by Juniper Hart
“Is there a problem here, Your Highness?”
All eyes turned toward the head of the table, and Poet’s heart caught in her throat. The man who had sat behind her in Kincaid’s lecture stood in front of them, dark glasses covering his eyes as he towered over the table.
Poet stared at him uncertainly, knowing that he didn’t belong there—if her father had been telling her the truth, he didn’t belong to her guard. Right then, though, he was her best chance to escape.
He’s not your security, but he’s here now, she thought, and he’s the least threatening of everyone in this booth.
“There’s no problem, mate,” Nick answered, scowling. “The princess is fine.”
“She does not appear fine,” the stranger replied shortly. “Can I escort you back to your flat, Princess?”
Before she could stop herself, Poet found herself nodding, and the fake guard stared at Nick until he shuffled out of the booth to allow her to leave.
“Must be nice to have someone fight all your battles for you,” Mya chuckled cruelly as Poet slipped out, exhaling in relief. She hadn’t even realized she had been holding her breath.
“Maybe one day someone will consider you important enough to fight for you too, Miss…?” the phony guard offered caustically.
Poet’s head jerked up at the completely unscripted jab, staring at Mya’s face as it contorted into anger.
“Sod off,” Mya muttered, lowering her eyes.
“As you wish,” he agreed, leading Poet by the arm and guiding her out of the pub.
Poet eyed him through her peripheral vision as they made their way into the rain. He pulled out an umbrella and ushered her toward a waiting vehicle parked illegally in a side alley. Any apprehension she should have felt was overwhelmed by the stranger’s nearness.
It was not until the man put her in the passenger side of the simple, black sedan that Poet spoke.
“Who are you?” she demanded when he slipped into the driver’s seat.
“I already told you, Your Highness. I am—”
“You are not a member of the King’s Guard,” she interjected. “You think I don’t know my own security detail?”
“Do you?” he replied evenly, pulling away from the curb. “I am new.”
“You are not under my father’s employ,” she insisted. “And if you are, you should be fired immediately.”
He cast her a sidelong look. “Why would you say that? I believe I just intervened when you needed me. I think that is part of the job, yes?”
“Firstly, no member of my team is to tail me inside any building,” Poet said. “Secondly, you are not to speak to outsiders. Your job is to protect me, not dole out jabs to my friends—”
“Your friends?” the man scoffed, interrupting her. “They did not seem like your friends to me.”
“Thirdly, any security officer who wishes to keep his job would never interrupt me,” she continued.
“Touché,” he muttered, but Poet could see the smirk on his face.
“And finally, there is no way you are a member of my team because you would never put me in the front passenger seat. If you want to pretend to be my security, at least do your research first.”
A slight pause followed her announcement, and then the fake guard began to laugh.
“Anything else?” he asked, steering the car toward her street.
Poet tensed at his nonchalant response. “You know where I live?” she demanded. “How? Why?”
The man sighed deeply. “Because I was hired by your father to watch you from a distance and befriend you. He’s worried about you, but I didn’t want to lie to you.”
She looked at him suspiciously.
“Is that so? Because he claims he knows nothing about you,” Poet replied. “How can I believe you?”
“You’re in my car and you came with me willingly. You must see I’m no danger to you,” he said.
Poet found herself blushing as she realized he spoke the truth. She had not even second-guessed getting into his vehicle or leaving the pub with him.
Before she could respond, her cell chimed in her bag.
“That would be Nick,” she sighed, reaching for the device.
“Is he your sweetheart, then?” asked the man. “You didn’t seem to like him much from where I stood.”
Poet’s head turned toward him, sensing a note of disdain in his voice.
“No,” she answered quickly. “He’s only a friend of mine. A sometimes-inappropriate friend, but a friend nonetheless.”
Her driver nodded, and Poet realized she didn’t even know his name. Instead of asking, she turned her attention to her phone and sighed.
Mya is gone. You can come back, the text read.
I’m already at my flat, she texted back. Another time?
“Would you like to go back to the pub?” the man asked, as if he had read the message himself. Poet snickered.
“Not in the least,” she assured him. “I just want to go home and take a warm bath.”
She felt a flush tinge her cheeks. Perhaps that had been entirely too much information, considering he was a complete stranger. For some reason, though, she didn’t mind that the attractive man might envision her naked and surrounded by bubbles. She found herself wondering what he looked like naked and surrounded by bubbles. Her blush deepened.
“Here we are,” he told her, arriving in front of her building.
Poet moved to open the door, but to her surprise, the man jumped from the driver’s side to let her out.
He is going to continue with this charade, she thought, half-amused as she accepted his arm and hung under his umbrella while he led her to the front door.
Poet looked behind her, searching for other members of her detail, but she could see no one in sight. She had never before cared for what they thought of her decisions, yet now she wondered what they would make of her arriving home on the arm of a strange man.
I am not arriving home on the arm of a man! she chided herself, aghast that she had phrased it like that in her own head. I am being escorted home by a guy trying to catch my attention.
It both amused and alarmed her simultaneously, and Poet could not help being intrigued by the dark-haired stranger who had rescued her from the tavern.
