A memory of one night

Enjoying absolute pleasure!

I am the banished prince—the scoundrel. So deflowering the enemy’s princess should be right up my alley. And when sweet, naive Juliet asks for one night of passion, I can’t resist making her beg. Her silky touch captures me, compels me beyond thought. But her cries of ecstasy might just be my undoing...

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RILEY PINE is the combined forces of two contemporary romance writers as you’ve never seen them before. Expect delicious, dirty and scandalous swoons. To stay up to date with all things Riley Pine head on over to rileypine.com, for newsletters, book details and more!

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My Royal Hook-Up

Riley Pine

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-07136-9

MY ROYAL HOOK-UP

© 2018 Riley Pine

Published in Great Britain 2018

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

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Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

EPILOGUE

X

Extract

About the Publisher

CHAPTER ONE

Damien

I SWIRL THE amber liquid in my crystal rocks glass. Inside the club, I can hear corks popping and the sound of raucous applause, which means Marius, owner of the Veil, has just replayed the end of the Nightgardin Rally. Again.

I shake my head. He doesn’t need to keep kissing my ass. I’ve already bought out the VIP room for the night, spending my winnings like they mean nothing. Because they never do.

Below my balcony, drunk revelers party in the street, all because I was reckless enough to use a hand-brake maneuver. One where the last racer to attempt it flipped his car and died before the pit crew could get to him.

I should be so lucky. Instead, here I am, strangers toasting me like I’m something so goddamned special, even while we all know the truth.

I’m a brother scorned. A prince banished. A killer.

But for them, I’m just some larger-than-life entertainment—the reckless, rich playboy who drives too fast and throws enough money around to make sure the party and the ride never stop.

“Your Highness? Marius has asked me to see to it that you are well taken care of. Can I get you another drink? Perhaps something to eat? Or maybe—a companion for the evening?” A voice beckons from the balcony door, but I don’t turn to face whoever has the balls to address me like that.

Your Highness.

Nobody calls me that anymore, not because of any request I’ve made but because everyone the world over knows that an Edenvale prince in exile retains no such rank or respect, especially here in Nightgardin—a country my father and brothers consider enemy territory—which means this asshole is mocking me.

I hold up my barely touched glass of scotch, my back still to him, and assume this will be enough for him to leave me to “celebrate” alone.

Instead, the scuff of his shoe alerts me he’s done exactly the opposite.

So I paint on my devil-may-care grin and turn to face him.

“Party’s inside. I’m good,” I say, taking pains not to speak through gritted teeth.

The man is dark-haired with tanned skin, dressed in finery unlike any of Marius’s other VIP room employees—a dark tailored suit, gold cuff links, Italian leather loafers. I may face him in jeans and a button-down with the sleeves rolled past the tattoos on my forearms, but that doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten the apparel I grew up in—the clothing I see my brother Nikolai wearing every time the likeness of Edenvale’s soon-to-be king is splashed across a magazine cover or television screen.

“Very well, Highness. But should you need anything at all, I am at your service.”

He grins, and a gold-covered canine catches the glint of the setting sun.

“Thank Marius for his concern, but the only thing I need is to be left alone.”

The man bows his head and then says nothing else as he disappears into the club.

The only thing that truly concerns Marius is that I throw my money around his club again in the future, but having his crony call me Highness? That is pushing things a bit too far.

I drain the rest of my drink and slip inside the crowded room. No one takes note as I make my way to the rear staircase. They’re here for the free party, not me. I head to the main level and the back entrance, the one that leads to the alley where my red Alfa Romeo—the race-winning vehicle—is parked and waiting for me.

And apparently, there’s no such thing as fucking privacy tonight, because my car doesn’t wait for me alone. Leaning against the brick wall of the club is a brunette beauty—Botticelli curls falling past her exposed shoulders to where her breasts threaten to spill over the top of her tight strapless minidress. A silver stiletto dangles from an index finger, its heel broken. In her other hand is a tumbler filled with a clear liquid. For a brief few seconds, I’m entranced, unable to look away. Then I remind myself that any woman who holds my attention for longer than that is trouble, so I shake myself free of her spell and storm to my car.

I reach for my keys, echoes of Your Highness ringing in my ears. I need to get out of here and clear my head.

But I’m fool enough to look back, and that’s when I notice her bloodied knee.

Shit.

“Do you need help?” I practically growl as I stalk toward her.

She startles, sucking in a breath, then all at once regains a composure that is as practiced as my own reckless veneer.

“I think I can handle a broken shoe,” she says flatly.

As I approach, though—because dammit I can’t leave her like that—I note the scrapes on her palm as well.

She shrugs. “At least I saved the drink.”

When we’re face-to-face I tower over her, even with one of her four-inch heels still on. Her other foot balances on the tips of bare toes, the nails painted pale pink. I drag my gaze up her lithe frame to her heaving chest, glossy lips and dark eyes. I nearly lose myself in their deep pools.

“What’s in there?” I ask, nodding at the glass.

“Vodka soda.”

“Good,” I say, then tug at the dress’s torn lining hanging in front of her barely parted thighs. My fingertips graze her soft skin, and she yelps as I tear the fabric free.

“What the hell are you doing?” she cries.

I don’t answer as I dip the piece of her dress into her drink, soaking it. Then I squat so I am eye to eye with her injured knee, one hand behind it to hold her steady. It’s here that I catch a glimpse of lace just north of her exposed thighs.

She gasps as I press the alcohol-soaked fabric to her injury, but something tells me it’s not from the sting.

The sight of a woman’s panties I can ignore, but dammit if I can’t smell her—tangy and sweet—and it’s all I can do to keep my hand still when I want to slide it up to confirm what I already know—that this strange beauty is wet behind that pretty pink lace.

“I don’t get out much,” she says with measured control as I clean the wound. “Not used to shoes like this.”

I look up, and she stares at me unapologetically. Those eyes are familiar, but I can’t place them. I swear I’d remember if I met someone like her before.

“Do you need a ride home?” I ask.

She glances toward the Alfa Romeo and then at me, those innocent lips parting into a wicked grin. Then she reaches for the hand behind her knee, slides it up between her thighs, confirming my suspicions.

“I thought you’d never ask.”

Juliet

The Alfa Romeo purrs like a wild jaguar and handles like a dream along the steep road that is one heart-pounding hairpin turn after another. I trace my fingers over the stitching in the caramel-colored leather seat and admire the sleek Italian interior design.

“Where to?” Damien growls softly.

“I don’t care,” I tell him. “Please...just drive fast.”

He acknowledges my request with a preoccupied shrug, and in a blink we’re racing up the mountain at over a hundred and forty klicks. The world outside my passenger-side window dissolves into a dark blur, and it takes all my strength not to pinch myself.

Two thousand feet below, a random club-goer from The Veil is wearing my drab black gown and is two thousand Euros richer. My curves are crammed inside her handkerchief-sized dress. A reckless trade, but one I don’t regret. It feels good to be a little wild.

When I hit puberty, Mother decreed that it was time to quit climbing trees and kicking around the football with the servant kids and start behaving like a Nightgardin princess...i.e: a stuffy, stuck-up, stick-in-the-butt.

The second I reached my sexual maturity, it was “bye-bye fun” and “hello monotony.” I now get to wear clothing more befitting an elderly nun than a young woman of twenty-one.

