Page 25 of The Desert Prince's Jewel
I lean in to whisper in his ear again, “Ranbir Vikram, the former Crown Prince of the Thar Desert Kingdom of India. Formerly, I went by Viktor before I took my rightful place as future king of Thar. But know I will protect you; you have my word. It’s the least I can do after my false assumptions caused you so much distress. So don’t get cocky playing detective when you have no resources to back you up. I realize we’re here with the same mission. But you have no resources, no allies… Well, that used to be the case. But now you have me. And I must insssist you stay out of this. Dimirti Kontos is dangerous.”
When I lean back, I get the reaction I expect, though it disappoints me all the same. His jaw unhinges, naga-like, as the realization of my status sinks in. A chill snakes up my spine as Mateo folds into himself, trying to be small and hide. From me. He’s…
Afraid.
Mateo backs away before I can reach for him. I blink, and then he’s gone like the wind, light on his feet like the thief I’d mistaken him for when we first met.
Shit. Shit. Shit!
CHAPTER ELEVEN
MATEO
Ranbir shines so brightly that he resembles the sun. And though he isn’t dripping in regalia or expensive luxury fashion brands, he mingles easily with royalty and wealthy elites at the gala alike. Meanwhile, I’m pretending to be Indiana fucking Jones or something. I feel pathetic, but when our eyes lock across the room, all I can feel is the rush of heat creeping up my neck and cheeks from embarrassment laced with lust.
I played at being Bond, while Ranbir is the real thing, the leading man of an A-list movie. Only this is real life.
Ugh! I’m so screwed,I think as I dash away as fast as I can without spilling the drinks.
Rumor has it that Renversé Hotel is a runaway prince hotel, but damn, I never thought one of those princes would be him! Ranbir Vikram, Crown Prince of the Thar Desert Kingdom. What did he mean by the former crown prince? Oh, right, he probably ran away from the throne.
It explains the arrogance. The isolated desert kingdom is fabulously wealthy, and he’s next in line to inherit the throne. His face is probably on the internet, and a simple search would’ve revealed the truth. Even I know about Thar from video essays on the internet about secret magical kingdoms, if not the inner workings of their society. But all I was concerned about was the secret sex lives of nagas, and look where being horny got me?
Absolutely fucked, and not in a good way!I think, glaring at the back of the jackass Naveen’s head.
I’m sufficiently humbled, and I don’t need him rubbing salt into my wounds, so I dodge him like the plague and move on to serving other guests. I feel like such a fucking fool. I can also feel Ranbir’s venomous glare from afar, like a scope aimed at my head. My body still tingles with a sensation that must be magic, and all I want to do is cry.
“Oh!” A gasp tears through me, and I have to pirouette like a ballerino to avoid bumping into some distinguished guests.
I need to focus because I may need to quit my barista job, and I’ll need the money from Bonnie’s gigs. I force smiles at my fellow caterers throughout the rest of the night, the gala in full swing. Despite the storm cloud of emotions hanging over my head, I move through my tasks as quickly and as gracefully as I can, topping off champagne flutes and offering up hors d’oeuvres, all while playing spy, hoping against all reason that someone will just happen to say something about theAscension of King Vikram I,the infamous portrait tying me to Prince Ranbir in the most awful of ways.
Frustrated tears, I refuse to shed, pool in the corners of my eyes as the night drags on, realizing how fucking stupid my plan had been when the clock strikes midnight. It only makes the sour taste of bile in my throat worse every time I see Ranbir regalinghis entourage with the poise, elegance, and ruthless efficiency of a future king.
Whenever he holds my gaze for more than a few seconds, I tear my eyes away and pretend I’m busy. But somehow, someway, that insufferable bastard finds a way to see me. He sees all of me, and it’s unnerving because all I’ve seen is a carefully constructed persona called Ranbir, the hotel security guard.
By now, I’m used to being invisible and prefer moving in and out of crowds unnoticed. To be seen is to be perceived, and my reputation is dirt. I don’t want to be seen. Because now it all makes sense, the puzzle pieces are assembling slowly. The portrait that ruined my life and killed my parents is all connected to him.
The knowledge that we share such an intimate yet tragic connection makes the stale coffee in my mouth taste rotten as I bite back a whimper of fear. Ranbir, a direct descendant of King Vikram the First, didn’t choose to antagonize me on a bullshit pretext when we first met. I feel sick to my stomach.
The gala can’t end soon enough, and I moan with relief the second a big shot in the city, maybe even the mayor or a local politician, begins thanking the crowd for attending and helping whatever poor charity they’re funding tonight. Before I know it, I’m surging through the back door and out of the main gala.
I’m not exactly making a good impression on my catering company by dipping like this, but my sanity won’t hang on if I don’t run for my life. Running away has temporarily solved my problems all my life. So why fix what isn’t broken?
After retrieving my backpack, I change quickly in a bathroom, wiping down with wet wipes, which has become my routine between daily gym visits to wash up. Thankfully, I took a nice, long, hot bath at Cy’s new fling’s place before the gig began, as an apology for nearly killing me and Ranbir. That and a serving of the tastiest hot tea I’ve ever had. Not that Ranbir benefitedfrom me getting clean or drinking tea so damn delicious it felt like a wizard had brewed it. Regardless, I’m pretty freshened up already and thankful for Cy’s apology on his boyfriend’s dime. What sweat I am wiping away is just nervous energy from Ranbir seeping through my skin.
I plan to leave and abandon my hopeless plan. However, when I cut a corner, I hear heavy footsteps gaining on me. I’m certain it’s my boss and I want to die inside. I’m so close to slipping out the back entrance that I can taste the fresh air through the crack when a strong hand seizes me by my wrist and yanks me back.
“Boss, I can ah—” I began to plead for my job, only to go mute when I look up and up and up some more into my former nemesis’s golden yellow gaze.
Oh, I’m fucked.
“Ranbir,” I breathe, and can’t figure out how to draw more air into my lungs.
We stared at each other for what feels like an eternity as his jaw works, obviously not amused by my disappearing act. He can’t honestly think I’d stick around and try to explain how no, really, please believe me, my parents didn’t steal from your dead mother, a former queen.
“Ranbir, I—” I’m cut off as Ranbir thrusts me against the wall, slamming his hands on either side of my face as I go as still as a deer caught in a car’s headlights.
“Quiet,” he hisses softly before angling his head and leaning down. Down some more, and, oh shit, is he going to kiss me!?
