Princess by Gaelen Foley Page A

mother. Outwardly, to her friends, she might mock the queen’s charitable crusades, but inwardly, Serafina respected her mother to the point of awe.
    Queen Allegra di Fiore had a presence that commanded with compassion. At thirty-eight, she was unshakable, and, as Serafina had learned at an early age, quite impossible to lie to. She never had to raise her voice; there was more discipline in one disappointed look from her than in the shrill scolding of twenty haggard governesses, and it worked on the lords of Parliament as effectively as it did on her children.
    She was beautiful, with ivory, freckled skin and gold-streaked auburn hair, little grays here and there that she merely laughed at. She moved softly in spite of her large, pregnant belly, and she embodied everything Serafina knew she herself would never be—wisdom and power and grace. She was like a mighty angel, and Papa often said she was the best thing that had happened to Ascencion in seven hundred years.
    No, she reflected, she was more like her father. Wily, stormy, stubborn, and proud. Even the strange color of her eyes came from her father’s side of the family. The violet hue appeared in the royal line only once every few generations, she’d been told.
    Her mother gave her a gentle, encouraging smile and slipped her arm around her. “Come. You’re not frightened, are you?”
    “No, Mama.”
    Arm in arm, they walked toward the two tall, dark men.
    Mama stopped to embrace her as Darius finished up with the king.
    Serafina only half-listened to the queen’s soft assurances that Darius would take good care of her and that she must do exactly as he said, for her safety depended on it. Head on her mother’s soft shoulder, she stared at nothing, wondering if it was a mistake to have foisted herself off on him.
    He had given her the cruelest look. What if she couldn’t make him forgive her for pulling rank on him? Of all the men in the kingdom who fell at her feet, why was it that the only one who held her interest was the one who wanted nothing to do with her?
    Well, she thought, he was stuck with her now.
    In the past hour, her protector had proved frightfully efficient. Already he had sent outriders ahead to secure the safe house property that would be their shared country home for the next week or so until the spies were caught. He had stopped by her apartments and put the fear of God into her poor maid, Pia, with one terrifying, tranquil smile, asking her with Lucifer’s own courtesy to please pack her things quickly.
    Giving her mother a final kiss on each freckled cheek, Serafina stole another peek at Darius from the corner of her eye. The candlelight burnished the ends of his glossy black hair with gold and warmed his skin to a rich amber. His dark, mysterious eyes held a sharp look of sober watchfulness.
    He glanced at her as she left her mother and approached to say goodbye to Papa. Her towering sire held her in a warm embrace, then looked down at her with his warm, crooked grin.
    “Behave yourself,” he said, giving her cheek a pinch. “I mean it.”
    She bobbed prettily on her toes, smiling at him. She adored the man. “Yes, Papa.”
    Darius glanced at her. “Ready?”
    She nodded. Her heart began to pound. She clutched her reticule demurely in both suddenly sweating hands.
    Darius kissed her mother on the cheek and murmured to her not to worry about a thing, then shook hands firmly with the king.
    “Keep us informed. I’ll await your courier,” Lazar murmured.
    Darius nodded as he opened the thick wooden door and held it for her. Immediately the hall filled with the hiss of the pouring rain. Darius did not look at her as she brushed past him.
    The thunder and lightning had stopped, but rain coursed in little waterfalls from the eaves of the porte cochere. It was a warm night.
    As Serafina stood waiting under the iron chandelier, she glanced up at the moths swarming around the sturdy candles, risking their wings over the fire. Then,