I'm barely out of bed, processing the insane thing I agreed to the night before, when I'm picked up by a whirlwind. Rather, three middle aged women.

Two of them lift me off my bed, gently shaking me awake, while another stands next to a rack of clothing that's materialized out of nowhere.

“Hurry, Marissa, she's only got an hour! We'll get her washed up.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa! I think I can wash myself!” They don't listen. They've pulled off my robe and carried me halfway to the bathroom before I'm able to speak.

“Nonsense,” the oldest one snaps. “It'll be much faster, more efficient, if you'll allow us, madame.”

Jesus, no. This is happening too fast. These manic aides or royal valets or whatever they are will strip me naked in a matter of seconds if I don't say something.

“Stop! I order you. I'm engaged to Prince Silas Bearington himself, and that means you're supposed to do anything I say.”

Does it? I have no clue. I hope it does.

The women take their hands off me, the three of us standing in the bathroom, staring dumbly at one another.

“Engaged?!” The dark haired one looks at her companion. “Mary, I thought she was just a guest. I didn't know we were dealing with the future...Princess.”

She blinks her eyes, totally shocked. Part of me regrets letting the news slip so easily – but not if it means I'm going to get a chance to bathe myself.

“As you wish,” the redhead named Mary says. “But please, madame, you need to finish quickly. Marissa's waiting outside with your clothes and breakfast. You need to be downstairs with his Highness by noon.”

I nod, tapping my foot impatiently. They're out in a few more seconds, and I let my robe drop.

It's been a rough night. I don't bother using the gorgeous bathtub with the gold trim and the waterfalls flowing from the slots in the wall. I hop in the shower and stand underneath what's probably a thousand dollar shower head, beaming me with jets.

The pressure massages me. It feels good, especially after last night.

It hasn't been easy getting used to this.

I'm surprised I managed to get any sleep. No sooner than I got back to my room and laid down, I spent several hours tossing and turning.

Thinking about this role I've agreed to play. All but whoring myself out to a man who's using me to lie to millions of people.

Thinking about dad. Thousands of miles away, battling for his life, and getting a fighting chance at it only because the same asshole who thought nothing of using me as a prop stepped in to help him.

Thinking about the Prince. Everything he's gotten me to agree to should worry me.

But my mind goes somewhere else whenever I think about Silas.

His heat, burning beneath his skin each time he touches me, his breath drifting across me like smoke.

His power, his strength, the arrogance in every movement. He's grabbed me more times than I can count, something no man ever did before.

Always without asking. Always with superhuman confidence, like he already owns me, and we haven't even signed this stupid contract. Always with the glint in his ocean blue eyes that says everything I fear most about this insane arrangement.

I can fuck you, love. Anytime. Any place. Any way I want.

And you'll love it, Erin. Fuck yeah, you will.

You won't stop me. You'll beg because it's that good.

And once we get started, we won't be stopping until you've soaked the sheets.

“Madame?” A loud, desperate knock at the door breaks me from my filthy daydreams.

I look down at the aching, wet mess between my thighs. My hand went there without me even realizing it, my fingers drifting over my clit, stroking it while I imagine what would happen if the Prince and I threw that 'no sex' rule to the seven winds.

“Coming! Hold on, just a second,” I grunt, standing up straight, flattening myself against the wall.

I don't know if she backs away from the door. I don't care.

It's dirty and depraved, but it's the release I need. It's the tension Prince Hung is strangling me with.

Is he really as hung as his nickname implies? Or is it one more lie he's fed to the media to make himself seem like a god?

I want to believe. I want to think about how huge he is because I need my release if I'm going to survive today.

The kind of sweet release I've never, ever gotten as a sheltered virgin, who always thought she'd save herself for her husband. For a good man, a noble man, someone closer to my level, sexually and otherwise.

Not the Playboy Prince, who's probably fucked hundreds, the one who doesn't even want me for real, the man who makes me want to tear out the 'no sex' clause in our non-existent contract with my bare teeth.

Oh, God. Oh, fuck.

Silas!

My thoughts are off the chain, surrendering to the filthy hulk I want bending me over, fisting my hair, slamming into me so hard I can feel my hips shaking my shoulders. He really is Prince Hung and so much more in this fantasy. He's about to push me over.

“Madame? Are you all right?” Mary sounds extra nervous in that not-quite-English accent. She jiggles the doorknob, but I can't stop now.

“Coming!” I scream again, this time a little more breathless.

Yes, coming.

