watched her. Even in dirty fatigues, she had a regal bearing.
“I think I do. You belong to me, you see.” Grisha grinned.
She flashed him a look that made the temperature around them drop several degrees. “No, I don’t. You haven’t paid my brother for the privilege. Until you do, anything that you do to me could be considered an act of war on Castallegna.”
“A tiny country with no allies.” Grisha shrugged.
She smiled. “Perhaps. Or perhaps my brother has had other offers for my hand from stronger, more powerful men than you. There are sheiks and princes who would marry me for Castallegna’s diamond mines.”
Grisha was still smug. “Then why are you not with them?”
“Don’t underestimate what I will do if you make me angry.” Damara may have been small, but she’d positioned herself in such a way that she appeared to be squaring off with the big Russian.
“Where is your guard dog? The American?” Grisha demanded.
“How should I know? I paid him to get me passage out of Tunisia. I don’t need a keeper.”
“If he comes for you, I’ll kill him.”
Miklos scanned the area. He seemed to sense Byron’s presence. “I think you should stay aboard the Circe until Marseille.”
“Why is that?” Grisha asked.
“I know the American is still on board. I feel it in my bones. Here, we control the situation. There would be a lot of, shall we say, opportunities for him between here and Italy on a smaller craft.”
“I see your wisdom. If the princess is dead, I can’t very well marry her. We’ll take your cabin, Miklos.”
* * *
DAMARA HADN’T SEEN any possible way out of the situation that didn’t involve revealing herself. Maybe it was naive of her to trust Hawkins as she did, but she knew in her gut that he’d come for her.
She could stand a few hours of Grisha’s company—she’d had to endure it at home all the time. Of course, she’d always had her bodyguards and her brother and it had always been in a formal environment. But she was sure she could maneuver him to treat her gently at least until Hawkins could get to her.
Damara followed behind Grisha, wondering exactly how hard she’d have to hit him in the back of the head and with what to slow him down—if such action became necessary. She was thankful she’d asked her bodyguards to train her and even more thankful they’d agreed.
Abele would’ve had them put to death if he’d known. He’d thought it unfeminine and a sin for a woman to know such things. Of course, it had suited his purposes when hiring a contingent of female bodyguards to keep her secluded from men.
The captain’s berth was small, but it had been outfitted with every luxury. Damara knew immediately that the cargoes transported on this ship weren’t always on the manifest. If the Russians knew Miklos well, then he must have been transporting people, as well.
One of her objections to Grisha was that he’d been linked to sex-trafficking rings and she found that repulsive. How long before the young women of Castallegna began to disappear with him as their crown prince? No one would ever be safe.
It was times like this she wished she had more power. She wished she was more than a princess.
“Plotting my death?” Grisha asked conversationally.
She studied him for a moment. “Of course not. It’s no secret I don’t want to marry you, but I don’t wish you dead.”
“Why don’t you want to marry me, Damara? I have money and power. I can trace my lineage back to Catherine the Great.”
She doubted his royal lineage, but she wasn’t going to say so. “You’re a bad man, Grisha.”
“All great men are.”
She shook her head. “I must marry for my people. You know that. What would you bring to Castallegna? Convince me.” If she could keep him talking, maybe she could buy some time.
He grabbed her and pushed her up against the wall, but she shoved at his shoulders. “I said convince me for Castallegna. My body may come as a gift with the responsibilities of my people, but it has nothing to do with the decision of who will lead them.”
She prayed he heard her. His hands were just as strong and just as damaged as Byron’s, but they were not noble and they turned her stomach. Damara held her body stiff and immobile. She didn’t close her eyes, and she didn’t look away from him. Not even when he dipped his head to kiss her.
Grisha paused when they were eye to eye. Damara didn’t flinch, didn’t hide from what was about to happen. Something he saw there caused him to pull back. “Perhaps you are not as useless as your brother says.”
“Perhaps not,” she agreed.
“How is it that you make even your acquiescence sound like a challenge?”
“I assure you, it’s not. You’re obviously the one with the power. You’ve caught me. I have nowhere to go and no one to turn to for help,” Damara said calmly.
“But you’re not afraid of me.”
“Should I be? Would you like me to be?”
“You said I was a bad man.” He studied her.
“Just because you’re bad doesn’t mean I should fear you. Fear is a waste of imagination. You will do what you must and I will do as I must.”
He eyed her, hard. “I meant what I said about the mercenary. I will kill him.” As if she’d somehow said otherwise.
“I’ve no doubt. Which is another reason I can’t marry you. You kill someone because they disagree with you? My father had a dream for Castallegna.”
Grisha snorted. “A dream of democracy?”
“Yes. Being born into a family doesn’t make a person any more fit to lead than any other.”
“I did not expect to drag you to the captain’s quarters to talk politics.” Grisha scrubbed a hand over his face.
“No? What did you expect? To haul me down here, make me cower in fear and then force yourself on me so I’d be so humiliated that I would have no choice but to marry you? If my brother told you that would work, you are sadly mistaken.”
“And yet if we were on Castallegna, we would be legally married if I did.”
“That’s another thing that’s gotta go.” Tendrils of fear unfurled in her belly, but she ignored them. It didn’t matter what he did to her. She was still the Jewel of Castallegna. But her brother and men like him were convinced that her only worth lay between her legs. No man would want her if she wasn’t a virgin.
“What if I agreed to all these things you wanted?” Grisha surprised her.
“In writing? A contract that would be for all the world to see?”
“No, not in writing.” He unbuttoned his shirt and she gritted her teeth, fear blooming like a rancid flower. But he didn’t pounce on her. Instead, he showed her the tattoos on his chest, his belly. His arms. His shoulders. “I already have a contract in writing, you see. Bratva. If I am ever found unworthy of the ink on my skin, it will be removed for me.”
She found herself looking at the art on his skin. The stars on his chest. The church with the spires on his belly. “I don’t understand.”
“These are what mark me as a bad man.” He pointed to a marking in Cyrillic she didn’t understand. “The first man I killed for The Brotherhood.”
“And you want to sit on the throne?” She was incredulous as to why he would think she’d choose him to lead her people. To be