"The front desk, how may we help you?" the concierge asks.
"I'd like to order room service."
Red glances at Andre and looks for a moment longer than necessary, waiting for his remarks, but no words escape his lips. "To the Presidential Suite."
"May I confirm, the Presidential Suite?"
Red takes a hard gulp, thinking that he might've suspected something. "Yes," she replies.
Andre watches her with so much interest that his gaze might burn a hole through her. Red tries to ignore the lingering feeling.
Why the hell does that prince not seem even a tiny bit annoyed? He was kidnapped, for god's sake.
Well, maybe she hadn't threatened him enough.
"Where his royal highness is staying currently?" the concierge asks.
"Yes."
"Sure. What would you like to order, ma'am?"
Red takes a few steps forward before handing the phone to Andre, her gaze clearly saying, Don't you dare test me.
He leans back against the pillows, one wrist still cuffed to the ornate bedpost, but if the situation bothers him, he doesn't show it. Instead, there's a slow, knowing smile on his lips as he picks up the phone with his free hand, his voice smooth as silk.
"Buonasera, cara."
"Good evening, Your Highness. How may we be of service tonight? A private dinner, perhaps?"
"Oh. Since I seem to be your guest for a couple of days, let's make it one to remember. A dinner for two—something... intimate. Start with bruschetta al pomodoro, kissed by fresh basil, just like the air tonight. Then, bring us tagliolini al tartufo, the kind that melts on the tongue—though I have a feeling something else here might be even more dangerous than white truffle."
He glances at his captor, eyes gleaming with mischief.
"For the main course, a Wagyu steak, rare—like the chance to dine with someone as captivating as—" Andre lingers on that for a while. "And of course, a bottle of Barolo—full-bodied, deep, like the secrets we keep. Dessert? Oh, surprise me. But make sure it's dark chocolate and Limoncello—something sweet, with a little bite. Just the way I like it."
"A most excellent selection, Your Highness. We'll ensure your dinner is prepared to perfection—and that your guest is equally impressed. Your meal will be delivered to your suite within the hour. If you require anything else… let us know."
He sets the phone down, gaze drifting lazily back to his captor. "Now, tell me, am I the only one who's hungry, or are you as excited for the room service as I am?"
She leans against the wall, arms crossed, watching him with cold amusement. The chains clink lightly as he shifts, but he's too comfortable—too at ease for someone in his position.
"You speak as if you're at a five-star restaurant. Well, you are, but at least think of the situation you're in—handcuffed in a room with the person who could end you before dessert," she says, her voice as smooth as steel.
The soft click of the receiver settling back into place echoed in the suite. The order had been placed—an indulgent feast fit for royalty. But at this moment, the prince's appetite was elsewhere.
He shifted slightly, the golden handcuff glinting in the candlelight as he let out a slow, knowing breath. "A private dinner, a stunning captor… you certainly know how to treat a prince, cara." His voice was velvet, each word laced with amusement.
From where she leaned against the wall, Red didn't move. But the flicker of her gaze—sharp, assessing—told him she wasn't entertained. Not yet.
Then, with the kind of swiftness that made men fear her name, she pushed off the wall. In a single motion, her dagger was in her hand.
Before he could so much as blink, the cold steel slid beneath his jaw, pressing just enough to remind him who held the blade.
She stepped forward, tilting his chin up with the tip of the knife. "Tell me, prince… do you flirt with all your captors, or am I just that special?"
"You're definitely the most captivating captor I've had." Andre says with the faintest amusement.
Red replies with a scoff.
"You mistake captivity for courtship, Your Highness." Her voice was low, steady—dangerous.
The prince didn't tense. He didn't even look surprised. If anything, his lips curved in something maddeningly close to delight.
"And you mistake defiance for fear," he murmured, tilting his chin ever so slightly—just enough that the dagger barely nicked his skin. A single drop of crimson welled against the silver edge.
He didn't stop there. "Though if you wanted me breathless, cara, you could've just asked."
Her grip on the dagger didn't waver, but something flickered in her expression. Something unreadable.
She leans in, just close enough that he can feel her breath on his skin, the dagger tilting ever so slightly.
"Oh, make no mistake, Your Highness—when I want something, I don't ask."
She drags the blade away, slow and deliberate, the cold kiss of steel leaving a whisper of a cut beneath his jaw.
Then, with a smirk, she steps back—just out of reach.
"But if you're that desperate for my attention… maybe you should start begging."
"You know, Rouge … I'm starting to think you just enjoy touching me." Andre pronounced the R with such a purr that it send shivers down Red's spine.
She lets out a slow, amused breath, wiping the blade clean against her sleeve—casual, like he's already forgotten.
"Oh, please. If I enjoyed touching you, Your Highness…"
She tilts her head, lips curling into a smirk as she tosses the dagger up, catches it effortlessly.
"You'd already know the difference."
She turns away, giving him nothing but the sharp click of her boots against the floor.
______________________________________________________________________________________________________Red leans against the doorframe, arms crossed, scanning for any potential threats. They had been here for hours now, and nothing had happened. Either the royal guards were invisible geniuses plotting in secret, or they were the dumbest humans alive.
She presses her ear to the heavy door.
"The prince has been muttering to himself. Maybe he's actually lost it," one of the guards says.
"Wouldn't be shocking," another replies. "They say this whole lockdown is because he tried to break his engagement with Claire. Can you believe that? Who rejects a woman like her? She's got the whole bombshell thing going."
