I wonder if I died in that ridiculous royal parade, coming so hard I passed out and never woke up in the fancy car.

The last two weeks have been heaven. Fancy dinners, tours around the capital fit for a Queen, perfecting my royal smile in front of the tireless paparazzi cameras.

Then there's the sex.

Toe curling, gasping, sheet soaking bliss. Every day. Every night. Every time we're alone, or sometimes just barely.

Sex that shakes the bed, the shower, the stone bridge in the royal gardens. Anywhere and everywhere Silas decides to lay me down, taking down my panties with his teeth, claiming what's his.

It doesn't matter whether it's hours, or just a few minutes. I can't tell anymore who's more addicted to who, and I don't care.

Yesterday, on our way home from a royal military memorial, nobody knew I had the gold clamps on underneath my dress. Silas looked extra dashing with his formal uniform on, the purple rose and diamond crosses he'd earned in the war shining brilliantly.

The warrior Prince barely waited until we were in the nearest alley to conquer me. He held my hands by the wrists, hiked up my dress, and fucked me as hard as he could, those tiny golden teeth digging into my breasts with every thrust.

It took the edge off the somber ceremony that came before. I notice he's drinking less, barely touching more than an evening scotch, or maybe a few glasses of wine with dinner.

I wasn't sure before, but now? It couldn't be more clear.

I'm his new addiction.

His escape.

His Princess – with more benefits by the day.

Today, he's away, visiting Her Majesty. I haven't seen Queen Marina since she returned to the palace, except for a brief glimpse when everyone lined up to see her. She's slower, a little more shaky than before, still on bed rest half her days.

But she's doing better again, and things are starting to feel as normal as a life of royalty, wealth, and power can be.

Her Majesty isn't the only one. My last few calls with dad were just like old times. He tells me he's in remission, so swiftly and suddenly he probably won't have to go under the knife again.

It's nothing short of a miracle.

I even talk to my mom, so busy with work she's been completely out of the loop about my impending marriage to a billionaire Prince. It's clear she doesn't care about my life either, muttering half-thought complaints about her latest cases and business deals while she types on her keyboard.

So, I don't bother to fill her in.

Let her find out when the wedding invitations hit the mail. Just a matter of weeks now.

“Madame, Miss Hastings will see you, at your convenience.” Dean calls lightly through my door, gentle as ever.

“Thanks! I'm almost ready.”

Ugh. Will I ever be? I don't really want to sit down alone with Serena, the bitch, and deal with her nasty attitude again.

Too bad she's still the sitting press secretary. I'd better get used to it, too, because this Princess thing means a woman needs a high tolerance for assholes.

We're going to have breakfast with the Queen next week, a halfway public affair that will have more cameras than usual covering it due to her health.

I can't screw this up. Meaning, I have to put my own feelings aside, and work with Silas' old crush to make sure I don't curtsy to Her Majesty at the wrong time, or accidentally walk in front of someone who should go through the next door ahead of me according to royal tradition.

There are a thousand and one mistakes waiting to be made in this position. However 'normal' this life feels, I'm very new to being a Princess. I won't even pretend I've figured it out yet.

As soon as I'm done, dressed in a nice business dress and a blouse, Dean takes me downstairs. My guards stop outside the same small press room Silas and I used before for our prep work to face the cameras.

Was it really only half a season ago? It's all come together so fast, and changed me in more ways than I can count.

The door shuts behind me. Serena sits at her desk with coffee, a tablet and a stack of papers on the small desk next to the ancient stained glass window. Brilliant reds, oranges, and yellows dance across her skin, making her look more evil than she already does.

“Oh, there you are,” she says, flipping her hair back. Something about that not-quite-English accent sounds extra haughty coming from her.

She steps out behind my desk, gesturing to a chair, towering over me on her tall black heels. New heels. Like something she's bought just to rub her limited power in my face.

I sit down and muster up my best look that says don't. I'm not taking this crap again.

“Just tell me what I need to do so I don't screw this up,” I say, a small prayer that maybe we can get this over with quickly.

Serena sits on the edge of her desk and narrows her eyes. “Protocol, protocol, protocol. I'd say you should've been doing that from the very beginning, but I certainly can't control what Silas lets his women get away with.”

“Don't you mean His Highness?”

She purses her lips. “Sure. Anyhow, the Queen's tea service is always a very sensitive and traditional event. This one, more than ever, knowing what we do about her health. You, madame, are expected to be at the Prince's side the entire time. Smile and wave to the cameras. Don't, under any circumstances, talk to reporters. You know how nosy they can be, I'm sure, since that's the direction you were heading before you found your Prince.”

“I still am,” I say. My fists tighten on my lap when I see her give me a surprised look. “I'm going to be writing a book sometime after the wedding. All about my experiences, the beauty and kindness in this kingdom, falling in love with Silas.”

“Don't you mean His Highness?”

I blink at her angrily, wondering what the hell she means. As his fiancee, I'm not required to use the royal title. I'm sure of it. I looked it up weeks ago.

Serena tips her head back and laughs, tapping her heels like the evil witch she is. “That was a joke, dear. Lighten up. God, even in the backrooms, they say you come off so tense, so cold. The press wants another Lady Bearington to adore like Silas' poor mom. So far, you're coming dangerously close to falling flat.”

Falling flat? I'll show her falling, preferably by shoving the bitch off that desk if she doesn't shut her mouth...

“Oh, and you're going to have to send your manuscript to me, as soon as you have it ready. I'll go over it with Perkins, the palace's lawyer, strictly to ensure you haven't said anything that would cast the crown or the kingdom in a bad light.”

