Royals: A Dutiful Princess

CHAPTER FOUR

JUST AS TYR came within earshot, Britt whisked Jazz away, explaining that she had arranged the place cards on their table so that Jazz wouldn’t have to sit anywhere near Tyr, or any other single man. As Britt smiled reassurance into her eyes, Jazz was reminded again how much she valued their friendship.

‘I’m so glad you’re here to share Tyr’s homecoming. It wouldn’t have been the same without you, Jazz.’

‘I’m sorry if I seem tense to you.’

‘You feel awkward around men?’ Britt shrugged. ‘That’s hardly surprising. You should get out of Kareshi more. I’m going to speak to your brother about it.’

‘Please don’t give Sharif anything more to worry about. I’m happy in Kareshi. You know how much I love my work, and—’

‘And how you live under your own self-imposed guard while you’re there? Yes. I know all about that, Jazz—only allowing yourself this briefest of trips outside the country?’

‘I know you find the way I live hard to understand, but please believe me, Britt. This is the right thing to do for my country.’

Britt shook her head. ‘Locking yourself away can never be the right thing to do. It would benefit your people and you if you travelled more.’

‘I can never forget that I’m a princess of Kareshi,’ Jazz argued, trying her hardest not to glance at Tyr. ‘Or that with that title comes duty and responsibility.’

‘But not a ball and chain, surely?’

Britt’s expression made Jazz laugh. ‘Now you’re exaggerating. Anyone would think I was my own jailer.’

‘But aren’t you?’ Britt turned serious. ‘Beware of squashing your spirit completely, Jazz. Don’t turn yourself into something you’re not.’

Jazz’s eyes sparkled. ‘Like an embittered old shrew, do you mean?’

‘There’s no chance of that.’ Britt laughed. ‘And now we’ve got my brother to contend with.’ With a sigh she stood aside as the crowds parted to allow the handsome Viking through.

‘Don’t look so worried. I can handle Tyr.’

Jazz could only hope her heart was listening.

* * *

Tyr paused for a moment to check Sharif was still talking to the ambassador and his wife, before approaching the family table for dinner. He didn’t want to cause Jazz a moment’s discomfort, but, as if sensing his approach, Sharif called his sister over.

Britt walked over. ‘You’re looking thoughtful, Tyr.’

‘I am thoughtful.’

‘But you’ll stay and see the evening through?’

‘Of course I will. I appreciate everything you’ve done for me.’

‘But you would have preferred something a little more low-key.’

‘No, in this you’re right,’ he admitted. ‘Better to see everyone at once.’

Britt cocked her head. ‘Get it over with?’

He looked at his sister with amusement. ‘I couldn’t possibly comment.’

And then the ever-changing pattern of friends reshaped again, leaving Jazz all alone in a halo of light.

Jazz made her way to the family table, only to find Tyr there ahead of her. Relaxing back on one of the gilt chairs, he was surveying the party with his cool dark gaze. She was about to turn around, to go and find Britt, or her brother, but Tyr was already on his feet, holding out a chair. ‘Jazz.’

No man should smile at her like that—so openly—so invitingly.

There was a belief in Kareshi that members of the opposite sex could never stare directly into each other’s eyes without there being some form of sexual implication.

‘Tyr.’ Had she always felt so awkward around him?

She knew the answer to that question. They had never been awkward with each other in the past, but a new tension had entered their relationship and that seemed set to stay. Neither of them was the same person they’d been ten years ago. Britt was right in saying a lot of water had passed under the bridge since then.

It was only when she sat down that Jazz realised Tyr had ignored Britt’s carefully arranged place cards completely. Britt had assured her she wasn’t going to be sitting anywhere near Tyr, so he must have moved the cards around.

So what was she going to do about it? Make some excuse and move halfway round the table? Wouldn’t that seem rude? Wouldn’t that be ridiculous, considering they were the only people at the table? Her heart thundered as Tyr’s mouth slanted in a smile.

‘So, what have you been doing with yourself while I’ve been away, Jazz?’

