“Daphne,” the crown prince said with a slight smile. “You have returned at last.”
“I know you weren’t expecting me,” she said. “But Brittany couldn’t make it.”
He raised one dark eyebrow. “Has she been taken ill?”
“No. She simply came to her senses. Even as we speak, she’s on a plane back to the United States. There isn’t going to be a wedding.” She thought maybe she’d been a bit abrupt, so she added a somewhat insincere, “I’m sorry.”
“Yes, I can feel your compassion from here,” Murat said as he crossed to the buffet and picked up the phone. He dialed four numbers, then spoke. “The airport. Flight control.”
He waited a few seconds, then spoke again. “My plane?”
She watched while he listened. It was possible a muscle tightened in his jaw, but she couldn’t be sure. He had to be feeling something, she told herself. Or maybe not. Ten years ago he’d let her go without a word. Why should this runaway bride matter?
He hung up the phone and turned back to her. “I assume you had something to do with Brittany’s decision.”
He wasn’t asking a question, but she answered it all the same. “Of course. It was madness. I can’t imagine what you were thinking. She’s barely eighteen, Murat. Still a child. If you’re so desperate for a bride, at least pick someone who is close to being an equal.”
For the first time since he walked into the room, he showed emotion, and it wasn’t a happy one. Temper drew his eyebrows together.
“You insult me with both your familiarity and your assumption.”
She winced silently. Of course. She’d called him by his first name. “I apologize for not using the proper title.”
“And the other?”
“I’ll do whatever is necessary to keep Brittany safe from you.”
“Just because you were not interested in being my wife doesn’t mean that others feel the same way.”
“I agree completely. There is a world filled with willing young women. Have them all—I don’t care. But you’re not marrying my niece.”
Instead of answering her, he pulled a small device out of his pocket. It was about the size of a key fob. Seconds later a half dozen armed guards burst into the room and surrounded Daphne. Two of them grabbed her by the arms.
She was too stunned to protest.
“What are you doing?” she demanded.
“Myself? Nothing.” Murat returned what she assumed was a security device to his jacket pocket, then adjusted his cuffs. “The guards are another story.”
Daphne glared at him. “What? You’re arresting me because I wouldn’t let you marry my niece?”
“I’m holding you in protective custody for interfering with the private business of the Crown Prince of Bahania.”
She narrowed her gaze. “This is crazy. You can’t do this to me.”
“All evidence to the contrary.”
“Bastard.”
She tried to squirm away from the guards, but they didn’t let her go.
“You’d better not try to turn that plane around,” she said, her fury growing. “I won’t let you touch her. Not for a second.”
Murat crossed toward the door, then paused and glanced at her. “Make no mistake, Daphne. One way or another, there will be a wedding in four months, and the bride will be a Snowden. There is nothing you can do to stop me.”
“Want to bet?” she asked, knowing the words were as futile as her attempt to twist free of the guards.
“Of course. I have no fear of wagering with you.” He smiled again. “What will you give me when I win?”
She lunged for him and only got a sharp pain in her arm for her reward. Murat chuckled as he walked away.
“When I get my hands on him,” she said. “I swear I’ll…” She pressed her lips together. On second thought, threatening the prince while still in the presence of several burly guards wasn’t exactly smart.
“Where are you taking me?” she asked when the guards continued to just stand here, holding her in place.
The one by the door touched an earpiece, then nodded.
“What? Getting instructions from the crown prince himself?” she asked. “Couldn’t he have told you while he was still in the room?”
Apparently not, she realized as the guards started moving. The two holding on to her kept their grips firm enough that she didn’t want to risk pulling away. She had a feeling she was already going to be plenty bruised by her experience.
The group of guards, with her in the center, walked down the main corridor, then stopped at a bank of elevators. The one in communication with Murat pushed the down button. When the car arrived, it was a tight fit, but they all made it inside. Daphne noticed how none of the men stood too close to her. In fact, except for the hold on her arms, they were pretty much ignoring her.
She tried to remember the layout of the palace so she could figure out where they were going. Down wasn’t her idea of a happy thought. Were there still dungeons in the palace? She wouldn’t put it past Murat to lock her up.
But when they stepped out of the elevator and headed along a more narrow corridor, Daphne suddenly realized their destination. It was much worse than any dungeon.
“You’re not taking me there,” she said, wiggling and twisting to escape.
The guard on her left tightened his grip on her arm. “Ma’am, we don’t want to hurt you.”
The implication being they would if necessary.
I’ll get him for this, she thought as she stopped fighting. One way or another, Murat would pay.
They turned a corner, and Daphne saw the famous gold double doors. They stood nearly ten feet tall and were heavily embossed with a scene of several young women frolicking at an oasis.
One of the guards stepped forward and opened the door on the left. The rest marched her inside.
When the men released her, she thought briefly about making a dash for freedom but knew she would be caught and returned here. So she accepted her fate with dignity and a vow that she would find her way out as soon as she could.
The guards left. She heard the heavy clang as the doors closed behind them and the thunk of the gold cross bar being locked into place. Low conversation from the hallway told her that someone would be left on duty to watch over her.
“This is just like you, Murat,” she said as she placed her hands on her hips. “You might be an imperial, piggish prince, but I can stand it. I can stand anything to keep you from marrying Brittany.”
Daphne looked for something to throw, but the thick, cream-colored walls were completely bare. The only decoration was the brightly colored tile floor.
She moved through the arched entryway, into the large open living area. Dozens of chairs and sofas filled the vast space. The doorway to the left led to the baths, the one on the right led to the sleeping rooms. She recognized this part of the palace from her explorations ten years before. Recognized and fumed because of it.
Dammit all, if Murat hadn’t locked her in the harem.
Murat stalked toward the business wing of the palace. Fury quickened his steps. After all this time Daphne Snowden had dared to return to Bahania, only to once again disrupt his world.
Had she come modestly, begging his apology for her unforgivable acts? Of course not.