Coming for the bastard, the player, the Prince. Coming so hard I feel myself gush all over my hand, something that rarely happens. Grinding my teeth, heaving my lungs, pushing myself up into the jet stream so the waves lap at my nipples like tongues.

I'm coming the way I've wanted to since I climbed into bed last night.

Coming, coming, coming while I think about him grabbing my wrists the next time we're face-to-face, pushing me against the nearest wall, and ripping off my panties...

My knees are shaking when I finally pull my hand away and turn the water off. By now, two of the women are in a full blown panic. I hear one slamming herself into the door like a battering ram.

“Jesus Christ. I'll be out in just a minute – I'm drying myself now!”

The commotion stops. I hear them angrily chattering away behind the door while I rip the Egyptian cotton towel off its golden clip.

Recent pleasure aside, I'm hating Silas even more. His lies are rubbing off on me, and so is his dirty, evil charm.

This has to be some kind of black magic. Saint Moore, like any other European country, has its legends about sorcerers, witches, and other crazy things. I think I'm cursed. The fact that I'm pulling on fresh underwear after masturbating to a man I hate makes me wonder if all the myths are true.

“Okay. Sorry about that, ladies, I sometimes have allergies and like to breathe the steam to clean my sinuses.” Another lie.

Mary and Charlotte glare at me. Fortunately, the more chipper Marissa steps between them, yanks me forward, and sits me down in front of three huge mirrors. She blow dries and combs my hair, humming an odd sounding tune.

I'm allowed to gulp down a thermos of strong black tea and something that tastes like waffles stacked high with a fantastic spread of fruit and cream drizzled over it. Delightful.

It takes me a minute to recognize the tune. It's King of All Things, the elegant overture Saint Moore adopted as its national anthem. It's also the song that plays every time one of the royals steps into a public setting.

It's about a great King, Queen Marina's grandfather, I think. Of course, it's loud, arrogant, and probably caused a few composers to wag their fingers angrily when it was written about a hundred and fifty years ago.

Yeah, the longer I'm here, the easier it is to see why such cocky, manipulative crap runs in Silas' blue blood.

“Stand up, please, madame! We're on a very tight schedule, you understand. Pardon the hurry.” Marissa beams me a tense smile.

No sooner than I'm on my feet, she's wrapping me in several layers of the softest, most expensive clothes I've ever worn on my body. It's a long, flowing, very traditional dress. Very red – blood red. Complete with a sweet smelling flower she tucks into my hair, giving it a final push in the mirror.

“There, there. You look just lovely. What do you think?” She puts her hand on my back and spins me around.

It takes me a second to recognize myself. God.

I've been transformed. Completely. Unrecognizably.

Even in my best formalwear, I never looked like anything more than a smart, savvy student from a very American college. Now, I look like I belong on a theater stage, re-enacting some play from a hundred years ago.

Or else in the royal palace on this insane island. The place I'm supposed to wind up in less than thirty minutes.

“It's good, I guess,” I tell her. “Uh...shoes?”

“Of course!” She snaps her fingers and dives down on the floor, grabbing my feet and stuffing them into wooden clogs with gold and rubies.

The heels are surprisingly high. I hope I can actually walk in this getup without tripping all over myself. I don't stop to think about what a pain it's going to be if I have to use the bathroom.

“Just perfect, madame! Your Prince is waiting downstairs. Shall we go?”

“We shall,” I say, leading them out the room, straight to the elevator.

When we're on the first floor, the boys take over. Silas' valet, Victor, nods respectfully and walks me out to the waiting SUV tucked into its motorcade.

“His Highness is already waiting for you in the rear, madame. Please don't be afraid to grab my arm if you need some help on these stairs.”

I thank him, but intend to take them myself. I could use the practice. I manage, slowly and haltingly, careful not to go tumbling down in a flash of reds.

The SUV's door opens. I slide in next to Silas, or that's what I mean to do, except suddenly I'm stuck.

“Jesus. Look at you,” he says, lowering the expensive shades he's wearing.

It's a look that's way too similar to the imaginary smile Prince Hung just gave me in the shower.

I'm embarrassed. Victor comes running up to save my skirt from tearing on the metal. I swear, if Silas is about to hit me with some snotty remark, I won't hesitate to give him the slapping he deserves. Prince or not.

“What?” I say, narrowing my eyes.

Finally. The skirt comes free and I clamber up on the seat next to him, grabbing my seat belt.

“You're gorgeous, love. Looks like it was made for you.”

Surprise. Compliments aren't what I expect.

