by Eden Finley
Personally, I thought the dark scruff was hot. I was no king though.
“Yes, Grandfather,” Xander said in a monotone voice.
“And while you’re here”—the king turned to me—“you’ve been reassigned.”
Even though I was expecting it, my gut churned. There were more experienced, more important people in the royal guard for the crown prince than me. On the day of the attacks, Xander’s parents were in one car, his sister in another. They only had their drivers and one bodyguard with them. The remainder of the security team were in the car behind—the one that wasn’t bombed.
The news kept showing the same reel on a loop. Members of the royal guard scrambled to get to the burning cars, but both of them were totalled. No survivors. The third car up front was also hit, but it wasn’t carrying anyone important. It was a decoy.
I couldn’t stand to watch it anymore. It was supposed to be Xander and me in that second car. We were both supposed to be dead. It wasn’t healthy for him to sit and watch the same news footage over and over again, but any time I tried to reach for the remote to turn it off, Xander threatened me. I had to admit, some of the things he came up with were inventive. Stabbing me in the eye with a hot iron poker from the fireplace was a good one.
My reassignment had been coming the minute we found out Xander was no longer just a prince. I tried to come up with ways to keep me with him, but none would be approved by the palace.
“Roman has been my bodyguard for two years,” Xander said. “We work well together.”
“He drives you to where you have sex with men, you mean,” King Edmund said. His tone, so matter-of-fact, was nothing compared to the glare he gave me. “Don’t think I don’t know what goes on with you. That has to stop, and your next bodyguard will be under strict instructions not to allow it. If you’re going to be king and my successor, you will not indulge in that sort of behaviour ever again.”
I remained silent, even though I wanted to pummel my king. It was my job to serve my country and the royal family, not beat them to a bloody pulp.
“I don’t want a new bodyguard,” Alexander protested. “And doesn’t the crown prince have more than one? Why is Roman getting reassigned completely?”
“This isn’t your decision,” the king fired back.
“With all due respect, Your Majesty.” I stepped forward and bowed, all the while clearing my throat to get rid of the annoying rasp in my voice. “Will you give me until after the funerals to finish out my detail with the prince?”
It was a long shot, but I had to try. Xander would have no one he trusted with him when he had to say goodbye to his family, and I couldn’t do it to him. I couldn’t bear the thought of him being alone.
“You will be in attendance,” Edmund said. “Your new detail is Princess Henrietta.”
Hmm, Xander’s cousin and now third in line to the throne. A bratty teenager. Great.
“Roman is too good for her,” Xander said under his breath.
A swell of pride made my chest puff out.
“End of discussion. Your detail ends effective immediately.” We were both dismissed.
I followed Xander out and watched as he took the first deep breath I’d seen him take all week.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
“Nothing for you to be sorry about, sir.”
“Fuck, can you call me Xander now I’m not going to be your charge?”
“I think that might be worse now, Your Highness. I am just a servant, and you are my crown prince.” I needed to put distance between us. This was always going to happen. I would've liked to have served longer with Xander, but the attacks changed all that. I was already too close—too emotionally involved.
A look of hurt flashed across Xander’s face. “After two years, I hoped I would be more than that to you, but clearly you never removed that stick from your ass. I guess we’re done here.”
I was supposed to call after him, chase after him … do something. Instead, I stood and watched as the only man I’d ever loved walked away.
And thanks to royal decree, there wasn’t anything I could do about it.
The funerals were as brutal for me as they were for Xander. For the past two years, I had to sit back and watch, listen, and overhear every single sordid detail of Xander’s life—which included overhearing him have sex with anyone who wasn’t me. All of that was nothing compared to having to watch him break down during the processional. I couldn’t go to him, reach for him; I couldn’t even fucking talk to him.
I had to stand at my post and try not to shed the tears that threatened to overcome me.
Xander didn’t stop walking, but he may as well have. His steps were sluggish—almost drunk-like. The tabloids tomorrow would say he was wasted, that wouldn’t be anything new for Xander, but deep down I knew it was because he was doing everything he could to remain standing.
His parents and sister, while royal, were the most down to earth members of the royal family. His mother made sure they did everyday things that the rest of the royals didn’t—like unpack their own bags after a trip or clean up their own rooms when they were kids.
Part of my job was to blend into the background and not converse with the prince, but Xander was always lonely, even if he was surrounded by a handful of people nearly twenty-four hours a day.
I wasn’t supposed to do it, but I became his friend. He’d talk to me as if I was one of his mates, but I still tried to keep a professional distance. Finding that balance between bodyguard and friend was hard, but considering I was the only bodyguard he’d never skipped out on, I liked to think I was good—no, great—at my job.
My hands itched to get to Xander. I wanted to wrap him in a death-grip hug until he believed everything was going to get better. I wouldn’t have cared if my heart was broken when he inevitably walked away; I wanted to be there for him.
The only chance I had all day to approach him was when Princess Henrietta approached her cousin to pay her respects.
Bryant, Xander’s new head security detail, stood by him and gave me a nod in acknowledgement.