She stared into a pair of eyes that had always been able to devastate her nervous system. ‘Where to start?’ She gave a shaky laugh.

‘Jazz?’

Tyr’s voice sounded as if it were coming to her from a long way away, down an echoing tunnel. She should not be here. She should not be talking to a man. And this was not just any man, but Tyr Skavanga, a man who demanded every woman’s attention, especially Jazz’s, and to the point where, having stared into his eyes, she couldn’t look away. ‘It’s been a long time, Tyr.’

Tyr’s mouth curved with wry amusement at this comment. And no wonder, when that was probably the lamest thing she could have said. They’d been friends for years and she couldn’t think of a single question to ask him? Not even when she was so hungry to know every detail of Tyr’s missing life.

Sharing none of her reserve, Tyr continued to study her face as if he would like to record every tiny detail. This made her deeply uncomfortable, though thankfully, Britt was heading towards them at speed. And then out of the blue her courage returned, and, holding Tyr’s gaze, she accepted the connection, as she told him with her eyes that things could never be the same between them again, and that he mustn’t tease her and flirt with her as if she were still ten years old.

‘Tyr?’ Britt’s voice sounded brittle as she hovered over them. ‘Have you changed my place cards around?’

‘Would I?’ Resting back in his chair, Tyr cast a lazy glance up at his sister, which made Britt huff impatiently, but it was too late for Britt to change them round again as some important guests had arrived and were waiting to be seated.

Neither Sharif nor Tyr could ever be said to have forgotten their manners. They were both round the table in an instant, holding chairs out for their visitors. Sharif even put a restraining hand on Britt’s arm when she would have changed places with Jazz. ‘The ambassador,’ he murmured discreetly.

Damned by etiquette, Jazz thought as Tyr sat down at her side. The ambassador and his wife were Britt’s guests of honour tonight, and as Britt and Sharif were hosting the party it was unthinkable that the ambassador would sit next to anyone but Britt.

When everyone was seated and chatting happily, Britt managed a discreet word while Tyr was talking to the ambassador. ‘Are you sure you’re all right sitting here next to Tyr, Jazz?’

Smiling, Jazz confirmed, ‘Of course I am.’

What else could she say?

* * *

Was she the only one to feel the tension building around the table? Jazz wondered. She was doing everything she could to ignore Tyr, but he was sitting so close, her whole body was tingling with awareness. How could she remain insensible to his heat, or to the compelling presence of the big Viking at her side? She had forbidden herself every sensual delight reality could offer, and exploring the forbidden in her mind had become a favourite pastime. But not tonight. She must not allow her thoughts to wander tonight. Gathering her robe a little closer, she forced the direction of her thoughts away from the devastating man at her side.

For around five seconds.

‘Would you like some water, Jazz?’

Staring into Tyr’s eyes made her heart race. ‘Yes, please.’ She sounded so formal and distant. Which was good, she reminded herself, even if it was directly opposed to what was happening inside her.

‘Will you be staying in Skavanga long, Princess Jasmina?’

She turned with relief to the woman sitting on her other side, but even that didn’t help, because her mind had taken a photograph of Tyr that meant she could chat intelligently enough, while studying every detail of Tyr in her mind. His hair was thick and tawny, and sun-bleached around his face where it hung in rebel tousles no matter how many times he swept it back. His stubble was sharp and black, and thick, though he must have shaved before he came to the party...and she could smell his cologne. Everything about him spelled danger. Everything about Tyr Skavanga was what she had vowed to avoid. He was wearing black on black tonight, when every other man at the table, apart from Sharif in his ceremonial robes, was dressed in a conventional dinner suit, with a conventional shirt and a conventional tie. Tyr had always bucked the trend, she remembered.

‘More water, Princess?’ Tyr’s gravelly voice shook her round. ‘Or something else, perhaps?’

‘No, thank you.’ How prim she sounded. But those wicked eyes— How dared he look at her like that? Storm-grey and darkening, Tyr’s eyes were lit with a disturbing understanding of her inner turmoil. He had always been able to read her mind. It was a skill that had made her mad when she was younger, and which now made her uncomfortably aware. And that firm mouth that she had all too often imagined kissing her.