“Do you have a name?” she heard herself ask aloud as they entered the lobby.
“Max,” he answered, and she cocked her head to the side as they stared at one another for a long minute.
“Would you like to come upstairs for a cuppa?”
Again, Poet was surprised at herself. How long had it been since she had invited a man into her flat? What would her father say if he found out?
She shoved the thoughts out of her mind and waited for a response, a small smile toying on her lips.
“Another time,” Max replied, bowing slightly. “I am illegally parked.” He offered her a quick, nervous grin and turned to leave.
The smile froze on Poet’s lips, her heart hammering with the rejection.
It didn’t bother him that he was illegally parked at the pub, she thought sullenly, watching as he disappeared back into the rain and toward his car.
The entire encounter had been bizarre at best, and Poet could not make sense of any of it. He was obviously not part of the King’s Guard, and yet no one from her security detail had intercepted his presence. Could he truly be some kind of personal bodyguard for her?
It was not like she would get a straight answer from her father if she asked him, but Poet still couldn’t believe that her knight in shining armor had anything to do with the Island of Luxe.
Long after Max had driven away, Poet remained in the doorway, watching after him in the rain. Whoever he was, she hoped to see him again soon.
Something tells me I will, she thought with tentative confidence.
4
That was incredibly stupid, Maximus lectured himself, driving away from Poet’s flat in Wheatley. He was still staying in Ansel’s townhouse in Chelsea, but he
needed to find closer lodging so he could keep a better eye on his target.
He had not intended to make his presence known again when he returned to survey the girl. He was sure that she had figured out he was lying when he claimed he was from the King’s Guard in the lecture hall earlier, but at that time, he had not expected to see her again.
I am not a good spy, he thought, slightly pounding the steering wheel as he drove. I don’t want to do this.
Following her into the Cloak and Clock, his only plan had been to keep an eye on her and ensure she did not return to Misty Woods. A formal plan was still in the making, and as he sipped on his pint at the bar, he watched Poet try to escape the obviously uncomfortable situation. Before he could stop himself, he had put down his pint and addressed the table.
And that was incredibly stupid, Maximus reminded himself again, pressing on the gas to distance himself from the bad move he had made.
He didn’t know why he was so surprised that Poet was onto him in seconds. She was a graduate student. She was clearly intelligent. It had been difficult to maintain his composure under her blunt questioning and even harder to refuse her invitation into her apartment.
Yes, she was beautiful. And yes, she was smart. But no, she had no place in Maximus’ life. Keeping her close would only result in more problems for everyone involved.
He wondered if she would alert the real King’s Guard to his presence, and he wondered what they would do.
I must be more careful, he told himself firmly. I can’t afford to bring any more attention to us than Poet already has.
Still, as he drove through the slowly lessening rain, he could not submerge the bright beauty of Poet’s crystalline eyes, staring at him with bemusement. Even with his dark sunglasses on, he’d felt like she had been peering into his soul.
Maximus pulled into Ansel’s driveway and parked, his mind still whirling as he removed the sunglasses and tossed them onto the passenger seat where Poet had sat. He didn’t move for a few minutes, trying to get his thoughts collected before opening the door and climbing out into the grey day.
It wasn’t raining in London, but the sky remained overcast as he let himself into his brother’s stylish house.
“Oh!” he said, startled. “You’re home.”
Ansel raised his head from his laptop, his grey eyes fixated on his brother.
“I do live here,” he reminded Max sarcastically. “Is that going to be a problem?”
Maximus sighed and flopped unceremoniously onto the sofa, leaning forward on his forearms to study Ansel’s face.
“Probably,” he replied cheekily. “But I’ll make do.”
“What’s up your arse today?” Ansel asked, setting aside his laptop. “Girl problems?”
Maximus groaned. “What the hell am I supposed to do about this?” he asked. “Father is asking me to do the impossible.”
“What else is new?” Ansel chuckled. “I say just wait it out until the old bat finds something else to go off about.”
“He’s fixated on this girl,” Maximus moaned. “She should never have come to the castle. Now I have to do something with her.”
“What does she know, though? I mean, what can she possibly know?”
Maximus shrugged helplessly. “I haven’t a clue,” he confessed. “She is very intelligent. You can see it in her eyes, wise beyond her years, even. She just radiates this special quality. I can’t put my finger on it, but—” He noticed the smirk on his brother’s mouth and stopped abruptly. “What? Why are you leering at me?”
Ansel raised an eyebrow at him. “You want to shag her then?”
“Ansel, have some class!” Maximus snapped with uncharacteristic defensiveness. “I am trying to figure out what to do with her!”
“The answer seems rather obvious, old boy,” Ansel retorted, sitting back and folding his arms over his chest.
“Then please spell it out for me,” Maximus said, “because I must be daft. And if you say kill her—”
“I am not Father,” Ansel snapped, running his hand through his own mane of dark hair. “Murder is not constantly on my mind.”
“Says the bloke who punches people within an inch of their lives for income.”
“Boxing is a sport!” Ansel protested.
“It’s barbaric,” Maximus replied flatly.