I bat my eyes a couple times and turn away from him, trying not to think about what he made me do in the shower this morning.

“Well, I think this would be much easier if that were the case.”

“I'd say you'll get plenty of practice, but you'll be happy to hear occasions this formal tend to be rare. You can go back to your thongs and yoga pants when we're done. Just be sure you wear something halfway decent when we're in front of grandmom.”

Thongs and yoga pants? Thanks, asshole.

Without thinking, I reach over and sock him on the arm. He laughs, grabs my wrist, and brings my hand to his lips.

I hadn't noticed how insanely hot it is underneath all this. Naturally, I do when he kisses my skin for the first time. It only lasts a second, more than a gentle peck. It's forceful, a little wet, and haughty as everything else about him.

“If you really want to cause damage, you'll have to punch me a whole lot harder next time. That swing just turns me on. You get rough with me, I'll eat it up and spit it back ten times harder.” He brings his mouth to my hand again, this time sinking his teeth in, a gentle bite igniting a flash fire in my body.

Bastard! I can't let him play with me like this. I won't, I tell myself.

He's never polite, even when he says nice things. He just wants me to let my guard down.

“No sex,” I tell him, jerking my hand away.

“Please. I haven't forgotten,” he says, pushing his shades back over his beautiful eyes. “I'm practicing my most gentlemanly kiss. We can't be like ice, Erin. You'd better believe the tabloids will pick up a frigid marriage if they get so much as a breeze.”

“Really? Is that why you're hiding behind those sunglasses?” I stick out my tongue.

“This is pure style for a bright day, love.” He grins. “Same brand the late dictator Mesaru wore in North Africa. I've heard his collection of designer shades is the only thing that survived when they ransacked his palace and stabbed him a hundred times a few years back.”

“I know all about the Arab Spring,” I said, confident I knew a lot more than him. “Didn't know you took fashion tips from dead tyrants.”

“Hey, the man was a sick fuck, no doubt about it. Sometimes even the assholes know how to look good.” He lifts his eyebrows, a gesture that lets me know he's practically eye fucking me behind his lenses. “We need to be in our Sunday best, and on our best behavior, too. You've only got one chance to make a first impression on Her Majesty.”

Damn it, he's right. I tense up, folding my hands in my lap, very conscious that I'm about to meet a Queen, a ruler, a billionaire, and one of the most beloved elder stateswomen in the world.

“Love, don't spill your spaghetti now,” he says, barely hiding the amusement in his voice. “It's going to be fine. Trust me, I've visited her before with enough mud dripping off me for the both of us. Unless you drop the dress and prance in naked or something, nothing you do will ever one up me in the scandal department.”

He's right, of course. So, why the hell isn't that any consolation?

The worst part is, he senses my nerves coming undone. That's probably why he reaches over, clasps my hand, and holds it like he cares.

We share a slow, tense look. Then he cocks his head, looks at me over the tops of those shades, and says something that makes me believe he isn't just an asshole for about a minute.

“You can do this, Erin. You've got family, life and death on the line. That's as valuable as an entire kingdom.”

“I'll do my best,” I say softly, promising both of us that I will.

“Yeah, you will, Princess. I wouldn't take on anybody who half-asses it. Not even a pretend bride.” That smile on his face erupts into a full panty-melting grin. “Half-assing anything isn't in your nature. I know because every inch of what you're sitting on is too fucking fine for half measures.”

Oh. My. God.

Here I am, decked out in this dress that's worth more than the luxury vehicle we're riding in, and he's commenting on my ass. I can't take it anymore.

I lean in, let my hand fly, and give him what he deserves. Silas' royal stubble burns my palm when it explodes across his cheek.

Pulling back, my fingers are trembling, wondering if I've just blown the whole thing.

No, he's still smiling. I should've known, after what he said about liking it rough. The idiot on top of the world next to me likes this.

“Hope you're feeling better,” he says, as if I just sneezed. “I'll take a blow like that anytime if that's the price to pay for complimenting one of the finest asses I've ever seen.”

I don't say another word until we're at the palace. He takes off his shades, steps out before me, and comes to my side to help me out. I take his hand angrily, catching his dizzying blue eyes for a second before I look away.

I can't let him get to me again. This is too important. I'm already feeling light headed by the pomp and glamor adorning every inch of this incredible building. It's only my second time here since the disastrous interview, since the unthinkable became my reality.

Silas stops in front of a regal looking man in a suit that's almost as nice as his. “Where is she?” he asks.

“Throne room, my Prince. She's waiting for you, having finished with the Belgian trade minister a few minutes ago.”