I’ve been coached to walk in a demure shuffle, keeping my gaze downcast—especially if men were in the vicinity—while waiting for my marriage to be arranged. After that blessed event occurs, I’ll be allowed the privilege of wedlock intercourse for the sole purpose of procreation so I may squeeze out a future heir and secure Nightgardin’s ancient throne.

Let’s face it...I’m a gilded goldfish destined to swim in useless circles until the day I get flushed down the proverbial drain.

The Alfa Romeo skids on loose gravel, wheels leaving the bitumen as I jerk forward, the seat belt catching between my breasts. My chest constricts. A precipitous drop looms mere feet from the end of the hood.

My eyes widen. I recognize this place. It’s Lovers’ Leap. Once upon a time, centuries ago, two star-crossed lovers took their lives here, jumping to their doom. I don’t know much about the legend’s particulars. Mother, the queen regent, forbade my governesses to fill my head with what she deemed “silly romantic notions.” Fewer novels and more nonfiction was her decree, preferably biographies about selfless women who sacrificed themselves for the good of their countries.

The man slouched in the driver’s seat watches my every move with his enigmatic eyes.

Goose bumps prickle along my legs. When I think of his strong, calloused hand on the back of my knee as he tended to my wound, I go slick between my legs.

At last he speaks. “Got to say, it took me quite some time to place your pretty face, but it’s finally come to me... Princess Juliet.”

I can’t hide my grimace.

“Not wearing your typical Nightgardin pillowcase tonight. That cocktail dress threw me off.”

He reaches out and his big hand covers my bare knee, sliding up. Not far. Only a few inches, but it’s enough to ignite a furnace under my skin.

He squeezes my flesh. Not hard, but enough that I tremble from a full-body shiver, my pulse quickening.

“Time to come clean. What’s your agenda? Trying to start a goddamn war with Edenvale or what?” His laugh is bitter. “If so, lots of luck. Word on the street is that you’re kept away from the media, so allow me to update you. My family despise me. See, I once killed a girl, one about as old as you, Princess.”

“I know this,” I hiss, knocking away his hand. “Do not think to patronize me, Prince Damien.”

“Just Damien these days, doll. I was stripped of titles when banished.” He idly rubs the dark scruff coating his chin. “But if you know that I’m dangerous, and that my beloved family has disowned me, why set me up to kidnap you and create a diplomatic row? Who’s paying you?”

“Paying me?” I can’t help it. I burst out laughing, and good Lord it feels good. At court, I must always remain so serious.

“Proper decorum is essential for a queen,” Mother says.

But yesterday she added a second sentence. “And for a bride.”

“I’m to be married.” My laughter dies a quick death. “I’m not here to create a diplomatic scene. I’m here because palace maids gossip and I happen to have excellent hearing. They say that Damien Lorentz, the banished prince of Edenvale, can give a woman ultimate pleasure. Your talents and skill are legendary, even here across the border.”

Now it’s his turn to laugh. “Is that what they say?” he drawls. “I suppose I have seduced more than my fair share of servants.”

“I’ve just learned that I am to wed Rupert Dingleworth, the Duke of Wartson.”

“Insane.” Damien furrows his brows in obvious disbelief. “That old goat’s pushing sixty.”

“Fifty-seven, but who’s counting? Wartson submitted a specimen to the royal hospital, and the medical report makes it clear that he can still sire children.”

“You’ve got to be joking.” Damien sounds equal parts horrified and humored. “Are you telling me that he submitted his swimmers for genetic testing?”

I nod. “Marriage is for one reason in my world. Procreation.”

“Fucking hell. What a tedious country.”

“It’s a matter of duty before pleasure. It’s how we’ve endured for a thousand years.” I flinch inwardly, hearing my sharp tone. I sound exactly like Mother.

“Fifty-seven,” he says more to himself. “And how old are you? Eighteen?”

I make a face. “Twenty-one last week.”

“Old enough for the Duke of Wartson to pump your womb full of his certified spunk?”

My flinch wipes the sarcastic smile from his lips.

“I’m sorry, Juliet,” he says gruffly. “Your situation sucks. But I don’t see where I fit in.”

“I’m a virgin.” I decide to cut right to the chase. “And as the future queen, I understand my obligations. But... I’ll have an entire lifetime procreating with Rupert. All I am seeking is a way to survive the lonely years ahead.” I lick my lips, suddenly shy. “A memory...a memory of one night experiencing absolute pleasure. And that’s where you come in.”

CHAPTER TWO

Damien

“DO YOU KNOW the story of this place?” I ask her as we both stare straight ahead. The sun has set now, and before us lies nothing but a black abyss.

She shakes her head sheepishly, and I try to wrap my head around how sheltered this young woman truly is.

“Centuries ago, a Nightgardin prince—Maximus—fell ass over elbow for Calista, an Edenvale princess.”

She scoffs. “You’re so eloquent.”

I shrug. “You didn’t come to me for eloquence, Princess.” She quiets, so I continue. “The princess was here with her father as the two kings tried to negotiate a peace treaty. Of course, no such thing happened. But when Maximus was charged with showing Calista the royal grounds while the two kings attempted to negotiate terms, it was love at first sight.”

She snorts, and her hand immediately flies to her mouth as her pale cheeks grow pink.

I raise a brow, and she crosses her arms, defiant. It’s a good look on her.

“Love at first sight? Please. Despite my future being mapped out for me without any say in the matter, I don’t daydream about something better. About what could be. I’m not naive enough to believe in fairy tales.”

I shrug. “Believe what you want, Highness. I don’t need to finish the story.”

She grabs my bare forearm, the tips of her fingers branding me with their heat.

“Please,” she says. “Keep going.”

I remove her hand from my skin and place it in her lap, needing the distance.

“I’m not looking to spend the next couple decades in a Nightgardin cell. But—as you wish. I will continue the tale.” I take a steadying breath, wondering for a moment if she felt the same searing touch of her skin on mine. Then I shake my head, banishing the ridiculous notion, and continue. “When the kings emerged from the negotiation chamber, neither Maximus nor Calista was anywhere to be found. But the princess’s lady in waiting was discovered bound to a tree in the woods, gagged so she could not call for help. She’s the one who revealed that the young lovers had escaped on horseback hours before, riding up the winding path of this very mountain.”

I watch her chest rise and fall, watch patches of pink flush the skin on her neck, her cheeks. The same hue as the panties I know she’s got on under that tiny dress.

She swallows, and something about this moment and the silence—seeing the Princess of Nightgardin rapt from nothing other than my words—it’s the most intimate thing I’ve experienced in a good, long while.

“They came—here?” she asks, her voice barely above a whisper.

I nod, one single, slow movement.

“Long before the roads were paved, this whole lookout was lush and green, the perfect spot for two young royals to...” She swallows again, and I hold off on giving her the satisfaction of knowing. Instead, I lean toward her, bold and reckless, my lips stopping short of grazing her earlobe. She smells sweet like vanilla, which makes me long to taste her. “And Princess,” I whisper, “there is nothing like the joining of two people in pure, undiluted love.”

Her breath catches—a tiny yet dangerous sound.

“Calista’s lady in waiting led the palace guards and those the King of Edenvale brought with him right to this spot. It is said the king raised his own hand to his dishonored daughter, but Maximus put himself in harm’s way instead. They didn’t get a chance to plead for their lives. Swords were raised on either side, a declaration of war. Either way, they were already dead. So the two joined hands and backed away from the skirmish until no ground was left to tread.”

I straighten and see a tear leak from the corner of the princess’s eye.

