Claimed to save his crow.., p.1
Claimed to Save His Crown, page 1
The door to Aleksander’s private living areas opened and he came through, buttoning up his shirt, forcing Henna to look away as if she had caught him in a state of undress.
Heat spread to her cheeks that had nothing to do with the fireplace and she cleared her throat. By the time she looked back, Aleksander had looped a tie around his neck and still she felt as if she were seeing more than she should. It was personal. It was...too much.
“What is it?” he asked abruptly, looking around the room for something.
“Sven needs the dietary information for tomorrow’s delegation.” She forced the words out around the pulse beating heavily in her throat.
Aleksander threw a curse into the room and leaned over the desk to retrieve a file. Her eyes were drawn to the way his torso turned, his thin hips bracketed by a leather belt, and a low thrum started in her body. It started as something quiet, but as he turned and stepped toward her, closing the distance between them, it grew louder and louder until she could hear it above the pounding of her heart.
Kiss me, kiss me, kiss me.
The Royals of Svardia
A family born to rule...
Welcome to the Kingdom of Svardia! Home to King Aleksander, Princess Freya and Princess Marit, Svardia sits in the heart of Scandinavia. Fresh from Aleksander’s coronation, the trio are working harder than ever...and so is the royal rumor mill! From a shock reunion to a runaway princess, is Svardia set for scandal?
Discover the secrets of Svardia in...
Snowbound with His Forbidden Princess
Stolen from Her Royal Wedding
Claimed to Save His Crown
All available now!
Pippa Roscoe
Claimed to Save His Crown
Pippa Roscoe lives in Norfolk near her family and makes daily promises to herself that this is the day she’ll leave the computer to take a long walk in the countryside. She can’t remember a time when she wasn’t dreaming about handsome heroes and innocent heroines. Totally her mother’s fault, of course—she gave Pippa her first romance to read at the age of seven! She is inconceivably happy that she gets to share those daydreams with you all. Follow her on Twitter, @pipparoscoe.
Books by Pippa Roscoe
Harlequin Presents
Rumors Behind the Greek’s Wedding
Playing the Billionaire’s Game
The Diamond Inheritance
Terms of Their Costa Rican Temptation
From One Night to Desert Queen
The Greek Secret She Carries
The Royals of Svardia
Snowbound with His Forbidden Princess
Stolen from Her Royal Wedding
Visit the Author Profile page at Harlequin.com for more titles.
To my writing friends who were with me from the beginning of this series to the happy-ever-after,
Rachael Thomas, Carrie Nichols, Lucy Monroe and Rachael Stewart,
thank you for your fabulous company and your incredible support!
xx
Contents
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
EPILOGUE
EXCERPT FROM THE POWERFUL BOSS SHE CRAVES BY JOSS WOOD
PROLOGUE
SHE WAS LOST. Completely lost.
Henna dashed at her tears and bit her lip to stop the trembling turning into a sob. All she could see were thousands and thousands of tiny little green leaves everywhere she looked. This was useless. She turned back down the narrow path and around the corner, hope creeping into her heart until she came to another dead end. She was completely lost.
She wished her stepmother had never brought her to this stupid party. She felt as if she’d been stuck in the garden maze of Svardia’s royal palace for hours and was half convinced she’d still be here when night fell. What if no one came looking for her? What if no one found her? Heart pounding, she told herself she’d been stupid to believe that Viveca would wait for her. Her stepsister was only two years older than Henna and, though she didn’t want to admit it out loud, Viveca was mean.
Henna’s hair fell out of the band she’d tried to tie it back with and she angrily pulled at the short strands that had been cut by her stepmother’s hairdresser. Another tear threatened to spill onto her cheek. She’d loved her long hair. It reminded her of the way, every morning, her father had woven it into plaits and every night he had brushed it out for bedtime. At the top of a sob, the sharp sting of pain cut deep in her chest. She missed him so, so much. And no matter how many times Marcella told her that twelve years was too old to cry, and three years was too long to mourn, it didn’t stop the ache filling Henna’s entire body until she was exhausted and heavy and hurt. All the time.
She turned and went back the way she had come. Or at least the way she thought she’d come. She heard a laugh and her stomach twisted, imagining Viveca’s delight at her misery. The tears began to fall faster, the hurt began to throb harder and when she tripped over an overgrown root in the maze floor Henna wanted to stay on the floor and never get up.
Gravel bit painfully into the skin on her knees and palms and even as the muffled voice—deeper than her sister’s—grew closer, she still couldn’t move. A tear fell into the dry dirt and she heard the voice tell someone to head back to the party and soon the sound of footsteps forced her to look up.
Immediately she regretted it. Of all the people who could have found her, it had to be him. For a second she wished it had been Viveca. Not only was he the coolest boy at school, popular, top of his class in sports and smart too, he was also the Prince of Svardia. He must have been speaking to Kristine, his girlfriend. Even though some of the kids at school whispered about what a strange couple they were, she was kind and pretty too.