"Must be true, considering how furious he was last morning."
"Well, he's been weirdly tame. Should we check?"
"Mind your own damn business, idiot. He could be kidnapped for all I care."
"Yeah? And you'd be beheaded for all you care."
Red pulls back, taking a step away from the door. "Well, princeling, it seems your subjects don't adore you after all. What a waste of a pretty face."
"Big talk from my babysitter," Andre counters smoothly. "What, did they not trust you with a real job?"
Red hisses at him but refocuses on the conversation outside.
"Shall we go for a quick smoke?" the first guard asks.
"And leave the prince unattended?"
"He's probably asleep by now. Even that sneaky assistant of his hasn't shown up. What was his name again?"
"Lucas Sinclair?"
"Oh, right—Lucas. Ugh, how is he any better than us? Just an orphan who lucked out, and now all he does is lick royal boots."
"Damn, man. You got beef with him?"
"Why would I? I'm a proud, honorable soldier. He's just... worthless."
"Yeah, okay. You really need that smoke."
Red listens as their footsteps fade down the hall. For a moment, she just stands there, letting their words sink in. Just an orphan. Worthless. How many times had she heard that before? How many times had it been true?
Andre watches her. She's silent, shoulders tense, something dark flickering in her expression.
"You're very quiet, ma belle renarde. Should I be worried?" he asks.
Red snaps out of it. "You're still breathing, aren't you?"
"For now. But the night is young." He grins, stretching slightly—his shirt shifting just enough to remind her that yes, he's still obnoxiously pretty, even when tied up. Especially when tied up.
"You'd be a lot more handsome if you kept your mouth shut," she mutters.
"Make me."
Red exhales sharply through her nose. Two days with this man, and he's already driving her insane. He's too comfortable, too smug, even as a hostage. And worse—she's playing along.
Andre casually reaches for her dagger—not to use it, just to see how she reacts.
Red moves fast. In one fluid motion, she kicks the small table, knocking the candle off. The dagger clatters to the floor. She catches the candle before the carpet catches fire, then turns back to him, eyes flashing.
"Damn, you're fast," he chuckles.
She's in front of him in a second, one hand braced against the headboard, the other gripping his wrist.
"You really don't value your fingers, do you?"
Andre smirks at the sudden closeness. "You're awfully close, cara. People might start talking."
"People aren't here to know that, genius."
"Ah, so you do care about my reputation. And 'genius'? What are we, now?"
"Huh?"
"You've given me at least twenty nicknames in the last ten hours. A new record, I think."
"Keep dreaming."
"No nickname this time?" He pouts, face mockingly dejected.
"Keep talking, and I might start charging for entertainment." She shoves his wrist back down, done with his dramatics.
He just laughs, head falling back against the pillows. His laughter is so... easy. Carefree. Like he's not locked in a room with a trained assassin who nearly killed him twice today.
"Stop ogling me, sweetheart."
"I was not!" Red turns away, suddenly very interested in an imaginary speck of dust on the couch.
She wanders the room, trying to regain her focus. She needs to be in control, not letting him worm his way under her skin. This job is high stakes—even if it is technically glorified babysitting, she won't let it stain her record.
Andre watches her double-checking the locks. "Afraid someone will steal me?"
"You're not worth the effort."
"Now, that's just cruel. But here you are, protecting me."
"Kidnapping. Hostage. Potential murder. Not protection."
"Nah, I think it's a vacation. No duties, no commands—just me, you, and room service."
Red groans and grabs a water bottle from the minibar, inspecting it for tampering. Squeezes it. No punctures. Good.
"Water? Not very assassin-like."
"I don't trust anything else in this hotel."
"…You do realize you ordered me a full-course meal?"
"If you die from it, I'll have saved myself the trouble."
Andre clutches his chest. "You wound me, cara."
It's been half an hour now. Red has settled on the couch, arms crossed, watching him occasionally.
Andre, of course, is still watching her.
"You might as well glue your eyes in place, you pervert."
"You could sit closer. I don't bite."
"You've nearly died multiple times at my hands today. Maybe you should be less confident."
"Maybe you should be less interesting."
Silence.
She glares. He smirks.
This man is insufferable.
Then, for once, Andre sighs—a real one. His hand tightens slightly around the cuff. He glances out the window. Red notices. Watches him for a beat. Then looks away before she can care.
"What?" she asks.
"Just thinking."
"Dangerous habit."
"I know." His voice is softer. Too soft. Like a moment of truth slipped through the cracks.
Something shifts. The room is quiet, but it's not tense anymore. Just… something else. Something heavier. An unspoken truce.
"Tell me something, Red."
"No."
"That's not very cooperative."
"I'm not very cooperative."
"I had noticed."
A pause. He tilts his head. "Fine. I'll go first. I once stole a bottle of wine from the palace cellar and got away with it for an entire year before my brother found out."
She stares at him like he just admitted to high treason. "You're a prince. You could've just asked for it."
"Where's the fun in that?"
Before she can roll her eyes, a knock at the door makes them both flinch.
"Room service."
Finally.
Andre grins. "Saved by the meal. But tell me, cara… were you enjoying my company?"
"No. But I was enjoying the silence between your stupid remarks." She glares. "Talking to you lowers my IQ."
She steps toward the door, but not before grabbing her dagger.
The moment is over.
But it lingers.