I wipe it clean and scoot the rest of the way to the window frame, leaning through it so X’s strong profile is in view.
“Did you make the swan?” I ask.
His eyes remain on the road as he replies. “No, Miss.”
“Did you make the coffee?”
“No, Miss.”
“Would you like a strawberry?”
At this I see the faintest tug on the corner of his mouth, and I decide that along with making sure I send Nikolai Lorentz down the aisle, I’m going to make X smile.
“No, Miss,” he says, and my shoulders sag.
I follow his eyes to the road ahead and realize we’re not headed in the direction of the palace. For a second my heart stutters in my chest.
“Okay, you’re not going to ply me with strawberries and scones only to dump me in the river with a backpack full of stones, right?”
Again that twitch of his lip, but it doesn’t go beyond that.
“We are heading to the river,” he says. “But His Highness said nothing about a backpack.”
I narrow my eyes even though he won’t look in my direction. Despite heading toward the body of water I’ve avoided most of my living years, I decide to trust my life is not in danger and slide back to my seat, this time bringing a warm blueberry scone with me. Seriously? How is it still warm?
Just as I relax and bring the pastry to my lips, we roll to a stop. X, however, does not leave his seat. Before I can ask him if we’ve reached our destination, my door opens, and I see the prince—not in a rumpled dress shirt and tuxedo pants but in a fitted black T-shirt and dark washed jeans. I know what I said about not being a preteen fangirl, but holy hell. This man in the flesh is a vision to behold.
He extends his arms wide as if he’s brought the world to my doorstep, and based on the breakfast alone, it feels like he has.
“We can’t possibly be expected to work indoors on a day like today,” he says, his gray eyes shimmering silver in the sun.
He offers me a hand, and I take it, grabbing the dossier with my other as he pulls me into the fresh morning air.
“No,” I say, trying to convince myself that the smoldering heat in my core is from the coffee I leave behind in the car. “I guess we can’t.”
Nikolai
“THANKS FOR BREAKFAST.” Kate regards me uncertainly.
“Seems only fair, Miss Winter. Especially after the delicious feast you offered me yesterday.” Here’s hoping that my wolfish smile covers any sincerity that might poke through my veneer. “Nice pants, by the way.” They fit slim against her shape, hugging the soft swell of her thighs, tapering at her small waist. I take my time drinking her in for two reasons. One: she looks even better than she did in my dreams last night. Two: it’s time to scare her off.
I don’t care a whit about ancient marriage requirements. But my father is the king, and Edenvale is a strict monarchy. No constitution. No parliament. His word is absolute law.
But despite his decree, I cannot marry. I will not. My heart hasn’t been whole for years. To subject a woman to a lifetime of darkness—to a love I cannot give—is anything but fair. I may not play by the rules in my day-to-day—or night-by-night—affairs, but I am straightforward. Each beauty I bed knows full well I have nothing to offer the morning after other than burying my cock in her one more time.
I do like a proper goodbye, after all.
And I also like to be clear that I will not share my future crown.
Father has to be bluffing about this twenty-ninth birthday bullshit. He can’t take the throne from me. He wouldn’t. What are his other options? Benedict would yield our sovereign power to the Roman Pope. Damien? My cousin Ingrid, who is still a child? Nightgardin would be licking its chops if that happened.
A hot copper taste fills my mouth. The inside of my cheek hurts from the involuntary bite.
Damien destroyed my world. His scandal nearly brought down our entire lineage. Now he is banished. Not even allowed to claim Edenvale citizenship. No, that bottom-feeder will never be permitted to call himself more than “King of Traitors.”
Father has no other choice, if he wants to avoid passing the crown from his bloodline. He will have to relent, to compromise, come around and see things from my point of view. It is that or let the kingdom fall to ruin, and that—he knows—is not an option.
My shoulders relax. I’ll indulge in Miss Winter’s little game for the time being, but she doesn’t know that I’m the one writing the rules, and that I only play to win.
“Ahem, Highness?” Her exaggerated throat clearing breaks my thoughts. “My eyes are up here.”
I allow my gaze to slowly rake over the swell of her perfect breasts. “I know exactly where your eyes are, Miss Winter, and might I say that’s a fetching color of shadow. Makes your eyes appear deeper than the Bottomless Lake.”
Kate sucks in a ragged breath, one evidenced by the rapid rise and fall of her chest rather than heard.
“Can we get down to business?” Pleading fills her voice.
“That all depends. Would getting down to...business bring you pleasure?” I dribble innuendo over every sentence. My mask is perfect. I’m every inch the rakish rogue everyone has come to expect. Kate Winter has no idea that my heart accelerates in her vicinity, kicks into fifth faster than my Ferrari 250 Testa Rossa.
And she never will.
She balls her free hand into a fist while the other clutches a portfolio, her fingertips white from her grip. Bet Little Miss Ice Queen would love nothing better than landing a punch right in my arrogant smirk. She can take a number. There are many in the line before her.
Plus she’s safer wanting nothing more to do with me than our business dealings.
“X,” I call, not breaking my gaze. “The poles.”
“Very good, Highness.” He clicks his heels and strides to the trunk of the Rolls. Good old X. Familiar as my shadow.
“I’m not really a nature girl.” She casts a baleful look at the long grass, swatting away a hovering insect. “But I am excited to get to work. Here is the dossier.” She brandishes the portfolio. “I spent last night reviewing suitable prospects and have winnowed your choices to five viable candidates.” She clears her throat. “Your parents offered some input as well, wishing the choice to be someone who would buoy your image and thereby the image of the throne. Your stepmother in particular took a keen interest. The queen is a woman of many opinions.”
I arch a brow. My hag of a stepmother has many feelings about my existence, none of them good. “I thought we were to do some sort of personality profile.”
She
