“What? What is it?” Erin sits up, the silk sheet wrapped around her, threatening to tease my cock awake after it's fucked itself into a coma for several hours.

Any other time, I'd be ripping that thing off, throwing her on her back, and having my way.

But after the asshole from the palace gets off the phone, sex is the last thing on my mind. First time that's ever happened, and I hate it. Almost as much as I hate having to tell her the news.

“Her Majesty's in the royal hospital. They think it's a stroke,” I say, feeling another blow to my guts when I repeat what I heard. “Those fucking muck raking, gutter swiping plebes...they must've pushed her over the edge. She's eighty years old, for Christ's sake – too old for the media's shit.”

“Don't worry about the why,” Erin says, laying her hands on my shoulders, rubbing them gently. “We just need to get back there, like you say. We'll have time to sort out everything else later.”

“We need to get our shit together. Now.” I'm growling every other word, and I can't stop myself.

I yank her up from the bed so hard she drops the sheet. “Let's shower and get dressed.”

“Shower? Together?”

No shit. Normally, it'd be the perfect opportunity to bend her over in the wet, balmy bath, hands against the wall, and fuck her pussy until I can't think straight.

Today, it's just a time saver. We step into the huge marble shower stall together, and I slam the glass door shut.

Just seeing her naked has a calming effect. Thank fuck.

I need it right now, anything that prevents me from thinking about the thousand and one hells waiting if grandmom doesn't pull through.

I've got my Princess, but it doesn't mean the island will accept me as king. The jackals in the media will have a field day. The Republic First assholes will raise holy hell, circulate a million petitions calling for my crown, and they'll probably get it after the nastiest referendum campaign this country's ever seen.

Hell, I'll have to address the bigger, uglier jackals in parliament. One wrong move there, and the populists will pounce for political points, ending our fifteen hundred year old crown forever.

“Silas...relax.” She's lathered up, smiling softly, running her hands up and down my chest.

I've never let a woman touch me like this before. Erin looks like an angel, and I can't refuse, even though she's seeing more cracks in my armor than any girl has business seeing.

I let her little hands glide down my body. She lathers me up, giving me a questioning, hungry look when her palms graze my thighs, next to the hard-on raging between my legs.

“Later, love,” I tell her, cupping her ass with my hands. “Turn around.”

She listens. I squeeze out a dab of thick, fragrant shampoo and lather it through her hair.

She's perfect. She's real. She's magnificent – even when I'm keeping myself from fucking her like I want to.

Erin backs into me, letting the water roll over us from the spigot above while I rinse her hair. It's strangely soothing, like some zen meditation I've been waiting half my life to discover.

I hate it like hell when I have to shut the water off. We step out together, ignoring the rock hard cock I've still got swinging near my belly button, and start toweling off.

Whatever happens, I will take care of myself later, and Erin, too. These royal distractions, this is the part of being a Prince I really fucking hate.

When we're back in my private suite to dress, the balcony door is cracked, letting in the fresh breeze. That's when we hear the thunder coming from one more floor above us. Erin turns around, her eyes wide, fixing the summer dress she's wearing.

“Jesus. You weren't kidding about the helicopter, were you?”

“Do I ever kid about anything?”

She sticks her tongue out. Something that makes me want to smile. Too bad the shitshow waiting for us across the country doesn't let me.

Victor joins us near the exit upstairs. We all climb aboard the huge converted military chopper. It's all mine, complete with the double-headed black eagle on the side.

It's too loud to speak until the doors are sealed shut. Even when they are, I don't say anything, lost in all the dark possibilities waiting at the palace.

We're leaving paradise. We're only in the air for a few tense minutes when I feel her hand on mine. Grabbing her fingers, I squeeze them tight, telling myself this isn't going to be the end.

I don't give a damn how fucked up things get with the kingdom. Nothing's changing my mind about my woman.

* * *

Soon as we're on the palace's landing pad, Vic and I slip off. I kiss Erin goodbye, and straighten my tie, ready to take on everything that's keeping me from her.

A long walk down the hall and several flights of stairs later, we're in the throne room. It's weird as hell to see it empty. Unoccupied.

That chair has never looked so imposing because I might be in it sooner than I ever expected. Worse, it could end up a museum piece, never to house a royal ass in it again.

“How is she?” I ask sharply, seeing Patricia waiting for us by the window.

The Queen's valet is there, along with her personal emissary to parliament, a big man named George. There's also Serena – the last bitch in the world I want to see right now. She flashes me a huge, man eating smile. I don't even acknowledge her, focusing on Patricia instead.

“Stable, Your Highness. The symptoms began this morning. She woke in a state of confusion, and had great difficulty sitting up. We had her rushed to the hospital immediately. The medical team says she's in good spirits, resting, while they wait for a few more scans.”

“My God. What if there's brain damage?” One sentence from George gets everybody's nerves going. “I'm sorry, that was rude. I'm worried about the inquiries from parliament, Your Highness, nothing more. They won't like this uncertainty, particularly after the recent upsets in this very palace.”

“Fuck the politicians!” I snarl, pacing in front of the window.

