Reunion with the king turns forbidden…and dangerous

Internationally renowned actress Juliana Richardson should be concentrating on the role of a lifetime, not on the man who broke her heart years earlier. Yet King Andre Alexei IV is no longer a young prince-in-training—he’s an undeniably sexy monarch with seduction on his mind. Juliana’s heart is at risk, but after a series of deadly coincidences, it becomes clear her life is on the line, too.

Andre vows to protect the stubborn star even as she pushes him away. But as the threat to Juliana’s life grows more intense, Andre must choose between saving the vulnerable beauty or letting her go forever…

“Do not run, Juliana,” he said softly, reassuringly. “You have nothing to fear from me. You never did.”

It wasn’t that easy, of course. She couldn’t just turn off the panic at a word from him. Especially since his words didn’t stop there.

“When I make love to you,” he said, his eyes suddenly blazing, his deep voice curling inside her, making her knees weak, “you will come to me of your own free will. You will come to me because you want me the same way I want you.”

A memory flashed into her mind, a memory she’d resolutely suppressed until now. And suddenly she was seeing Andre as she’d seen him all those years ago, his green eyes in a shaft of moonlight glowing with what she’d fooled herself into believing was love.

She was hearing his voice, that deep, throbbing voice she still heard in her dreams whispering in Zakharan, “Now it begins.”

“Never,” she whispered from a throat gone suddenly dry, fighting the sensual web he was weaving. Fighting herself. “Never again.”

* * *

Be sure to check out the next books in Amelia Autin’s exciting miniseries: Man on a Mission—These heroes, working at home and overseas, will do anything for justice, honor…and love.

* * *

Dear Reader,

When I wrote McKinnon’s Royal Mission, part of my Man on a Mission miniseries, two characters kept popping up, assuming more and more importance—my heroine’s brother, King Andre Alexei IV of Zakhar, and her one-time best friend, the achingly beautiful Juliana Richardson, now an internationally famous movie star. Naturally, when I finished McKinnon’s Royal Mission I had no choice but to let those two characters take me where they wanted to lead me. And what a story King’s Ransom turned out to be! Royal intrigue, lovers reunited against all odds, the reenactment of a centuries-old love story and a villain who won’t balk at murder to get what he wants.

I think every romance author falls a little bit in love with every hero she creates, and I’m no exception. While far from perfect, Andre embodies the best of what most of us look for in a hero—strong, faithful and true.

And my heroine, Juliana? She’s the perfect foil for my hero. She’s strong and just as determined as he is in her own way. She knows what she wants and goes after it without hesitation. She won’t settle for second best, not in herself, and not in the man she loves. Juliana represents the best of who I would like to be…in another life.

I love hearing from my readers. Please email me at AmeliaAutin@aol.com and let me know what you think.

Amelia Autin

King’s

Ransom

Amelia Autin

www.millsandboon.co.uk

AMELIA AUTIN is a voracious reader who can’t bear to put a good book down…or part with it. Her bookshelves are crammed with books her husband periodically threatens to donate to a good cause, but he always relents…eventually.

Amelia returned to her first love, romance writing, after a long hiatus, during which she wrote numerous technical manuals and how-to guides, as well as designed and taught classes on a variety of subjects, including technical writing. She is a long-time member of Romance Writers of America (RWA), and served three years as its treasurer.

Amelia currently resides with her PhD engineer husband in quiet Vail, Arizona, where they can see the stars at night and have a “million-dollar view” of the Rincon Mountains from their backyard.

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For my nephew, John Michael Autin, who gently goaded me into writing fiction again after many years…and probably doesn’t even remember how he did it! How happy I am he met and married his true love, Kristy Len—he deserves the best, and

he found it in Kristy. And for Vincent…always.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

Dear Reader

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Epilogue

Extract

Copyright

Prologue

“Absolutely not!” Juliana Richardson told her lawyer agent with fierce determination.

Marty Devens stared at her in surprise. “But Juliana, you’re already under contract—” he began before she cut him off.

“Break it.” Her voice was implacable.

“I can’t do that, and you know it. Not unless you have a damned good reason.” His voice ended the sentence on an up note, turning the statement into a question.

Juliana had a damned good reason, but she couldn’t tell Marty. Couldn’t tell anyone.

“Besides,” Marty coaxed, “you’re the actress who always wants to film on location. You’re the one who says nothing lends realism to historical movies like filming where the actual events occurred. I thought you’d be thrilled they received permission to film King’s Ransom on location in Zakhar, and even within the royal palace itself.”

Juliana walked to Marty’s office window and gazed out at the sprawling city of Los Angeles below her. But she wasn’t really seeing the city through the haze that hung over it like a sepia tint even on good days. She was seeing a lush green valley nestled between towering mountains, air fresh and clean, and Drago, the capital city of Zakhar, looking like a fairy-tale city from the sixteenth century dropped Brigadoon-like into the twenty-first century. She was seeing the royal palace there and the castle walls surrounding it as she’d seen it when she was fourteen, excited and thrilled to be attending her first reception in a real palace with her ambassador father.

I can’t go back to Zakhar, she told herself, feeling suddenly eighteen again and oh so vulnerable. So defenseless. I can’t. I can’t see Andre again. I’d rather die.

Then she laughed bitterly as the mature twenty-nine-year-old she was now took over. Don’t be melodramatic, you baby. You’ve had eleven years to get over him. You’re not eighteen anymore, and he can’t break your heart again. Been there, done that. Where’s your pride? You’re an actress, damn it! A good one. Three months on location—how tough can it be to play a role for three months?

“Juliana?” Marty’s voice broke into her thoughts.

“What?” Her voice was husky with repressed emotion.

“Is it really that important to you? Not doing this movie?” He cleared his throat. “I’m your lawyer. Your agent. And your friend. The agent and the lawyer say hell no, we already signed the contract, but the friend says—”

“It’s okay, Marty.” Juliana swung around and pasted a smile on her face she knew didn’t fool him one bit. She was going to have to work on that. If she couldn’t fool Marty, there wasn’t a snowball’s chance she could fool him into thinking she no longer cared. “It’s just that...well, never mind. It’s a great part—almost as if it were written for me. And working with Dirk again on something with strong Oscar potential—how lucky can I be? Most actresses would kill for this opportunity.”

Most actresses, she told herself as she turned away and stared out the window again. But not me. She blinked hard to hold back the real tears she hadn’t shed for eleven years. Tears she’d sworn she’d never shed again over a man who wasn’t worth a single tear.

Chapter 1

King Andre Alexei IV of Zakhar, heir to a long line of imperious kings, absolute monarch in a world where absolute monarchs were extremely few, was royally pissed. He fixed his steely gaze on the master of the household and said in a soft voice that didn’t fool anyone who heard it, “I thought I made myself perfectly clear with regard to the arrangements.”

“Yes, Sire, you did,” the man acknowledged stiffly. “But—”

“But what?”

“But the state apartments have always been reserved for immediate family or for visiting royalty.” There was just a hint of outrage in his voice. “Since your mother’s death, Your Majesty, no one has occupied the Queen’s Suite except the Queen of England when she was here for your coronation three years ago. I had the maids prepare the suite formerly occupied by Princess Mara for Miss Richardson instead. It will be familiar to her, and I am sure she will be very happy th—”

“If the Queen’s Suite is not ready to be occupied when Miss Richardson arrives, I will know the reason why.” Andre’s voice was even softer, and the elderly man in front of him quaked at the veiled threat in face and voice. The king was a gentleman as a general rule—kind, courteous and a wonderful employer to work for. Reasonable, too. But there was no doubt who ruled Zakhar—or this household. When he gave a direct order he expected it to be obeyed. Instantly. Not even forty years of faithful service would count when he looked and sounded this way.

Suddenly the king smiled. “Vladimir, old friend,” he coaxed. “You have known me all my life. I learned court protocol at your knee. And many times you shielded Mara from my father’s wrath—do you think I could forget that?” His smile faded. “But this is important to me. You cannot know how important. I realize it is a breach of state protocol, but do not fail me in this, old friend. Miss Richardson will be portraying Queen Eleonora in the film. I wish her to be treated as such, and not just in this way. In every way. She will be housed in the Queen’s Suite.”