“Do you want my advice or would you prefer to simply bash me?”
“Yes, I want your advice,” he said quickly, checking himself. Ansel was the only sounding board he had. He didn’t want to lose him.
“You have to gain her trust and find out what she knows,” Ansel said.
“Yes, obviously,” Maximus grumbled, rising to pace the living room. “I am currently posing as her security, but I think she’s already seen through that.”
“No, you fool!” Ansel interjected. “She will not tell her security detail anything. You must get closer than that. You must become her lover.”
Maximus’ jaw dropped at the blunt suggestion, a pink blush tinging his cheeks.
For hundreds of years, he had been charged with the task of caring for King Rui. Romance had always gone on the backburner, and while there had been women, of course, the art of seduction was not something with which Maximus could identify. His relationships had mostly been manufactured by Rui or simple trysts in remote towns to satisfy his lust.
I will have to speak to Marcus about the art of romance, he thought wryly. He stopped himself from entertaining the idea, even in jest.
“That is cruel,” Maximus snapped, pushing his brother’s idea aside. “I will not gain her trust and betray her heart.”
Ansel shrugged. “Do you have a better idea? This woman could be holding our demise in the palm of her hand, and you’re worried about breaking her heart? No offense, Brother, but I think she will get over you. We, on the other hand, will not get over a dragon-mortal war. The damage could be irrevocable. Our businesses, our lives, all of it ruined because of some stupid girl with a big mouth.”
“She is not a stupid girl!” Maximus roared, and Ansel’s eyes widened in shock at his outburst.
“Well, that is up to you to find out,” his brother replied quietly. “But I pray for all our sakes that she is a stupid girl who inadvertently stumbled across this information and can easily be silenced.”
Maximus was silent for a long moment, the blood draining from his face as he realized the position he was in. If Poet was as smart as he thought she was, she knew more than she should, and he would have no choice but to kill her. She would be deemed a threat to their existence, and that would give Maximus a just cause.
He glanced up at his brother, and their gazes locked.
“I think you know what you need to do,” Ansel told him, and Maximus swallowed the lump in his throat. Ansel arched an eyebrow at his hesitance. “What’s the problem? You and I know we have both done way worse at Father’s request. This is not a big deal, Brother.”
But Maximus didn’t know how to explain to his brother that it was a big deal—that Poet Mueller was not like other women, that there was something about her…
Ansel spoke again. “Perhaps you should ask Titus to—”
“No!” The exclamation made Ansel gape at him in surprise. “I have been asked to do this by Father, and I will take care of it,” Max continued quickly. “I don’t need anyone else taking on my task.”
“All right,” Ansel said, throwing his hands up. “It was only a suggestion because you seem so reluctant.”
Maximus tried to steady his nerves and compose himself. “I can do it. There is no need to drag anyone else into this.”
Ansel nodded slowly, but Maximus could read the doubt in his brother’s eyes.
He doesn’t have faith in me, he thought, chewing on the insides of his cheeks. He wasn’t sure he had faith in himself, either, given the effect Poet seemed to have on him already. I can do this, he told himself with new resolve. I have to do this. What’s the worst that can happen?
He hated
himself for asking the question because he had a terrible feeling he knew exactly what could go wrong.
Poet opened the door, and she was clearly startled to see him there.
“Max!” she cried, looking past him like she was expecting someone else to be there.
“I changed my mind about the cuppa,” Maximus explained, and her blue eyes seemed to light up with relief.
“Yeah?” she replied. “Maybe I changed my mind about having you in for one.” He was taken aback by her response, but the twinkle in her irises told him she was joking. “Come in!” she laughed, parting the door further to allow him inside.
A sharp bark met Maximus’ ears, and he looked down at a pouty-faced Cocker Spaniel baring his teeth in disgust.
“You have a dog!” he cried with more enthusiasm than he intended. He loved dogs. In Misty Woods, they were the only companionship he had most of the time, joining him on endless treks through the thick woods.
“This is Chauncey,” Poet introduced him, turning away from him as Chauncey continued to growl in suspicion. Most animals had the same reaction to him; partially wanting to trust him, sensing the animal instinct he possessed, but simultaneously not trusting his scent because they did not recognize it.
“Hello, Chauncey,” Maximus said conversationally, leaning down to let the uncertain canine sniff his hand.
“He might bite you,” Poet warned from the kitchen, where she put on a kettle for tea. “Don’t take it personally.”
“You won’t bite me, will you, Chauncey?” he asked.
The dog barked and whined, backing up as if debating the idea.
“Those are some famous last words,” Poet sang, and Maximus wondered if she enjoyed the idea of her dog taking a chunk out of his hand. He waited, not making eye contact with the spaniel, and his patience was inevitably rewarded when the mutt cautiously stepped toward him to sniff his hand.
“That’s a good boy,” Maximus said in a low voice. “Come here.” He slowly turned his vibrant eyes on the dog, meeting his gaze. Maximus smiled warmly at the dog.
Without warning, Chauncey snarled at him and latched onto his hand.
Maximus yelped, drawing his hand back, and Poet rushed out from the kitchen at the sound.