“Damn,” he says, turning to me as he leads us on, his personal entourage trailing behind us. “I'd have hoped for some place more casual for an introduction. Whatever, it's a test. If you can get through this when she's there, perched in all her splendor, you can get through anything, love.”

My heart starts hammering in my chest. Thank God corsets aren't a thing in royal fashion anymore, or else I'd be screwed.

It takes several minutes to travel through the palace, taking in more history, wealth, and power than I can fully absorb. Hell, I think I'll need several lifetimes to do that. Every wall, every ceiling, every chandelier oozes class.

The very highest, most exclusive class a human being can belong to. These royals make billionaires and celebrities back home look like posers.

I'm walking into the home of living, breathing people who think they're gods, put here to shape this island and the broader world as they please. It's their destiny, the one they're told to fulfill from the day they're born.

Besides being alien to everything I know, I can't lie about what it means. It's fucking terrifying.

The door to the throne room – if I can even call it that – is huge. Scenes of battle, triumph, and dragons are carved into every inch, stretching from floor to ceiling. Two men in traditional navy blue uniforms with rifles slung over their shoulders bow their heads as soon as they see us.

“I'm here to meet with Her Majesty,” Silas tells them. “Let us in.”

The men move like clockwork. They march several long strides to the center, and grasp the huge silver handles. The door creaks open like it's hiding Aladdin's long lost treasure – what else? – and I'm staring into a scene from another century.

Inside, Queen Marina Bearington sits on her high throne, a tiara like crystal on her head. I've seen it in the pictures. She's like a living ornament on a Christmas tree turned into a room, decked in jewels, metals, and silk robes. It's hard to believe she's human, much less standing in front of me.

Yes, standing, rising to her royal feet. Waiting for us.

“Come on. Just follow my lead,” Silas whispers under his breath. A move that teaches me everything echoes in this monstrous, awesome chamber, however subtle.

He steps forward, and I'm at his side. When he bows – much more deeply than the shallow head nods I've seen in the kingdom before – I do it, too. Then I curtsy, careful not to catch my dress on my heels, embarrassing myself forever.

“Your Majesty. It's my great honor to present my fiancee, and future Princess, Erin Warwick from the United States.”

My head stays dipped too low to see the Queen, but I can feel her eyes. They're focused on me like a hawk's, wondering where the hell I came from, and why.

“Rise.” She speaks one word.

Silas takes my hand and helps me up. We're standing beneath her elevated throne, just several feet away from a woman who's ruled over millions long before I was born.

I can't make out any of Silas' facial features in hers, but they share the same eyes.

Deep, dark, royal blue, unchanged by age.

“You're the girl whose father collapsed on television, interviewing my grandson, aren't you?” she says, slowly scanning me with her gaze.

“Guilty as charged, Your Majesty.” I want to kick myself as soon as it's out of my mouth. Jesus, what was I thinking – guilty?

The Queen turns to Silas, her tiara catching the light, sparkling brilliantly like stars in her head. “What's the real meaning of this, Silas? Tell me the truth.”

He looks taken aback, and his fingers tighten in mine. “The meaning? I've found the love of my life, and I'm claiming her. You always said I ought to find a good girl to settle down with. Someone to calm me, bring balance. Well, Your Majesty, I have.”

The Queen looks incredulous. “So, you've done exactly what I suggested in a matter of days? You couldn't have possibly known Miss Warwick much longer than that, all things considered.”

“You're right,” he says. “We've barely known each other a week, if you want the full truth. This woman, she's different than all the others I've ever been with. She isn't just another fling. When you meet the love of your life, you just know. I used to laugh at that, but now? I get it. Hell, yeah, I do.”

He pulls my hand up, brings it to his mouth the same way he did yesterday on the balcony, and puts it against his lips.

The floor drops out beneath me.

I can't believe I'm standing here, having my hand kissed by a Prince who doesn't believe a word of anything he's just said, all in front of Queen Marina Bearington.

“You're lying,” she says, turning her angry eyes to me, making my heart sputter. “You're either lying, or you've lost your mind, son. When I said you should find a woman, I meant it should happen slowly...naturally. Just as these things are meant to. You can't possibly think I meant for you to find a wife in less than a week. What I don't know is why you're doing this. Regardless, it isn't going to work, Silas. I see through it, and I'm going to instruct the royal chapel not to approve any weddings with this woman.”