“I will never have a love such as they did,” she says, voice trembling.

I let out a bitter laugh. “You want a love that will send you to your grave? If that’s the case, you’re an even bigger fool than I thought.”

She raises her hand, but I catch her wrist midslap.

“How dare you judge me?” she asks through gritted teeth. “You roam the continents taking anything and everything that your heart desires, yet I will never have such a luxury. Don’t you get it? You may be banished, but you are free.”

My grip tightens on her wrist, yet she does not struggle to free herself.

Everything my heart desires. What a fucking joke.

“My heart,” I snap, “died in the wreck that killed the only person I was stupid enough to love. So don’t you speak to me of freedom. I am a prisoner, just like you.”

And if I give her what she came looking for tonight, I’ll likely rot away in Nightgardin’s highest-security prison—if the king doesn’t kill me first. It would be reckless as hell to assume anything less.

But I stopped playing it safe the second I bedded my own brother’s fiancée. I have nothing—nothing—left to lose.

“Are you refusing my request?” she asks, jutting out her chin.

I bait her. “What you’re asking for is an act of treason. I may be a man without a country, but yours has tolerated my presence for some time now. It’s the closest thing I have to a—” I bite my tongue before uttering the word home. I am not foolish enough to think I belong anywhere, let alone here. But an act against Nightgardin, even by a banished Edenvale prince, would put the rest of my family at risk. “I will need some sort of...insurance...that you won’t have your way with me and then immediately report me. Or...if that is your endgame...at least something that will work in my defense in a Nightgardin court. Though I doubt I’d even be given a trial.” I’m mostly joking, because I know this night can end in only one way—with me behind bars and my family none the wiser. But she clears her throat.

“Very well,” she says. “What do you truly know about Nightgardin law?”

I chuckle. “Enough that I understand a night with you could cost me my life, but I’ve already admitted as much. What are you playing at, Princess?”

She dips her head. “If they find out I lied—that I came to the city to consort with an Edenvale prince instead of cloistering myself in prayer—you will not be the only one guilty of treason.”

My throat goes bone dry. “They would hang you in the palace square.”

“Perhaps,” she says. “Or worse. It would be justified. That would be up to the king and queen to decide.”

It would be up to her parents to decide whether or not to kill their only child for the crime of fucking me.

“This is the only time in my life that I get to decide, Damien. Let me choose who gets to take the most precious gift I have to offer. Because I choose you.”

She reaches beneath the skirt of her barely there dress and tugs her panties down her thighs, over her knees and ankles until they lie in a ball on the Alfa Romeo’s floor.

My nostrils flare. There it is again, the faint tang of her sweet, intimate scent.

“No one knows I’m here,” she says. “And by the time they find me, you’ll be long gone.”

She takes my palm, places it high on her thigh and simply says, “Please.”

Somehow, with one hand, I maneuver the car into Reverse and onto the road as my other hand skims soft skin, sliding higher, until I’m there.

I dip one finger between her soft, wet folds, and she cries out, bucking in her seat.

“Fucking hell,” I growl, then put the pedal to the floor, speeding off to certain death.

Juliet

I’m going to die.

No, really. I’ll be dead before my next breath.

My back arches and my hips circle to an uninhibited rhythm.

Damien takes another hairpin turn, one-handed, because he’s delved the other between my thighs. His palm dances over my clit, working me until my sensitive skin throbs in time with my pounding heart. When he plunges his fingers into my tight slit, the Alfa Romeo wheels aren’t the only things squealing.

My whimper dwindles to a soft pant as I writhe, drenched with an unfamiliar need. Damien can’t maintain expert control of this sports car and me all at the same time. It’s too much. No man is this dexterous. He’s going to drive us off a cliff to our doom.

But his long, relentless fingers plunge inside my folds, filling me up, taking me to the gates of Heaven. My front teeth clamp hard on my lower lip. I won’t tell him to stop. Death might be close at hand—but by the old gods and new...mine shall be a glorious end.

“Jesus, doll. You’re a hellcat, aren’t you?” He does that magic swirling trick with his fingers again, confident and in control, playing me like a virtuoso violinist, and my scream is a sound between a breathless yelp and a squeak of delight. My whole body begins to shudder. My derriere clenches as my thighs tremble.

Good lord, what is happening to me?

“Fuck, I love a woman who makes some noise while she comes,” he growls.

Another perfectly aggressive stroke, and my inner walls pulse in a series of mind-blowing contractions that milk his fingers. When I grow still, he cups my sex and teases my silky strands with a soft tickle.

“You have a fucking amazing pussy,” he growls.

But I’m too greedy for games, and too starved for touch.

“More.” I grab his wrist and grind my pelvis against his palm without a shred of decorum. I can hear my wetness sucking against his rough skin and don’t recognize this woman, wild and roused, filled with savage yearning. I’ve touched myself before. A couple awkward fumbles beneath my quilt in the dead of night, but I never knew exactly what I was doing.

It’s humbling that Damien seems to know my body’s responses better than I do.

“Shit,” he snarls, slamming the brakes. We skid to a stop in the middle of the road. I turn around, tensing at the anticipated impact of another car, but the hour is late. No other vehicle is in sight.

“Climb aboard, love. But be a good girl and grab the bottle of lube in the glove box.”

“Excuse me?” Climb aboard? Lube?

“Time to get your sweet ass out of that seat and straddle me. You want to fuck? Fine, but we’re going to do it my way, Princess. And behind the wheel is my favorite position.”

I blink once. Twice. But he says nothing, just regards me with those magnetic steely eyes.

Oh my god. He’s not joking. I try to swallow. “Let me get this straight. You’re planning to drive while having intercourse with me?” I grew up riding horses, but something tells me that losing my virginity to a man behind the wheel of an Italian sports car is nothing I could have possibly prepared for.

“Are you up for the challenge or not, Princess?” His eyes are dark as sin. “Because if the answer is no, I can turn this car around and take you back to the club.”

“No! Wait!” I cry. “Don’t do that.” My hand trembles as I move to unbuckle my seat belt, nerves churning my stomach. But despite my unease, I want this; I want him—badly.

In for a penny, in for a pound.

“Hold up. One final thing.” His voice is a warning, silk sliding over gravel. “Have you heard everything the maids said about my...prowess?”

“Just that you are an expert in the arts of lovemaking.”

There is no humor in his chuckle. “And what do you think of my nickname?”

“Nickname?” I frown.

“The Backdoor Baron?” He sounds exasperated. “Ring any bells?”

My frown deepens. “I do not understand. You are a baron? Weren’t you stripped of all titles? And what’s all this about a back door?”

His intense gaze threatens to undo me. “You really are a sheltered innocent, aren’t you? The nickname is a joke, but not without an element of truth. I give women pleasure, but when I’m inside them, I only enter one way. Through the back door.”

I wait for him to elaborate, but nothing is forthcoming. “You speak in riddles.”

“Are you joking?” Two lines crease between his brows. “Isn’t this why you sought me out? To have me give you pleasure while keeping your technical virginity intact for your husband?”

Confusion presses against my skull. Silently I curse my parents for keeping me so cloistered and ignorant of the world. And I curse myself for letting them.

He huffs a curt sigh. “All right, look. When I fuck, I don’t do it here.” He reaches under my dress and enfolds my sex. “I do it here.” He slides his hand away and squeezes my backside.

Clarity hits me like a bolt of lightening.