Henrietta and Xander hugged, but Xander’s eyes didn’t leave me the entire time.
Clearing my throat, I stepped closer and bowed. “I’m sorry for your loss, sir.”
It was shallow and had no meaning. He would’ve heard those words a thousand times today and every day since his family’s death. He scowled at me, and I knew I’d screwed up. He wanted his friend, not his servant.
His eyes glossed over, and he was vacant. He’d checked out. I was losing the man I loved all over again, because the carefree prince was gone and replaced with someone as cold as his grandfather.
Delia
ONE YEAR LATER
“Looks like the prince is at it again,” Lady Bitchface, as I called her, said. Her real name was Beatrice McIntyre, and she was all plastic and fake in every way—even her blonde hair which she claimed was natural. Everyone knew she had cosmetic work done, but good luck trying to find the doctor who would admit to performing the surgeries. “That’s his fifth scotch.”
My eyes gravitated towards the disturbingly handsome prince across the room. His dark hair was impeccable as it always was these days, and his clean-shaven face showed off the trademark cleft chin all the royals possessed.
“Counting the prince’s alcohol intake, Beatrice?” I asked, purposefully keeping my tone light and unjudgmental—unlike my thoughts. “Is this a prince specific thing or would you be interested to know that this is my fifth chardonnay?” It was my actually my seventh, but Judgy McBitchface was frowning upon the prince’s five drinks.
“Where do you put all those calories?” Beatrice whined.
“I have an excellent personal trainer.” My over the top fake smile I always possessed at these things didn’t waver. Neither did my ever so present calm and dignified tone. My parents—Lord and Lady of where-the-fuck-ever—raised me “right.” I could handle myself in whichever manner the moment called for.
I was always careful with my exploits, probably more so than the prince. I’d heard countless stories of what he got up to, and I’d wanted to party with him for a long time, but I only recently returned to my homeland for good. I’d been back and forth the last few years between here and England where I went to school.
Up until a year ago, His Royal Highness was splashed all over the tabloids for being the bad boy of royalty. Britain’s Prince Harry had nothing on Prince Alexander. Harry’s naked Vegas shenanigans? Alexander’s idea. Now all I saw were articles about how well he had settled after the death of his family and that the reality of his responsibilities must have made the prince grow out of the wild ways he was accused of.
I wasn’t convinced. Deep down, he was still the way he always was. Up for fun. Watching his depressing mood from across the room, I took it upon myself to bring the fun back out of him.
Lady Davenport, a gorgeous brunette who spat venom, stepped up beside Beatrice. “How many drinks do you think it’ll take for him to be sloppy drunk enough to forget a condom but not so much he won’t be able to get it up?”
“Get over it, already, Natalie,” Beatrice said. “How many times have you tried to bed him this year alone?”
“They’ll be putting pressure on him to find a wife soon.” Natalie scanned the room. “We should start a pool on who’ll get the honours.”
Beatrice grinned. “Or at least who’ll get the honours of finally getting him into bed. He’s turned into a monk. I remember when he used to be fun.”
“If you will excuse me,” I said politely to the brainless, horrible women I had to put up with at these types of events.
“Going to run off and tell on us?” Natalie asked.
“Goody-two-shoes,” Beatrice muttered.
“No, ladies,” I said with a diplomatic smile. “I haven’t seen the prince since before the attack. I’m going to go pay my respects.”
Both of them bowed their heads in guilt. Good.
The fact Prince Alexander made eye contact with me as I approached and didn’t hold it for more than a second should have offended me. The brief look of “Oh, God, not another one” was enough for me to know he hated these events as much as I did. He’d dismissed countless women already during the night.
Had he looked eight inches south of my eyes and managed to pull his gaze away after only a second, well, that would be another issue.
When I approached, I bent at the knees and lowered my head in the traditional curtsey. “Your Highness.”
Alexander took my hand and bowed. “Lady Hillington. It seems I have not seen you at one of these events in some time.”
It was hard not to laugh. His formal speech sounded ridiculously forced. He hadn’t yet mastered the art of making bullshit sound real.
“I was finishing my university degree abroad. I’m home for the summer while I figure out what I want to do with my life.”
“Got any ideas?” Prince Alexander took a sip of the amber liquid swirling in his glass.
I stepped forward and lowered my voice. “For the rest of my life? No. But I hoped my immediate future might include my legs wrapped around your head.”
Luckily, the spray of scotch that came out of Prince Alexander’s mouth missed me when he turned his head at the last second. His eyes scanned the room, no doubt at the people giving him strange looks. It was a blessing the press wasn’t allowed inside at these events. A shot of the crown prince spitting out his drink would be worth the price of a high-rise apartment in the city.
I blinked up at him, innocent as a lamb. “Too forward? The way I figure it, Your Highness, is you haven’t had a decent fuck since …” I couldn’t say since his parents died; what a mood killer. I found a more appropriate way to word it. “Since your grandfather told you to stop dicking around.”
