For a little while after that, things are weird. Everyone has more or less forgotten about the Inter-Continental Council of Kingdoms, because the only thing anyone talks about is how the Princess is going to marry two princes at once.

Or at least, things are weird everywhere except between the three of us. Somehow, sharing Katarina with my best friend just feels normal and right. Like this is what we’re supposed to be doing.

So I don’t really give a shit what anyone else thinks, as long our filthy princess likes it.

We get married about a month later in a small ceremony, presided over by the same priest who clocked Sven on the head with a candelabra. King Edward isn’t exactly thrilled for his daughter to be doing this, but I think he’s painfully aware that he nearly lost her.

Besides, I’m pretty sure her mom, Queen Carolina, had a few words with him. He’ll come around.

* * *

We honeymoon at a resort in the Maldives known for being very, very discreet, and we have essentially a whole wing of the place to ourselves: a private pool, a private beach, a yacht we can take out if the mood strikes us.

Mostly, the mood strikes us to have sex on every piece of furniture in the place. Katarina’s only gotten more and more insatiable, and God knows I’m more than willing to do anything she wants.

One morning, after a quickie and then breakfast, she’s sitting at the kitchen table, sipping coffee and flipping through tabloids. Right now, they’re more or less completely obsessed with the princess who married two men and is rumored to be having the most salacious sex life a royal’s had since Catherine the Great.

“Oh, I like this one,” she says. All she’s wearing is a short silk nightgown and nothing else, her perky nipples visible through the smooth cloth.

Even though we just fucked her, I kind of want to fuck her again.

“‘Has Crown Princess Katarina Discovered Ancient Love Secrets and Used Them to Seduce Two Playboys?’” she reads aloud.

“Did you?” I ask.

“If you did, we don’t mind,” Dom says, leaning against the counter.

She arches one eyebrow.

“That’s for me to know and you to find out,” she says. “This one thinks it’s aliens that gave me the love secrets. Or, no, the aliens gave me mind-control secrets, sorry.”

“Those are very different,” I deadpan.

“Supernova takes a much more practical approach,” she says, tossing another one aside. “They say that I had one night of passion with both of you, got pregnant, and made you both marry me because I don’t know who the father is. Because DNA tests don’t exist.”

“I’m surprised no one’s brought up the Illuminati yet,” Dom says. “Usually they’ve made an appearance by this point in a scandal.”

Katarina tosses the magazines away, leans back in her chair, and stretches. I head to the fridge, grab the orange juice, and pour myself a glass.

“What should we do today?” she asks, lazily. “And can I have some of that?”

I get another glass out and pour her some. We both drink, all looking out the massive glass doors leading to the private beach.

“We still haven’t left the resort,” Dom says, thoughtfully. “Today could be the day we go discover what the Maldives have to offer.”

“The front desk was very eager to tell me about snorkeling here,” I say. “Apparently there’s some very rare species of fish that turn bright purple this time of year for mating, and it’s—”

“Katarina?” Dom says, sounding alarmed.

I turn. She’s sitting bolt upright in her chair, her hand still around the orange juice, a look of surprise and confusion on her too-pale face.

“Princess?” I say, my heart in my throat, putting one hand on her shoulder. “What is it, are you—”

Katarina bolts so fast she knocks over her chair, running out of the room. A door slams, and Dom and I stare at each other, but we don’t follow her to the bathroom. I’m pretty sure she’d prefer to be alone right now.

“Is the juice bad?” Dom asks.

“It tasted fine to me,” I say, sniffing my glass. I take another small sip. Tastes like OJ.

I shrug, and then we frown at each other.

After a few minutes, the toilet flushes, water runs, and Katarina comes up. She’s still pale and shaky, and as we come over, I realize she’s got one hand on her lower belly.

“Are you okay?” Dom asks.

“I think so,” Katarina says, her voice quiet. “Actually, I think...”

She looks at us both, putting her other hand on her belly as well.

And then I finally get it. My jaw drops, and Dom starts laughing like a madman while I grin like an idiot.

I get to her first, pick her up and spin her around in my arms, giving her a good long kiss before Dom does the same thing.

“I don’t know for sure,” she protests. “I just threw up, it doesn’t mean I’m pregnant, it could mean anything...”

I don’t care. I’m already kissing her again, one hand on her stomach, Dom holding her from behind. I’m already imagining her, belly swollen, and it’s making me hard as a fucking rock.

Again.

“You’re gonna be so fucking hot pregnant,” Dom growls. “I can’t wait to hold your belly while I fuck you from behind.”

Katarina blushes, then smiles. I rub her still-flat belly one more time and grin down at her.

“How about we keep practicing, just in case?” I say.

Our princess laughs, and we carry her back into the bedroom and both come inside her twice, as hard as we’ve ever come.

Then we stay in bed all day. We never do go snorkeling.