by Madeline Ash
She looked back and hoped he could still see it in her eyes.
“Okay.” Kris pushed higher onto his elbows, features growing serious. “You raised something significant earlier and I think it’s time we finally did something about it.”
Oh, hell. Her heart fluttered as she struggled to remember. What had she said? And what did he mean by earlier? They’d recently spoken about spending their lives together—God, surely he wasn’t about to propose? Too soon, way too soon. Tension locked her jaw and she was halfway through planning her escape route before she got a hold of herself. Because this might be about her continuing to work for the royal guard—he’d mentioned that night in the tent that she could keep her position. Had he been advised otherwise? She should expect it. The partner of a king should be compassionate and virtuous—not combative and violent. Her gut churned as she remembered that just last night, walking the streets of Kiraly, she’d confessed to wanting a family of her own. Did he think now was as good a time as any to discuss producing heirs? Because it wasn’t. He should at least let her go for a run first, and chase that with several hard drinks.
Her alarm flared at the intensity of his stare, until she demanded, “What?”
He grinned. “Breakfast.”
Frankie emerged from his bathroom and suspected she finally understood why people went to day spas. She was used to handsy shower curtains and a vanity mirror that refused to show her head and torso at the same time, but Kris’s vast, cream-tiled bathroom offered every luxury. The showerhead had the circumference of a patio table, a silver lever had brought water cascading down a glass wall in a gushing waterfall and a small sweep of tiled steps descended to a pool the size of his palatial bed. She’d run her toes over the surface, vowing to put it to good use later, and dried herself with a towel as soft as powdered sugar. Lush indoor plants grew green in large pots and dripped from high tiled ledges, while the lighting was the holy grail of illumination, displaying her skin at its healthiest in the full-length mirror. There were no bags or blemishes in sight, and she decided she was happy to be fooled by such clever visual trickery.
Kris waited for her beside the bed, dressed in jeans and a green plaid shirt.
She froze at what he was holding.
“For you.” He quirked a brow and held the folded clothes out to her.
She didn’t move. “What’s that?”
“Your uniform.”
“Interesting.” She defaulted to an easy defense even though he’d see right through it. “Is it kink or a power trip to make me exhibit my lower status now that you’ve dominated me?”
Features tightening, he said, “Don’t even try it.”
She crossed her arms against the alarm pounding in her chest.
“You’ve never thought much of yourself, Frankie,” he said. “After everything you told me last night, I understand why. But it’s time to move on. You’re worthy of your title. You grew up scamming the streets, sure, but you earned this position. You’re head of personal security to my family and it’s time you accepted that. This uniform won’t push you further beneath me. It’ll bring you closer.” He extended it toward her again. “Wear it.”
The folded navy trousers and shirt had gold-edged seams. It would mark her as an official employee of the crown—signal her status above her team and most other palace staff. It would prove that she’d done what she’d dreamed of after graduating high school. Found a better life—become something good.
“It’s not part of a con,” Kris said. “It’s not a costume. You won’t be deceiving anyone. It’s you.”
She rolled her lips together and hated that she couldn’t stop staring at the neatly folded clothes. She wanted them so badly.
“You deserve to be here.” He didn’t move closer, but she sensed he wanted to. “Not just with me, or because of me. You deserve this in your own right. If we’d never met, you’d still deserve to work here, doing what you do.”
It was a nice blue. Bold and respectable. A dignified blue.
“I trust you,” he said. “Now you need to trust me.”
Her pulse skipped. This prince trusted her to protect him.
“Take them, for God’s sake,” he said. “I’m hungry.”
It was the prompt she needed. Avoiding his stare, she snatched the pile from him, not sure how else to handle the significance of finally possessing her worth.
“Good,” he said quietly.
The fabric was cool, sturdy. Her finger moved along the bottom fold of the trousers, out of sight, stroking the weave in both caution and disbelief.
Then Kris held out an empty palm.