Andre turned sharply and strode away before he betrayed himself any further. He’d worked tirelessly for this day for almost three years, ever since he ascended the throne. Now he would risk his future on one roll of the dice. But he wanted everything perfect beforehand. Everything that could be done to set the stage would be done. Then...if he lost...if he failed...he would have no one to blame except himself.

He’d been up since dawn, unable to sleep, knowing that in mere hours she would be here. Knowing that somewhere in the skies over the Atlantic Ocean, then over Europe, his men were closely guarding—albeit without her knowledge—the one woman for whom this entire endeavor had been undertaken. The woman for whom he’d paid the modern-day equivalent of a king’s ransom to ensure she would finally return to Zakhar.

Juliana.

Even her name had the power to move him in ways he’d fought for years. Her memory burned white hot in his mind and his body. How many times had he cursed himself that he couldn’t change his constant nature? How many times had he wished he was not a Marianescu? And how many times had he argued in his mind with the first Andre Alexei, only to hear the inevitable answer he did not want to hear, the same answer his namesake had implacably given to the church, to his Privy Council, to his subjects—it is her...or no one.

Forever and a day.

Most of the cast and crew of King’s Ransom were already here and had been for several weeks: shooting exterior shots, scoping out the palace—especially the older wings—planning camera angles, testing lighting schemes and doing all the thousand and one things that went into making a blockbuster feature film. But the leads, the actor and actress who would portray the first King Andre Alexei and his beloved Queen Eleonora—Dirk DeWinter and Juliana Richardson—were arriving later this morning. And the grand, formal reception for the entire cast and crew was set for tonight in the Great Hall.

Restless energy pulsed through his body, and Andre strode into the impressive Great Hall, with its massive mahogany pillars, three-story arched ceiling festooned with a grandiose display of gold inlay, and thick red-and-gold rug so immense it covered nearly the entire expanse of the floor.

Maids, footmen and equerries were hard at work preparing the room for the guests who would be there tonight. Banks of flowers and potted trees were being installed around the room, not just from the royal gardens but from professional nurseries in Drago and beyond, bringing the sweet freshness of the outdoors inside. The dust covers swathing the chandeliers had been removed, and in the morning light each prism sparkled and glittered, casting rainbow hues around the room. Tonight they would be even more dazzling.

Satisfied at the progress, Andre passed through the Great Hall to the Grand Staircase that led into it. He ignored the gilded, ornate railing and took the wide marble stairs to the second floor of the palace two at a time, his feet making no sound on the crimson carpet runner. Damon, Andre’s personal bodyguard on duty today, followed him, scrambling to keep up.

His father had chosen his bodyguards when he was the Crown Prince. But once he ascended the throne he’d recruited his cousin Zax to head up the security force protecting him and had handpicked his bodyguards himself, men from his own unit in the Zakharian National Forces, men he’d trained with. Men he could trust with his life, who were also discreet.

Captains Damon Kostya and Lukas Branko were two of those men detached from the military to serve in the contingent guarding him. Damon was on duty today and Lukas would be on duty tonight during the reception. They were nearly fanatical in their devotion to him, to keeping him alive, sworn to protect him at all costs. As were all the men on his bodyguard detail. And they’d done a damned fine job so far through two assassination attempts in the past three years.

Normally Andre was considerate of his bodyguards, careful to make no sudden, unexpected moves that would take whomever was on duty by surprise. It wasn’t his habit to make things more difficult for the men guarding him. But not today. He burst through the door to his suite of rooms, then turned abruptly. “Wait outside, Damon.”

“But, Sire...” Damon obviously didn’t like the idea of leaving his king unprotected, even in these relatively safe confines, but he acquiesced under the imperious expression on the face Andre turned on him. “Yes, Sire.” Even though Damon had agreed, the king knew he would station himself right outside the door, within earshot. And he would fume and fret the entire time Andre was out of his sight.

Andre’s elderly English valet was in the dressing room, humming to himself as he hung up on a stand the white gold-braided dress uniform the king would wear at the reception tonight. Brushing away a fleck of lint. Testing each button for a loose thread. Inspecting the belt, gold-handled sword and scabbard, ensuring the leather was polished to a high gloss and that there wasn’t a spot of tarnish or a finger smudge on the steel. Checking everything twice so the king would be no less than perfect when he left his valet’s hands. Normally Andre was amused at the way Sinclair fussed over his clothes, although he never let the other man fuss over him. But today wasn’t a normal day, and Andre craved solitude.

“Later, Sinclair,” he told his valet. “Come back later.”

Alone finally, Andre glanced once at the large, intricately woven tapestry on one wall of the bedroom before he tore his thoughts away from it. Then he paced, reviewing every detail in his mind. As if by focusing on the minutiae he could push thoughts of Juliana to the background. As if he could quiet the eager pounding of his heart as it anticipated her arrival. Useless.

“Propinquity is not love,” Andre’s father had reminded him repeatedly through the years, as he paraded one potential bride after another in front of his son’s disinterested gaze. Refusing to believe what he didn’t want to believe, despite knowing—as all Zakhar knew—that Marianescus mated for life. That they loved once...then never again. Refusing to believe his son’s heart had been irrevocably given at such an early age.

Not propinquity, Andre told himself now. His father had been as wrong about that as he’d been wrong about everything regarding his children—especially his only son. Andre’s love for Juliana had never had its roots in their close proximity, in their frequent encounters when they were younger. Eleven years without her would eventually have eradicated his love if that had been the case, but it had not. She was the other half of his soul—something he’d long since accepted, but that his father had always denied. And since Andre had despised his father for his treatment of Mara, father and son had rarely spoken except in confrontation. He’d never confided in his father that his love for Juliana burned like an eternal flame and always would—forever and a day.

He impatiently pushed open the French doors and strode out onto his private balcony. The balcony was another thing Andre’s bodyguards didn’t like. But the risk was slight. The royal palace stood on a hill above Drago, surrounded by a high castle wall patrolled by armed guards. No buildings were in gunshot range outside the wall, and there was very little that would give any would-be assassin cover as he lay in wait. Nevertheless, to a man Andre’s bodyguards begged him to have a care how often he exposed himself on the balcony without them to protect him.

Andre wasn’t thinking about that. He had something much more important on his mind right now, and he needed the escape the balcony brought him.

Usually the sight of Drago in the early-morning light, nestled in its green valley and ringed by towering mountains, calmed him. But not today. Now he clenched his fists against the stone railing, his eyes scanning the empty skies for the plane he knew would not arrive for some time. “Come to me, Juliana,” he whispered, the words he had dreamed for years but had never dared to utter aloud. Until today. “Come to me.”

* * *

The man picked up the newspaper, unfolded it and shook it out...then cursed. The headline blared what he’d known for weeks, so it wasn’t the headline or the accompanying story that made him angry. It was the reminder that something he’d long ago thought he’d taken care of for good was coming back to haunt him, and the radiant pictures beneath the headline only added fuel to the fire of anger that surged within him.

“Damn you,” he whispered to the photos.

He knew the ostensible reason why Juliana Richardson was returning to Zakhar after all these years. But he couldn’t trust that secrets long buried wouldn’t somehow resurface while she was here. Couldn’t trust that the truth wouldn’t somehow be revealed, destroying him and everything he’d plotted and planned for the past three years.

If he believed in God—which he didn’t—he would almost have said God held the king in the palm of his hand, foiling the two covert attempts he’d made to remove the king from his path to greatness. But although he didn’t believe in God, he did believe in the devil. And his two previous failures had recently prompted him to cut a deal with the devil himself—Aleksandrov Vishenko. The head of a particularly vicious branch of the Bratva—the Russian Mafia.

But now that Juliana Richardson was returning to Zakhar, it was no longer just the king he had to worry about. Unless he could find some way to keep Juliana away from Andre, or keep Andre away from Juliana, Juliana—sweet, beautiful Juliana—would have to die. There was really no other option.

* * *

Juliana put away the script she’d been studying and buckled her seat belt at the flight attendant’s announcement. She glanced at Maddie Treister, her administrative assistant, sleeping peacefully in the first-class seat next to her, but since her seat belt was already fastened Juliana didn’t feel the need to waken her yet. Her gaze slid across the aisle and she saw Dirk DeWinter buckling up. He’d already let his hair grow out into the shaggy length worn by men in the sixteenth century, and he’d dyed it several shades lighter than his usual brown pelt to match the paintings of the man he’d be playing in King’s Ransom.

