“Let’s head in there and find some soulmates,” I grinned to my friends, pumping my hips lewdly and eliciting a groan from the three of them. Caspian and Cade — the two Charming brothers, punched me in the shoulders as we all turned to head into King Lucian’s “suitor’s ball.”

Cade and Caspian Charming, the twin princes of Marland, and our brooding, dark friend Prince Logan of Torsund, had been friends for pretty much ever. After all, we were young, phenomenally rich, good looking, and royalty — like, literal royalty, with the crowns and the palaces and everything. Technically, I wasn’t even a prince anymore. I, like my friend Logan to his kingdom of Torsund, was Prince Regent of Zale, which meant I was the reigning king, though not in title yet — not until I married.

Hah — right. Except everyone on my council, and hell, probably every citizen of my country knew that’d never happen.

The whole “kingdoms” and crowns and titles thing was dated, but I couldn’t exactly complain. Being born into the life and the blood-line I’d been born into had afforded me a life most could only dream of — lavish parties, luxury travel, and the ability to bed the hottest women on the planet with the crook of a finger.

And I’d taken full advantage of every privilege this life had given me — especially that last one. I had a reputation to uphold, which is why I kept my lewd thrusting and cocky grin going until the other guys had turned to head up the stairs to King Lucian’s palace for the ball. Then, the grin dropped from my face and the dark cloud that’d been there, hidden for weeks, crept back.

Because four weeks ago, I’d lost my mojo.

Four weeks ago, I’d found a woman like none I’d ever met before. Beautiful beyond belief, poised, mysterious, and sexy as fuck. But most importantly?

Immune to me.

Okay, not entirely. I’d seen the way her eyes drank me in. I’d seen the flush in her face, the way her eyes had gone wide. I’d seen the way her nipples had hardened under that bikini top, too.

But that’s where it’d stopped.

Claire D’Claire. I’ll grant, it was a bizarre name, but I couldn’t have given a fuck what her name was after I’d seen her that day. I’d been on the balcony of my penthouse suite, gazing down at the beach and the pool below when I’d spotted her. Ibiza wasn’t really my scene — even for a party-guy like myself. But I’d started to try and take the business holdings I ran a bit more seriously, and since I did own that resort, I’d taken an impromptu trip down to the Spanish Island to take stock of how things were running.

But then I’d seen her, and every bit of me trying to be rational and responsible went dashing away.

Because holy fuck.

The red hair caught my attention first, and the rest had just drawn me in. Gorgeous red locks, tucked up under that big sun-hat she wore. Porcelain skin, and a body that had my cock hard in seconds. Curves in all the right places, freckles, an ass I could sink my teeth into - all wrapped up in a tiny little powder blue bikini.

I’d known right then and there that she’d be mine. After all, most women were, when I wanted them. But I wanted her harder than anything I could even remember. I wanted her so bad I actually felt my head spin and my heart skip a beat. And hell, I couldn’t even see her eyes behind those shades.

This being my hotel, it didn’t take more than a phone call to get her name, to find out she was staying down the hall in one of the other penthouse suites, and that “why yes, Your Highness, a manager with a keycard will be right up.”

Easy as pie.

The plan was simple. Wait, show her the part of my body that seemed to attract chicks like a magnet, and let the good times happen. I’d always had the reputation, and the rumors had always flown, but lately, my rep had gone to new heights, after that tabloid had published a “tell all” from some duchess I’d had a fling with a few months back decided to talk to the media.

After that, what I was packing between my legs wasn’t just rumor — it was headline news. “Prince Magnum,” they’d called me. I’d had a good laugh, enjoyed the rolled eyes and claps on the back from my buddies, and even enjoyed the extra attention the female population bestowed upon me.

But after that, it’d just gotten annoying.

But the plan that night in Ibiza had been simple: let myself into her room, wait, and when she walked in, greet her with my… package. After that, I’d had a pretty good feeling I’d be busy for the next day or so.

The first parts had gone off perfectly. I’d stripped down and stroked my cock to full-mast thinking about stripping that tight little body of hers out of that bikini with my teeth. I’d laid on her bed, nursing a scotch, and I’d grinned when I heard the keycard in the door. Claire had walked in, her face had gone redder than her hair, her pouty lips had parted in a big O shape, and those big green eyes had dropped right to my dick.

But then, the plan had fallen apart. Instead of jumping me and begging me to take her any way I pleased, like I’d imagined, she’d done just the opposite.

She’d run the fuck away.

Literally no woman had ever done that to me.

I tried to shake it off. I’d gone back to my own room and collected myself, frowning as I dressed to go out. I’d hit the clubs, and I’d tried to lose myself in the eager, willing women who surrounded me, but it’d been useless.

Something was broken in me. I had no interest in the girls draping themselves all over me, willing to bend over backwards to get just a taste of me. It suddenly seemed cheap, and boring. Fuck, I wasn’t even hard.

I’d gone home alone that night. And the night after. And the one after that.

I’ll skip to the end: I’d gone home alone for the last four weeks, ever since I’d laid eyes on Claire.