Her gut fell. This uniform would lead her forward—and he was making sure no one could look back the way she’d come.
With her uniform pressed to her chest, she found her bag from the night before. Returned to his side.
And handed him her brass knuckles.
His fingers closed over the cut of metal and the spiked tips seemed to cut into her lungs.
“You won’t regret this,” he murmured.
Throat tight, she nodded.
“Get changed.” His gaze was soft with understanding. “Let’s see who you really are.”
12
Kris settled on a satisfied grin when Frankie stepped into his sitting room, tugging self-consciously at her top shirt button. Better to not make a big deal about how she was made for that uniform. The cut of the trousers, the crisp-edged collar, the status symbol of the gold thread. When she stopped fiddling, it would tap into her air of command and send it skyrocketing.
“That’s just how top buttons feel,” he said, and stood. “Ready?”
Hand lowering, she glanced around. “Where’s this breakfast you promised?”
“In the blue parlor,” he said. “Where I eat breakfast every morning.”
Unease flashed in her eyes. “I thought we’d eat here together.”
“No. We’ll eat there together.”
She swallowed. “In front of people?”
“You’re the one who told the guards about us.” He gestured for her to lead the way out, mainly to ensure she didn’t try to hide under the bed. “I won’t touch you outside of this room. To anyone who doesn’t know, I’m just a prince walking with a member of the royal guard. Nothing suspicious about that.”
She looked wary, but jerked her chin up and strode across the room. He followed, and as she reached for the door handle, it hit him that this was their first day as a couple. Him and Frankie. When they went their separate ways after breakfast, they’d still be together. His heart swelled so big that he reached around her to hold the door shut, sliding his other arm around her stomach, stealing one last moment of contact.
She shot a look up at him over her shoulder and muttered, “I really should expect this by now. What?”
“I love you.”
He was allowed to say it—allowed to watch the words seep into her like sunlight.
Every trace of strain left her face and she smiled, cheeks pink, and gave a little nod. Unable to stop himself, he angled his head and kissed her, and for a while, all he knew was her taste.
“Alright, I get it,” she said, pushing him off and looking flustered.
Laughing, he drew back so she could open the door. The first awkward moment—for Frankie—happened immediately, when she emerged to find Peter and Hanna standing guard. The pair bowed as Kris stepped out behind her, pretending not to notice that their superior had spent the night with their prince.
“Good morning, Your Highness,” Peter greeted, straightening. “Ma’am.”
“Morning,” he said. “We’re off to breakfast.”
Frankie’s face was bright red. She looked mortified and ready to bolt.
“I’ve heard it’s pancakes this morning,” Hanna said politely.
“Great.” His stomach rumbled. “Frankie loves pancakes. Don’t you?”
She flung a desperate I-don’t-know-if-I-can-do-this glance at him.
He casually slid his thumb int
o his front pocket and waited.
“Yes,” she said through clenched teeth.
He smiled. There—she’d contributed to the conversation. The first step toward a future where she’d walk out his door and greet his guards in her stride.
Kris briefly caught Hanna’s eye. The woman raised a hand to the collar of her own uniform, and mouthed, Wow.
He raised a brow as if to answer, I know, right?
Then he said, “Let’s go,” and Frankie fell into step beside him, his guards following behind. As they rounded a corner, he asked, “Was that so bad?”
“I don’t know.” Her cheeks were still pink. “It’s just—a whole new dynamic to figure out between me and my team. I’m not just their boss anymore. I’m your—”
He eyed her, gratified that he could suggest, “Girlfriend?”
She almost looked shy. “Yeah?”
“Yes,” he said firmly. “And I get it. But the two aren’t mutually exclusive. Stepping out my door shouldn’t be a changeover from one to the other. You can be both.”
“I’ll work on it.” She tugged at the top of her uniform again. “I’ve never been a girlfriend before.”
“And I’ve never had one.”