Backside. Back door. Like...butt.

Oh!

My cheeks are surely turning the color of rubies. “People do that?”

“Sure.” He winks. “They do with me.”

“I...no...no... I do not want to try such a thing. I wanted... I mean... I expected...the front door?” I grimace. This conversation is by far and away the most awkward dialogue I’ve ever endured.

Beep! A loud horn breaks the quiet night, and a Porsche swivels around us, the driver making a vulgar gesture as he passes.

“Right back at you, buddy.” Damien hits the accelerator, resuming our journey. He quickly glances in my direction before looking back to the road. “I’ve met your betrothed, you know. The Duke of Wartson. We’ve played poker together once or twice.”

“Oh?” The sudden change of topic confuses me.

“You really have to marry that horny old goat?”

Tears prickle in my eyes. “Indeed.”

He’s quiet a moment before breathing out a rough sigh. “Fine. I’ll give you what you ask for. But not here. Not while I’m driving, and not in the back door. For you, I’m going to make an exception.” His smile is rueful. “Consider it an early wedding present.”

He drives slower, but just as masterfully. The perfect, chiseled lines of his face are made for brooding. I find myself hypnotized.

“Damien?” I ask at last. It’s strange how his name tastes so familiar on my tongue. “Why do you only ever take women in the...back door? Have you never tried the, uh, front door either?” A mad sort of hope flickers in me. Perhaps I’m not so stupidly naive and innocent. Perhaps he is like me, a virgin.

That faint glimmer of hope is doused by his bitter chuckle.

“Yes, Princess. I’ve tried the front door. But only ever with one woman.” His knuckles go bloodless on the steering wheel. “A woman who is now dead.”

Realization dawns on me. “Your brother’s fiancée. Your once future queen. You seduced her, didn’t you?”

“Technically, Victoria seduced me,” he rasped. “But I suppose I should be proud of my notoriety.”

“She was your lover?”

“I had rather thought that she was my one true love.” A shadow falls across his face. “But I was nothing but a boy, and it was all a lie. Yet when it came to our lovemaking...sex meant something with her. And I’ve never felt that way about another woman. So I still fuck. I just do it on terms that make it bearable.”

My heart aches at the pain lacing his words.

We arrive at an exquisite hotel, and he pulls past the main entrance. Instead, we approach a gated drive from a side street. He punches a pass code into a keypad, and the great brass doors swing wide open. He pulls forward.

“So what makes me different?” I don’t look at him. I focus my gaze on the ten-story hotel before us. I breathe a small sigh of relief that although we are in a public place, no one will see me enter. I don’t want to be found out before I get what I came here for.

“I’ve been asking myself the same question,” he mutters. “And I don’t have a good reply. At least not an easy one. So why don’t we go inside and see if the answer is hiding in your perfect pussy?”

CHAPTER THREE

Damien

WE RIDE THE elevator in silence. With any other woman, I’d have made her come at least twice before we reached the top. But something about Juliet is different, and it’s more than knowing she is Nightgardin’s virgin heir. I can’t place my finger on it, but I want to take my time with her.

When we reach the hotel’s penthouse, the doors slide open, and Juliet sucks in a breath.

Rich mahogany wood covers the floor that leads us to the main living space where the sofa—the color of the deepest ocean—sits before a roaring fire.

“How did you...?” she asks, and I grin.

“I tip well,” I tease. “And in return, I get special—favors.”

She blushes, then moves toward the couch, running her fingers across the lush fabric. She’s barefoot now, having removed her one good shoe, and something about her seems so casual and comfortable in what must be the most foreign place she’s ever been—a strange man’s home.

I stride up behind her. “The only thing better than Italian velvet against your skin, Highness...is me.” I brush a soft kiss on the nape of her neck, and she shudders. Then she spins to face me.

“Damien?” she says, demure and shy.

“Princess?”

She licks her lips, then reaches behind and unzips her dress. It drops to the floor.

“God in heaven,” I say, my strangled voice unrecognizable.

That same flush from before creeps up her neck to her cheeks, and she grins. “Do you—like what you see?”

I take my time drinking her in, ignoring my cock’s urgency to free itself from my jeans and plunge between those lithe legs.

Her full breasts are milk white, her pale pink nipples pebbling at their tips. Beneath the left one is a constellation of birthmarks that, if connected, would draw an arrow straight to her heart. I trace the shape with my index finger.

“You should be allowed to love,” I say, not knowing where the words are coming from.

Her breasts rise and fall as she breathes in and out.

“I will learn to love my husband,” she says flatly. “It is my duty.”

I brush my thumb over her nipple, and she bucks into my hand.

“I want to see you,” she says, her voice barely more than breath. “Before you do any more, I want to see you while I still have my wits about me.”

I nod, but because I am a greedy bastard, I dip my head quickly and swirl my tongue around that perfect, hardened peak.

She cries out, and I step away, grinning.

She narrows her eyes at me, then takes a bold step forward as she starts to unbutton my shirt. She opens it, running her palms over my chest, and pushes it off my shoulders until it falls to the floor.

Her hands skim over my biceps and my forearms. They slow as her fingers run over the raised scars I’ve made invisible beneath the ink.

She looks up at me, wide-eyed.

“There was a lot of shattered glass in the—accident.” That last word tastes so bitter on my tongue I wish I could spit it out. Or take it back. Because I was behind the wheel. I was the one responsible for taking the life of another. Accident is far too kind a word for what I did. The Royal Police blamed the weather and absolved me of any technical crime. But I know the truth, as does my brother Nikolai, the man who loved Victoria too. If we hadn’t run, she’d still be alive.

She reaches for my face, and I flinch. But she is not deterred. Her gentle hand traces my most visible scar, the one that runs from my left temple to the line of my jaw. The one no one ever talks about anymore because what is left to say? Every time I look in the mirror, I’m reminded of the monster I truly am.

“You punish yourself,” she says.

“Stop,” I tell her, but she shakes her head.

“Maybe you aren’t as free as I thought you were. Maybe,” she continues, unbuttoning my jeans, “we’re more alike than I ever could have imagined.”

I step out of my shoes and let her lower my pants and briefs to the floor. Then I step out of those as well.

“Oh!” she says, staring at my erection. Then, “Oh.” This time with less shock and something more like reverence. “Can I...touch it?”

I chuckle, grateful for her act of levity, even if she didn’t mean it.

“Here,” I say, taking her hand and wrapping it around my shaft. I growl at the feel of her gripping me, and her mouth falls open in a perfect O.

“What now?” she asks, her voice cracking on the second word.

“Stroke it,” I demand. “From the root all the way to the top, keeping the pressure firm.”

She obeys, teasing me as she moves achingly slow until she reaches the tip, precome leaking onto my sensitive skin. As if she’s done it a hundred times before, she swirls her thumb over my slick skin.

“Fucking hell, Princess,” I grind out over gritted teeth. “Are you sure you haven’t done this before?”

She lets out a nervous laugh, and her dark eyes meet mine. “It’s instinct, I guess. And something about you makes me feel at ease.” She slides down over my length and repeats the movement again. Then again. And Christ if I don’t think my knees are about to buckle.

“Me?” I say, my voice rough. “I make you feel at ease? The monster of a prince who isn’t even welcome in his own country? You want me to take the most precious gift you have to give?”

Because suddenly this isn’t a game anymore. It’s real. So fucking real my chest hurts. Because this woman deserves better than I could ever give.