They know to give me my space. All of them except Serena, who creeps up next to me, mustering her most soothing voice.

“My Prince, I'd advise against that kind of tone. We need our PR working to unify the country. The last thing we ought to risk is more division.”

“Didn't ask for your advice,” I snap, pushing past her. “The country's already divided down to its roots. It's going to take weeding to bring it together again, and everybody in this room knows it.”

Vic clears his throat. “Sire, if you'd like us to put a cap on this, and head for the hospital, I'd be more than willing to summon a car.” He speaks slowly, trying to diffuse the walking bomb I've become.

“No, we have to talk this out,” I mutter, hating what I have to admit next. “Serena's right, damn it. I'll be there immediately if grandmom's condition changes, for better or worse. It's our job to make sure the whole kingdom doesn't go to hell in the meantime. I want her on black out – anything that isn't absolutely necessary doesn't get through. No politics, no drama, no jackals buzzing around her room. We can't risk upsetting her while she's being treated.”

Patricia gives me a sour look. She's never liked me very much. Her first and last duty is to the Queen, sure, but her distaste is personal, too. The prim, proper woman is probably about to lay a load because there's a risk I'm about to become King far sooner than anyone expected.

Including me.

Christ, King. My gaze drifts to the throne.

I can't imagine myself up there, wearing my grandfather's crown, wrapped up in robes made from mountain lions, wild bears, and gold. I see myself surrounded by guards and valets, Victor in Patricia's place, and – of course – Erin at my side.

Then the others vanish. I'm imagining myself on the throne in just my robe. Erin is on her knees, her sweet, smooth skin reflecting the fire's glow. Naked for me, ready to sit on my raging cock and take the sovereign's seed, pump my dick with her luscious cunt until we're dripping all over thousand year old gold.

Fuck. Patricia's talking, but I've been too busy thinking about filthy, ridiculous things to listen.

“We'll take it day by day with her condition. That's all I'm asking, Prince. We needn't consider anything rash, much less any assumptions of royal power, unless it's clearly necessary.”

“Patricia, you know full well what palace protocol and the kingdom's laws say about this,” Victor cuts in. “A country needs a head in the crown. If Her Majesty is incapacitated – briefly, I pray – then all the duties fall on the heir in the interim. His Highness is effectively King, the kingdom's chief representative, and its sole functioning sovereign, until such time as Her Majesty is ready and able to resume her full duties.”

They look like they're about to kill each other. Just what we need – another standoff.

“Vic, come on. I'm ready to do anything I need to while she's down and out. But I'm damned sure not King unless I'm sitting in that chair. I don't need the extra title to sort this out,” I say, nodding to the throne. “George, you tell the assholes in the chamber exactly what I've said. The crown isn't passing to anyone unless my grandmother isn't breathing. God forbid.”

“Certainly, Your Highness. They won't like it – politicians thrive on what's clear cut, as you know. However, they'll live with it.”

Yeah, they will, I think to myself. Because if they don't, I'll find some way to have the son of bitches dissolved and call early elections. Even the Republic First rabble rousers would love to see that happen.

“A sensible choice, Your Highness.” Vic nods politely, but I can't tell if he's being honest, or just blowing more smoke up my ass.

Patricia doesn't say anything. She turns, staring sadly at the empty throne.

That fucking chair is going to decide too many people's futures. I'm tired of seeing it. I want to get out of here.

“Update me on Her Majesty's condition, the second there's any change,” I tell grandmom's valet.

“Of course, my Prince.”

I wave at Victor to follow me, and we're gone, heading into the hallway. We're only a few steps outside the throne room when I hear Serena's heels clicking behind us.

Goddamn. I knew she wouldn't stay muzzled forever.

“Your Highness! Please.” I hear her calling, barely slowing down to let her catch up. “We need to schedule a meeting to address the PR problem. I'd like to talk with you and that girl in private. Maybe go over some talking points we can use with the kingdom, in case the situation deteriorates.”

“That girl?” I stop and look at her. “Is that what you're going to call my fiancee, potentially your future Queen?”

The color drains from her face. Time seems to stop, turning the whole atmosphere electric like a storm around us. Even Vic looks nervous.

“Silas –“

“Your Highness, Miss Hastings,” Vic corrects, glaring at her.

“I'm sorry, of course. It's the stress today, that's all,” she lies. I'm about to lose what little patience for her I've got left. “I want to do right by the kingdom. You have to know, I feel awful about what happened during the press conference. I should've requested more security when I set it up. Let me make it up to you...to everyone. I'll prep three different speeches. One for every scenario we might have to deal with. You choose whichever you like best.”

“How about the one where I throw your ass out and tell you to find a new job?” I growl.

She blinks, surprised. Unfortunately, after fucking me, she's too fearless for her own good.

“That seems...rather uncalled for,” she says, choosing her words carefully. “I'm just doing my job, Your Highness. Forgive me if I've offended you or your fiancee.”

I study her face when she says the last word. Damn if it doesn't look like she's chewing something rotten.

“It's been a rough day for everyone. I'm more than happy to coach Erin with anything I need to. She's the one you've chosen to marry, after all.” Surrender, that's what's coming out of her now.

