The waitress slams the two tankards of ale down on the gnarled oak table, hurrying off to her next customers. The foam sloshes over the rims, and I watch as it slides down the edges of the mugs.

These mugs must be as ancient as the walls of this tavern.

I take a quick glance around the room—at the big-bellied men and high, wood rafters. I don't think I've ever seen this tavern empty. It's always fuller than a freeway at rush hour.

Richard brings the mug to his mouth, taking a greedy gulp, and when he pulls it back, a line of foam clings to his upper lip. He wipes it off with the back of his hand and smiles.

"Now that's an ale," he grins, leaning back in his seat in deep approval.

I nod my head in agreement. "There are few things more satisfying than a well-crafted beer," I say. "My cock might not agree, but my stomach certainly does."

We both laugh.

Just then, a voice cuts through our conversation.

"Mind if I join you?" a man says. It's a voice steeped in privilege and bureaucracy.

Richard and I look up and see Prince Gladrell. He has a disarmingly white smile—the kind you only see in toothpaste commercials, or on dangerous women.

"Please, have a seat," I say, motioning to the empty space next to us.

"It's good to see you both," Gladrell says. "I must ask—how is Princess Snow? Is she safe?"

I see Gladrell isn't wasting any time.

“Of course she’s safe,” I say.

Richard looks at me with a private, knowing gaze that says of course she's safe, and we both know what that means....she's safe in the embrace of seven, muscled men—14 strong biceps, seven chiseled chests, and seven stiff cocks.

If only Gladrell knew just how safe we're keeping her...

He seems to sense that there's more to our words than meets the surface of the conversation, like seeing the tip of an iceberg and knowing that what you're seeing is only 10 percent of the real deal.

"What does that mean?" Gladrell asks.

I know we have to tread carefully here.

"It means that Snow is dear to all of our hearts," I say, shrugging my shoulders as if it's a truth that he should already understand. I play it cool.

He seems to accept this answer and he nods his head. "She certainly is," he says. He turns to both of us. "Lucien, Richard, I need you to keep Snow out of the fighting."

He shrugs. "We won't be throwing bombs at her feet, if that's what you mean," Richard says.

"I think you both know very well what I mean," Gladrell says, his voice taking a sharp turn. "What I'm saying is that the fighting will intensify. There'll be a war on our doorsteps. I'm ordering you both to keep Snow far away from this. Don't tell me you've forgotten how to be soldiers?"

"Forgetting isn't a word in our vocabularies," Richard says.

"Good," Gladrell says. "Then do as you've been ordered and keep Snow out of harm's way."

With that, he pushes himself away from the table and stands up. Then, with a sharp nod, he turns on his heels and leaves the Tavern without another word.

I let out an agitated sigh, but before I can say anything, we see Snow approach our table.

"What are you doing here?" I ask. She was the last person I expected to see in this place.

She has her hands on her hips. "I followed you," she says, matter-of-fact.

"You shouldn't do that," Richard says, taking another pull from his ale.

"Why not?" she says, daring us for the truth with her eyes sparking a hot blue

"This country is no longer safe, Princess," I say, looking at her over the rim of my mug.

"Don't give me that Princess bullshit right now," she says, agitated. Her cheeks flush the shade of a ripe plum. "What's really going on? I have the right to know."

"It's nothing, it's just—" I start to say, but Snow cuts me off.

"I heard what Prince Gladrell said. I'm not stupid. Why do I have to stay safe?" she asks.

"We're here to protect you," I say. I reach over to touch her hand, but she pulls back.

"Don't patronize me," she says, looking at us both. "Who do you think I am? I don't need your protecting."

"Yes you do," Richard and I say simultaneously, giving each other a knowing look, a smile forming on our lips.

She seems to understand the glimmer of something more hidden in our eyes, and I reach out, placing my hand on hers.

The tension in her body recedes.

"Sit," I say, patting the empty space between Richard and I. We'd love nothing more than to have her body sandwiched between ours.

"What if I don't want to sit?" she asks, the hint of the devil on her lips.

"What if we make you?" Richard says, more than willing to play this game.

"So make me," she purrs, her lips parting just enough so that we catch a glimpse of her moist tongue, and immediately my cock stiffens to attention, as if it were saluting its captain.

And let's be honest; she is the captain of this ship, and Richard and I are more than happy to be along for the ride. Richard and I eye her body with a growing hunger, and I think about what I'd give about now to stick my cock between the warm, secret swells of her breasts.

Snow is enjoying this game, and she swings her hips playfully, causing the hemline of her dress to climb well above her knees. She's still refusing to sit.

"Has this Tavern turned into an oven, or is it just me?" she purrs. She pretends to fan her face.

"It's only about to get hotter," I smile. "You sure you're ready to play with this heat?"

"Am I?" she asks, giving us a wink, and curling the edges of her lips into a playful grin. "There's only one way to find out. I think we need to book a room for tonight...right here at the Tavern."