Pleasure, yes. I have plenty of that in store. But how can that be enough for her when she knows what her future holds beyond this night?

She tugs me toward her, and before I know what is happening, I’m between her legs, my tip stroking her folds as she sucks in a series of sharp breaths.

I groan. She’s wet, warm and soft as silk. “What the fuck are you doing?”

She presses her chest to mine, squeezing my cock between her thighs.

“There’s no such thing as love at first sight,” she says, echoing her words from the Lovers’ Leap. “Take me, Damien. However you want.”

Before I can say anything in response, she tangles her fingers in my hair and pulls me to her, crushing her lips against mine.

You’re right, Princess. There’s no such thing.

Juliet

Damien feasts on me like a man possessed. Moaning, I surrender to his tongue’s wicked assault, savoring each possessive glide. His mouth is everywhere as he treats my body like a triple-scoop chocolate fudge sundae with a cherry on top. I am reduced to making halting, mewling whimpers like a lost kitten.

My entire life I have felt alone, but in this moment, I am found.

“What happens next?” I gasp as he licks up the side of my belly. “You insert your penis in my vagina and we commence procreation?”

“Procreation?” he barks out a laugh. “Jesus, Princess. Imagine taking the Nightgardin throne with an Edenvale bastard in your belly.”

I flush, reality returning for an unwelcome moment. “I’m sorry. Growing up I was never allowed to call sexual congress by any other word than procreation.”

He stands and tilts my chin so I am staring up at him dead-on with no escape. No shame either. I’m utterly naked and at his mercy, and yet feel safer than I have in years.

“We’re not having sexual congress either, my lady.”

“No?” My voice is husky.

He shakes his head and leans in, his lips pressing to my ear, nipping my sensitive skin until an enticing heat spreads down my neck, radiating to my breasts. “This is the part where you say, ‘Fuck me, Damien.’”

The word surges through my core like a jolt of electricity. “I... I don’t say such things.”

He smugly arches a single brow. “Too bad then. Because you don’t get my cock unless you ask. No, scratch that. Unless you demand it. Because tonight’s lesson is this...” He strokes the ruddy erection standing at attention between his muscular legs. “This isn’t a penis. It’s a cock. My cock. And I don’t just put it in you.”

I press my hip bones against him. “What...do you do?”

He feigns a solemn expression, but by now I know better. “Utter the secret password and you’ll discover all.”

“P-password?” I stumble.

“Fuck me, Damien.”

I lick my dry lips and avert my gaze to his biceps, perfectly sculpted and coursing with thick veins. Goose bumps pepper my skin as I mumble the words.

“I’m sorry,” he replies coolly. “I didn’t quite catch that.”

I repeat myself a fraction louder, my hands balled against my sides.

He kisses me deeply, his tongue teasing mine in leisurely, long licks. “Still not quite hearing you.”

I grab his chin and force him to look me straight in the eye. “Fuck me, Damien,” I announce, loud and clear—so much so that I don’t recognize my own voice. Because no such words would ever spill from my lips. Yet here they are. “Fuck me...hard?” I add the second part to my question on impulse, but it makes me achy and wet all the same.

He growls his approval. “Good girl.”

He scoops me into his arms before I can draw another breath and carries me to a bedroom with an impressive king-size bed.

I expect him to toss me down and ravage my body like a depraved animal.

Instead, he eases me onto the mattress as if I am a rare and delicate gift.

“You are every inch a queen.” A low rumble vibrates through his chest. His gaze full of dark promise...and something that I’d be tempted to describe as wonder.

Sweat mists my fevered skin as invisible flames fire through my belly. I know, I know, that I don’t believe in love—especially with someone I just met—but at that moment, I swear I fall for him...just a little. Enough that I’m dizzy and giddy at the thought of his hands on me again.

“What do we do now?” I ask.

“Now I get some protection so we can fuck without doing any of that procreating you are all so fond of in this realm.”

He turns and walks to his dresser, opening a top drawer. I admire his firm, masculine ass. I memorize the indents on either side of his buttocks and the way his hard quads bulge with muscle.

When he returns, he clutches a small silver square.

“How does the protection...work?” I grimace. But in this such case, I was never meant to be protected, for what queen would want protection from her king?

“Watch and learn.” He rips the corner with his teeth and removes an object that I don’t recognize. Then he places it on the edge of his...cock...and rolls it down.

“Oh, I understand!” I exclaim, catching on at last. “You are going to use that to catch all of the semen.”

His laugh is no more than a single gruff bark, but nevertheless, it’s genuine. “You’re an odd little duck, you know that?”

I raise my chin. “No one addresses me like that.” But then I drop the fake imperious routine and crack a grin. “All right, all right, you win. I am as odd a duck as there ever was. Sorry.”

“No. Never apologize.” His nostrils flare. “Your innocence, it’s a rare thing this day and age.”

“Perhaps, but I’d rather it wasn’t my sole value.”

Something flashes deep in his eyes. “I understand. And I’m not just turned on because you are a virgin. I... I...need you to know that.”

I’m surprised. I never expected to see this notorious playboy seem uncertain.

“Here’s the deal,” he says. “I don’t know what’s happening here. But since I saw you in that alley, it’s as if I’ve left the real world and entered some kind of dream.” He crawls over me, tangling his hands in my hair. “Life suddenly feels brighter. I swear I smell roses and hear snippets of music. What the fuck are you doing to me, Princess?”

“This.” I wrap my legs around his trim hips, and he presses right at the center of me, positioning himself at my wet, but tight, entrance.

“You’re sure you want this?” He searches my face, and I do the same with him.

I know what he’s really asking. Do you want me?

And god forgive me, I do. I really, really do.

He is so beautiful, scars and all. “I wanted you before I knew you. After all, you’re very handsome,” I admit shyly. “But now after meeting you... Damien. I need you. I need you to be the one.”

He presses his forehead to mine, and as he gives me a deep, lush kiss, a shudder rocks him. “I don’t know what the hell I’ve done in my shitty life to deserve you, but whatever it is, I’m grateful.”

I laugh softly. “You promise you won’t go for the, you know, back door?”

The corner of his mouth quirks into a roguish grin. “I am a man with sexual urges. I make no apologies for that,” he says. “But I’ve only been inside one other pussy, and that was a long, long time ago.”

“I imagine it’s like riding a bike,” I say, fighting for a levity that I do not feel.

His eyes darken as his tip parts my intimate lips. “Gorgeous, trust me. It’s nothing like riding a bike.”

And then, slowly, inexorably, he begins to enter me, inch by slow inch.

“Oh!” I gasp. There’s a sharp bite of pain and then... “Oh.” I moan. “Oh God.”

He starts slow and gentle, sliding in to the root and then out again with such care it makes me ache.

Ache for him. For more.

“Christ, Princess,” he says, sinking into me again, and I run my fingers over the taut muscles of his arms, his abdomen. And then I squeeze that perfectly sculpted ass.

It’s glorious.

“I didn’t know.” My voice shakes. “I didn’t know what I was giving up. And now that I do—”

He gives me a searing kiss before I can finish, and it’s a good thing. Because if I spoke what I know now is the truth, I’d damn us both.

I don’t ever want to give you up.

I’m being cared for. Revered. Worshipped. Damien slides a hand between my legs and works my sensitive pearl while filling me with every last perfect inch of him.