He wasn’t wearing the green-tinted contact lenses yet, but she knew he would. He was a stickler for authenticity, just as she was, and he would have worn them even if they hadn’t been required because it would help make him “feel the part.” Like him, she would wear colored contact lenses, in her case to change her eye color from violet to pale blue, but at least she hadn’t had to dye her hair—the two paintings of Queen Eleonora that had survived through the years showed her with long raven tresses similar to Juliana’s own.

She smiled at Dirk and got his brilliant smile in return, the heart-stopping smile that had won him millions of female fans the world over. But Dirk was a man’s man, too, despite his movie star looks. His appeal was universal. Men wanted to be like him on the silver screen—brave, strong, heroic and utterly irresistible to women. Women just wanted him. But at thirty-four, five years Juliana’s senior, he was quietly, steadfastly faithful to his wife of twelve years, Sabrina, the lovely blonde who sat in the window seat next to him, gazing down with interested eyes at her first glimpse of Zakhar.

Dirk was one of Juliana’s few male friends in Hollywood. He was also one among the tiny handful of men who’d never tried to seduce her. Probably the only man who really saw the vulnerable woman behind the glamorous facade. Dirk and Sabrina were the only people besides Marty who knew Juliana was dreading the return to Zakhar. But even they didn’t know why. There were secrets in Zakhar she wanted to keep, even from her best friends.

“Did you sleep at all?” Dirk asked her, his knowing gaze sweeping over the faint shadows beneath her eyes.

“Not much.” She’d finally dozed off shortly after dawn, but then she’d woken with a start, her heart pounding, hearing words she’d heard in her head many times over the years. Come to me, Juliana. Come to me. Loving words. Lying words.

“Didn’t think so. And that’s not you. You can usually sleep anywhere. Remember when we were on location in Death Valley two years ago? No one else could sleep in that searing oven...except you.”

Dirk knows me too well, she told herself. Which wasn’t surprising. She’d starred opposite him three times before in the past ten years, the last being the action-adventure flick set in Death Valley, San Francisco and Hong Kong—another hit for both of them. Such a resounding commercial success the studio was begging for a sequel, although so far Dirk had refused. “No way,” he’d told Juliana in private. “There’s nothing new that can be revealed about those characters.” And on his sage advice Juliana had refused, too.

Dirk had never steered her wrong. He’d been responsible for her big break in Hollywood right from the beginning, convincing the producers of her first movie to take a chance on an unknown. He’d already been a major star then—the marquee name that could sell a movie all on his own, so the producers had acceded to his wishes. Dirk had seen Juliana’s screen test, had seen something in her that he knew would click with him on-screen, and after they’d talked in person he’d picked her over already established stars to play the heartbreakingly fragile Tessa opposite his Terry O’Dare in the movie adaptation of the runaway bestseller Jetsam.

Dirk’s instincts hadn’t played him false. They had sizzled on the screen for a variety of reasons, not the least of which was Juliana’s petite stature next to his robust frame, which emphasized her fragile femininity and his uncompromising masculinity.

Now they were being paired up again for King’s Ransom, and she knew why the producer had wanted both of them. Their on-screen chemistry ranked right up there with Tracy and Hepburn, Bogart and Bacall. Only more intense. And since movies had become more explicit since the heyday of those couples, even more sizzling.

Juliana had been excited by the script for King’s Ransom when the part of Eleonora had been offered to her, and eager to work with Dirk again. Costume dramas in this day and age were always a risk for a movie studio. But the King’s Ransom script contained thrilling battle scenes, not to mention incredibly romantic love scenes, and—as far as Juliana could tell—was almost religiously accurate in all the major details.

Great script, great director, a supporting cast she respected and Dirk DeWinter to star opposite her. Not to mention a studio willing to give the film the financial backing it needed. What more could an actress ask for? She had been excited about the role of Eleonora, as excited as Dirk still was about playing the first king of Zakhar...until she’d learned the movie was being shot on location. In Zakhar. In Drago. In and around the royal palace. Where—inevitably—she would encounter Andre again.

Juliana shut down that train of thought ruthlessly. You will not remember, she ordered herself forcefully, but she knew it was in vain. The memories already haunted her. They’d haunted her for eleven years. It was long past time for her to put those memories to rest where they belonged—in the graveyard of might-have-beens.

She wouldn’t allow herself to care. Not anymore. If you don’t care, why did you bring that dress with you to wear to the reception tonight? she asked herself derisively. What are you trying to prove? And to whom? It was a daring gown, designed to be worn with absolutely nothing beneath it. Designed to be worn by a woman who knew herself irresistible. Well, that’s true, isn’t it? she asked herself even more cynically. Millions of men lusted after her on the silver screen, the way women lusted after Dirk.

Millions of men...but not one in real life. Not one man who saw the plain girl she’d once been inside the beautiful woman she was now. Not one man who saw her need to be loved for who she was—her inner character—not the way she looked. Not one man who could ignite the fires of passion in a body that was ice-cold. Frigid. Doomed.

That’s another thing to blame Andre for, she realized. He killed that part of me. He ruined me for other men. How he would laugh to know that!

* * *

The man presented his card of invitation to get into the reception—hiding behind a facile smile his resentment that he had to prove his right to be in attendance at this royal function. Then was forced to walk through the portable metal detector set up at the entrance to the Great Hall with all the other guests—again inducing resentment he refused to display to the king’s men on duty there, even though their deferential attitude should have mollified him. No one would know from his expression that inside he was fuming. My blood is as royal as the king’s—I should be exempt, just as he is. I should not have to submit to this insult.

The metal detector had been installed in the palace years ago by the current king’s father. When the king had ascended the throne three years earlier he’d wanted it removed, but his objections had been overridden at the insistence of the Privy Council and the king’s own bodyguards—the metal detector had stayed in place. Not that a metal detector could detect any and all weapons, but it had definitely thinned the potential dangers the king’s bodyguards had to be on the lookout for during public occasions like this.

He glanced around the vast room, already filling up even though it was early in the evening. He saw one of the stars of the movie—Dirk DeWinter—standing head and shoulders above the circle of adoring female fans surrounding him. But Juliana Richardson—the other star—was nowhere in sight. He didn’t place much reliance on his being able to distract Juliana’s attention from Andre—she’d never had eyes for anyone except Andre when he’d known her eleven years ago. But he would try. If he wasn’t successful...there was always the alternative.

Knowing Juliana—and it was unlikely she’d changed that much in the past eleven years despite her international fame—there would be opportunities to silence her forever should it become necessary...and make it appear an accident.

* * *

Juliana hadn’t intended to make a dramatic entrance at the reception. But she hadn’t been able to resist the oversize marble tub in the lavishly appointed bathroom in her suite, and she’d indulged herself for almost an hour. She’d washed her hair and let it air dry, thankful she’d never had to do much with it—just brush it out and let her natural wave do its thing.

Then she’d lain down on the large, incredibly comfortable bed, intending to just rest her eyes before the reception. But the lack of sleep on the plane had done her in. Not just on the plane, she’d sleepily acknowledged as she dozed off. She hadn’t slept well ever since she’d known she would be returning to Zakhar.

She’d slept dreamlessly for the first time in weeks, her body too exhausted to do anything else. She never heard the rapping on her door, never roused until Maddie crept into the suite and then into her bedroom and shook her arm with a hushed, “Juliana! You’re late! Everyone’s asking about you!”

Juliana leaped into action and sent Maddie down to make her apologies. The household maid the palace had assigned to her had long since unpacked everything and put her things away. The dresses in the closet had already been steamed and pressed, ready for her to wear. Now she pulled out the full-length violet silk sheath that nearly matched the color of her eyes. Could she carry it off? Could she wear it the way it was intended to be worn, with no bra, no panties—not even a thong—and no pantyhose? Nothing except silk fabric clinging to her bare skin like a lover’s caress, a daring side slit to mid-thigh. She’d bought the gown when she’d known she was coming back here. When she’d known she would see him again. It was a dress designed to make him remember...and regret.

And he will regret, she promised herself as cold anger shook her. Naked, she slithered into the tight sheath and zipped it up, then stepped into the matching violet-tinted pumps. With shaking hands she added the diamond-and-tanzanite choker and earrings her father had presented her with after she won her first Best Actress award, because, he’d said with fond pride, they matched her eyes.