Alexander’s lips twitched upwards. “Do you really think the king of Ashwick would use the word dicking?”
“Did you think Lady Cordelia Hillington would ever offer to wrap her legs around your head?”
“No. I most certainly did not.”
“You’re an amateur, sir, if you don’t mind me saying so. You don’t think there are a million eyes on you right now?”
“Ashwick only has a populous of one hundred thousand. Even if the whole country was in this room right now, you’re about nine hundred thousand pairs of eyes short.”
“The eyes that are on you are counting your drinks and watching your every move. They see when you have that disinterested look in your eye and the sorrow you feel every time someone mentions your loss. There’s talk of bets on how drunk you will get before you leave. I see someone in need of escape. Being perfect is hard, but it’s an image I have built. You could learn from me.”
“Please don’t take offence to this, Lady Hillington—”
“If we’re going to be fucking, the least you could do is call me Delia.”
His smile widened, and I scored a sight of dimples. “That’s the thing, Lady Hillington, you’re not the first woman to throw herself at me.”
“Or the first man, I’m sure.”
He cocked his eyebrow.
“Wait. That sounded like I said I was a man.”
Prince Alexander chuckled. “My point is, now that I am the crown prince, dicking around—as you put it—is no longer permitted.”
“Is that your rule or the palace’s?”
“Both. I’m not looking to be tied down to someone who is a crown chaser.”
“I can assure you, Prince Alexander, I am no crown chaser. I am as bored shitless as you are right now, and I thought we could have some fun.” I tilted my head. “I heard you used to be great at slipping your security detail.”
His eyes locked with mine, and I knew I had him.
Xander
Who would’ve thought Lady Hillington was a spitfire. Under her ugly dresses lay a minx waiting to be released, and she hid it on purpose. That was the hottest thing I’d heard in a long time.
Had someone asked me fifteen minutes ago to describe Cordelia, I would’ve said beautiful but as boring and snooty as all the other noblemen’s daughters. Her blonde hair, while curled and styled tonight, was usually in a messy bun. She dressed like a librarian. Right now, in a deep emerald gown with a plunging neckline, along with the words she was saying, she couldn’t be anything further than the pure and innocent image in my head.
I didn’t know fuck was in her vocabulary, let alone used as a verb.
She had better be able to walk the walk after the dirty talk her mouth spewed. My bedroom would have been quicker to get to, but there were too many eyes on us and the idea of slipping my security detail sounded fun. I hadn’t had fun in a year.
“Do you know where the west entrance to the palace is?” I asked quietly.
“The one not open to the public, right?” Cordelia whispered conspiratorially.
I nodded. “Do you have a car?”
“I have a driver.”
“Will he—”
“Iron-clad NDAs. My family has taken a page out of the palace’s book. He won’t see you get in the car.”
My gaze raked over her. Fuck, she was beautiful. Her blue eyes were piercing and shining with mischief. “Meet me at the west side parking lot in fifteen minutes.”
I didn’t need to look back as I made my way to the exit to know she was smiling triumphantly.
The head of security my grandfather assigned me last year was a total hardass, so of course, he anticipated my exit before I took it.
“Bryant.” I nodded to him as I passed.
He never responded. At least when Roman was with me, he acknowledged my presence. I was royalty; I was supposed to ignore my servants, not the other way aro
und. But no, Grandfather stuck me with the drill sergeant who only took orders from above me.
I missed Roman. He was more than my bodyguard. Until he threw my title in my face, he was my friend. I was an idiot for thinking he saw me as more than a job. Just like everybody around me saw me as a job or someone they could get something from. A title. Prestige. A meeting with the king.
Most likely, Delia was after something too, but my dick hadn’t been used in a year, so it didn’t care, and neither did I.
Most women who offered themselves to me had a glimmer of hope in their eye. They made it clear they’d spread their legs, so long as they had a promise at a shot at the title of queen.
I didn’t know why I wanted Delia and not the countless women who’d tried to bed me in the last year. Perhaps it was her not so subtle, no bullshit approach. I had no reason to believe she wasn’t a crown chaser like she claimed, but my gut told me she wasn’t lying.
Bryant followed me all the way to my chambers and stayed outside my door as if I were a teenager who planned to sneak out.
Hmm, guess he had a point to be suspicious considering I was heading for the hidden passageway in the back of my closet.
Narnia, here I come.
They probably shouldn’t have shown it to me when I moved into the palace not long after my family died.
In comparison to the palace, Holbrook Manor where I grew up with my parents and sister was small. Mum didn’t want to raise us in the palace. She wanted us to have as normal an upbringing as possible, so that meant being banished to live in the fifty-thousand-square-foot mansion. Poor us.
But now Holbrook Manor was full of memories I couldn’t bear, and Grandfather insisted I became one with the title I inherited, which meant living at the palace.
Knowing my luck, Bryant would have someone stationed on the other side of the secret passage.
I didn’t bother changing out of my tux, even though it would have been the smart idea. For all I cared, I’d fuck Delia in her car and then walk back through the palace gates.