Sweat sheens our bellies. I can’t be quiet. I try, but it’s impossible. You might as well ask me to catch a rainbow between my fingertips. I buck and arch, my body moving like a wild thing that cannot—that from here on out will not—be tamed. I’m drenched and swollen with need. My inner thighs soaked with my own arousal, creamy for his granite erection.

He pulls me up and falls back on his knees, still joined to me and takes my breast into his mouth, sucking at my hardened peak in hot, confident pulls until I cry out, a sound so guttural I wouldn’t know it was human if it hadn’t come from my own lips.

“Fuck me, Damien,” I whimper, and he raises his head, his eyes meeting mine, his gaze narrowed and intense.

“Louder,” he orders.

“Fuck me!” I command, riding up then slamming down over him until he’s filled me to my core.

He answers me with an animal roar, lifting me off the bed completely and pinning my ass against the wall, his cock still buried inside me, nestled against some hidden bundle of nerves.

He kisses me hard, and I bite his lip, tasting the coppery tang of blood. His thrusts come hard and fast, each expert stroke coaxing me to buck against him until my vision threatens to go black.

Then—I explode. I am a million pieces, every nerve so sensitive I fear the slightest touch now will bring me to tears. I’m not sure I’ll ever be whole again.

I lower my legs to the floor, but Damien still holds me, as if he knows I might fall.

“Juliet.” He whispers my name in my ear. “That was god damn beautiful.”

His voice is full of the same wonder that courses through my veins.

I can tell it is with a groan of regret that he pulls from me, and I feel a flood between my thighs.

“Shit,” he hisses.

“What happened?” I dip my head to see milky white liquid running down my legs. “Have I done something wrong?”

He should be smiling, but his expression is grim. “No, gorgeous. You were perfect. More than perfect. But the condom broke.”

CHAPTER FOUR

Damien

I SHOW A shaken Juliet to the bathroom, and she locks herself in. I press my palms to the door, my head falling against the heavy wood, and I hear the shower start.

“Fuck. What the hell have I done?”

I’ve most likely ruined the future queen of Nightgardin. I haven’t set her up for banishment. I’ve put her on the path to execution.

Somehow I make my way to the edge of the bed where I sit, head in hands. Two women. I’ve only been with two women like this, and I’ve likely now sent both to their graves.

I hear the click of the bathroom door, but I don’t dare move. How can I look her in the eye?

“Damien,” she says softly, resting her warm palms on my bare thighs. “Damien, look at me. Please.”

I lift my head, realizing the emotion that overwhelmed me when I was inside her was not merely from sex. Because at this moment I realize I’d do just about anything for this woman—this stranger whose life is forever changed because of me.

I expect her cheeks to be tear-soaked, the whites of her eyes to be bloodshot. Instead, I find a crystal-clear gaze coming from a woman I almost don’t recognize.

“Juliet?” I ask like a fool. Of course it’s her.

“Everything will be okay,” she says with a sureness that makes my chest ache. Because she could not be more wrong.

She’s wrapped in a plush white hotel towel, her rich brown locks dripping onto her shoulders.

“I fucked up,” I say, cradling her cheeks in my hands. “Don’t you see? This is who I am. I ruin anyone and anything I care about.”

She grins and strokes my hair from my forehead.

“Are you saying you care about me, Damien Lorentz?” Then she lets the towel fall.

“What the hell are you doing?” I ask as her gaze falls to my cock, hard as a rock, my body betraying me.

“I am not fertile,” she says. “At least, not right now. My governess taught me to chart my fertility the day I first bled. Orders from the king and queen. They wanted to be sure that as soon as I turned twenty-one and they handed me off to Nightgardin’s next king that he would plant his heir in me on his first try.” She grabs my cock, squeezes my shaft in her now-expert grip. “Of course I have not tested the method’s effectiveness before tonight.” She bats her long lashes at me.

My eyes widen. I’ve never heard of such a method, yet I’ve never given a shit what a woman did since what I did in the bedroom never put me in danger of getting a woman pregnant. How is she not afraid? How is she not beating her fists against my chest, berating me for ruining her?

“I’m free of disease, if that’s something you’re worried about,” I say, aiming to reassure her when the truth is that she doesn’t seem the least bit nervous, and I wonder if it’s not my own apprehension I’m trying to assuage. “I’ve always been safe with—” Saying it aloud now seems too boorish.

“With the countless other women you’ve taken from behind?”

Juliet finishes the thought, my bold little princess.

I nod. “Why is it different with you?” The question is more to myself, but something in me wants her to know that the second I buried myself inside her, everything changed.

“I don’t know,” she answers. “I sought you out for what I thought you could do for me physically.” She kisses my forehead, her taut nipples brushing against my chest. My cock pulses in reaction. “But you were kind and caring the second you approached me outside the club.”

“You were hurt,” I say, curtly.

“And you could have left me to fend for myself. But you didn’t.”

She strokes my hair, her gaze unblinking and fixed on mine. Then kisses the tip of my scar at the side of my jaw, and my chest tightens. I’ve survived for years on the rush of fast cars and the types of encounters with women that allowed my heart to remain numb.

I rest my hands on her hips, my fingertips kneading her soft skin.

“I wasn’t supposed to feel,” I admit, realizing I’m treading on very thin ice. Because feeling something for this woman is not an option.

“Do you want to know what I feel, Damien?” But she doesn’t wait for me to respond. “I feel trust.” She lifts my palm to her chest, my fingertips tracing the arrow of birthmarks, placing it over her heart—and her beautiful bare breast. “Right in here. And I feel safe.”

I let out a bitter laugh. “You’re deluding yourself, Princess. No one is safe with me.” Of this I am certain.

She climbs over me, balancing so the tip of my cock teases her opening.

“If you could keep from hurting me, would you?”

“Yes,” I admit with zero hesitation. “But we both know that isn’t an option.”

“This is, though,” she says, sinking over me like a custom-made racing glove.

She gasps, and I growl.

“Juliet... Jesus... Do you not...understand...what just happened?” I can barely speak because I am inside her with no barrier, her rich, tight warmth driving me out of my goddamn mind. “If your little chart doesn’t work, I could have put you at more risk than you ever anticipated.”

She pushes my shoulders, urging me onto my back.

“I understand three things,” she says. “The first is that it will take days for anyone to find me, as my governess believes I’m spending the weekend cloistered at the royal church praying and thanking God for the good fortune of my match.”

This makes me grin. “You really are an evil genius in disguise. Do you know that?”

She raises a brow. “The second is that I’m not ready to give you up for my duties after only one night. Not yet.”

I grip her hips tight and pulse inside her.

She writhes.

“And the third...” She pauses, and I watch that now-familiar flush creep up her chest, to her neck, and finally to her cheeks.

“Just say it, Princess. It can’t be worse than asking me if we were going to procreate.”

She lets out a nervous laugh, then leans down, pressing her breasts to my chest, her lips a breath away from my ear.

“The third is that when I do go home and marry Rupert, I’ll have the memory of my short time with you—the closest I will ever get to being passionately, ass over elbow, in love.”

I flip her over and kiss her with the hunger of a man starved of food, of water, of air, of anything and everything essential to the most basic survival.

Because she is all of these things and so much more. And so, for the next two days, I eat, drink and breathe nothing other than Juliet. I worship her body, and she nourishes my soul. She has unlocked a gate I thought no longer had a key, and hell if I know how the hell I’ll ever close it back up.

On the morning of the third day, we languish atop my plush duvet. I pepper her skin with soft kisses from her ankles to her lush pink lips, then back down again. I pause mid journey for a quick taste of her tangy sweetness.