“No!” Dad flashes in my brain, and I step forward, speaking my objection like a bullet. “I know what this looks like. It seems insane, Your Majesty, like something from a dream. That's been my last few days with the Prince, exactly. The truth is...we're in love. We want to move this forward. But I can't do that unless he gives me a place in the kingdom so I don't have to go back to LA.”

Her gaze picks me up and throws me down again. I feel like I'm disembodied, watching myself plead this crazy case, telling the biggest lie I ever have in my life to a famous person I never imagined talking to.

“You don't have to believe it, but I'm giving you the truth. And the truth is...I've never met a man more kind, more noble, more handsome than your grandson.” I pause, feeling his smile burn when I call the bastard handsome. Damn him. “I want to have a life with Silas. I'll do anything to make that happen.”

“Certainly, you will,” she snaps. “It isn't every day a commoner has the prospect of becoming a Princess staring her in the face.”

“No,” I agree softly. “Believe me, that isn't what I'm after. I'll do whatever I need to convince you I'm sincere. I'm not looking to get rich or have a title behind my name.”

Except...that's exactly what I'm hoping to get from this.

“Nonsense. You'll acquire both those things, no question about it, if you two go through with this madness. Technically, there's no law restricting marriage outside the family to royal blood, so I can't oppose you on those grounds. There is, however, more than ample reason to stop this when I believe my son's judgment has been compromised. It's ludicrous!”

That last word rings off the gold walls like a cannon blast. She's rattled, for good reason, but it's disturbing as hell to hear the Queen get so emotional.

“My judgment?” he says, sharp sarcasm in his voice.

Great. They're about to argue, and I'm going to be sick. My stomach flips itself over several times. I'm almost grateful when Silas steps in front of me, closer to the throne.

The Queen nods. “You can't be in your right mind. I want her gone, Silas, and then I'm going to ensure you get a full evaluation at the royal hospital.”

Silas snorts, shakes his head, and points a finger up at her.

“You've got to be fucking shitting me, Your Majesty, if you think this makes me mad. Where were you, questioning my judgment, when I decided to be the first royal since World War II going into battle? I'm pushing thirty soon. I've led men in war and saved lives, foreigners and our own subjects alike. I've watched my parents live and die. I've seen their mistakes and their triumphs. No, I haven't been perfect, but I'm trying like hell to be better, and Erin's the best chance I have to do that. Knew it the second I laid eyes on her, when she fell into my arms. You want to question my judgment? Then start by asking why the fuck you never did it sooner.”

The Queen doesn't flinch at his rough language, which surprises me. Probably a sign she's heard it all before. She's used to Silas' outbursts by now.

She lets out a long, tense sigh. “I'm too old for this. If I wasn't bound to wear this crown on my head to the grave, or I had someone worth handing it to, I'd give it up tomorrow. Silas, you're right, for once in your outrageous life.”

He blinks, his face softening. “I am?”

“I'm going to allow this, with a few very strict conditions.” She steps down, her robes flowing over the short golden stairs leading to the floor like she's hovering. “Number one, Miss Warwick will be thoroughly vetted, trained, and assessed for the duties she's bound to take on as your wife.”

Nod at her, damn it. It takes every muscle in my body to move my head.

Suddenly, now that she's on our level, Queen Marina is coming toward us. It seems like she's shrunk at least a foot, but she's no less imposing, decked out in her royal wears like a ghost from a lost time.

“Your Majesty, I –“

“Quiet.” She cuts him off, turning away from us, slowly pacing on the floor. “Second condition, this wedding won't happen for at least six months. That's more than enough time for you, Silas, to decide if you've made a terrible mistake, given your track record with women in the past.”

“If you're saying I'll get bored of her, you're out of your damned –“

She holds up a finger. “Third and last, you'll announce this news to the kingdom. Both of you. Should you decide it's off sometime in the future, then that will fall on you, as well. I won't keep this a secret and risk sensationalism running wild.”

“Very fair, Your Majesty.” I tell her it is, anyway, even though thinking about the inevitable appearance in front of millions is turning every muscle in my body to stone.

“Silas?” She stops in front of her grandson, face-to-face, a royal challenge across generations.

“Whatever. I can live with it,” he says. “It's going to be my pleasure to show you how wrong you've been, grandmom.”

Queen Marina doesn't say anything. She simply turns, moving back to her throne, a force of nature.

“I don't want to hear about it until we're closer to the date, unless I change my mind,” she says, once she's perched in place again. “I'll hear everything I need to from Mister Mead, my chief of information. You're both dismissed.”

Silas looks like he's about to make his handsome face crack when he dips his head again. I mimic the gesture, watching him the whole time.