Prince Aleksander crouched down and Henna scuttled backwards in the dust, as if he were a dangerous creature. He raised his hands up and leaned back. ‘I just wanted to see if you were okay.’ He looked at her, his deep brown eyes unwavering. ‘My sister once got lost in here and it took us ages to find her.’
His words made her feel a little less foolish for getting lost, but not for trusting Viveca. The thought brought a fresh wave of heat to her cheeks and she stood up and dusted off her hands on the pale silk party dress. Marcella would kill her for ruining it.
Henna threw a glance at him, hoping it didn’t look like she was staring. Older than her by three years, the Prince had thick dark hair, eyes that were warm and a smile that was easy and offered to everyone. They’d nicknamed him Prince Charming at school because he was so nice.
‘Are you?’ he asked.
She looked blankly at him.
‘Okay?’ he repeated. There was laughter in his voice, but he wasn’t laughing at her. The thought made her even more sad because she would never be someone he would laugh with. She nodded, but her face must have given her away because he narrowed his eyes on her and she looked away.
‘You’re Viveca’s half-sister?’
She nodded. He pulled a face that was so comically full of disgust Henna couldn’t help but smile.
‘Come on. We should get back to the party,’ he said, interrupting her chain of thought. His hand reached out to hers and she stared at it for a second before tentatively placing her hand in his. ‘Tell me,’ he asked, the curve of his lip welcoming and warm, ‘have you met my sister?’
And with that innocent question, little Henna had no idea how much her life was about to change.
CHAPTER ONE
FREYA STARED AT HER, startling amber eyes glistening and hands twisting in her lap. She mouthed the word ‘please’, the desperation in her eyes tearing at Henna in a way that made her helpless to do anything but whatever it was that the Princess of Svardia needed.
‘You know, it would serve you right if I refused,’ she groused, rolling her eyes as Freya sprang out of her chair, arms wrapping around Henna’s torso and pulling her into a series of jumps that threatened to topple the pile of carefully ordered paperwork on Henna’s desk.
‘Thank you, thank you, thank you. You are the best lady-in-waiting ever!’ Freya cried.
‘I’m your only lady-in-waiting,’ Henna said, unable to hide her smile at seeing her oldest friend so easily happy.
‘And you’re sure it’s okay? It’s not too much trouble?’ the Princess asked.
It would be a mountain of trouble and at least three hours’ extra work that evening, but Henna wouldn’t tell.
‘Of course. Now, go! You’ve got a handsome fiancé waiting to whisk you away for a secret escape to some exotic location in a private jet.’
Freya pressed her hands to her chest. ‘I do, don’t I?’ she said as if she couldn’t believe it herself.
‘Say hello to Kjell for me,’ she called as Freya disappeared through the door.
Henna sighed, staring at the literal mountain of paperwork on her desk, before making herself a coffee and settling back in front of her computer.
Kjell’s romantic gesture was sweet but it was going to be a l ittle tricky to explain to the French Ambassador, who had expected to be meeting with Her Royal Highness at the end of this week. It would be the last getaway Kjell planned for a while, because once they were engaged he would be added to the roster for royal duties and would no longer be able to be so beautifully impromptu. In fact, Henna was half-convinced that was why the newly titled Duke had chosen to whisk Freya away two weeks before their engagement party.
For a moment she wondered what that would be like—to be whisked away to some luxurious isolated escape, wined, dined and pleasured by a handsome man—and then laughed at herself. She had far too much to do here. Henna picked up the phone and dialled the French Embassy and while she was waiting to be put through to Ambassador Toussaint her gaze snagged on an email appearing at the top of her inbox. Frowning, she clicked on it and stared.
‘Hello? Ms Olin?’
Shaking her head clear of the mental fog that had paused her brain function for a second, she spun the chair away from the distracting computer screen and focused on the task at hand.
‘Ambassador Toussaint, I’m so sorry to have to ask but I’m afraid I’m going to need your help.’
It took fifteen minutes to carefully pick through the minefield of cancelling a diplomatic event with a foreign embassy without ruffling feathers, bruising egos or over-compensating with undeliverable promises and Henna did it perfectly, all the while resolutely ignoring the email that pulsed in the back of her mind.
By the time the call ended she had swept her hand across an overly warm forehead so much that her fringe had an upward-bending kink. Finally, after steeling herself, she returned to the email that had rocketed her heart rate.
Dear Miss Olin...
...trusted member of the Svardian royal staff...highly recommended...believe you would be a perfect fit...very competitive salary...
Headhunted. She was being headhunted.
She squinted her eyes at the screen to see if just a little peek at the invading email would make it less...tempting. But no, what they were offering was a once-in-a-lifetime position. And as a lady-in-waiting, that was saying something. The details didn’t include the name of the would-be boss, but there were enough clues in there for her to piece it together. The female CEO was internationally renowned, energetic, enthusiastic and determined to work exclusively on projects that had big global impacts. Henna shook her head, confused by the enticement of the email.