She gasps.

“I could survive on this alone,” I say.

She laughs, pushing up on her elbows to look down at me. “You’d starve eventually.”

“It would be worth it,” I tell her, then give her one long, slow lick.

She fists the duvet, then collapses onto her back as she writhes against my lips.

“We’re never leaving this room,” she says.

“As you wish, Princess.” And slip one finger inside her, then two, as I suck her swollen clit between my lips.

She bucks and thrashes, and I have no choice but to drive her the rest of the way home, taking immense pleasure in doing so.

“Damien!” she calls out as I do, and I realize there is no sound better than my name tearing from her lips.

I slide my hand free and crawl over her limp yet satiated frame, admiring the blissful smile spread across her face.

I put that there.

I lean down to kiss her, but before my lips reach hers, the bedroom door bursts open, wood splintering as six men rush into the room.

The Nightgardin Royal Guard, better known as the Black Watch.

Juliet screams as two of the men haul her from the bed. It takes the other four to restrain me. Even then, they’re barely able to do it. My fight-or-flight reaction takes hold, and all I know is I will fight for this woman.

“Damien!” she screams, and I seethe as I watch her naked form being dragged toward the elevator.

“You fucking bastards,” I hiss at my captors, but they say nothing. “Juliet!” I call after her, our eyes meeting as another waiting guard wraps her in a throw from the sofa. “I will come for you!”

She opens her mouth to respond, but one of the guards covers it with a less-than-gentle hand. She struggles against his grip. When the guard swears and snatches his hand away, I grin.

She’s bitten him.

But my joy is short-lived, because they are in the elevator now, the doors already closing.

“Damien!” she cries one last time.

“I swear it, Juliet! I’ll find you!” I yell just as the doors seal and she slips from view, and I know now that I was wrong. My name tearing from her lips in abject terror will haunt me for the rest of my life.

One of my captors punches me in the face before I can completely register that she’s gone.

Then the truth of it all sinks in. They aren’t just here to take Juliet to the king and queen of Nightgardin.

They’re here to kill me, and there’s not a goddamned thing I can do about it, not that there would be any point. I’ve committed an act of treason, one I knew was punishable by death. Yet I was fool enough to think that whatever connection Juliet and I forged would be stronger than the law.

Two of the guards pin my arms behind my back, but I no longer struggle as the two men before me trade punches in quick succession. A rib breaks. Maybe two or three. One of my eyes swells shut, and a fist to the jaw makes me bite through my tongue.

My mouth fills with blood. None of the guards say a word as they continue what they were sent here to do. All the while I replay Juliet’s screams in my head, the promise I made to come for her already broken.

Finally, my arms are freed, and I collapse to my knees. I cough, and blood sprays the floor.

One of the guards raises a rifle and aims the butt of it at my head.

“You better fucking kill me,” I say, my voice thick and wet. “Otherwise I will be back, and I’ll make every single one of you pay for what you did to your very own princess.”

The guard with the gun laughs in my ruined face and whispers something in my ear. Then the entire world goes dark.

Juliet

Two months later

“Well, well, well,” I mutter to myself. “Out of the frying pan and into the fire.”

Outside the window, the towers and parapets of Edenvale Palace come into view. Across the blue moat rise huge statues of heroes and kings, marbled memories of past glories.

“Sorry, miss. I didn’t catch that.” The driver I hired at the border glances in the rearview mirror, tugging one side of his long, walrus-like mustache. I can tell he recognizes me but that he doesn’t know from where. I have hidden my chocolate-brown waves under an Hermès scarf tied in a jaunty bow at my chin. My beige trench coat is expensive camel hair but unremarkable other than its elegant cut.

“I said, Goodness. Here we are.” I set my hand on the small suitcase on the seat beside me. “Is the servants’ entrance close?”

“Right around the corner, miss,” he says before giving me another searching look. “Who is it you are going to visit again?”

“My cousin Dora,” I lie. “She’s been a maid at the royal court for five years.”

“A Nightgardin maid? Working at the court?” he says, incredulous.

Blast! My accent has betrayed me in ways my hair never would.

I think fast. “Theodora, or Dora as we like to call her, was born in Rosegate.” Rosegate is the disputed city between our two long-feuding kingdoms. “Right next door to me, in fact.”

“Hmm, you’re from Rosegate too, eh?” The driver clicks his tongue. But he hasn’t called me out on the lie. He can’t, because people from both of our kingdoms reside in that ancient town. “Well, miss. I do hope you enjoy your stay at the royal palace. Folks say it’s gone a bit peculiar of late.”

“Oh?” I try to sound interested, but not enough to attract attention. In reality, I am starving for any scrap of information about—

“Damien,” the man says, finishing my thought. “The black sheep prince has returned from his years banished into the wilderness. Everyone is being quite tight-lipped about it. But my sister, Jenny, works in the kitchen, and she says that he has gone mad. I don’t like speaking ill of the Lorentz family, God keep His Majesty, but that youngest boy was born as bad as they come.”

Memories wash over me. Damien’s confident yet gentle hands claiming my body, making me burn, making me his. In our stolen days together, it was as if we were placed in France’s Large Hadron Collider, two particle beams thrust together at the speed of light. Of course the results were volatile. I was naive to have expected anything else. I see that now.

Damien was removed by Nightgardin guards as I was dragged away to my parents.

But...he said he would come for me. Swore it, even. Those were his last words as I was taken away.

He never came.

Perhaps the challenge seemed too great.

Perhaps I wasn’t worth the effort to him.

The king and queen could have hanged me. Instead they hastened plans for the wedding—to tomorrow. So naturally, I ran away. Again. But this time I did not bother with any sort of lie. It wouldn’t have mattered. I’ve been under lock and key ever since that weekend, every meal taken either with the king and queen or alone in my chamber. Each night my governess watched me place a sleeping tablet on my tongue—and each night when she left me, I retrieved the tablet from under my tongue and sent it down the toilet.

Last night when Elsie, the serving girl, brought my teapot, I asked that she join me. And because a servant cannot refuse a royal, Elsie drank a cup, but not before I distracted her and poured in two crushed sleeping tablets.

Soon after, I escaped out the window. No handsome prince climbed my tower and saved me. I did it myself.

My hand settles over my belly, still flat. No sign of the secret inside.

Maybe I fell fast and hard for a prince who fed me nothing but pretty lies full of tenderness and wonder, but now there is no choice. Our time together resulted in unexpected consequences. Ones he needs to answer for. Ones he needs to protect.

“Ah, here we are,” the driver says, pulling up at the guard tower. “They’ll fix you right up and give you palace security clearance.”

“Thanks very much,” I say, and slide out, tugging my suitcase with me.

Once I had a kingdom. Now I own two dresses, four pairs of underwear and a toothbrush.

But I’m free.

At the guard tower, the royal officer barely looks up from his newspaper. “State your business.”

I untie the scarf from my hair and shake out my long locks. “I am Juliet de Estel, Princess of Nightgardin. And I demand an immediate audience with the Edenvale royal family.”

The man’s jaw nearly hits his ample belly. He clears his throat twice, his lips flapping soundlessly before managing to rasp “one moment, ma’am. I mean, miss. I mean, Your Eminence.”

He doesn’t pick up the phone beside him. Instead, he hits a red button on the wall.

“Yes?” A deep masculine voice says in a crisp accent.

