Cruel Prince: An Accidental Pregnancy Romance (Royally Unexpected Book 3) by Lilian Monroe

Author:Lilian Monroe
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Previously titled Knocked Up by Prince Gallant
Published: 2019-11-19T05:00:00+00:00

19

JO

MY HEART THUMPS when the Prince fits the key into the lock. It slides noiselessly, and Prince Gabriel pushes the door open. He glances at me, his eyes dark and unreadable. He’s brought me up to the East Wing, to a door at the far end of the corridor from Flora’s room. This door has been closed every time I’ve been up here. I’ve heard of this room—Sam told me it’s the off-limits room in the off-limits East Wing. I’ve heard whispers that the Prince does all kinds of things in here. He locks himself in here for days at a time, and emerges looking like a shell of a human.

I don’t know what I expect. Something sinister, maybe? A depraved torture chamber? A weird fetish room?

Instead, what greets me is a mostly bare space. It’s stark white, with a long couch along one wall, and a desk and chair at the far end. An easel sits in a corner, with a fresh page pinned to it. Opposite the couch, a fireplace is recessed into the wall.

It’s not what I would expect from an artist’s studio—it’s clean and clinical. It looks like an art studio before an artist touches it. It doesn’t have the energy, and chaos, and color of art. It’s cold. White. Orderly. Bare.

Nothing like the Prince.

Prince Gabriel closes the door behind me, and I hear the lock click. I glance back at him, frowning.

“Habit.” He nods to the lock. “I never want to be disturbed when I’m in here.”

I take a tentative step forward, feeling the Prince’s eyes following every movement. I stare at the few pieces of furniture and then back at him.

“Is this it? This is the room that everyone is afraid of? This is what’s off-limits?”

Instead of answering, the Prince walks to the easel and places it in the center of the room, facing the couch.

“Sit,” he commands.

I hate that I want to obey. I hate that my feet carry me to the sofa, and that I sit without even uttering a word. I lift my eyes to the Prince, and the air between us crackles.

He watches me, tilting his head slightly. Then, he moves to the desk and pulls open a drawer. He takes out a single piece of charcoal and walks back to the easel. Every movement is purposeful. He doesn’t waste a twitch, or a glance, or a breath on anything except doing exactly what needs to be done.

Leaning over to lie down on the sofa, I turn my head to look at the Prince.

He inclines his head. “Don’t move.”

I watch him, mesmerized. His hand moves with assurance, slicing the page with strokes of charcoal. When I see him smudge the page and then smooth his fingers through his hair, leaving a small dot of black on his forehead, a smile stretches across my lips.

Prince Gabriel’s eyebrows draw together, and a slight crease appears in his forehead. His eyes move from me to the page, and my body burns. Wherever he looks, liquid, hot honey flows inside my veins.

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