Jilted By Prince, Claimed By King

The door handle began to turn.

Edris's eyes flew open. Panic, cold and sober, washed over her. If she was found here-naked, in the King's suite, after escaping her own engagement party-the scandal wouldn't just ruin her; it would incinerate her family.

Ignatius moved with a speed that blurred. He shoved Edris down into the deep pile of the rug and threw the rest of the blanket over her head, completely concealing her.

The door burst open.

"Stay where you are!" Clemente Hendrix, the Head of Royal Security, stepped in, weapon drawn, sweeping the room.

Ignatius was sitting on the edge of the sofa, shirtless, a glass of whiskey in his hand that he must have poured in the split second before the door opened. He looked bored, annoyed, and utterly composed.

"Hendrix," Ignatius said. His voice was a low rumble, dangerous and calm. "Do you make it a habit to burst into my private quarters?"

Clemente lowered his weapon slightly, his eyes darting around the room. He saw the torn dress on the floor. He saw the lump under the blanket at the King's feet. He saw the scratches on the King's chest.

The color drained from the security chief's face.

"Apologies, Sir. The perimeter alarm... we thought it was an assassin."

Ignatius took a slow sip of his drink. "There is no assassin. Just a guest. Leaving now."

His gaze was ice, a silent command that pinned Hendrix in place. "The matter is handled. You will erase the last five minutes of sensor data and forget you were here. Is that understood?"

He kicked the pile of clothes toward the blanket.

"Get out, Hendrix. And close the door."

Clemente hesitated for a fraction of a second, his training warring with the absolute authority of his King. Then, he bowed his head, averted his eyes from the blanket, and backed out. "My apologies, Your Majesty."

The door clicked shut. The lock engaged.

Edris threw the blanket off, gasping for air. She scrambled for her dress, her hands shaking so hard she could barely hold the fabric. It was ruined. The zipper was busted, the hem torn.

"You have three minutes before he checks the perimeter cameras anyway," Ignatius said. He wasn't looking at her; he was staring into his glass. "Who are you?"

Edris pulled the dress on, holding the bodice together with a trembling hand. She found her cashmere scarf on the floor, snatching it up and wrapping it around her shoulders to hide the worst of the damage.

"It doesn't matter," she said, her voice hoarse.

Ignatius stood up. He loomed over her, blocking the path to the balcony. "It matters to me. You break into my room, use me, and think you can just leave?"

Edris found her shoes. She stood up, forcing her spine straight despite the trembling in her legs. She grabbed a safety pin from a sewing kit on the side table-something the housekeeping staff must have left-and pinned the dress together.

"I didn't use you," she said, meeting his gold eyes. "We used each other."

Ignatius stepped closer. He reached out, his hand hovering near her face. "Name."

Edris flinched back. She couldn't give him her name. Edris Mcclure was the poised, perfect fiancée of Prince Clement. This woman-this wild, desperate creature with bruised lips and tangled hair-could not be her.

She glanced at the coffee table. A fashion magazine lay there. The cover model stared back with bold text: GIGI.

"Gigi," she lied. "My name is Gigi."

Ignatius raised an eyebrow. "Gigi. Sounds like a stripper."

Edris let out a sharp, breathless laugh. "I was your only remedy tonight, Your Majesty. And remedies, as you know, are priceless."

Something sparked in his eyes. Amusement? Respect?

"Go," he said, stepping aside. "Before I change my mind and have you arrested."

Edris didn't wait. She bolted for the terrace doors. The cold wind hit her again, but this time it felt like freedom.

"Wait."

She paused at the railing, one leg already over.

"You forgot this."

She looked back. Ignatius was holding up a pearl earring. It dangled from his fingers, catching the firelight.

Edris touched her earlobe. It was bare.

"Keep it," she called out over the wind. "Consider it a tip."

She jumped.

Ignatius walked to the balcony, watching the small figure disappear into the swirling snow. He closed his fist around the pearl, the metal post digging into his palm.

"Gigi," he whispered, testing the name on his tongue. He didn't believe it for a second.

"I will find you."