“Aragon is bracing for a possible second round of mass anti-government protests next Sunday. As we previously reported, last Sunday huge rallies across the kingdom led to clashes in which dozens were arrested. We have the Democracy for Aragon Movement’s leader and opposition figurehead, Josep Baldoquinos with us here, calling for Aragonese to mobilize again in what is being widely dubbed as the mother of all marches,” said the eight o’clock news reporter. “Señor Baldoquinos, can you tell us...”

“Tell them your lies and propaganda,” Valantín said, sneering at the screen.

“We are the voice of those ignored by government and on behalf of and in solidarity with those affected by poverty and unemployment, we are going to make a peaceful protest.” Baldoquinos raised his fist and the crowd behind him cheered, raising their own fists and shouting the revolutionary slogans that were spray-painted on the palace wall, Sack the royals and Republic now were written. “Yet, this is the 21st century and royalty is outdated. Aragon needs to step up to its tradition and be a leader in the EU and not a godforsaken country still living in the middle ages. Same place, same time. We are—”

“Que te den por culo,” mumbled Valantín as he turned off the TV and then repeated to the black screen, “Fuck you.”

“Language,” Anchela warned her stepson, though she felt the same way. She was devastated at what Aragon had become because of these rebels—and because of her late husband being more interested in frolicking with women all over the world than in ruling.

“What do we need to do to stop them from protesting?” Maria asked softly, concern etched on her face. “What do we need to do to make them like us again?”

Valantín swore again, this time not loud enough for anyone else to hear.

All he wanted was peace for his home country, to restore it to its original glory as it had been for generations. He wanted for his people to walk the streets once more, worried only about not arriving home late for dinner, and not about whether they might lose the job they’d just left, or the unrest of Aragon. “We are trying, Maria.”

“I know,” she sighed. “But it’s not enough.”

Valantín was inclined to agree. It was never enough.

Ludwig’s hunger for Angelica was insatiable. The drive back to his place was almost pure torture despite the unexpected and exquisite release. It had just left him wanting more. But his ardor immediately cooled when he entered his home and Charles said, “Your Highness, Lord Friedrich is waiting for you in the TV room. It seems to be urgent.”

“I’ll take a shower and catch up on my emails,” said Angelica, giving Ludwig privacy to talk with his brother.

As soon as Ludwig entered the TV room, Friedrich didn’t waste any time and said, “I’ve come to warn you, Brother.”

Ludwig looked at him, his amusement fading. “From what?”

Friedrich drew in a breath. “There is a man outside your place, watching you and Angelica.”

“The same as before?”

“No. This one is from Aragon.”

“How did you find out?”

“I have my ways, as you do,” Frederick replied, clapping him on the shoulder. “I’m worried, Ludwig. For your safety. And hers.”

“I am fine,” Ludwig tamped down his worry, yet his mind was already whirling at how he would keep Angelica safe. She would be safe in his house, in his arms. “And she is safe in Lektenstaten.” With me. “Are you suggesting that she go home before the press starts rumors?”

A short laugh escaped his brother. “Hardly. I’m far too entertained by what’s going on with you and your little princess.”

He scowled, as much at the unexpected turn of conversation as at the remembrance of Angelica in his arms. She’d been slender, supple, and light. So easy to hold. And then she had been bold and so feminine as she took him in her wet and warm mouth, her long black hair held in his hand. “What are you talking about?”

His brother’s smile deepened. “It’s hardly a secret, is it? You’re obsessed with her. Taking her to your fave project, to Django’s great-granddaughter’s wedding, going shopping, for fuck’s sake. You have all the signs of a man whose life has been upended by a set of pretty tits and a wet cunt. Honestly, I didn’t think you had it in you to fall so far, so fast.”

Gossip was the currency of life but even so, Ludwig was a tad surprised—and a lot annoyed—by the extent of Frierich’s knowledge of his private life. He made a mental note to talk to Charles about keeping his personal affairs…private.

“You’ve been misinformed. It’s nothing like that at all.” Coldly, he said, “I’m astonished that you have taken such an interest in my activities.”

Friedrich shrugged. “It’s more of a morbid fascination. You’re so aloof, so…controlled. But it’s only a matter of time before someone finds the chink in your armor. I’m betting on the sweet, feisty princess.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he scoffed. “She is just that: a princess in need of some R&R, that I gladly provided. Nothing more.”

“If you say so.” His laughter was at once mocking and heartfelt.

“I do,” Ludwig announced.

They looked at each other and burst out laughing at the irony of his words, matching those in a wedding ceremony.

Friedrich shook his head. “You have it badly, Brother. I just hope that you can still make good decisions and not cloud them with your feelings for her.”

Come home.

The two words blinking on her iPhone screen told Angelica she could not keep ignoring her computer as she had done for the last few days. She twisted a towel around her wet hair, and sitting on the couch in front of the TV in Ludwig’s bedroom, she opened her backpack and took out her laptop. It took her a moment and a deep sigh to open it and turn it on.

Chills went down her spine as she read an email from Aragon’s political advisor, Lluís Cébrian.

The grand show of power in front of the palace had been too much. It was making much more than a nuisance, it was making a statement, and a rather loud one at that.

In another message, there was an article spouting how the new radicals were becoming something larger and giving the people what they wanted to hear.

Angelica knew she couldn’t hide out any longer. As much as she was enjoying herself, there was business to be taken care of back home. Her family, her country, needed her and she was truly being selfish in staying in Lektenstaten.

Anxious to ensure that everything was okay, she found herself dialing her half-brother’s number.

“Angelica,” he answered, with an audible sigh of relief.

“Valantín.” She could hear his resignation through the phone. “I saw that our palace has been vandalized and some crazy radicals have left us strong messages scrawled on the walls.”

“It was all over the news, Angel. Your mother is distraught, worried that violence will erupt at any moment and we must be there to calm the crowds. We must take on these radicals and show them that they are not going to win.”

“I will fly back tomorrow, I swear it.” Angelica nibbled on her lower lip, the new revelation putting a damper on her cause to stay. She could not live in her happy little bubble any longer. The thought of leaving Ludwig made her chest ache unbearably. “Tomorrow evening, I mean. I need a few more hours.”

She just wanted to hold it off a little longer, to pretend that no one had told her what was happening in the outside world. Once she did go back, there would be endless meetings, endless discussions on politics and what to do.

“Only tomorrow evening? So be it. You are not going to change your mind about this, are you?”

“No,” she said softly, hearing the sadness in his voice. “I’ll come and help with this situation.”

“I am happy to hear that. We need you here,” he stated rather harshly.

Angelica blew out a breath and shook her head, though no one was there to see it. “I will be there. Send me the jet tomorrow evening.”

“I will. And I will be sending Ms. Alfarro, too. Things are tumultuous here. I don’t want you without your bodyguard,” he told her, concern clear in the serious tone of his voice. “Please let me know when you land safely.”

He hung up on her then, the dial tone flooding her ear.

“Is there something wrong?”

Angelica set the phone in her lap as she looked up at Ludwig.

“No,” she forced out, her voice trembling a little with each word. “There’s nothing wrong.”

But her ill-concealed agitation told him that something was. He took her hand and pulled her up from the couch, against his body. Looking into her beautiful chocolate eyes, he breathed, “Don’t go.”