She would never leave Freya, or her younger sister Marit. But, even as she thought it, she couldn’t deny that things were changing. With Marit secretly engaged to Lykos Livas, the Greek billionaire, and Freya and Kjell’s very public engagement ball in just two weeks, the Princesses were growing up and moving on with their lives. They had found their partners, their confidants. They wouldn’t need her as much. Henna looked to the pile of paperwork on her desk. There would always be enough work between the royal siblings to keep her busy...but what if she wanted more than that?
She shook her head again and whispered ‘no’ into the empty room. She loved Svardia. She’d lived here all her life and while she’d travelled all over the world in her duties with Freya, coming home had always been the best part. She loved watching the seasons change in the leaves of the large trees in the palace gardens. Loved the way that the salt-touched breeze swept in from the sea, the dramatic craggy coastline that looked prehistoric, and the explosion of Svardian technology that harnessed the very best of nature without destroying it in the process. It just wasn’t something she wanted to walk away from.
Henna’s mobile phone rang, shocking her from her thoughts, and she saw Freya’s name as she accepted the call.
‘Are you meeting your sister?’ she heard Freya ask over the sounds of the gravel drive crunching beneath the tyres of the car taking her to the private airstrip at the back of the palace grounds.
‘Stepsister,’ she corrected as numbness spread quickly through her. ‘No. Why?’
‘I saw her pulling up in her car. I thought I’d give you a heads-up. I wonder what she’s doing here.’
Only Henna didn’t need to wonder.
Aleksander.
* * *
Aleksander was beginning to believe that his ‘great idea’ was, in fact, deeply flawed.
On paper, she was perfect. She would inherit her mother’s Marchioness title, she was rich, beautiful, educated and sophisticated. His family had known hers since they were children. She moved in similar circles as he did. But clearly there was something he had forgotten. Just at that exact moment, she opened her crimson-coloured mouth and once again he resisted the impulse to cringe.
‘So, I said to him that he couldn’t possibly have got me confused with Lady Annabelle because the woman spends her entire life looking as if she were dragged through a hedge, backwards! I mean, look at me.’ The vicious comment cut through the air as successfully as the dramatic sweep of her hand down the length of her body.
Viveca Lassgård was perched on the edge of the settee in a position that could hardly have secured a single pert cheek and could not have been anything other than deeply uncomfortable. Her legs were dramatically crossed high at the thigh, revealing more of her than Aleksander had any intention of ever seeing again. The patent red leather of her shoes matched the crude colour of her lipstick, separated by a bright honeybee-yellow dress that clung to angles rather than curves on her body.
No. Aleksander, King of Svardia, was man enough to admit—to himself—that he had made a monumental mistake. How Henna could have grown up in the near vicinity of this woman and not committed murder would be one of his life’s greatest unanswered questions.
Aleksander conceded that he had been somewhat hasty, enticed by the ease with which a possible fiancée might be found. Because that was what he needed it to be—easy. Four months ago, as tradition decreed, his father had abdicated on his sixty-fifth birthday and Aleksander had ascended to the throne of the Scandinavian kingdom. The day after his coronation his mother and father had left for the twelve-month sabbatical that allowed each new monarch to find their feet as ruler.
Aleksander might have laughed, if he’d been in the habit of such things. He could have ruled Svardia at any point since his twentieth birthday if needed. The fact that he’d had to wait nine years was merely incidental. He had been six years old when his uncle, the King, had died, forcing his father to take a throne he’d never wanted, but he had ruled with absolute focus and determination. Nothing had come between his father and his duty and he’d ensured that his children felt exactly the same way. Whether they wanted to or not. It was a cause of quite considerable distaste to Aleksander that he was now in a position to inflict a similar fate on an heir of his own.
That teeth-grinding thought pulled him back into the present, and the living area of his palace suite where Viveca was currently removing a cup of tea from a tray held by a server she had yet to, and he doubted ever would, acknowledge. Instead, she was eyeing up the Italian baroque furnishings and design elements that ran through the entire palace because some long-forgotten ancestor had taken a liking to the style. Aleksander hated it. Imagine having to have a conversation with world leaders about nuclear disarmament in a powder-blue room with gold filagree.
‘It is beautiful,’ she said lasciviously.
He grunted in response and she didn’t even raise her carefully pencilled eyebrow. He had seen women like her on the arms of rich old men. Aleksander didn’t judge. He never judged. If she wanted to throw her body away for financial security and gain that was her choice. But he wasn’t ever going to be that rich old man. With years of practice, he made barely polite small talk while he reassessed his position. Viveca clearly wouldn’t do—at all—but it didn’t change the fact that he was still in need of a Queen.
Time was running out. That the devastating news that Freya was unable to carry a child to term was still a secret was nothing short of miraculous, but it wouldn’t stay that way for long. The situation had to be negotiated carefully. Aleksander hated that it was the case, but he knew what the press were like. If it wasn’t handled perfectly, they would tear Freya to shreds and then start on Marit, questioning her fertility next, which was unacceptable. Faith in the royal family would be at its weakest in years, so if Aleksander needed to be married to help his sisters and his country navigate such a serious crisis so early in his rule, then he would marry.