God, he's so wound up. Tighter than a spring.

Hard. Angry. Did I say hard?

My eyes tick over to his crotch for a split second before I jerk them away, remembering where I am.

Holy hell, what's wrong with me? I can't risk another scene.

I have to get out of here. Before we both drown in the thick, smoky tension curdling the air.

I hear the doors creak open behind us. Silas and I both rise. He snatches my hand, leading me out, and doesn't say a word as we take the long, dream-like path through the palace.

“What do you think? Was that her taking it well?” Truthfully, it seems like a disaster, but I'm new to all this and I don't know the Queen's attitude like he does.

“Well enough. She didn't outright forbid it,” he says, helping me down the stairs. We take a turn toward a new section of the palace, and I realize it's adjacent to the huge, semi-public entrance that leads to the big conference room where I fell into his arms.

“You were very well spoken back there, swearing aside.” I mean it, too.

“Yeah, well, I know how to pull her strings. I've been doing that damned near twenty years by now. Anything about God and country, about my service...it really gets to her, love. Reaches her on a primal fucking level.”

Ouch. I cringe, suddenly wondering if he rehearsed everything about her questioning his judgment. That would be so Prince Playboy, wouldn't it?

I have to remember who I'm dealing with.

Silas, the manipulator.

Silas, the most immature war hero in the world.

Silas, the lying, faking, self-absorbed bastard.

“What's next?” I ask, trying not to dread it.

“We're going to have some tea and lunch. Then, a quick meeting with Serena, my press secretary. You've met her once with the whole press corps, under very different circumstances.”

“Oh, we're being prepped already to talk to the media?”

He flashes me that wicked, teasing smile. “Babe, we've got ourselves a press conference this afternoon. Just you and me, in front of the entire kingdom. Grandmom wants me to show I'm serious? I'll make her believe in this fake marriage more than we do.”

Crap! I don't say anything. I just hope there's something stronger than tea up ahead.

* * *

We don't say much through our snack. We have the fanciest pot pies I've ever eaten, stuffed with something that tastes like duck, veggies, and wine sauce, plus spring salads, and plenty of that dark, coffee-like tea that's a standard in the kingdom.

It's just me and the Prince. Victor stands quietly in the corner like a loyal dog.

A servant comes in, takes our plates away, and awkward silence returns. The Prince leans back in his chair, eyeing me.

“It'll all be over soon. I promise. You're doing a damned good job for your first day, I have to say.” He leans forward, clasps my hand in both of his, stroking the back of my skin way more seductively than he should. “You're going to make a beautiful bride. Absolutely fucking beautiful, Princess.”

“Don't call me that until it's official. I'm not anybody's princess yet, I mean. It's strange enough.” I smile uneasily, wondering what happens later, when a short-lived princess divorces her prince.

Victor turns our way. He's frowning.

Has he figured out it's all just an act? I don't know, but it doesn't help the butterflies in my stomach.

I'm nervous. Cameras are nothing new to me. I did plenty of journalism in high school, and video blogs in college for my projects, but I never imagined I'd be addressing an entire nation.

“What?” I ask Silas, noticing he hasn't taken his eyes off me.

“You're mine,” Prince Silas says, smothering me in those intense blue eyes. “Mine.”

“Your what?” I'm trying not to completely lose it.

“My Princess. I don't give a damn if it isn't official yet. We're in love, right?” He cocks his head and winks, urging me to play along. “Doesn't take a royal crest on your clothes to remind me you're my one and only. The one I chose. The one I'll keep. The one I'll bind forever. By blood, by marriage, by kiss.”

“S-sure. Of course, you are. We're going to be great. The two of us. Together.”

God. I'm clucking like a total idiot, and I'm sure Victor catches every awkward word. It doesn't help that he's staring at me like it's all true.

How can he do that? It's like he's had years posing as an actor, instead of a spoiled Prince. His charms are so powerful, so real, they're dangerous in the moment.

Then I feel my hand moving through the air, going to his lips yet again.

Instant heat flows down from my belly, settling between my legs.

I can't do this right now. Jerking my hand away, I fold it in my lap, hoping Victor doesn't see. Whatever, I'd rather have him see the serious lengths I'll go to avoid physical contact.

That's better than anyone realizing how hot, how wet, how much I want when Silas lies to me like a champ.

A knock at the door breaks my confused haze. Victor strides across the room, opens it, and nods.

“Miss Hastings, sire. Punctual, as usual.”