She must forget that now.

She must!

‘Are you sure? No more water?’ he prompted.

Her cheeks flamed red. ‘Yes, I’m sure.’ Frowning, she looked at him with what Jazz realised was the type of black look she would have given him when they were both younger, which was far too intimate a reminder of how close they’d once been.

‘Your napkin, Jazz?’

She dragged in a sharp breath as Tyr leaned towards her. Shaking out her napkin, he moved to lay it on her lap. His face was so close to hers, her cheeks were burning. The brush of starched linen against her skin sent shivers of arousal streaking through her. The whisper of its touch against her thigh shocked her to think that she could be so easily seduced. Tyr was a force of nature, Jazz reassured herself. Anyone would feel as she did. She should leave now and have nothing more to do with him.

‘You look beautiful tonight, Jazz.’

You can’t say that!

But how she wanted to hear it.

Tyr’s eyes were warm and amused when she didn’t reply. Didn’t he know how dangerous this was? Didn’t he care?

Eva saved the day, taking control of the conversation around the table. Smiling at her brother proudly, Eva proceeded to tell everyone that Tyr had been born with a map and compass in his hand, and when everyone laughed, Jazz was able to relax as the spotlight swung away from her.

But not for long.

‘How do you feel about wanderlust, Jazz?’

Why did Tyr have to ask her that question? Why did he have to speak to her at all? She stared into his eyes. This was her opportunity to make her position clear to him. ‘I’ve always believed there’s no place like home, and so far I’ve had no reason to change my mind.’ Unless a marriage organised by Sharif took her to a new country, and a new family, where Jazz had no doubt she would be treasured like one of the hard, blue-white diamonds her brother and Tyr mined. She experienced a chill of apprehension at that thought. And then with everything inside her warning her to leave it, she turned back to Tyr. ‘I have never felt your desire to keep moving and searching.’

‘Maybe because you’ve never given yourself that chance,’ Tyr cut in, resting his chin on his hand as he stared at her with amusement.

‘Tyr’s dangerous to know and even more dangerous to love,’ Eva confided across the table, laughing as everyone else laughed with her.

Jazz laughed too, thankful to Eva for diluting the tension with a joke. Joining in with the laughter seemed safest, and she thanked her lucky stars she would never be in a position to find out just how dangerous Tyr Skavanga could be.

‘We never know when Tyr’s going to disappear again,’ Eva continued, capturing everyone’s attention again. ‘He might not be there if I blink.’

More laughter followed this, but Jazz felt a pang of loss as if Tyr had already left them.

‘Don’t worry. I’m sticking around,’ he confided, but why couldn’t he say that to the whole table, instead of just to her?

He pretty much kept his promise to leave Jazz alone right up to the moment when Britt mounted the rostrum to deliver her speech of welcome and the lights dimmed. This left Britt alone in the spotlight and the rest of the room in shadow. Sharif had turned his chair around to listen to his wife, encouraging everyone else at the table to do the same.

‘What?’ Jazz murmured when she felt his interest switch to her. ‘Will you please stop staring at me, Tyr?’

‘No.’

Jazz’s voice was a fierce whisper, his was a lazy drawl, and her little growl of anger could have come straight from the old days, and that made him smile. Then she must have decided that if he was going to provoke her, she was going to lob back some polite and wholly innocuous conversation, and as he continued to study Jazz at his leisure, he was so engrossed he barely heard her question.

When he’d computed it, he frowned. ‘Did I manage to bring water to that village?’ he repeated. ‘Yes, I did. How do you know about that?’

‘Don’t worry. Sharif didn’t betray you. I happened to see the invoice for aqua-cleaning machinery come in, and I knew Sharif didn’t have any current projects running, so I put two and two together.’

‘And came up with me?’

‘I do have some original thoughts that aren’t stamped approved by my brother.’

‘I’m sure you do. And was that a hint of amusement in your voice I detected, Princess?’

She raised a brow. ‘Am I so dull?’

