she was here. Not to flirt with the king.

The guard slid the door open. King Nolan and Prince Tristan both stood as she entered. She curtsied to both of them. King Nolan didn’t stop at standing to show his respect. He hurried around the desk, his mesmerizing blue eyes lit up and one hundred percent focused on her. That warm look in his eyes made her stomach dance. His handsome face split into a grin. He reached her and extended his hand. Madeline knew she shouldn’t touch him—it would mess with her normally well-functioning brain—but how did one refuse the king?

She put her hand against his, and the unfamiliar tingles and warmth she’d felt during their dance and again any time this past year when he’d graciously shaken her hand as if she were his equal, slid along her palm.

His gaze sharpened on her, and he clasped her hand in his. She felt feminine, dainty, desirable, irresistible really as their gazes and hands held. Every dream she hadn’t let herself dream in the twenty-six years since her husband had ditched her and her son waltzed through her mind.

Her earlier pep talk disappeared like a puff of smoke. Her pep talks rarely failed her and had pulled her through raising and providing for Chad by herself, working her way up to being a member of Augustine’s parliament, and staying impervious to the men who asked her out.

“Madeline,” King Nolan said in a husky tone that made her even hotter than the bright July sunshine outside. “To what do we owe the pleasure of a visit from our favorite member of parliament?”

“I hope it’s still a pleasure after I present my mission.” She grinned even though she was serious and terrified to place the paper in her purse in his hand.

“Always a pleasure to see you.” King Nolan said those words in such a deep, melodious tone it made her shiver. As soon as he spoke them, he stiffened. Shocked by his own response?

“You are too kind, oh mighty king,” she tried to tease and was rewarded with his blue eyes twinkling at her.

She forced herself to pull her hand back and turn to Tristan. He was her son’s best friend, so it was hard to keep the title in front of his name. He approached, and King Nolan stepped back as his son gave her a warm hug.

“Mama Prescott. It’s fabulous to see you.”

“You too, handsome. How is Jennifer feeling? I’ve been praying for her.”

“Those prayers are much appreciated. She’s horribly sick. Steffan claims it will pass in a few weeks. I certainly hope so. Watching her throw up is devastating.”

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