It should have bothered him. That his life with Frankie would be set on a public stage, their status exposing them to endless demands and intrusions of privacy, expectation that would surely strain the bond of the most seasoned long-term couple—and neither of them had even been in a relationship. And he’d heard relationships weren’t easy. It would be like learning to swim together in the middle of the ocean, and being told, also, there are sharks. They would get things wrong—panic, make bad decisions, communicate poorly, and all within the stretched-thin, rigorous confines of palace life.
Oh, and with a target on his back.
Actually. That did bother him.
Entering the blue parlor resulted in Frankie’s second awkward moment when she caught sight of their breakfast companions. Tommy, obviously, was there with a mug of black coffee in his hand and a closed book beside him, but thanks to Kris’s dawn text message, Mark and Ava sat on the nearest side of the table, Darius sitting between them.
Frankie halted in the doorway and spoke under her breath. “You didn’t tell me they’d be here.”
His family had looked around at their entrance. Mark was pretending not to smile, while Ava wore an expression of subdued delight. Tommy’s gaze cut between them once before he returned to his coffee. Darius sat up straight, his eyes bright and latched onto Frankie.
“You’ve kind of met them before,” Kris muttered dryly, wishing he hadn’t promised not to touch her. She was starting to splash in this new ocean and his hand on her back would be helpful to them both right now. “And I told you I was going to tell them this morning.”
“I didn’t know you meant with me.” And then she darted into the corridor and dragged in a bewildered Hanna, ushering her into position on the inside of the door. “I need someone else normal in here.”
“You belong with us,” was all he said, and moved to sit down, keeping a seat empty between him and Tommy. None of the brothers used the chair at the head of the table. “Morning, everyone.”
“Good morning, Kristof,” Ava greeted smoothly. “Thank you for inviting us.”
“Thanks for coming. Let’s start.” He reached for a platter of blueberry, banana, and butter pancakes. The serving staff had long since learned that this royal family dished up for themselves, and he took two of each flavor, intently aware that Frankie still stood rigid across the room.
“Hey, Darry,” he said, pouring maple syrup over the stack. “What do you think of the palace?”
He was only half-aware of Darius turning to look up at him. Kris was asking a lot of Frankie—pushing her into self-acceptance at a dizzying rate. She could do it. If she was going to spend her life with royalty, she had to be capable of pivoting fast, mentally and emotionally, and that meant kicking self-doubt to the curb. They’d have too many other challenges.
Darius’s eyes were wide. “It’s so big. And beautiful.”
Ava ran a hand lightly over his hair, her lips pinching. “We’ve promised to show him the stables before we leave.”
“Good timing,” Kris replied. “The quarter horses have been settled in.”
Mark grinned. “I know.”
“They’re magnificent,” Tommy said, dishing up four butter pancakes. He hesitated, jaw tightening, before topping off the stack with a blueberry one, reminding Kris that Jonah used to make epic batches of blueberry pancakes for breakfast during foaling season. He’d come around to their ranch bright and early, and they’d all wake exhausted from the accumulation of long, hard days to the smell of sweet cooking batter and pan-warmed syrup. In recent years, Frankie had joined them, often halfway through the first batch by the time they’d shuffled out into the kitchen.
Under the table, Kris toed the leg of her chair, pushing it out a little.
Her attention snapped to him.
Then Tommy spoke without looking at her. “It’s getting cold, Frankie.”
“Yeah, Franks.” Mark was setting another pancake on Ava’s plate. “Come and try this chocolate maple topping. Just don’t drink it all.”
“I want to talk to you about my bridal shower,” Ava said, turning to eye Frankie over her shoulder. “And I’d prefer not to shout.”
Darius half-twisted out of his chair to follow his mother’s glance and worked up the courage to say, “Hi, Frankie!”
After a pause, Hanna reached out and nudged her encouragingly in the back.
“Okay, okay.” The strain eased around Frankie’s mouth as she added, “Hey, Darius,” and moved to take her seat.
