Americo sat with his boots kicked up on the wooden surface of a desktop, a smile on his lips.

The monitor in front of him now displayed an image of a pathetically lovesick Grand-Duke cuddling a cold—but not at all frigid—princess, after having acted like a starving mongrel at a butcher’s cart.

“That was funny to watch.” Aguilar massaged his shoulders. “Now, come to bed. I also need some R&R before we discuss what we are going to do with him.”

“And Abelardo?” Americo asked, as he followed Aguilar to the bedroom. “It’s clear that he does not have a chance with the feisty royal bitch.”

“Well, we cannot say he didn’t have his merits. I have no idea how he managed to put all these cameras up.”

“He didn’t,” Americo said, toeing off his boots and pulling his shirt off. “It was Celipa. Though he provided enough diversion for her to come in and not be noticed.”

“Ah.” Aguilar shrugged and the vest fell to the floor. “Well, you keep an eye on him.”

Ludwig mentally kicked himself as he walked down the street to the museum opening. He was not very comfortable in the position of the secret male-mistress. He felt, if the humiliating truth be told, like a starving beggar boy with his nose pressed to the window of a pastry shop as he left her rooms in the early morning hours.

As much as he realized Angelica needed time and space and that the political situation in Aragon was not propitious for him wooing and dating their princess, for the first time in his existence, Ludwig didn’t want to offer her time, nor space. Unlike with Diana, the thought of settling down with Angelica warmed him. It lit a fire in his soul he had no will nor want to put out.

Somehow, he was going to let her know that. He knew she was supposed to be at the museum. He just hoped that at some point, he would be allowed to have a private word with her. He didn’t know what he was going to say. He just knew he needed to get through to her.

The sun was high and the air was warm. There were several people out in the streets, most in good moods. He didn’t understand what it was about royalty, but people always got giddy when they were about to see a king or a queen or a princess. He sincerely did not believe that the Aragonese people would ever vote their royalty out of power. They may vote for a different type of government—one that worked beside the royalty, but he doubted they would allow their king to completely disappear. Judging by the looks on the faces of those around him, they adored him and his sister.

But in front of the museum, isolated to one side, there were, however, protesters, marching and brandishing plaques: Make Monarchy History; Republic Now.

He saw the King’s procession round the corner. People stepped off the street and onto the sidewalk as directed by the police.

An ambulance invaded the street at the same time a woman climbed over the line of policemen which was isolating the protesters and broke into a run, waving her arms and shouting something that was lost in the wailing of the siren.

Another man followed and on his plaque was all Ludwig needed to see: Axe the royals.

With his heart hammering in his chest, he sprinted toward the royal limousine.

Angelica realized Valantín was in a dark mood that morning. When he was broody, it was best to leave him to himself and allow him to find his own way out. Sooner or later, he would let her know what was on his mind.

As a natural introvert, he tended to keep to himself and they were on their way to the grand opening of a local museum. It had sustained fire damage a few months prior and a great deal of effort had gone into restoring it, and into maintaining the history and culture of Aragon. They might be a small nation, but they were a proud one.

“You went out with Ludwig last night.”

And sooner came right now. “It was just dinner.”

She was very glad that he respected her boundaries and her wishes. She wasn’t going to deny that. But a tiny part of her wished that Ludwig had pushed a little harder the night before and insisted on staying with her until the morning; maybe even insisting that she be open about their affair.

That tiny part that wanted so desperately to believe in romance cried a little when he had disengaged himself from her embrace, dressed, and left by the tunnels, leaving her all alone.

And that ugly part of her that still did not believe she was good enough to entice any man in a long, steady relationship reared its head.

“And if anyone had seen?”

“Then I would have come up with a story to tell.” She could handle almost any kind of scandal. Almost. “And a true story at that. He is a prominent businessman, partner to the husband of our sister, and he’s arranged for funding to help us with the hospital renovation. There is also a great deal he can advise about.”

The dark look he gave her said he did not believe her words. “Is the money for real—no strings, or tit-for-tat?”

“It’s one hundred percent real. It’s from Angus and Siobhan.”

“That’s great news, and we could really use it. But still. Going out with him in public. I hope you were discreet.”

“Of course I was.” Before Abelardo, he never would have asked those questions. But afterward? It was as if he no longer trusted her, which only reinforced the idea that she was to blame in all of it. Somehow, she had made Abelardo wish to run away rather than to meet her at the altar.

Valantín grunted in response.

“This opening will be a good thing for the people. They need a morale booster.”

“And you think that re-opening a museum will do that?” His expression stated he did not agree.

She turned her attention out the window of the limousine. They were in downtown now, people lined the streets waving and she responded. They needed something—something to show the middle class that the royal family really did care. “Did you see the finalized report on the hospital?”

“I did.” He tapped his fingers on his knee. “It has been signed and processed. And with the extra funding, there’s nothing holding us back.”

“Good.” Her reality was a simple one: her life was too full of responsibilities.

“About Ludwig.” Valantín wasn’t letting it go. “How serious are you with him?”

She didn’t quite understand what he was asking. “You know he is not the type of man that will settle down gracefully.” Which was the kind of man she needed to acquire. She needed a man who would make her people feel confident about their government.

Valantín’s expression softened. “I want you to understand that I am only concerned for you. You can marry any man you want. I’ll not stand in the way. I only want to ensure that you are happy.”

This was the side of her brother few got to see. Most people only saw his mood swings. Most thought that he was unapproachable. Beneath all of the bluster was a man who cared about his small circle of friends. She knew he lacked the freedom to marry anyone he chose. She only hoped that whoever captured her brother’s attention was worthy of him.

“I’m told he is very charming.”

“Quite.” As he was also charming when he was working or thinking about a project he was passionate about. She found her heart leaping as she recalled the soft smile on his face when he told her of his reconstruction efforts. She had to be careful about that. She could feel her heart go soft toward him and that was something she could not afford.

“And quite experienced in bed.”

“Look, Valantín, I’m having an affair with Ludwig.” That, however, wasn’t a discussion she wanted to have with her big brother and before he could recover from the shock, she added, “I am not saying that because I want—or need—your approval but because I think you need to know the truth, since you are not only my brother, but also my king. But that’s all I’ll tell you.”

He gave her a dark look and turned his back to her, waving at the people on his side of the street.

As they got closer to the museum, she noticed the waving and cheering diminished and was substituted by protesters waving plates with words of order.   “I am worried about the DFAM. Do we know who is behind them?”

“This new political movement’s supporters remain in the shadows. Their political faces are nothing more than puppets, the bastards,” hissed Valantín in reply.

That was what frightened her the most. In her few parliamentary conversations with Josep Baldovinos, the only thing she could really tell for certain was that she was speaking to the wrong person.

“Chief Bandres has Roger looking into it. I have no doubt he will come up with something.” Roger Alcolea, an American-Aragonese, doubled as their head of security and secretary to the head of Guardia Civil counter-intelligence, Ilda Bandres, since Aragon was working with a shortage of people. “That’s strange…”

The comment made Angelica turn to see what Valantín was talking about. Shouts started coming from behind them, and when she turned to look, there was an ambulance coming from seemingly out of nowhere.

“Get down!” Valantín threw himself over her.