Prince Silas' evil, teasing expression goes flat. He stands as the familiar blonde steps in, wearing heels that put anything of mine to shame. There's something odd about the way she looks at him.

It's more like an old friend than a servant. Like a woman who's seen past the royal mask he wears, down to who he truly is.

“Serena.” That's his greeting when they're face-to-face.

She looks over, noticing me for the first time. Tension lines her face the second she takes in my dress, my place at the table with the Prince. I'm used to his entourage and the Queen herself being horrified by this fake engagement by now, but with her, it seems like something more.

“Hello, again.” I smile politely because I don't know what else to do.

“I think I'm going to need a quick briefing,” Serena says to the Prince, flipping her blonde hair. “There wasn't a formal email or anything. I'm...surprised to see her here again, Your Highness. With you, in private, that is.”

He looks at her sternly. “That's because I need you to help introduce Erin as my fiancee. Future Princess of Saint Moore, Sealesland, and all her tributaries. You know, the usual. There wasn't time to write. This all came together fast.”

“Fiancee?” It's like a rasp coming out of her throat. Her hand touches the corner of the table, as if she needs to steady herself, but she doesn't crack.

I stand up. Whatever's going on here, I want to show him that I'm useful, that I can help diffuse yet another crisis.

“It's a pleasure to see you again,” I lie. My limited experience with this woman tells me she doesn't do courtesy, much less smile at strangers. “We're grateful for your help.”

“It seems to me you already have a plan to handle this without consulting my expertise,” she says to Silas, without even acknowledging me.

“You're right, I've been through the ropes before. This time, my image issues are bound to control themselves. Everybody loves a big, beautiful wedding, right?” He gives her a second, but she doesn't answer. “Whatever. I'm not the one who needs a fucking primer on how to talk to the kingdom. Erin does.”

I watch the bitch swallow. She looks at me with the slowest glance in the world, eyeballing me like I'm something rotten she's just found on her plate.

“How long do we have?”

“An hour and a half. That's when the press conference is scheduled. Full house.” Prince Silas folds his arms, giving her no mercy.

“Jesus,” she sputters, looking back at him. “You expect me to give her a whole course on royal protocol and media pitfalls, just like that?”

Serena snaps her fingers. Way too close to the Prince's face. Victor cuts in just then, getting between us, gesturing for me to walk next to him.

“Miss Hastings, you know your duties here are whatever His Highness tells you. Please, let me escort you ladies to a private room, where you can get to work without any further interruptions. With your permission, of course, my Prince.”

“Do it.” Silas nods, giving me one last look. “Just do what she says, as long as it's reasonable. I'll meet you on the stage in a couple hours before all the jackals file in to pick at our bones.”

It's a joke, but I'm not smiling. Victor leads me out with this woman who despises me for reasons I don't understand, into a small sitting room across the hall.

“I'll be right outside if either of you need anything,” he says. “Expect a knock when the time draws near.”

“Christ, Victor. Time management is part of my job, remember?” Serena says, practically spitting in his face.

We step in, and he closes the door behind us without another word.

“Let's get this over with.” She finally looks at me, drinking me in. “You look like you're having a terrible enough time wearing that ridiculous thing. Lucky you, if everything else is equal, the tabloids will be talking about your fashion sense once they've finished squawking about the main announcement.”

“It wasn't really my choice,” I tell her, taking a leather seat across from hers, next to another fireplace with a hand carved mantel. I've seen more art in this palace than I've seen in my life, I swear.

“No, of course not. First things first, you let him do the talking. Whatever he says, whatever questions may come up – you take your cue from His Highness. He's done it before, and he should know what to say. Lord knows I've tried to teach him, anyway.”

I can't believe her tone. It doesn't brighten up through the whole lecture. She's wearing a trim skirt, her legs crossed, one foot angrily bobbing her black heel.

I've had enough. “I'm sorry, is there something I've done to offend you?”

“Only by coming out of nowhere. Winning yourself a man, a kingdom, you know you don't deserve. You're not even a citizen of Saint Moore's for God's sake.” She stops there, her raging green eyes telling the full story. “No, it's not my place to criticize. I'll never understand why Silas picked you, but I'll try to respect it.”

“Silas,” I repeat.

It's just Silas. No Prince in front of it. Yeah, these two definitely have history.

“His Highness.” She corrects herself, almost as an afterthought. “I'm sorry for acting like a royal bitch this evening. It's very frustrating to have something like this dropped in my lap without notice, you understand. I don't know how to explain everything in under an hour. The best advice I can give is what I've already said – smile, look pretty, and keep your mouth shut. The tabloids and blogs snatch anything you feed them. Any misplaced word, any screwed up gesture, anything scandalous. The more boring you are, the better.”

