“What are you doing?”
She turned sharply, backing herself up against the edge of the vanity, knocking several of the bottles over as she did. “I was bored,” she said, looking up to see the same man she had encountered earlier standing in the doorway glaring fiercely at her.
The impact of him was beyond that of a physical blow. She was accustomed to large men, men with a commanding presence that pushed you back, held you at a distance.
Some might call the people she had been raised with Gypsies, based on their simple, nomadic lifestyle, but they weren’t, not in blood heritage. They were part of a small, mostly destroyed minority group in Tirimia who still clung to the old ways. Not a warrior culture in the traditional sense, but fiercely protective of the camp and of anyone they felt to be under their care.
However, the gruff exterior of the men she had been raised around could not have been more different from the suave, confronting aura given off by this man. One would think that a man in a suit would not be half as intimidating as one in old jeans. This man should have appeared to be vastly more civilized, and yet it was that veneer of civility that she found frightening. Because she sensed so much beneath it. A hidden depth and strength, buried so deep she had no way of assessing it.
She didn’t like this at all. Didn’t like the fact that she was in the dark about so many things. At home, things had been so much simpler. She had been protected. She had been certain of her surroundings. The world had been small, containing the forest, her caravan, the cooking fires and people she had known for most of her life.
There were rules. And she had been certain in them.
Now she was here. In a strange land, confronted by a stranger.
A large, broad-chested stranger in a well-cut suit. With short black hair, a square jaw and strong, dark eyebrows. He was beautiful in the same way a predator was. Lethal, and difficult to look away from. She had never, in all her life, been held captive by a man in such a way. So far the men she encountered could easily be divided into two categories. Those she had grown up with and seen nearly every day of her life, and those she considered an enemy.
This man was neither, and that made him unique.
She might yet decide he was an enemy, but for now, she would hold off on that assessment. He might well be dangerous, but he could also very well be her only ally. She had realized two months ago, when she was kidnapped from the encampment, that she had only a spare few options. If she tried to escape her captors and go back to the clan, they would be punished. A poor repayment for shared food, clothing and shelter of the past fifteen years.
Escaping and staying in Petras was no more of a possibility.
She had no money, no form of identification. She didn’t know the layout of the city, or of the country beyond. She couldn’t drive, and she had no friends.
She would have to make one.
Zara eyed the man standing in the doorway of the bathroom. She wondered if she could make a friend of him. Well, not a friend. Not in the true sense.
But it would do no good to battle him all the way. She would need to be compliant, to a degree. To watch for the right moment to make her move. Whatever it might be.
“You were bored?” he asked, repeating her words back to her.
“Yes, I don’t know how long I’ve been in here, but it has been quite a while.”
“Perhaps we should start over,” he said. “I am Prince Andres. It appears we are to be married.”
Unease, followed by a rash of unexplainable heat coursed through her veins. “Is that so?”
His words confirmed her suspicions. That he was the owner of this room. That he was now the owner of her.
“I am informed.” He arched one dark eyebrow. “Perhaps you would like to continue this discussion in a more comfortable setting?”
She nodded slowly and began to walk toward him. Then her stomach growled, the sound echoing in the space. “I’m hungry,” she said. She realized then that she hadn’t eaten since very early this morning.
“Then I will arrange for you to be fed.”
It didn’t take long for Andres to procure the promised food. He had a tray of meats, cheeses, fruits and breads sent up to the bedroom, which was how Zara found herself sitting on the bed again, her legs covered with a blanket, eating the spread that had been placed before her.