“Branimir Borut Danila Krizman the Twelfth, you need to come home. The Kingdom needs you.”

I hesitate for a second and sigh. My father only uses my absurdly long ceremonial name when he’s trying to be serious.

“I don’t think so,” I say simply. “I’m not interested.”

“God damnit, Bran,” he growls. “You’re the Prince, you know that? You should act like it for once in your life.”

I sigh and lean back in my chair. I’m thirty years old and I haven’t lived in Bellestan in over ten years now. I left for college and never looked back. I’m about as much the Prince of Bellestan as I am the Kind of England, but I guess that’s not really true.

Once royal, always royal, that’s what my parents used to say.

“What’s so important now?” I ask my father, the actual Kind of Bellestan. He has the same name as me, though he goes by Big Bran. Only his close friends call him that, though. To me, he’s just Dad.

“You’ve heard whispers of what’s happening here, I assume,” he says. “Blaz Perko and his Lion Party are making moves, and they’re starting to gain support in the countryside.”

I sigh, shaking my head. Bellestanian politics aren’t really my thing anymore, though I try to keep up. Blaz is the leader of the opposition party, an anti-monarch and incredibly fringe movement that wants to abandon the monarchy entirely and set up some kind of oligarchy run by the heads of the biggest companies in Bellestan. It’s madness really, and it would lead to the utter rape and pillage of Bellestan’s common folk, but apparently people are starting to buy into Blaz’s bullshit.

Plus, Bellestan is one of the few true monarchies left in the world. It’s an old and outdated form of government, to be sure, and we have instituted some reforms. There’s a Parliament now that has a say in how the country is run, which is elected by the people every three years. But the King still has final say over everything, and the royal line of succession remains intact. If my father died tomorrow, I’d become King, despite not wanting that even in the slightest.

“People have been talking about you,” Dad continues. “You’ve been in America for too long now, Branimir. Yes, you’ve done well, brought good fortune to our small country, but it’s time to come home.”

I grunt and shake my head. “That’s putting it mildly, Dad. Without me, nobody would have ever heard of Bellestan.”

“Yes. Well. That may be true. But Bellestan isn’t exactly a global country.”

I know what he means. People in Bellestan view outsiders with distrust, and I know they don’t like that their Prince lives in America and is the founder and CEO of a large and important American technology firm.

I founded Babble when I was still in college, and now it’s an enormous conglomerate with offices all over the world, including a beautiful site in Bellestan. I’ve brought millions and millions of dollars into Bellestan and I’ve done so much to modernize it over these last ten years. Yes, I’m a billionaire and I have dual American-Bellestanian citizenship, but I’m still the Prince. The people would learn to get used to it if it weren’t for Blaz stirring up trouble.

Still, I have no interest in coming home. I’ve done so much for Bellestan, and I have a life out here. I couldn’t imagine giving that all up just to become the Prince once again.

“Son, please listen.” My father’s tone suddenly shifts into something more serious. He’s speaking quietly, which isn’t something Big Bran normally does. He’s a large man, tall and rotund, with a big bushy beard and blue eyes that are always smiling. He’s well loved in Bellestan, even if the monarchy itself isn’t always that popular.

“There are… whispers,” he says softly. “Whispers of a coup. The monarchy doesn’t have the legitimacy it once had, and in a large part that’s your fault. Son, you need to come home, and you need to reproduce.”

I nearly fall out of my fucking office chair. I’m sitting at the top of an enormous building in New York, a building that I own, leading my lucrative and important company, and yet my father says I need to start having kids.

“You’re kidding me,” I say.

“I’m not. Please, Bran, we’re in danger.”

I hesitate. My father has never, ever said something like that to me before. He’s not the type of man to exaggerate something like that.

“Are you sure?” I ask him.

“I’m sure. Some of the generals support Blaz now, though not all of them. We’re still in control, but I don’t know for how much longer. If you came home, and if you had a woman, that would lend us some much needed legitimacy.”

“Why?” I ask him, frowning out my window.

“Because you’re the heir, but people don’t trust you anymore. If you came home, showed them that you’re still their Prince, they would feel secure again in the monarchy. The line would be unbroken. They’d know their future King is a good man.”