She quickly brushed her hair, swiped on a touch of lip gloss and added a dab of violet eye shadow to make her eyes even more mysterious. She didn’t use eyeliner or mascara—her lashes were naturally long, dark and double-lashed. Then she spritzed herself with her favorite perfume, which she rarely wore. Not at $695 an ounce. But tonight she was pulling out all the stops. If it’s the last thing I do, I’ll make him regret.

Chapter 2

Juliana made an entrance as she hesitated at the top of the Grand Staircase leading into the Great Hall. Conversation stopped for a full thirty seconds as heads turned toward her. There were a few sharply indrawn breaths and a few gasps—from women, of course—at the sight of a dress few women would have dared to wear.

Somewhere down there she knew Dirk and Sabrina were making the rounds, and sprinkled throughout were other people she knew—cast and crew. But Juliana had eyes for only one man in the glittering crowd, and she saw him instantly. Even without the royal uniform he wore she would have known him in a heartbeat, and at the sight of him a shaft of pain rippled through her, as unexpected as it was unwelcome.

He turned at the sudden hush and saw her. Then he was moving toward her with obvious intent through the crowd that parted for him like the Red Sea before Moses. Tall, regal and handsome—just as she remembered him all those years ago. Just as she remembered him when she was a shy fourteen and he was the Crown Prince—eighteen and already a man—welcoming her to the palace. So handsome in full dress regalia then as now, with his golden-brown hair and finely chiseled features. So kind. So gentle with the shy, tongue-tied girl she’d been, coaxing her into talking with those smiling green eyes that invited confidences.

Don’t remember that now, she warned herself. Don’t.

He turned to the bodyguard following him like a silent shadow and said something—she couldn’t hear what—but the man nodded acknowledgment of the order he’d just received and faded back into the crowd, although his eyes never left the man he was guarding.

When Andre reached her side at the top of the staircase, she said, “Your Majesty,” and curtsied to him. But she refused to bow her head, matching him in pride. Playing a role, she held her hand out to him in the imperious manner of a woman who knows her own beauty and expects homage—something she’d never done in her life. But she’d planned just what she was going to do when she met Andre again, how she would act, what she would say. Every sleepless night she’d spent since she’d known she was coming back here, she’d sworn he would never know how he’d savaged her heart. He would never know how much courage it took for her to face him again after the humiliating end to their relationship. She wasn’t about to betray herself now.

He took her hand in his, staring down into her eyes. “Andre,” he murmured in dissent, then went on to remind her, “You were never so formal before.” He bent over her suddenly trembling hand and pressed a formal kiss on the back of it. At least that’s what it looked like to the other guests in the room below. Juliana knew differently. It wasn’t a formal kiss. Andre was seducing her right there, in front of hundreds of people. His lips were warm, firm and masculine, yet so tender and seductive she shivered and her nipples tightened beneath the raw silk. The fabric rubbed against those hard little peaks, making them tighten even more, until they ached unbearably.

When he raised his head from her hand she saw from the knowing glint in his eyes that he knew the effect he was having on her. He knew. And he smiled, the satisfied smile of a man who knows he’s a man, and that the woman with him knows it, too. It was not the expression Juliana had sworn to herself he would wear.

He drew her closer and tucked her hand under his arm. When she tried to draw it back he refused to let her go, and she reluctantly let him lead her down the stairway and into the Great Hall. The only way Juliana could have escaped would have been to make a scene, something she wasn’t willing to do. Not here. Not yet. If she did that people might suspect she had something to hide, and her pride wouldn’t let her give rise to gossip. Not only that, Andre might suspect...something. And she was fiercely determined he would know...nothing.

Laughter and chatter swirled around them, and sly, sidelong glances were cast their way. The massive chandelier overhead glittered with a thousand points of light, reflecting off the gilded ceiling and walls. Andre steered Juliana through the crowd, stopping courteously as people greeted her. But he never let go of her arm. And he never lost sight of his ultimate goal—a quiet alcove on the far side of the room, to which he eventually led her.

He briefly stopped a passing waiter and took a champagne flute, which he formally offered to her before taking one for himself. Then he saluted her with his glass and spoke for the first time since he’d met her at the top of the stairs, and his voice was just as she remembered. Deep, tender, with that barest hint of an accent to his English. “You are more beautiful in person than any woman has a right to be.”

She stiffened. Was he mocking her? He’d known her when she hadn’t been beautiful. When she’d been plain and awkward. He seemed to read her mind and shook his head slightly. “No, Juliana. Beauty of face and figure will fade. But your eyes, those windows into your soul, will always be beautiful to me. Forever and a day.”

Those last four words stabbed at her heart. Once upon a time she’d prayed to hear those words from him. Once upon a time she’d thought he felt them, even if he didn’t say them. But she’d been wrong. Horribly, heart-wrenchingly wrong. She’d paid the price of loving unwisely, while he...

Desperate to wound him as grievously as he had wounded her with his comment, Juliana drawled cynically, “Ah yes, those immortal words, forever and a day.” She raised her champagne glass to him in a mocking toast. “To love. Immortal love. Isn’t that why I’m here?”

Andre’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “What do you mean by that?”

“King’s Ransom. A love story for the ages,” she said flippantly. “A fairy tale. As if any man, then or now, ever loved a woman that much.” She tried for a carefree laugh, but couldn’t prevent a tinge of bitterness from creeping in. Couldn’t prevent her own life’s experiences from coloring her perspective. “As if any man in that day and age would take a woman back who had shamed him in the eyes of the known world. Not to mention a king who could easily have the marriage annulled and have his pick of women. Chaste women.”

She faltered at the icy expression in his eyes and the danger that radiated from him, so palpable she could feel it. She stared up at him, remembering Andre telling her the love story behind King’s Ransom, the story of the founder of the House of Marianescu, the first king of Zakhar. Remembering how she’d hung on every word. Remembering how she’d believed in the immortal love the story represented—once upon a time.

Remembering, too, how she’d yearned to be a woman like Eleonora, who had inspired that kind of love in her husband, the first Andre Alexei. How she’d dreamed of someday making her Andre love her that way. My Andre? she told herself with redoubled cynicism. He was never my Andre. What a fool I was. As if I ever meant anything to him other than another conquest.

The frightening look in Andre’s eyes faded. Then he smiled faintly as he slowly, deliberately looked her over from head to toe, and she knew he was aware she was naked beneath her dress. Something flickered in his eyes. Possessiveness. Desire. The sleeping wolf awakening at the sight of a helpless fawn. “Throughout history men have taken women for a variety of reasons.” His gaze held hers prisoner. “Love is only one of them.”

A frisson of fear ran down Juliana’s spine, and in that instant she knew Andre wanted her. More than that, he was determined to have her. In a different century he would have just taken her—droit de seigneur—whether or not she wanted him, whether or not she already belonged to another man.

But that can’t happen today...can it? she reasoned with herself, but the sudden pounding of her heart refused to be calmed. Zakhar was one of the last absolute monarchies left in the world, and the man standing in front of her was its king. If she just disappeared...who would know what had happened to her? Who would dare to question the king?

Her eyes widened and her breath quickened as her body automatically shifted into full panic mode—muscles tightening in a fight-or-flight reflex that told her to...run, damn it! Run! Her fear must have communicated itself to him, because his smile faded, and a tinge of some other emotion entered his gaze, something she couldn’t decipher. It almost looked like...pain. But that didn’t make sense...did it?

“Do not run, Juliana,” he said softly, reassuringly. “You have nothing to fear from me. You never did.” It wasn’t that easy, of course. She couldn’t just turn off the panic at a word from him. Especially since his words didn’t stop there. “When I make love to you,” he said, his eyes suddenly blazing, his deep voice curling inside her, making her knees weak, “you will come to me of your own free will. You will come to me because you want me the same way I want you.” Naked and trembling. He didn’t say the words, but his vivid green eyes told her he remembered.

A memory flashed into her mind, a memory she’d resolutely suppressed until now. And suddenly she was seeing Andre as she’d seen him all those years ago, his green eyes in a shaft of moonlight, glowing with what she’d fooled herself into believing was love. She was hearing his voice, that deep, throbbing voice she still heard in her dreams, whispering in Zakharan, “Now it begins.”

“Never,” she whispered from a throat gone suddenly dry, fighting the sensual web he was weaving. Fighting herself. “Never again.”

His faint smile returned and his voice dropped a notch. “You will want me again, Juliana. That is a promise, not a threat. And when I take you, you will understand why.” With that parting shot Andre turned on his heels and strode away.

