His to Princess, a modern fairytale romance: Loving World, Les Iles de la Victoire by Theodora Taylor & Bianca Pierce

Author:Theodora Taylor & Bianca Pierce [Taylor, Theodora]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Rom Tell That
Published: 2017-02-05T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 17

Talia and Pascal walk down several long hallways, their footsteps and those of the guards behind them muted by thick, plush carpets. Every few yards, she peeks out floor-to-ceiling windows to the gardens beyond. There are acacias, exotic palms, and…is that an aviary?

They descend a wide, central staircase. Talia runs a hand down the polished oak banister, and admires the sparkling crystal chandelier majestically occupying the space above the massive foyer. The walls are adorned with truly enormous canvases depicting past kings and queens and their families.

Pascal leads her down yet another long hallway, this one covered in black-and-white geometric patterns, and finally they stop in front of a door. Pascal knocks three times.

“Entrez.”

Talia steels her nerves. This is it. Now’s her chance to fight her way out of this place. Regardless of the makeover and delicious breakfast, she is prepared to do whatever it takes to gain her freedom. Pascal opens the door, and Talia marches through—only to stop short when she takes in the scene in front of her.

The prince is at his desk—a large, wooden piece with curved legs. It’s covered with massive piles of paperwork. Al’s staring at six documents laid out before him like they’re the missing pieces to a thousand-piece puzzle he’s been working on. He looks like he’s posing for a stock photo titled “hot redhead in a suit; completely overwhelmed.”

“Highness,” Pascal says, clearing his throat.

“Yes, what? Is she finally ready?” Aldrich asks in a cranky voice, not looking up.

“Sir.” Pascal clears his throat a second time.

Aldrich glances up at Pascal, then finally raises his eyes past the man to where Talia stands near the door.

“Oh. Oh!” Al’s expression goes from frustrated to pleasantly surprised in an instant. “Hello,” he says to her, a smile lifting his lips as he rises to stand.

Talia opens her mouth, but the angry speech that’s been spinning in her head ever since yesterday suddenly gets stuck somewhere in her throat.

“Hi,” she says, instead. She nods at the mountain of paperwork. “What’s all that?”

“Sit, please.” He extends a hand towards one of two ornate, low-backed upholstered armchairs in front of his desk.

He then nods to Pascal, and the bodyguard silently slips away.

And once again, she’s alone with the prince. The prince! Three months have passed and she’s still having trouble reconciling the man who helped her clean up Old Vick with the handsome monarch behind the desk. He sports a crisp white dress shirt with rolled up sleeves tucked loosely into a pair of trim beige linen pants. A lock of his burnished copper hair falls across his forehead when his gaze meets hers. Talia blinks hard to rid herself of the shyness bubbles that suddenly rise up in her stomach. But she’s having a tough time ignoring how hot he looks in “busy ruler of a foreign nation” mode.

“Talia, custom dictates that I cannot take my seat until you do,” he says, once more indicating the chair.

She hesitates. Talia came here to fight for the right to leave, and she wants to stand when she presents her case.

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