Now the Prince growled and shoved his phone back into his pocket, turning to face her. As she desperately tried to think of something innocuous to say a muffled thud echoed from the bedroom she’d stepped out of. Hester maintained her dispassionate expression but it was too much to hope he hadn’t heard it.
‘What was that?’ He cocked his head, looking just like that predator whose acute hearing had picked up the unmistakable sounds of nearby prey. ‘Why won’t you let me into her room?’
‘Nothing—’
‘I’m her brother. What are you hiding? Is she in there with a man or something?’
Before she could move, the Prince strode past her and opened the door as if he owned the place.
‘Of course you would think that,’ she muttered crossly, running after him.
He’d halted just inside the doorway. ‘What the hell is that?’
‘A terrified cat, no thanks to you.’ She pushed past him and carefully crept forward so as not to frighten the hissing half-wild thing any more than it already was.
‘What’s it doing in here?’
‘Having dinner.’ She gingerly picked it up and opened the window. ‘Or at least, it was.’
‘I can’t believe Fi owns that cat.’ He stared at the creature with curling cynicism. ‘Not exactly a thoroughbred Prussian Blue, is she?’
Hester’s anger smoked. Of course he wouldn’t see past the exterior of the grey and greyer, mangled-eared, all but feral cat. ‘He might not be handsome, but he’s lonely and vulnerable. He eats in here every day.’ She set him down on the narrow ledge.
‘How on earth does he get down?’ He walked to the window and watched beside her as the cat carefully climbed down to the last available fire escape rung before practically flying the last ten feet to the ground. ‘Impressive.’
‘He knows how to survive.’ But as Hester glared at the Prince her nose tingled. She blinked rapidly but couldn’t hold back her usual reaction.
‘Did you just sneeze?’ Prince Alek turned that unfathomable stare on her. ‘Are you allergic to cats?’
‘Well, why should he starve just because I’m a bad fit for him?’ She plucked a tissue from the packet on the bedside table and blew her nose pointedly.
But apparently the Prince had lost interest already, because he was now studying the narrow bedroom with a scowl.
‘I’d no idea Fi read so many thrillers.’ He picked up the tome next to the tissues. ‘I thought she was all animals. And how does she even move in this space?’
Hester awkwardly watched, trying to see the room through his eyes. A narrow white box with a narrow white bed. A neat pile of books. An occasional cat. A complete cliché.
‘Where’s she put all her stuff?’ He frowned, running a finger over the small wooden box that was the only decorative item in the room.
Hester stilled and faced the wretched moment. ‘This isn’t Princess Fiorella’s bedroom.’ She gritted her teeth for a second and then continued. ‘It’s mine.’
He froze then shot her a look of fury and chagrin combined, snatching his finger from tracing the carved grooves in the lid of the box. ‘Why didn’t you say so sooner?’
‘You stormed in here before I had the chance. I guess you’re used to doing anything you want,’ she snapped, embarrassed by the invasion of privacy and her own failure to speak up sooner.
But then she realised what she’d said and she couldn’t suck it back. She clasped her hands in front of her but kept her head high and her features calm.
Never show them you’re afraid.
She’d learned long ago how to act around people with power over her, how to behave in the hope bullies would get bored and leave her alone. With stillness and calm—on the outside at least.
Prince Alek stared at her for a long moment in stunned silence. But then his expression transformed, a low rumble of laughter sounded and suddenly Hester was the one stunned.
Dimples. On a grown man. And they were gorgeous.
Her jaw dropped as his mood flipped from frustrated to good-humoured in a lightning flash.
‘You think I’m spoilt?’ he asked as his laughter ebbed.
‘Aren’t you?’ she answered before thinking.
His smile was everything. A wide slash across that perfect face that somehow elevated it beyond angelically beautiful, to warm and human. Even with those perfectly straight white teeth he looked roguish. That twist of his full lips was a touch lopsided and the cute creases in his cheeks appearing and disappearing like a playful cupid’s wink.
‘I wouldn’t think that being forced to find a bride is in the definition of being spoiled,’ he said lazily.
‘You mean for your coronation?’ She could hardly pretend not to know about it when she’d overheard half that phone call.
‘Yes. My coronation,’ he echoed dryly, leaving her room with that leisurely, relaxed manner that belied the speed and strength of him. ‘They won’t change that stupid law.’
‘Are you finding the democratic process a bitter pill to swallow?’ she asked, oddly pleased that the man didn’t get everything his own way. ‘Won’t all the old boys do what you want them to?’
He turned to stare at her coolly, the dimples dispelled, but she gazed back limpidly.
‘It’s an archaic law,’ he said quietly. ‘It ought to have been changed years ago.’
‘It’s tradition,’ she replied, walking past him into the centre of the too-small living room. ‘Perhaps there’s something appealing about stability.’
‘Stability?’
There was something impish in his echo that caused her to swiftly glance back. She caught him eyeing her rear end. A startling wave of heat rose within—exasperating her. She knew he
