Spy Girl (Spy Girl #1)

“What ever do you mean?”


“I suppose dangling jewels in front of every girl you bed would get expensive, but the promise of being a princess—that’s cheap.”

“Are you saying I’m cheap?”

“I’m saying you’ll say anything to get a woman into bed.”

“Sweetheart, we both know all I have to say is that I’m a prince, and they spread their legs willingly. Honestly, it gets a little tedious. I get the feeling you aren’t interested in me.”

I let out a laugh. “So, of course, that makes you want me. Princes are probably used to getting everything they want.”

“Shall we test that theory in my bedroom? I can make it the next stop on our tour,” he says, raising a dark eyebrow in my direction.

“No.” It’s obvious, the only way I’m going to keep his attention is by pretending not to be interested. He takes my hand, undeterred.

“See, I don’t get everything I want. Are you spoken for?”

“No.”

“Are you sleeping with Daniel?”

“No comment.”

“So, you do sleep around?”

“Sometimes, if the mood strikes me. But I’d prefer romance on the path to love.”

“I can do romance,” he says, stealing another kiss.

“Your accent is sexy as hell.”

“All of me is sexy as hell, but I’ll let you discover that slowly.”

“And the promise of a castle tour?”

“Still good. If you will allow me to escort you to the Queen’s Ball.”

“I’d be honored.”

He holds out his elbow for me. “Then let the tour commence. The hallway you see here is built on the foundation of the original castle built in the twelfth century. The castle was built and rebuilt numerous times over the years as pieces of it were destroyed by war. Descendants of the House of Vallenta have ruled from this palace for over eight hundred years. This hallway is so ornate because at one time it led from the Court of Honor to the Throne Room. Now, it leads from the King’s home, to the Prince’s residence, and then beyond to the public areas of the castle.”

He takes me through room after room filled with incredible architecture and history.

The library is particularly spectacular—octagonal in shape with stone walls and tall, arched bookcases with thick moldings accented by black onyx.

The Prince pulls out books of ancient poetry and reads them to me.

“Here’s a good one by San Agustín,” he says, flipping through another. “La medida del amor es amar sin medida.”

“The measure of love is to love without measuring,” I say, quickly translating. “That’s really pretty and—” I stop speaking when gunshots ring out.

“What the hell?” The Prince’s eyes get big, and he goes rushing toward the door.

I grab his shirt to stop him, quickly transitioning from flirting to readiness while pretending to be nervous. “Where is your guard?”

“I left him at your place. I forgot to tell him we were leaving.”

An alarm sounds.

More shots ring out, sounding closer this time.

I don’t know what’s going on, but we are sitting ducks here in the library. The only way out, besides the two palladium windows, is the long hallway we’ve been working our way down. I imagine an ops team storming the castle and now sweeping each room in pairs until they find what they want. The good news is I can’t smell any kind of poisonous gas, haven’t heard any flash bangs, and can’t see assault team movement outside the windows.

“What’s your security protocol in a time like this?”

“Screw protocol. I need to see what’s going on.” He tries to shrug me off.

“Don’t you watch movies? I’m assuming gun fire is not an everyday occurrence in the castle?”

“Well, no.”

“Lorenzo, you’re the Prince. It’s your responsibility to your country to keep yourself safe.”

“How do I know you’re not mixed up in whatever this is?”

“Because you’d already be dead.”

He nods. “Good point.”

His eyes fill with fear. Fear can be paralyzing.

I gently squeeze his hand to calm him. His eyes are moving wildly with every shot that rings out. I remember reading about all the castle’s secret passageways.

“When you were little, did anyone tell you where to hide if anything like this ever happened?”

He looks at me with surprise. “Yes, my grandfather, when I was young. I totally forgot about that.” He starts to sing. “The spotted dog is your friend. Wag his tail then go to the end.”

He grabs my hand and starts to run toward the door. I pull back. “Where is the dog?”

“The War Room down the hall.”

The sounds of gunfire get closer.

I immediately pull the Prince away from the door and toward the fireplace, where I push the third fleur de lis—causing a piece of wood paneling to slide open. I pull him into the passage, knowing we don’t have much time. He starts to ask me how I knew to do what I just did, but I hold my fingers to his lips as we quickly and quietly make our way to the War Room.