Arrogant. Breath hissed out of Juliana as she watched him mingle with his other guests, so suave, so debonair, so much the gentleman king. But he hadn’t been a gentleman with her. He’d been an arrogant savage, albeit with a kingly mask cloaking his wolfish intentions. She downed the glass of champagne in her hand, needing something to cool her parched throat. But that was a mistake. She’d had nothing to eat all day and the alcohol went right to her head, making her dizzy. Maybe it’s not the alcohol, she thought wildly. Maybe it’s him.

He turned just then, his eyes staring at her from across the vast room. Even though she couldn’t see the color of his eyes at that distance, she felt those green orbs stripping her dress off until she shivered. And trembled. The power in him was incredible. It pulled at her, drawing her under his spell the way it had always done. He was a man, first and foremost. The king was secondary. But that was just as frightening as the idea that he might kidnap her and hold her captive until he was ready to let her go.

If he ever let her go.

Movement out of the corner of her eye made Juliana tear her gaze away from Andre, and she sighed gratefully as she saw Dirk and Sabrina nearing. Sabrina was wearing a sequined sky blue tunic belted over a long silver skirt, with the delicate filigree sapphire necklace and earrings that suited her. Juliana knew Dirk had given them to her as a pledge of his love years ago from the money he’d earned in his first starring role, and she wore them often. Like Juliana, she had “matched her eyes” with her dress, and from a distance she looked as lovely as she always did. But close up her smile looked forced, and there were two tiny lines of pain bracketing her mouth.

“Bree, are you okay? You look—”

Sabrina’s smile widened, but it was an effort. “It’s nothing, just a twinge, that’s all.” She turned in the direction where Juliana had been staring when she walked up. “That is a dangerous man,” she said softly, and Juliana couldn’t hide her sharp intake of breath. “He’s why you didn’t want to return to Zakhar.” The eyes of the two women met, and Sabrina’s were knowing, sympathetic.

Dirk spoke for the first time. “So that’s the king of Zakhar. I’ve seen the portrait of the first king in the portrait gallery, and I must say there’s an amazingly strong resemblance. You’d think after five centuries the genes would be diluted to the point where the resemblance would be nonexistent, but no.” He reached over and rubbed the backs of his fingers comfortingly against Juliana’s cheek. “He wants you, babe,” he added casually. “And he looks like the kind of man who always gets what he wants.”

“Dirk!” Sabrina’s tone chided her husband, and he gently patted her arm.

“Don’t worry, Bree. I’m not telling Juliana anything she doesn’t already know.” He glanced back at Juliana. “Am I.” It wasn’t a question.

“No.” Her voice was husky. “But he’s not going to have me.” Not ever again.

“Want me to pound him into the ground for you?” he teased.

She laughed as he had intended her to do, although a little shakily. “I’ll fight my own battles, thank you very much.” She glanced from Dirk to Andre across the room, and back to Dirk again. Both men were close in age, of a similar height and weight, and in superb physical shape. But still... “If I were you,” she drawled, teasing him back, “I wouldn’t be too quick to take him on. He’s a fighter. He trained with the Zakharian National Forces, and he doesn’t look as if he’s lost his edge.”

Dirk spluttered with laughter and looked down at his wife. “Did you hear that, Bree? I think she just insulted my manhood.”

Now it was Bree who patted his arm. “That’s okay. You’re man enough for me, honey, and that’s all that counts.” Husband and wife stared into each other’s eyes, private smiles forming as they retreated to their own little world, and a pang of pain darted through Juliana when she saw the unshadowed love for each other in their faces.

* * *

Andre watched Juliana from afar, watched as she spoke with the man he recognized as Dirk DeWinter, the actor who would be portraying his legendary ancestor in King’s Ransom opposite Juliana. His gaze sharpened into something cold and deadly when the man caressed Juliana’s cheek in a comforting fashion. Juliana’s name had never been linked romantically with DeWinter’s. Nevertheless, Andre didn’t want him touching Juliana, not for comfort or anything else. If anyone was going to comfort her, it would be him.

His bodyguard tonight, Captain Lukas Branko, stood two feet away, alert to any sudden betraying shift in the crowd, his eyes constantly on the move. Andre forcibly relaxed his tense muscles and tried to distract himself by thinking of something—anything—else, and his bodyguards’ warnings came to mind.

This kind of duty in a large, diverse crowd of people was a nightmare for any bodyguard, Lukas and Damon had told him more than once, much less anyone as fanatically devoted to their assignment as they were. It wasn’t just the devotion of subjects for their king, Andre knew. It wasn’t just the devotion to duty of men for whom duty was honor. Lukas and Damon were not without ambition, but their ambitions for the past three years had all centered around one object—keeping King Andre Alexei IV alive. Alive and ruling over Zakhar for many years to come. No matter what they had to do. No matter if they died trying.

It was the “die trying” part neither Lukas nor Damon cared for, Andre also knew. Even more than his other bodyguards, die trying was an excuse to them, an excuse for which they had no patience and no forgiveness. They would keep their king safe, no matter who else had to die. Even if it meant taking the law into their own hands. Even if it meant disregarding a direct order from the very king whose word was law to them.

Their stance on the subject had amused Andre at times, so much so he’d even discussed that contradiction in terms with his cousin Zax in one of their private meetings. But Zax hadn’t been amused, Andre remembered now. And he wondered why that memory had suddenly occurred to him tonight of all nights.

He searched the throng of people for his cousin’s face. Maybe Zax can help me keep my mind off Juliana. But he couldn’t spot him in the overcrowded room. Then—despite ordering himself not to—Andre’s gaze wandered inevitably back to Juliana, still standing with her friends where he’d left her.

He stared at her across the distance that separated them, wanting nothing more than to sweep her into his arms and carry her from the noisy, glittering crowd into the quiet sanctuary of his bedroom, the way he’d longed to do since the first moment she’d appeared at the top of the Grand Staircase tonight. Wanting nothing more than to make Juliana see what she was to him, what she had always been. Wanting to erase that hard, bitter edge he didn’t understand but that he knew had to be an act, revealing the genuine, loving woman he remembered.

But she had to come to him. He could not force her. He could not make her. He had done everything humanly possible to get her this far, but that was as far as he could go. Now it was up to her. He could only do whatever lay in his power to convince her she belonged here in Zakhar. With him.

Her career was a stumbling block. She was at the height of her beauty, the height of her talent and power. It seemed as if there was nothing she couldn’t accomplish in her career. No role she couldn’t play.

On the other hand, there was no man in her life now, and had not been for several years. He was sure of it. But he had not relied on the tabloids for that information. She’d been under the covert protection...and surveillance...of his agents ever since he’d ascended the throne. Ever since he’d acknowledged that the unbroken line of Marianescus ruling Zakhar for over five hundred years would be broken, unless...

The Privy Council was again pressuring him to marry and beget heirs. Delicately, to be sure, and some members more than others, but pressuring nevertheless. He’d managed to maintain his composure in the face of the subtle and not so subtle hints thrown out by the Privy Council regarding the topic of his marriage. He’d never succumbed to the intense pressure his father had placed on him—he wasn’t succumbing to the Privy Council’s pressure now.

Since women couldn’t sit on the Zakharian throne, Andre’s heir wasn’t his sister, Mara. That was his cousin Zax, the oldest son of his deceased uncle Evander—and a year older than he was. Andre had never worried overmuch about the succession when he’d served in the Zakharian National Forces, not even when his unit was deployed to Afghanistan. He knew Zakhar would be in good hands with Zax at the helm, although it would have meant breaking the unbroken father-to-son direct line. But in the years since then, he’d recognized the supreme importance of that unbroken line—not to himself or his yet-to-be-born son, but to the people of Zakhar.

The Zakharians firmly believed the good fortune and prosperity their country had experienced throughout the centuries was somehow tied in with the House of Marianescu and the monarchy’s father-to-son direct descent, from the first Andre Alexei to his oldest son, Raoul, right up to the present day. Superstition? No question. But the average Zakharian citizen vehemently opposed tempting fate by breaking with the time-honored tradition. So Andre had every intention of acceding to the Privy Council’s fervent wishes in the near future. Just not the way they expected.