“I have some news.” Kris caught her eye as she pushed in beside him, and accidentally-on-purpose brushed her hand as he reached for the coffee pot. “Frankie’s my girlfriend.”
She flushed and held her mug out to him, silently demanding fuel.
“About time,” Tommy said, but gifted them with a rare smile.
“Congratulations.” Mark smiled, absently running a hand across Ava’s back. “I would say welcome to the family, Frankie, but you’ve been a part of us for years.”
Face down, Frankie mumbled her thanks. Not because she didn’t care—but because they were the only real family she’d ever known and Mark’s acknowledgement that it ran both ways was probably too much for her to process openly.
“You can be my second bridesmaid.” Ava leaned forward excitedly. “How do you feel about emerald green? Zara has already chosen it for her dress.”
“She looks incredible in green.” Kris lifted the pancake platter for Frankie to dish up. “They’re all good,” he added to her as she hesitated. “Try them all.”
“Perfect.” Ava sounded thrilled. “Green it is.”
Frankie selected one of each, not looking at the princess as she said, “Has Prince Cyrus decided when he’s arriving yet?”
“He’d like to stay for two weeks,” Ava said. “One before the wedding and one after.”
“I’ll be assigning Gul to him.” Frankie accepted the chocolate maple syrup from Mark. “What exactly does a prince get up to on a holiday in Kiraly?”
“Oh. I don’t know.” Ava poured Darius more juice. “I was hoping Zara might take him around town. They know each other.”
“Great idea,” Frankie said, tone a little higher than usual.
“Yes. So, the bridal shower is this Friday,” Ava said.
And as she explained that it was three days away, and it would be in a feminine-chic cocktail lounge in the city, and that she would only have a handful of guests, and that the bachelor party would meet up with them later in the night for a traditional Keleharian ceremony, Kris sat back and exchanged glances with his brothers. They all seemed tuned into the fact that their family was shifting. They had partners at the table, and a child. And after twenty-five years of being an unbreakable trio, letting others in didn’t unknot their b
ond as he’d first suspected, but rather shifted their position on the cord to fit the extra beads. They were family. They might not always exist shoulder to shoulder, but they’d always be on the same string.
Then Tommy looked at his untouched pancakes, features strained, and the moment turned bitter in Kris’s mouth.
When Ava concluded with, “And wear something bright, please,” Kris leaned back to look at Tommy around Frankie.
“You still looking into our family history, Tom?”
“Yes,” he said, and at Mark’s frown, explained, “There’s a lot to learn from looking back. I want to understand the relationship we’ve had with our people throughout our rule. The good and the bad. And the interesting.”
“Give us an interesting one, then,” Mark said.
“Okay.” Tommy paused, eyes narrowing. “Did you know that about six generations back, we had a succession dispute? The third prince in line for the throne went to war and never returned. His two older brothers died, leaving behind no male heirs, so the crown went to the son of the fourth brother, who’d also died. Almost twenty years later, a young man came to court claiming to be the son of the third prince, who had survived war, but been too ashamed by Kiraly’s loss in battle to return home.”
Ava leaned forward, curious. “Was the claimant deemed the rightful heir?”
“No.” Tommy shook his head slightly. “His father supposedly died during the trial, so couldn’t be brought home as conclusive proof. The royal family offered the man a place at court and an annual allowance to let the dispute rest, and he grudgingly accepted.”
“That is interesting,” Kris said, hiding his unease behind a lazy stretch.
He hadn’t meant to bring the conversation so close to succession disputes. Was this how Tommy thought of himself? A royal inconvenience to be placated? Granted a home within the palace, but treated like a risk to be managed? No. That kind of thinking would grow like a noxious root in his brother’s silences. Yet Tommy did resent Kris for leapfrogging his way onto the throne. In taking the choice of ascension from him, Kris had rendered Tommy a token figure—royalty in name only. For what use was a prince without a role in succession?