The Accidental Heir by Susan Stephens Page A

far-north territories, which hardly anyone visited. This talk, entitled “Beyond the Arctic Circle,” was supposed to give her the insight she craved. After this there was just one more—very important—task on her to-do list, and that was a tricky one. She had a vague notion of sorting it out at the fertility clinic. She’d been shocked when the Royal Council had insisted she must have an heir, and within a year if possible. ‘We can’t be left in this sort of mess again,’ the worried councillors had explained.
    And the current situation really was a mess. The late king had left no heirs, which had led to all sorts of people claiming the throne. Astrid had a genuine claim as a distant relative who lived in what was politely termed gentile poverty—which in reality translated into a bedsit, a kettle and the landlady’s cat. Regardless, the Royal Council insisted that she had the best claim.
    It was when they had said ‘Illegitimate, legitimate, it really doesn’t matter what kind of heir you give us’ that she had baulked. Didn’t matter? How could they say that something as important as a child didn’t matter? It would damn well matter to her. But that was a problem for another day.
    Today her goals were to get through this lecture with the hunky tutor and—hopefully—get her mind off his body and onto his body of work.
    He was still standing there staring at her with a somewhat confused look on his face.
    ‘Visual images?’ she prompted, glancing at the screen. ‘Don’t want to risk falling asleep.’ She was trying to be friendly and hide the alarming response her body was having to his physical presence alone.
    Still nothing.
    Mountain Man’s silence was beginning to seriously annoy her. ‘I brought a pile of books along.’ She gestured with her naked foot at the photographic essays on the coffee table. ‘You can use them to illustrate your talk, if you like?’
    That was it! She’d had enough.
    Standing and turning to face him directly, she was confronted by a glacial stare. ‘Don’t they teach you manners at princess school?’ he asked, finally breaking his silence.
    His voice was an uncompromising, husky growl. Had he invaded the palace with the sole intention of insulting her?
    ‘I beg your pardon?’ she trilled in her haughtiest tone.
    ‘You heard me, Princess Astrid.’
    ‘How dare you!’ Charging towards him, she raised her hand as if to slap him. ‘I can always get another tutor.’
    Snatching hold of her wrist, the man bowed mockingly over her hand. ‘Prince Karl of Thorberg at your service, Princess Astrid.’
    As she raised her other hand to push him away, he dragged her closer.

CHAPTER TWO
    ‘P RINCE K ARL T HORBERG as in the Karl Thorberg, world-renowned explorer?’ she asked, disbelief ringing in her words. ‘I didn’t recognise you.’
    Karl laughed but didn’t let her go. ‘No surprise there, Princess.’
    Indeed. The last time she had seen a photograph of the hunk with wanderlust, the prince had been shaved and polished, if a little just-out-of-bed rumpled in an attractive adventurer’s way, picking up some award or other from the Royal Institute. She had almost fallen asleep during a replay of the ceremony on TV, but had woken up fast when Karl came on the screen.
    ‘You can let this go now,’ he said, unpicking her fingers from the panic button she was clutching. ‘You won’t need it while I’m around.’
    Yes, she would! The way Karl was staring into her eyes said he knew the desires of her wayward body better than she knew them herself. There had never been a better time to wear a panic button. The Royal Council had insisted she wear an alarm, arguing that the numerous pretenders to the throne hadn’t given up hope of removing her as an obstacle on their path to power. She had eventually relented as the moonstone pendant etched with runic swirls that encompassed the button looked cool.
    ‘What are you doing?’ She clasped a hand to her chest a beat