Andre knew there were eyes all around them, watching, speculating, as if his life and Juliana’s were just food for gossip, grist for the tabloid mill. He tore his gaze away from Juliana and smiled easily at the little group of men and women around him, joining in the inane conversation. No matter what, he had to shield Juliana from the tabloids if he could, the same way he’d shielded his sister, Mara, until her husband had come along to assume that responsibility. Perhaps that was an outdated attitude in this day and age, but he was Zakharian right down to his fingernails, and like his famous ancestor he would change for no man.

Just because he wasn’t looking at Juliana didn’t mean he couldn’t see her, however. That heart-shaped face; those violet eyes fringed with long, natural, sooty lashes; those lips that looked so passionate yet somehow unkissable until a man saw the way the hesitant curve of her smile betrayed her vulnerability; the long, silky, ebony tresses that wreathed her face like a dark wavy halo and cascaded down her back.

She was perfection itself now, but that wasn’t why he loved her. He remembered her as a coltish teenager, unsure of herself, unsure of the changes her body was going through as she metamorphosed from a girl into a woman. He had first loved her when she was sixteen and he was twenty, had loved her when only her violet eyes had conveyed a hint of the beautiful woman she would someday become.

But he had not touched her.

He had not touched her when she turned seventeen and began blossoming into a diminutive beauty standing just as high as his heart, not even when she practiced her newly discovered feminine wiles on him. He had teased her gently, turning aside her natural curiosity about men and women, deflecting her innocent desire for him, keeping her at a physical distance in a way that wouldn’t seem like rejection to her sensitive soul.

Even the summer she turned eighteen he had not touched her, though by then her beauty made heads turn on the street, made men openly lust after her with their eyes. His body burned to possess hers that summer. He knew he could have her—Juliana’s expressive eyes betrayed she ached for him the way he ached for her. Desire made him toss and turn in his bed so that he took to riding his stallion through the countryside late at night until they were both exhausted, then camping out in the rustic hillside cottage he’d made his own. Far away from the palace. Far away from the sleeping streets of Drago. Far away from temptation.

And he had not touched her.

She had tested his willpower to the breaking point, but it had held. Until the night before she left for college. Until the night she came to him like a silken dream...

As usual when Andre thought of Juliana, his body responded with a fierce surge of desire. He’d had a wealth of experience controlling that desire, and he tried to do so now. But it wasn’t working. Not this time. Because Juliana was right there...just across the room. For the first time in eleven years he’d spoken with her, watched up close as those violet eyes changed hue with her emotions, saw the sudden fear ripple through her body, making her tremble and her nipples tighten under the violet silk sheath that caressed her body the way he longed to do. The gown she’d worn with nothing beneath it, knowing the effect it would have on him and every man who saw her. And then...knew she was remembering, as he did, one perfect night.

Do not think of that, he warned himself. Not here. Not now. Not with the eyes of the world fastened upon you like vultures on a carcass.

When he’d ascended the throne and had Zax assign men to protect Juliana, his cousin had asked in his blunt way if it wasn’t possible Andre had built his love for Juliana into something more than it really was. That if he saw her again in person he might be able to get her out of his system.

Well, he’d seen Juliana in person. Finally. And Zax was wrong. He would never be free of the hold she had on him—heart, mind, body and soul. She was in his blood. In his DNA. Not that he’d spent the past eleven years doing nothing—he’d built a life of purpose without the woman he loved and had accomplished great things in the few short years of his reign. But as he’d told his sister, Mara, without Juliana he would be forever incomplete. Come to me, Juliana, he prayed silently. Come to me.

Chapter 3

“Change of plans,” the man said, sipping from a wineglass and gazing in Juliana’s direction. “That may well be your first target instead. Before anything else.”

“Juliana Richardson?” the Russian standing with him asked dubiously, instantly recognizing the famous face. “How does removing her achieve your goal?”

“Let me worry about that,” the first man replied, his eyes hardening. “Trust me, I have a very good reason. You just prepare to do what you are told...should it become necessary.”

The Russian laughed, a short bark of laughter that held no humor. “It is your money.” His eyes were cold, with no redeeming touch of humanity in them, not even when he laughed. “A target is a target.” He shrugged. “A pity she made an enemy of you.” His gaze displayed a hint of curiosity, but no hesitation. “Security?”

“Assuredly. See the two men standing against the wall just behind her, with their eyes glued to her? They are not guests, although they pretend to be. Their sole purpose is to guard her—and there is not a thing I can do about it. You will just have to take that into account.” He took another sip of wine—a bigger one this time—using the alcohol to give himself courage. He is a tool to be used, he reminded himself, needing the false courage engendered by the alcohol. Not an equal. “But do no more than prepare until I give the word. It may not be necessary.”

“It will be arranged.” A slight touch of contempt colored the Russian’s tone. “At no risk to you, of course.”

The first man’s voice held nothing but ice. “There had better not be. Not with what is at stake—for everyone concerned.”

* * *

Dirk excused himself for what he said would be a brief discussion with the film’s producer, but Juliana and Sabrina made humorous faces at each other. They both knew once Dirk got started on a topic of conversation it would be difficult to drag him away. While they waited patiently for his return, the two women wandered toward one of the tall windows open to the night air along one endless wall. They didn’t say much—theirs was an easy yet intimate friendship that didn’t require constant chatter to fill any silence—and both women were guarding secrets.

Juliana knew why she wasn’t ready to share anything about Andre with Sabrina. She’d never told anyone about that time in her life and didn’t intend to start now. But she wondered what Sabrina was keeping from her. Her friend looked strange, unlike herself, and it wasn’t merely the pain Sabrina was obviously suffering that she tried her best to hide. There was just something about her, something Juliana couldn’t put her finger on. The faintest trace of trepidation combined with...suppressed excitement?

A hand touched her bare arm and a voice said, “Juliana.”

She whirled around, her heart suddenly pounding again, but then she relaxed. The voice was similar to Andre’s, deep and strong, but there was just a touch more of a Zakharian accent to this man’s English. She smiled as she recognized him even though she hadn’t seen him for eleven years.

“Hello, Zax. Good to see you again,” she said honestly. Then another man came up behind Prince Xavier, and her smile faded. “Hello, Niko. Good to see you again, too,” she lied with a straight face. She turned to introduce the two princes to Sabrina. “Your Highnesses, may I present my dearest friend, Sabrina DeWinter. Bree, this is...” She hesitated a second and looked up at Zax. “It’s Crown Prince Xavier now, isn’t it?”

Zax shrugged dismissively, then smiled down at Juliana. “Yes, until such time as Andre marries and has male heirs, which will no doubt be soon. I place little stock in the royal title, to be honest. I much prefer my military title.” He turned to Sabrina, shook her hand and murmured formal words of welcome.

Juliana managed to hide the slicing pain Zax’s words caused. For years she’d expected to read about Andre’s engagement and subsequent marriage, and had steeled herself against it. But hearing Zax talk about it as if it were imminent... Who? she wondered feverishly. Of all the names that had been bandied about over the years as the next Queen of Zakhar, who was Andre’s chosen one? And why wasn’t she here tonight?

Niko cleared his throat and Juliana quickly brought her thoughts under control. “I’m sorry, Niko. Bree, this is Prince Nikolai, also of the House of Marianescu. Zax and Niko are the king’s first cousins on his father’s side.”

Niko bent over Sabrina’s hand and said suavely, “Ah yes, Mrs. DeWinter. I had the pleasure of meeting your husband—a marvelous actor, by the way—when I ran into him in the portrait gallery this afternoon.”

Sabrina raised her eyebrows. “Really? Dirk didn’t mention it.” She withdrew her hand as soon as practicable, and Juliana shot her friend a sharp glance. Apparently Sabrina was equally unimpressed with the younger Zakharian prince.

“How is your father, Juliana?” Zax asked. “Is he enjoying his retirement?”

She smiled as she thought about her father. “My dad is still going strong at seventy-five—I hope I’m that active when I’m his age. He volunteers as a tutor at the local high school two days a week and distributes “Meals on Wheels” to seniors even older than he is on the weekdays he doesn’t tutor.”

They chatted desultorily for a few minutes after that, and Juliana assessed her old acquaintances. Zax looked older than she remembered, of course, but he’d already been a man when she’d left Zakhar, and the years had touched him nearly as lightly as they had Andre. His face was austere, and his bearing was as military as it had always been—she wasn’t surprised to learn Zax was now a Lieutenant Colonel in the Zakharian National Forces, on detached duty as head of security for the king.

