A.C. Arthur - To Marry A Prince

“Hey Kris, we need to talk about tomorrow’s meeting with the board of directors and then—” her voice trailed off as the stunningly beautiful Princess Samantha Raine DeSaunters came to a stop right beside them.

The prince dropped Landry’s hand as if she’d had a palm full of hot coals.

Landry then finished with the roller coaster of emotions brought on by the introduction to Grand Serenity’s royalty, bid a quick farewell before making a hasty retreat.

* * *

“Who was that and what did you do to run her away like that?”

Kristian stared at the door Landry had just passed through. He was asking himself an array of questions at the moment, none of which he wanted to share with his younger sister.

“That was Landry Norris. She’s Malayka’s stylist,” he replied then moved to stand behind his desk once again.

He closed the file his assistant had compiled on Ms. Norris and her business venture. The picture that was included—the one that had captured him the moment he’d first seen it earlier this week—was tucked securely in the back. That’s where he’d finally put it yesterday, when he couldn’t rationalize why he kept staring at it.

“You’re kidding, right?” Sam shook her head as she continued to walk into the office, taking a seat in the chair that Landry had vacated. “Why does she need a personal stylist? She already has her hairdresser and makeup artist here.”

Kris took his seat. “I was going to ask you that same question... Do you have someone who selects your clothes for you?”

It seemed like a silly question to ask, especially when posed to his sister, who lived in the same house with him. In his defense their house was unlike usual homes. It was a palace, after all. Wonderland, that’s what Vivienne DeSaunters, their mother, used to call the family home. Located high on the cliffs of Grand Serenity, a Caribbean island just north of Colombia and Venezuela, the royal palace was a sprawling white structure with jutting towers capped in gold domes. It was roughly the size of twenty-five of the homes in the town below, and housed the rulers who had governed the island for the last sixty-five years.

His family resided in a large wing toward the center of the house with the majority of the rooms overlooking the cliffs that fell off into the glorious turquoise sea. Before Vivienne had come to live in the palace windows had been barred and locked, as one of the former rulers, Marco Vansig, had not been a particularly kind man, thus soliciting more enemies than he could eventually ward off. Under Vivienne’s progressive and feminine hand the barred windows were removed and replaced with practical weather-resistant glass ones that sparkled and brought in every ounce of sunlight and the island’s magnificent view.

Kris’s father, Rafe, had the largest group of rooms in that wing of the house as the reigning prince of the island. Kris and each of his younger siblings, Sam and Roland, had their own rooms situated among the areas of the massive dwelling in a way that provided them all with the privacy they seemed to desire. It wasn’t easy living under the titles they held, finding solace within the walls of their private rooms was sometimes all they could manage. At least it was that way for Kris.

As the crown prince, the one who would ultimately succeed his father in ruling their country, Kris carried a tremendous weight on his shoulders. One which was now causing a great deal of stress for him.

“I am not your average woman, I suspect,” Sam replied to his question with a quirk of her lips. “I love beautiful clothes and accessories, but I like to have the final say in what I wear or purchase for that matter.”

She always looked good, Kris thought, as he stared across his desk at his sister—younger than him by six years—looking vaguely amused by their conversation. Samantha Raine DeSaunters was a beautiful woman with her smooth milk-chocolate complexion, and thick coal-black hair. Her skin tone and assessing eyes came from their father, while her outgoing personality and the innate need to take care of everyone around her were undoubtedly traits obtained from their mother.

“I think it’s safe to say that you are nothing like Malayka Sampson,” was Kris’s dry response.

Sam agreed with the nod of her head. “I don’t know that there is anyone like her. Did you know that she has already begun planning the wedding?”

Kris sat back in his chair, folding his hands in his lap, a position in which he could easily be mistaken for his father. “The date is set for December first. The date has significance to her and she wants a grand celebration. Those were Dad’s exact words.”

“And he plans to give it to her?” Sam asked.

“He does.”

She cursed.

It was soft and way too dainty to carry much weight, still Kris realized the severity of the situation at hand especially because it made his normally pleasant sister vent in such a way.

Malayka Sampson was engaged to their father. She was a thirty-seven-year-old American who would, in just seven months, become the princess of Grand Serenity Island. As such she would manage Wonderland...no, that was his mother’s. It belonged only to her. It always would. Malayka would manage the palace and she would take over much of the community and public relations duties that Sam now held. She would become the new face and voice of the island, while his father continued to rule via business and policy the way his father had before him.

“I don’t like her and neither does Roland,” Sam told him.

Her words came as no surprise to Kris. Sam and Roland tended to agree on a number of things. Kris was the one who was usually treading on the outside of the sibling bond. That was part of his birthright as his father had taught him from the time he’d been old enough to speak. He was the future ruler, thus he had to lead, always.

“She makes Dad happy,” Kris replied. “That is all that matters.” For now, he thought, wisely keeping that last part to himself.

“She makes me want to do bodily harm and you know that is not my character,” Sam added with a slight chuckle.

“I know. But there are more pressing matters at hand. The Children’s Hospital brunch is coming up later this week and the Ambassador’s Ball is later this month. Is everything in order?”

Sam nodded, looking down at the notepad she’d brought with her into his office. “Just a few final details for each event and they’re all set. As I mentioned when I came in, I have meetings with the board of directors at the hospital tomorrow and after that, I’ll be spending the rest of the afternoon at the Bella Club.”

Kris nodded as he reached for a pen to make note of his sister’s whereabouts the following day. He also had access to her business calendar on the private network the monarch shared. Roland’s and Rafe’s business calendars were also available to him. However, Sam had a number of personal ventures that meant a lot to her. Kris respected that and envied his sister’s passion in helping wherever she could. The Bella Club was an organization Sam had started to offer refuge, counseling and rehabilitation to troubled young adults between the ages of thirteen and eighteen.

“That sounds good,” he said as a thought entered his mind. “Would you mind taking Landry Norris with you tomorrow?”

“Who? Oh, the personal stylist?” she asked with a lift of her precisely arched brows. “Why would I do that? She’s Malayka’s employee, not mine.”

“She is a guest in the palace and a tourist. You are on the board of tourism.”

“So are you,” she countered.

Kris didn’t bother to frown, even though he completely recognized the never-ending sibling game that often had each of the royal children pointing out the other’s duties to see who had the most on their plate. Kris always won, hands down. Which was why, this time, he was delegating the responsibility.