He paused. ‘You’ve changed.’

‘Don’t mock me, Tyr. I’m not sixteen any longer.’

‘This I can see for myself.’

‘Then you shouldn’t be looking.’

They were silent for some time after that.

The speeches ended and the prizes had all been handed out. The lights went up and Britt returned to their table to be congratulated by Sharif. His friend was a different character when he was with Britt, Tyr noted. Britt was a soothing hand on the warrior brow—something Tyr badly needed.

Anything that could distract him from his feelings for Jazz—feelings that clawed at his senses—would be good.

‘You’re like a seething volcano of pent-up energy,’ Eva commented, picking up on his tension. ‘Thor minus the hammer, unless you’re keeping that under the table?’

He hummed with amusement as he settled back. Eva knew him too well. She could sense his hunting instinct. He was the wolf. Jazz was the petal in danger of being trampled underfoot. Watching Britt persuade Sharif to dance, he felt his hunting instinct sharpen as one by one the other couples at the table joined them, leaving just one elderly man and woman to chaperone him and Jazz. And as the elderly couple were currently engrossed in their own conversation...

‘So, Princess Jasmina.’

Taking a deep breath, Jazz turned to stare at him. ‘Can the Sunday title, Tyr. You don’t need to pretend with me. You’ve called me Jazz from the first time we met, and I’m still Jazz to you.’

Mentally, he reeled back with surprise, then rebuked himself for forgetting that Jazz might have changed outwardly, but inwardly she was the same girl. He searched her eyes, but she turned away, then tensed when a group passed by and bowed to her in respect for her rank. ‘You can’t blame people,’ he pointed out as Jazz chewed her lip unhappily. ‘You’re not the tomboy to them you always were to me. You’re a princess.’

‘But that’s just it, Tyr. I can’t buy into the title when I haven’t done anything to deserve it.’

‘But you will,’ he said confidently, relieved that at least they were talking.

‘Perhaps you’re right,’ Jazz admitted with a sigh. ‘But I don’t feel any different from anyone else. Except...’

‘Except?’ he prompted, angling his chin to stare into her eyes.

‘Except I think you should bow to me.’

She said this with all the old humour and, sitting back, Tyr laughed with relief to think the girl he used to know was still in there somewhere. ‘Now, why should I bow to you, Princess?’

‘Viking warlords need to be put in their place by a princess of the desert.’

‘And what place is that?’

Jazz’s cheeks flushed attractively with heat. ‘A dungeon, preferably,’ she said as if realising that this conversation had already gone too far.

‘But I didn’t think you were frightened of anything?’

She fixed him with an unwavering gaze. ‘You’re right. I’m not.’

‘So if there’s any little service I can offer you, at that time and that time only, I will be sure to bow.’

For once in his life he broke eye contact first. If any other woman had looked at him the way Jazz had so briefly looked at him, he would have anticipated a very different outcome to this evening. High time for a reminder that when it came to the mating game, Jazz was so innocent she didn’t know the rules.

But he couldn’t ignore her for long. ‘You look good, Jazz. Life is obviously treating you well.’

‘Very well, thank you,’ she said primly. ‘You look good too.’

He huffed with amusement. ‘There’s no need for you to be polite with me.’

As Jazz’s eyes clouded with concern, he warned, ‘Don’t get into it. This is a party, remember?’

‘A party in your honour, Tyr, so I’m afraid you have to accept that people care about you. I don’t suppose anyone knows how to behave around you when you’ve been away for so long.’

He sat back. He liked this new Jazz. She was as much of a challenge beneath that prim exterior as she had ever been, but he liked the wild child from the past better. This new version of Jazz was a tightly strung instrument that only played to Jazz’s self-imposed restrictive tune.

‘It might help if you talked about things that matter to you, Tyr, like the ideals you were fighting for.’

‘Like what?’ He tensed. She had hit a nerve. It was Jazz that had the problem, not him.

‘Like freedom, Tyr,’ Jazz said calmly.

‘Freedom?’ He laughed incredulously as he stared at her. ‘And what do you know about that?’