But it was his younger brother’s appearance that truly surprised her. Niko was only two years older than she was, which meant he was two years younger than Andre and three years younger than his older brother. But there were already tiny lines of dissipation in his face. And though he was still a handsome man—the Marianescu good looks hadn’t passed him by—the overall impression was of a man who’d indulged too often. Wine. Food. Women. And drugs? Juliana never liked to think of people she knew using drugs, even people she didn’t care for, but she wouldn’t put it past him. The press had dubbed him the playboy prince, and they weren’t far off. The moniker wasn’t a compliment.

Juliana suddenly remembered how Niko had ignored her in the early days, only displaying an interest in her once she started showing signs of the beauty that had eventually made her world famous. So very different from Andre, who’d never treated her as an imposition when she and Mara used to trail after him, who’d never made her feel as if either of them were in the way. And this is important why? she asked herself. Andre-then and Andre-now weren’t the same person. Maybe that held true for Niko, too. Maybe he’d improved with age, had become less self-centered, less self-important.

But probably not, she mused with a touch of cynicism, although she maintained an air of sweet interest on the surface. She’d always seen right through Niko, had seen his pursuit of her years ago for what it was. From his appearance and the avid way he was acting now, he hadn’t changed one bit.

* * *

Zax showed up on the set nearly every day, but Juliana put that down to the meticulous way he did his job and not a particular interest in her. As head of security for the king, he was responsible for—among other things—making sure the cast and crew of King’s Ransom weren’t a threat to the king’s safety in any way. They conversed sometimes when she had a few minutes between scenes—reminiscences for the most part—including memories of Juliana’s father, who’d been the US Ambassador to Zakhar when she’d lived here. Although Zax reminded her poignantly of Andre in the way he looked, the way he spoke, even his mannerisms sometimes, and though she could tell he appreciated the beautiful woman she’d become, there was no spark and he never went beyond the line. He never said anything to which Juliana could take exception.

Niko also showed up on the set frequently over the next few weeks, and his presence watching the filming didn’t bother Juliana one iota, any more than Zax’s presence did. Nor did his attempts to get her alone cause her anything but amusement. Niko was just another in the long line of men who pursued her because of who and what she was—a status symbol. She’d dated men like Niko back in Hollywood, men who thought she was an easy mark. Not as many dates as the tabloids had trumpeted to the world, but a few. Like those Hollywood Lotharios, Niko would soon learn Juliana was no man’s conquest, and eventually he’d lose interest.

The problem was, Andre occasionally visited the set, too, much to Juliana’s dismay. Every scene was doubly hard to play with him there, and she never knew when he would show up. She had a well-deserved reputation with directors for being the consummate professional, able to do most scenes in one or two takes. That was something else she’d learned from Dirk.

But when Andre was there it was nearly impossible to act naturally. And more than once she was forced to apologize to the director and her fellow actors for some stupid screwup on her part, especially her scenes with Dirk. She told herself to ignore Andre. Told herself he was nothing to her now, no more than any casual acquaintance, so she shouldn’t let him upset her. Told herself she didn’t care what he thought of her, that the respect of her director, Dirk, the rest of the cast and the crew was all she cared about. But she was lying to herself, and she knew it.

She was dreading the two intimate love scenes scheduled for filming tomorrow: the wedding-night scene, where Eleonora and her husband consummated their wedding vows just hours before Andre Alexei was almost slain and Eleonora was kidnapped; and the reunion scene years later, after the king finally ransomed his queen and her young son at a cost that beggared his kingdom. A stupendous cost equivalent to a king’s ransom, not just a queen’s. And then had brought them home to Zakhar...to him.

The scene where Eleonora bravely confessed everything to her husband and offered to enter a convent to hide her shame and his—an offer Andre Alexei had adamantly refused. The scene where he made love to his wife so gently, so tenderly, she was finally able to respond to his lovemaking despite everything she’d endured in captivity.

That scene reminded her poignantly of a scene between Terry O’Dare and Tessa in Jetsam. Dirk had said the same thing to her when he’d first read the King’s Ransom script, and they’d already discussed just how they were going to play it. But that made it incredibly intimate, more than just the words in the script. It was supposed to a closed set, with only the bare minimum cast and crew necessary to film both scenes. But who on the set would have the nerve to tell the king of Zakhar he couldn’t be there?

* * *

Andre knew his presence on the set was having a negative effect on Juliana’s abilities as an actress, and it bothered him not at all. He welcomed it as a sign she wasn’t as indifferent to him as she pretended. But the night before the scheduled love scenes he knew he couldn’t be there. He couldn’t watch Dirk DeWinter and Juliana making love, take after take, angle after angle, fully and partially clothed. He knew the scenes would be tastefully done—Juliana was never fully naked in any of her films. And he knew it wasn’t real, that they were merely actors playing the roles of the first king and queen of Zakhar. He still couldn’t watch it.

I should have ordered the screenwriter to remove those scenes from the script, he told himself angrily. But in his heart he knew the scenes were necessary. The audiences had to see the love scenes, both before and after their long separation, in order to understand the eternal love that bound the two together even through years apart. They were actually beautifully written—the screenwriter had outdone herself.

But Andre couldn’t watch those scenes being filmed. He also knew he would never be able to watch the completed movie—not with those scenes in it. It was too personal, would remind him too much of the one magical night he’d shared with Juliana. And if Juliana never came to him again, it would be like watching the nails being pounded into his own coffin, knowing that unlike his renowned predecessor, somehow he’d failed to win back the woman he loved.

He opened the French doors onto his private balcony, hesitated for only a second as he heard his bodyguards’ warnings in his head, then walked out anyway. It wasn’t that he thought himself invincible, but he couldn’t live his life always afraid of assassination, even though in the three years of his rule he’d survived two attempts by traditionalists who resented the political and military changes Andre was trying to implement. One of those attempts he’d used as an excuse to send his sister, Mara, to Colorado, where she’d met and fallen in love with the man who was now her husband. So at least something good had come out of what could have been a national tragedy for most Zakharians.

He was a little more cautious these days—the attempts on his life had shaken him more than he cared to admit, and he no longer took unnecessary risks. But here in the palace—even exposed as he was on his private balcony—he was fairly safe.

Andre breathed deeply and looked down upon the twinkling lights of the sleeping city where he’d been born and raised, the city that was such a part of him he knew he could never live anywhere else even if he wasn’t its ruler. There were precious memories here, too—memories of himself taking fourteen-year-old Juliana and his sister, Mara, thirteen, from one historical site to another, relating the history of Zakhar to them as they listened, spellbound. Juliana, even more than Mara, had been captivated by the love story of the first Andre Alexei and his beloved Eleonora, and never tired of hearing him tell the tale.

Even that long ago he’d been drawn to Juliana. Her lovely violet eyes set in what was then a plain face had glowed with an inner light that told him she understood far beyond her tender age the anguish of lovers torn apart for years. The longing. The yearning. The hope and despair. And then, incredibly, the joyous reunion, never to be parted again in life. Not even in death.

They had stood together at the lovers’ mausoleum in the royal cemetery as he translated the Latin script carved upon the walls for her:

Two hearts as one,

Forever and a day.

He’d watched the words seep into Juliana’s soul, watched her eyes fill with tears of empathy for what the lovers had endured before being reunited. She had felt the story, the same way he always had.

He’d been immeasurably wounded when she’d mocked the love story the night of the reception. The Juliana he remembered could never have said those things, could never even have thought them. He’d struck back with a statement calculated to flick her on the raw. But then he’d seen the fear in her eyes, and that had wounded him far more. He’d never given Juliana reason to fear him. Even when he’d taken the gift she’d offered him so many years ago he’d shown her nothing but tenderness, had shown her how precious she was to him.

Once upon a time Juliana had believed in immortal love—he knew it. He didn’t know what had happened to change that belief, but if he had anything to say about it she would believe again. Somehow he had to find a way to reach her. Come to me, Juliana, he urged, closing his eyes as if that would help deliver his silent plea. Come to me.

* * *

Juliana studied the next day’s script lying in a bubble bath with a half dozen scented candles surrounding her, her favorite way to memorize lines. But somehow tonight it wasn’t working. Instead of the intimate, romantic dialogue between the newly wedded king of Zakhar and his queen on their wedding night and the poignant reunion scene she was supposed to be committing to memory, she kept hearing Andre’s voice in her head like a siren’s song, calling her to him.