I groan again and stare down at my desk. There’s nothing like a royal guilt trip to really ruin your fucking day.

But I know my father is right. I can’t deny it. I know that living in New York and running my company hasn’t been good for the monarchy back home. I’m sure that if I returned, did some press events, showed off a wife, that would help turn the tide.

It wouldn’t even be so bad. It could be a quick trip, maybe just a month. I’d go around the countryside, donate money to local charities, give speeches, talk about good policy, that sort of thing. Just let people see my face.

“I don’t know,” I say to my father. “I’m not even with anyone right now. And I’m busy here.”

“I know you’re busy. But find someone. And find her soon. We need your help, son.”

I sigh. “I’ll think about it.”

“Thank you.” He hesitates then his voice goes back to normal. “Now, it’s time for me to use the royal throne.”

“Good one, Dad.”

“I love you, son.”

“Love you too. Send my best to Mom.”

“Later.” He hangs up the phone.

I put my phone on my desk and stare at it. I don’t know why I’m even considering this. It’s totally crazy to return to Bellestan right now, let alone to return with some woman I’m supposedly with. I don’t even know if I want to become the King. I’m not so sure that Blaz isn’t right, at least about the monarchy being old and outdated.

There’s something to be said for Democracy. It works in the United States, at least some of the time. The best people aren’t always elected, but at least people have a say in who they want to run the country.

I don’t know what the hell I should do. I thought I had more time to figure this shit out, but apparently I need to go home and do my Princely duties. I didn’t know I even wanted that for myself.

But I know I have to go. Even if I want to resist it. What kind of man would I be if I didn’t try to help my family? Maybe I don’t know if I agree with everything about them, but I’m still their son. I’m still the fucking Prince.

A knock at my door pulls me from my thoughts. “Come in,” I call out.

My secretary steps into the room, and it’s like I’m seeing her for the first time.

Mila is average height, maybe like five-foot-four, but that’s the only average thing about her. She’s beautiful, with thick dark hair and deep blue eyes. She smiles at me as she approaches my desk, and I can’t help but notice that her blouse is unbuttoned, revealing just a hint of her beautiful, full breasts.

I don’t know why I’ve never seen her before. She’s relatively new, only been working for me for the last six months, and I do have a strict no-work dating policy. She’s twenty-five and went to a good school, and I’m pretty sure she’s only my secretary because she wants a better job in my company. I’ve been so stressed lately that I guess I never noticed just how gorgeous she really is.

Or maybe that’s not true. Hell, a million qualified men and women applied for my secretary position, and I ended up hiring Mila although she had no prior experience. I think I hired her for a reason, and I’m just now realizing what that reason was.

She’s smart and gorgeous and clearly can handle the job. But I guess I hired her because I wanted a woman like her to be around me all the time.

“Messages for you,” she says. “Came in while you were on the phone.” She places the written messages down on my desk.

I don’t even look at them. “What are you doing tonight?” I ask her suddenly.

She looks surprised. “Erm, I don’t know,” she says. “No plans, I guess.”

I smile at her. It’s only Thursday so I shouldn’t be surprised. “Come to dinner with me.”

She looks even more surprised. “I, uh, is this a business thing?”

“Maybe,” I say, and shrug. “Not really. I know this is out of the blue, and maybe a little inappropriate, but I can’t help it. I want what I want.”

She smiles a little bit. “You always are direct when you want something.”

“That’s right.” I laugh a little and I can tell her tension eases slightly. “No pressure. Your job isn’t on the line here.”

“Okay,” she says, nodding. “Sure, why not? I have nothing else to do.”

“Good. Glad you’re excited.”

She laughs a little bit. “Uh, yeah. Thanks.”

“I’ll pick you up tonight at eight. How’s that?”

“That’s perfect.”

“Okay. Thanks for the messages.”

“Sure.” She lingers for a second and looks like she wants to say something, but turns and leaves instead.

I watch her ass as she goes.

I don’t know what I’m doing, but as the door shuts and she disappears, an idea comes to me. A very, very dangerous and stupid idea, but it might work. And it might be really fucking fun.

I can’t stop grinning for the rest of the day.