She’d possessed me somehow. She’d captivated me, and hooked me deep like I didn’t think I could be hooked. After all, there were a lot of willing women in the world, and I had ten solid inches for each of them.

Not anymore, apparently. Because apparently, my magnum only got hard at the thought of one woman now.

Oh, right, and she didn’t exist. The reason Claire D’Claire sounded like too weird of a name for someone to have was because it was too weird of a name for someone to have. The name was bullshit, and the room had been paid for via an encrypted online transfer that even I couldn’t glimpse at.

All I had was a fake name, a memory of her burning into my head, and the few things she’d left in the room when she’d run — some clothes, her orange blossom scented shampoo, and her high-heels. Well, one of them at least. I had one shoe of hers, as if this was some sort of fucking fairytale.

Of course, a fairytale wouldn’t involve me wrapping the pair of panties she’d left behind around my cock and stroking myself until I’d emptied my balls at the memory of her.

I’d done it about two dozen times since that night.

I shook my head as I followed my friends up the front steps to the palace.

Of course, I had a reputation to uphold, especially to my three best friends. Hell, I was Prince Magnum. I dropped panties left and right, and I bedded a different woman nightly. The fact that I’d been lying to by best friends about this for weeks, and literally making up fake hook-ups was depressing, not to mention sad. But I couldn’t tell them the truth. I couldn’t tell them I was hung up on some mystery girl I’d never even slept with — one who’d left me a fake name, a few pairs of panties, shampoo, and a shoe.

This night was going to suck. I was going to have to fuck around and pretend I was trying to get into the panties of a bunch of random princesses. I didn’t really pay attention to the latest who’s who of the royalty in the world, and though I knew of King Lucian of course, I knew his daughters mostly stayed out of the limelight, and certainly out of the tabloids.

Wonderful. I was going to have to dance and flirt with a cloud of prudish, plain-jane, shut-in princesses all night, all while my head and my heart was stuck on my mystery Claire.

The storm clouds around my head only darkened, my mood only souring as we stepped down the lavish hallways of the palace towards the sounds of the crowd in King Lucian’s enormous ballroom. I grabbed two champagnes off a waiter’s tray, slugging back one and keeping the second as I took a deep breath and stepped in. Time to put on my mask, act the part, and —

And whoa.

My heart jumped in my chest. My head spun. My whole world stopped for a second. My cock throbbed rock hard in my tuxedo pants.

Impossible. It wasn't possible. She wasn’t real. She didn’t even exist, to the point where if I didn’t have her shoe and her panties, I’d assume she’d been a figment of my imagination.

Expect here she was. Here, in Avlion, at King Lucian’s suitor’s ball, standing with some other girls, looking fucking radiant and gorgeous and sexy as hell in that green and gold dress, with her red hair falling around her shoulders and her green eyes sparkling. My mystery girl.

Claire D’Claire.

I was aware of slugging back the rest of my champagne, pushing away from Caspian and Cade, even though they were talking to me about something or other, and stalking right across the ballroom towards her.

I ignored everything else. I didn’t even see anything else as I shouldered my way right through people towards her. I was a few steps away, when suddenly, she turned, and her eyes went wide.

Oh, she remembered me alright.

She’d run from me once, but Claire D’Claire, or whoever she really was, wasn’t getting away from me again. Tonight, she’d be mine, come hell or high water.

“You,” I growled, stepping into her and feeling my blood run hot at the sound of the gasp from her lips.

“Hi,” she barely whispered, her eyes wide, her cheeks rosy and pink.

I’d ignored the tall blonde and the shorter, black-haired girl standing beside her, but the blonde cleared her throat, clearly recognizing me.

“Um, Imogen, this is—”

“I know who he is,” she said quickly, her lips quivering as she stared at me.

Imogen?

I was still frowning when the blonde curtsied and put her hand out. “Welcome to Avlion, Prince Magnus. I’m Ilana, King Lucian’s eldest daughter.”

“Hey,” I mumbled, barely glancing at her, my eyes still locked on the mystery redhead in front of me as if daring her to disappear again.

The blonde smiled. “And this is Princess Adele White, of Berne.”

I was half tuning her out again, when she continued, and everything went upside down.

“And this is my sister, Princess Imogen.”

That’s when I froze. That’s when it was my turn for my jaw to drop, and my eyes to go wide. Slowly, I turned to the blonde, recognition spreading over my face as I realized she was Princess Imogen Morningstar.

This is my sister.

The other shoe dropped, and slowly, I turned.

Claire D’Claire.

Or else better known as Princess Imogen Morningstar, one of Lucian’s three daughters, and one of the reasons for this ball. My mystery girl was one of the famously virgin princesses of Avlion, and this ball tonight was to find her a suitor for marriage.

Something primal growled inside of me.

She’d run from me once, but that would not be happening again. Because tonight, I was going to make this princess mine and only mine. Find her a husband, huh?

Fuck that.

She’d been mine the second I saw her. Tonight, I’d make sure she knew that.