She could have sworn she’d heard him calling to her eleven years ago, the night before she was to leave Zakhar, the same way she was hearing him now. The same way she’d heard him calling to her over the years. She knew it was just her own yearning—her own desires—projected in her mind as Andre’s voice calling to her. Usually she was able to block him out by focusing on a script, but not here in Zakhar. Not where everything reminded her of him. Not where everywhere she turned memories tugged her into wondering what had happened to the beau ideal prince she’d known.

She tried to drag her concentration back to the script, but it was impossible—the script itself reminded her of Andre. Too much. Finally she gave up. I’ll just have to get up extra early tomorrow morning and memorize, she told herself.

She got out of the tub and dried herself off, then slipped on one of the oversize cotton T-shirts she preferred instead of the silky, slinky, diaphanous gowns the public imagined she wore to bed. This one had a picture of a sleeping pink-and-white kitten curled up on the front, and it came down to her knees. She crawled into the comfy bed, set her little traveling alarm clock and tried to force herself to sleep. Tried to block out the eerie sensation that Andre was calling to her.

Come to me, Juliana. Come to me.

She remembered how she’d woken from a restless sleep hearing him calling to her eleven years ago, and she’d gone to him in secret. They’d shared one luminous night, a night she would remember on her deathbed. But she would never go to him again. Would never sleep with him again. Would never let herself be vulnerable to him again.

Would never let him break her heart again.

* * *

Dirk came over to where Juliana was trying to get into character as she waited for the set to be ready. Both of them were already in costume, their colored contact lenses in place. The makeup artists had done their jobs well, making them look years younger. History had it that Andre Alexei had been twenty and Eleonora had been seventeen when they were wedded. Dirk had needed to erase a few years of living from his face in order to play the twenty-year-old king in this scene. Juliana had no wrinkles, not yet, but camera close-ups could be brutal. Her face still looked like her when the makeup artist was done, but her mirror had given her a pang. She had looked just that innocent, just that eager yet untouched when...

“Are you okay?” Dirk asked her quietly. “You look...haunted. Yeah, I know your character’s about to be kidnapped, but you’re not supposed to know that ahead of time. You’re supposed to be deliriously happy on your wedding night.”

Juliana shot him a quick glance, taking in the bleak expression on his face. “You don’t look much better. What’s wrong?”

He shook his head. “Nothing. Nothing’s wrong.” But his voice lacked conviction.

“Don’t lie to me,” Juliana insisted, placing a hand on his arm. “And don’t pretend everything’s okay. Something’s wrong, I know it. It’s Bree, isn’t it? Please tell me.”

Dirk hesitated, then took a deep breath. “You’re the first to know—I’m quitting the business.”

“What?” She was shocked.

“At least for the foreseeable future. I almost backed out of this picture, but Bree wouldn’t let me.” He laughed without humor. “She’d heard about the legendary love story, of course. Who hasn’t? She wanted to come here to experience it firsthand, despite...”

“Despite what?” Her voice was small.

“Bree’s sick, Juliana.”

She looked at him sharply, remembering. “The night of the reception...she didn’t look well.”

“Yeah.” His eyes squeezed shut in pain, and when he opened them again she saw her friend’s naked torment. “The doctors won’t say it, but I think she’s dying.”

“No.” Juliana shook her head in denial. “How...? What...?”

“Don’t let on you know. She doesn’t want me to tell anyone yet, but I...I had to tell you. Third-stage ovarian cancer.”

“Oh my God. Cancer? Third stage? Why didn’t she tell me?”

“I don’t think she’d even have told me if I hadn’t forced it out of her.”

“But...can’t they do something? Anything? Surgery? Radiation? Chemotherapy? Cancer’s not the death sentence it used to be. I know there’s no guarantee, but Bree can’t just do noth—”

His mouth was a hard line as he cut her off. “She won’t even consider anything at this point.” His voice was strained and ironic when he said, “She’s pregnant. Just about ten weeks.”

“Oh, Dirk...” Juliana looked at him helplessly, knowing the DeWinters had been trying for a baby almost as long as she’d known them. Very few people knew they’d pursued every avenue no matter how slim, even in vitro fertilization, with no success. Until now.

“When Bree heard the doctors say surgery can cause a miscarriage, she said surgery was out until the baby is born,” Dirk said, reaching for stoicism. “When she heard chemotherapy isn’t considered safe for the baby until the pregnancy is at least fifteen weeks along, she said chemo wasn’t an option right now. And radiation treatment has to wait until the fetus is ‘viable.’ I asked Bree’s doctors what the hell that meant, and they told me it means when the baby is far enough along to survive outside the womb—at least twenty-one or twenty-two weeks.” His face twisted in agony. “I told her...” He took a deep, shuddering breath. “I told her I didn’t care about the baby. All I care about is her. I want my wife, damn it! I would sacrifice our baby in a heartbeat if it meant saving Bree. But she won’t even discuss it with me.”

“She loves you,” Juliana said softly, compassionately, understanding Sabrina’s dilemma, and her choice, in a way that Dirk obviously didn’t. Her own life? Or the life of the child she desperately wanted to give the man she loved? “So what are you going to do?”

“As soon as this picture wraps I’m taking Bree away. I don’t know how much time I have left with her, but I want every minute, every second. She’s mine until God takes her away from me, and I’m not going to waste a moment acting in some meaningless picture. We don’t need the money. Even if we did, no amount of money could make it up to me for the time away from her.” His face hardened. “And the minute she gives birth she’s having surgery and going into chemo. I don’t give a crap about bonding and breastfeeding, and all the other Holy Grail things of motherhood. I’m not giving her up without a fight no matter what. I can’t force her to sacrifice her baby, but—”

Juliana’s administrative assistant came over at that moment. “They’re ready for you on the set, Juliana. And you, too, Mr. DeWinter.”

Maddie cast a shy, adoring look at Dirk, one Juliana knew she had no idea was so obvious. So young, she thought sadly. So vulnerable. Just like I was once upon a time, wearing her heart on her sleeve. At least with Dirk she’ll never think he loves her. Not like I—

She refused to let herself complete that thought. “Thanks, Maddie,” Juliana said kindly. “Come on, Dirk.” She took his hand in hers. “Let’s go make love like there’s no tomorrow.” I think we can both understand what that feels like.

* * *

The man picked up the phone and dialed a number he’d been forced to memorize. “Nothing in writing,” the Russian had insisted. As he listened to the ringing on the other end, he told himself he had no choice. Juliana was no more immune to Andre now than she’d been eleven years ago—her reaction when Andre appeared on the set was a dead giveaway. To him, at least. As was Andre’s reaction to her. So he would not let himself feel regret over what had to be done to safeguard his secrets. Juliana had brought this on herself. As had Andre.

* * *

Andre and his cousin Zax walked alone in the royal garden, watching silently for the most part as the sun set behind the mountains, casting long gray shadows over them both. Although they usually spoke their minds when they were together with a freedom they’d exercised since boyhood, now they guarded their innermost thoughts from each other. And Andre mourned what increasingly seemed to be the loss of the confidant he’d always relied on, especially since becoming king.

There was no man he trusted more than his cousin, but Zax was a traditionalist. The old ways were good enough for him, and he deplored many of the sweeping changes Andre was implementing. No matter what position Zax took in private, though, no matter how much he opposed what Andre proposed, in public he never said a word in criticism of the king. “The king has spoken” was Zax’s usual reply to any reporter who dared to ask Zax’s opinion on a new policy he disagreed with. The equivalent of “No comment,” Andre thought now will a rueful smile.

He cherished Zax’s loyal support in public, just as he cherished his cousin’s friendship. He just wished they didn’t clash so often in private these days. And though at one time he’d confided his hopes and dreams about Juliana to Zax—something he’d recently confided to his sister, Mara, but to no other man—they hadn’t spoken of Juliana since she’d returned to Zakhar to film King’s Ransom other than to discuss the security surrounding her.

Not once had Zax asked Andre if there was any progress in the campaign to win Juliana’s heart. Not once had he expressed empathy for the difficulties he knew Andre faced where she was concerned. And though Zax was not a man to display his emotions—he was too old-school Zakharian for that—not once had he shown by word or deed that he cared one way or the other if Andre was successful.

Not once. And Andre didn’t know what to make of it.

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