I've seen that hurt, puppy dog look on women I've fucked a hundred times. This has to be the first where I'm feeling absolutely no remorse.

Victor's looking at me. Waiting. He's got one hand on his phone, ready to call security if I decide to kick her to the curb this very second.

Lucky for her, she's too damned good at what she does. I can't risk an untested specialist working the kingdom's media if grandmom's health goes to complete shit.

“I don't have time for this. Go write.” I'm flying down the hall without a second glance behind my shoulder.

Vic trots after me, struggling to keep up. I don't slow down for a damned second.

* * *

I'm alone for the next few hours, stuck in my office. I've got to make a few more phone calls. Contingencies for the worst clusterfucks I can imagine for myself and the kingdom.

First, I talk to the generals and admirals. Their loyalty to the crown means everything if the kingdom falls into total chaos.

Then I'm on the line with the leaders of both major parties. George has already told them what I said this morning, spelling out my role while my grandmother takes the longest break she's ever had from royal duties.

Fifty fucking years holding the scepter. I can't imagine it, but I'd better start. I'm next in line.

I answer the tense, probing questions from the men who depend on lofty promises to win votes for power.

“Everything is fine,” I tell them, over and over, wondering if I'll believe it after I say it enough times.

It's a phrase of the day fit for Robby the Talking Horse to sing a song about, if he could, the main character on the nation's kids' show. I sung with him, once, when I was about nine, and they wanted to bring the Prince on as a special guest.

I mangled the stupid ballad about ten times before I got it right in the last cut. Singing hasn't interested me since.

Whatever mistakes I've made before in my life, there's no room for new ones.

Deflect, spin, and promise. That's what I do with the ministers and party leaders before I get the hell off the line, faking a call coming in from the royal hospital.

I'm not even stretching the truth that much. It's the last and most stressful call of the evening. When I get Her Majesty's physician on the line, I look out the window, and it's dark.

Thousands of little lines glowing across the city's skyline, melded with fuchsia and burgundy. Several hundred royal purple candles sit flaming in windowsills, praying for grandmom's recovery.

“Well, how is she?” I ask, ripping open my drawer. The bottle of scotch I've stashed for emergency situations is still there.

“We have more assessments to finish, Your Highness. Tests so far have been inconclusive.”

There's a word I hate. It takes a long, fiery swig of booze to quell my frustration enough to finish this conversation.

“So, what? Is it a stroke, or not?”

“We don't know, sire. We're doing our best. I promise you, we'll know more in the morning. She's being monitored around the clock.”

“Give me two scenarios, best and worst.” I pop the bottle open and take a long pull while the doctor clears his throat, closing my eyes as sweet, calming fire splashes my stomach.

“Best case? We find the event was limited, hasn't done any lasting damage, and she's discharged within the week. As for the worst, well...she's eighty years old, Your Highness. Worst could mean a lot of things.”

He won't tell me she could die. Nobody has the balls to say it, to even think it. Not when this woman has been on the radio and TV since most of the kingdom was in diapers, a comforting presence in the troubling times.

“Call me if anything changes. Don't care if it's the middle of the night. You call, doctor.”

“Understood, Prince Silas.”

I slam down the phone. There's a schedule in front of me, glowing on the screen, everything the Queen had lined up for the next week.

Tomorrow, there's supposed to be afternoon tea with the Russian ambassador, and then a late dinner with the emissary from the States. Our kingdom's longtime neutrality and grandmom's generosity has put us front and center, mediating a territorial dispute in the Baltic.

I don't know where the negotiations are at. There's a good chance I'm going to turn over the table if we can't get the Russians and NATO to shake hands, accidentally starting World War III.

Fuck.

I stand up, bottle in hand, barreling around the office. I'm looking for a glass so I can really lay down the scotch. When I finally find one, I stop just short of filling it.

My stomach turns, staring at the liquid gold in the glass.

It's...revolting.

Double fuck. The day I've always feared has arrived. Booze won't help me anymore. It won't do anything except cause a disaster if I'm sucking on the bottle as King, and starting tonight.

Growling to myself, I push the cap down on the bottle.

I'm growing up. The fucking, the drinking, the parties with supermodels and spoiled rich kids from across Europe, they're in the past. I can't indulge them anymore. I don't even want to because they're not going to take the edge off.

There's only one thing that's made me feel human since I found out the brutal news this morning.

Erin. My Princess with benefits.

She's waiting for me in her chamber, probably pouring over the news breaking online. Wondering what kind of man she's going to see when I return.

I have a chance to show her it won't be a stumbling, horny drunk. To show myself that I can take the reigns without falling off my horse.

My father would be a drunken, weeping mess right now. Probably running for the nearest bar with another slut at his side.

Never me. I grit my teeth, staring at my reflection in the empty glass. No, fuck, I'm better than that.

If I can fix this kingdom in its darkest hour, then I can damned sure fix myself. And that means this crazy thing I've got with my Princess could be more than pretend.

Am I ready for that? Ready to settle down, to love, to act like a man with his wife-to-be instead of just a carefree fuck with a dick bigger than his crown?

I don't know, but I'm about to find out.