“Mister X, sir, you’re going to want to come to the servants’ entrance, right away. There’s a...diplomatic situation unfolding here at the post.”

Two minutes later a dark-haired man in a black suit appears, his eyes hidden by a pair of aviator sunglasses. He doesn’t give me more than a passing glance before walking into the guard booth.

“The heir to the Nightgardin throne is at your post,” he says.

“That’s what I was trying to say. But more subtle-like,” the guard replies.

The man removes his sunglasses and regards me with a look of cool appraisal. “Subtle indeed, Bartholomew. This is most unusual protocol for a state visit,” he says.

“I’m a most unusual woman,” I snap, refusing to be intimidated by his hooded gaze.

That earns me a ghost of a smile.

“Indeed.”

“And since you know me, might I have the pleasure of an introduction?”

“I’m called X, Your Highness. Head of Edenvale’s Royal Secret Service.”

“X?” I chuckle. “X what?”

The guard Bartholomew joins in my humor. “That’s what I always say. We have a running bet on what his real name might be.”

“And it pains me to give you nothing but disappointment,” X says wryly before reaching out to take my bag. “Will this be all?”

I nod.

“I need to speak with all members of the royal family... Prince Damien especially.”

Something flickers in his enigmatic eyes. I get the sense that this is a man who has seen it all and then some. I am the daughter of his kingdom’s worst enemies, and he barely batted an eyelid. And yet when I say Damien’s name I get a reaction that I’d almost be tempted to describe as sympathy.

“You’re acquainted with Prince Damien?”

The strange way he says the prince’s name sends a chill down my spine. I remember the driver’s words. What has happened to Damien? The last I saw of him he was screaming that he’d find me–that he’d stop at nothing. Then two months of radio silence.

“He made me promises and broke them all,” I announce. “And for my impetuousness, my mother ensured that I was broken in ways few can imagine. I didn’t escape to rekindle a failed romance. I did it because a mother lets nothing—nothing—not solitary confinement, not interrogation, not hunger—stop her from protecting her child.”

X’s gaze follows my hand as again I lay a palm over my abdomen, as if the small gesture can protect the tiny spark inside. My now-solitary reason for existence, for having the courage, for risking everything.

“I see.” And I can tell that in some strange way, this odd man does see. Relief sweeps through me as I feel protected for the first time since being ripped from that hotel room two months ago.

“Now take me to see him at once,” I snap, recovering the royal imperiousness I wear as a second skin.

X gives a curt nod. “Follow me, Your Highness. I’ll assemble the royal family in the west wing.”

CHAPTER FIVE

Damien

A SOFT KNOCK sounds on my door, and at first I ignore it. Despite having been home for a month now, the palace still feels foreign—like it isn’t my home anymore. I guess had I not been left for dead in an alley behind the Royal Edenvale Hospital, I wouldn’t have been welcome any time soon. The notion rankles, like lemon pressed to a long-festering wound.

Whoever is out there knocks again.

“What is it?” I shout with annoyance, then wince. My three broken ribs are healing, yet still tender.

When my intruder doesn’t enter, I rise uneasily from the safety of the plush leather chair, put down my book and make for the door.

“What?” I ask, throwing the door open to find a tall, dark-haired man with a kind smile that makes my stomach turn. Not because I cannot stand his benevolence but because it’s like looking into some sort of funhouse mirror—some semblance of the me I could have been had my life gone in any other direction but the one it has.

“Benedict,” I say, greeting my older brother, the one who gave up a life in the priesthood for Evangeline Vernazza, an artist from Rosegate. “To what do I owe this brotherly visit? Here to bring me another book? Or to tell me again that I need to give Nikolai time, that he’ll eventually speak to me?”

I don’t mean to spew my bitterness at Benedict. He’s been nothing but concerned since they found me in the hospital—nothing but caring since I returned to the palace. But I doubt I’ll ever prove myself worthy of Nikolai’s forgiveness. And I can’t say that I blame him.

Benedict sighs. “No pep talks today, brother.” He looks me over and chuckles softly. “Forgive me for pointing out the obvious, but you’ve—looked better.”

I run a finger down the scar from my temple to chin—the one from the car accident years ago. My beard bristles against my fingertips. I gingerly touch the bridge of my nose, but even that sends pain rocketing to my skull. When it didn’t set correctly the first time, the doctors had to re-break it so I could breathe correctly again. Both my eyes are still rimmed with a mixture of purple and yellow. Then there’s the new scar running the length of my right eyebrow.

This time I’m the one to laugh, a rare occurrence these days. My hand flies to my side, and I brace the other on the doorframe.

Benedict places a steadying palm on my shoulder.

“Are you okay?” he asks. “Should I ring the doctor?”

I straighten carefully and wave him off. “I’m fine,” I say through gritted teeth.

My brother raises his brows. “You sure are going to be a sight for bitter eyes,” he says, and I detect a hint of amusement in his tone.

“What the hell are you talking about?” I ask.

Benedict throws an arm around my shoulder. “Join me in the west wing and you’ll see.”

I run a hand through my overgrown hair. “I was just starting a really riveting book. I think there are vampires in it. I really should finish it.”

Benedict urges me out the door and pulls it shut behind me.

“To the west wing,” he says again.

I glance at my attire—a falling-open robe, pajama bottoms and suede slippers—and shrug.

“Lead the way,” I say.

Benedict walks slower than usual, making sure I keep up. Yet he’s silent the whole way. Whatever waits for us at our destination, Benedict doesn’t seem to want to tell me.

And for good reason. When we arrive, Benedict pushes open a large oak door that leads to a sitting room, yet no one inside is sitting.

Standing in an arc facing the door is my father, the king; my brother Nikolai and his wife, Kate, our soon-to-be king and queen; Benedict’s new bride, Evangeline; and in the middle of them all, quite possibly the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, though I am still on some pretty heavy painkillers.

She gasps when she sees me, and I realize I must look even worse to those who do not see me on a daily basis.

“Damien,” Nikolai says, the first time he’s addressed me by name since I’ve been home. His voice is laced with disdain. He opens his mouth to finish whatever he wanted to say next, but the young woman rushes toward me.

“Oh my God!” she cries, then reaches a hand toward my face. I flinch, and she pulls away.

“What happened to you?” She pulls open my barely closed robe, spots the fading bruises over my ribs. “Damien. Tell me what’s been going on for the past two months.”

I stare at her, my brow furrowed. Then it clicks.

“Jesus,” I say, my gaze shifting to Benedict, then my father and Nikolai. “What the hell is the Princess of Nightgardin doing in the Edenvale Palace? Are you all out of your minds?”

Nikolai crosses his arms. “So you do recognize her. Would you like to explain yourself?”

I let out a bitter laugh, trying to bite back the pain. But the princess’s hand flies to her mouth. She notices my wince, and I hate that she is perceptive enough to register my weakness.

“Of course I recognize her. I have read a newspaper or two in my absence—even turned the TV to the news once or twice. Just because I don’t—I mean didn’t—live in my own country, it’s not as if I abandoned all thoughts of home. I’ve kept up with what’s been going on in our enemy nation. Yet now you’ve gone and invited the enemy into our home. Would you like to explain yourself?”

The princess rests a warm palm on my chest, and I raise a brow. Perhaps this day will prove quite interesting after all.

“Tell them, Damien. Tell them I’m not a liar.”

“Tell them what, exactly?” I ask, amusement lacing my tone.

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