“Good advice.” I honestly don't know if it is, but her crazy eyes aren't making me comfortable.

I want this to end. I'd rather have the press conference now than go over every movement and word with this envious bitch.

“Let me ask you this, Miss Warwick, what experience have you had on camera?”

Smiling awkwardly, I shrug my shoulders. Her eyes get wider and meaner.

“Just knock me out already. Please, for fuck's sake,” she mutters to herself, running a hand across her face. “Okay. I'm going to do my best...”

And she does, for the next hour. She's cold, detached, more like someone giving a job interview than a woman I've personally upset.

She tells me who to watch out for, all the names of the biggest muckrakers in the kingdom, and several who will be flying in from Europe. I'm briefed on where Silas has gone wrong before, though a lot of his mistakes were completely off the record. Playing bad boy and getting caught gave journalists plenty of fodder, attracting them like flies.

After what seems like half an hour, the biggest takeaway I've got is what she said before.

Shut up. Look pretty. Let him lead.

That's what I've signed onto with this whole stupid thing, isn't it? I'm not really his wife.

Not really a Princess. I'm nothing more than another stage prop in Prince Asshole's life, no matter how good my motive. I've signed on to being used, and I ought to be conscious of it.

At some point, Victor knocks. “Ten minutes, ladies. Please finish up as soon as you're able.”

“You seem like an intelligent girl, if a bit naive. I wish you the best of luck, Erin, and I hope you understand what you've gotten yourself into.”

Holy shit. I've been holding my tongue through this entire miserable experience. I look at her, straightening up in my chair.

“You seem very smart, too, but you're kind of a bitch.”

“Touche.” Serena gives me a nasty smile and stands up. “I'll leave you to straighten that thing so it doesn't get caught. I don't think either of us need a cat fight to ruin that pretty dress right now. Good luck, Princess. You're going to need it.”

She's out the door before I can follow up with another insult. Infuriating.

I can't let her drag me down now, though. As soon as she's gone, Victor steps in. I'm starting to get annoyed with his constant chaperoning.

This isn't the way I imagined royal life. The servants are supposed to help, to wait on us hand and foot. I guess they do plenty of that. But they're also everywhere, never more than several feet away. I'm craving my long lost privacy like never before.

“Straight through there, madame. His Highness is waiting for you on stage, near the podium.”

I follow through the backstage door, to the place where he's pointing. I've forgotten how open and spacious it is in this huge, imposing medieval hall.

Yeah, privacy is the last thing I'm getting for the next few hours.

I'll be lucky if I ever find it again once the kingdom sees my face.

“Finally,” Silas says, when I take a seat next to him. “Did she do her job? I'm going to jettison that woman if she's giving you any trouble. I've warned her before about setting her personal shit aside.”

I have a chance to get Serena fired, and that gives me more than a little pleasure. But I don't have the heart to do it just yet. I decide to lie – what's one more on top of the untruths I've built up with just a couple days close to the Prince?

“It was fine. She could be a bit more personable, I guess, but what she said was useful.”

He hesitates for a moment. “Okay. That'll do until this is over. Then we'll go back to my place and get you out of that damned thing.”

He sounds like he's almost as tired of the stifling, formal dress as I am. Small relief.

It doesn't last long. About five minutes later, the main door across the room swings open. A large gaggle of reporters file in and takes their seats while Silas' royal guards swarm in the room, checking their earpieces, always looking for nonexistent threats to the Prince.

I can't imagine he has any real enemies. Maybe a lone nut, looking to write their name in blood on history, or a few of the extremists I've heard about who believe a republic without a hereditary monarchy is long overdue.

“Ready?” He grabs my hand where they can't see it, looks at me, and smiles.

“As much as I'll ever be,” I say, sighing.

The butterflies in my stomach are making tornadoes. My public jitters have gotten a lot better since I started taking journalism seriously, but I've never given a speech in front of a crowd like this.

My knees wobble when we finally stand up, right after Victor announces a special Q and A session from His Highness, and a guest. King of All Things plays, a shortened version of the anthem, and then it's go time.

We're hit with what seems like a hundred different cameras when we stand up. Flashing. Beaming. Blinding.

All of them wanting answers.

There's no going back. I'm about to introduce myself to a few million people I know next to nothing about.

And then, once it's over, I'm going to shut myself up and scream, as long and as loudly as I can.