“You're kidding, right? You make it sound like this isn't a free country. I think I'm entitled to write whatever I want, so long as it isn't libel. There's no reason for me to insult anybody, much less my own husband and his family.”

“Nonsense. You're entitled, dear, to writing anything you damned well please. What you're not entitled to is publication, if the palace deems it's going to be a problem. Still thinking like an American, I see. If you want to be a Princess, you'd better start acting like it, and thinking like one as well. That means leaving the free speech on demand crap on the side.”

I've had it. I stand up, look her in the eye, and let it roll.

“Why are you constantly so fucking insulting? What did I do to deserve this?”

She gives me a blank look. “We both know why, dear. You're abandoning your dreams to take over mine. Marrying Prince Playboy, heir to the throne, in a country you know next to nothing about.”

“That isn't true! I'm reading every damned day, when I'm not busy traveling, or talking to all the great people he introduces me to. I –“

“It isn't my place to judge, or to alter anyone's decisions. I'm here to whip you into shape so you don't embarrass Her Majesty and cost this family its throne. Look, I'm being as open and honest with you as I can. There's no sense in hiding it. I'm trying to get over him. Someday, I know I will, and then it'll be all business.”

“Like it should be now? I should tell Silas myself.”

“Go ahead. He still reports to the Queen, as long as she's breathing. He won't get rid of me.” She smiles sweetly, a shark-like grin that makes me want to punch her stupid face. “The great thing about being in this position means I'm privy to all kinds of dirt. Silas won't take the risk. Not when he's tying the knot, thinking about hanging up the partying, and becoming King in the next few years. Or is he? Maybe that's the latest load he's decided to feed you. He'll say anything and everything to charm you into having his way. Trust me, I know from experience...”

I don't say anything. I'm blindsided, wondering if I should interpret this as a threat. She isn't that crazy...is she?

“Oh, I'm terribly sorry. I meant His Highness. Is that better, my Lady?” Sarcasm drips off every word like poison.

“I need to go,” I say, knowing it's true. I need to get the hell out of here before I do something I really regret, like risk a drag out fight.

It would be worth it just to put this asshole in her place, too. If only it weren't for the scratches and bruises I wouldn't be able to hide before the Queen's tea in a couple days.

“We aren't finished,” Serena snaps, trying to lock me down with her pale blue eyes. “If you'll sit, my Lady, we can go over exactly what you should expect. I'll even do it without being a bitch. I am a professional, after all.”

It takes every fiber of patience in my body to park myself back on that seat and stare at her. For the next half hour, she becomes another person.

She talks about the history, the pushy journalists to watch for, and the demeanor each person should have when they're enjoying this high royal honor. I actually listen, biting my tongue the entire time. It's easier because she lives up to her word.

She muzzles her inner bitch, and I gag mine. I wonder why she can't be like this all the time.

“Are we finished?” I say, when she stops talking and grabs the French press next to her, pouring more coffee into her china cup.

“For now. See, my Lady, that wasn't so bad, was it?”

“No. We might be able to make this work if you could hold that attitude a little more often.”

She kills my hopes with a single smile. “What would be the fun in that? I'll tell you what I can do, though.”

We lock eyes. If I could choose any superpower that moment, it'd be the ability to shoot daggers out my pupils.

“I'll go along with this,” she says quietly. “Just do my fucking job without letting my feelings get in the way. Because I'm damned good at it. It's most certainly not my place to screw up things between you and Silas, or prevent this ridiculous wedding from happening. I'll let you find out for yourself what it's like to be used and cast aside like rubbish. He always does it to his girls, sooner or later. You've just gotten a little further than most for reasons I'll never understand.”

I don't jump her, or slap her, or tackle her on the floor and start ripping out her hair. Every evil little fantasy burning in my brain gets doused just long enough so I can stand up, turn around, and walk out the door without seeing her venomous smile one more time.

“Everything all right, my Lady?”

“I want to see the Prince,” I tell Dean, letting him wonder about the pain that's curdling my face. “Take me to him.”

The guard frowns. “Mister Chambers told me His Highness won't be available until after four. He's at the Air Force base, awarding several men today. I can take you there if you're willing to wait until the ceremony's finished.”

“Sure, sure. Whatever. I'll wait however long Victor says.”

“I'll fetch a car and a security detail this instant, madame.” He's already got his phone out before I walk past him.

I need to talk to Silas. I have to get him to discipline Serena, or fire her, or just let me spit in the bitch's face.

It isn't just personal, although it's definitely that. She's so busy talking about protocol and making sure traditions happen like they should.

I'm not going to take this when I'm officially wearing Silas' ring. If I let her walk all over me when I'm officially Princess, or God forbid, Queen, I'll never live it down. I have to put this bitter woman in her place, and demand some respect when she insults my soon-to-be-husband, too.

By the time the pitch black SUV circles up with Dean and several others inside, I'm seething. I don't say a word as I climb into the back, tearing a bottle of water from the ice.

I have to cool myself down before I talk to him. I swear.

If I don't, something absolutely crazy is going to happen.

* * *

I sit in a back row, insisting on a subtle space cleared by the guards so I don't bother the families. Watching Silas up there with the Royal Air Force pilots helps stifle the anger. It's so somber, just like the other times I've seen him wearing his uniform, around other military men.

He takes this soldier stuff very seriously. It's beautiful, really, showing a side he wants to pretend isn't there.

This is my man with his shields down. The man I want to marry behind the magnificent tattooed body and the king-sized cock. The hero, the veteran, the worldly gentleman with the filthiest mouth I've ever imagined.

This is Prince Charming, the war hero, incarnate.

I wait patiently, until he's finally done. A few of the families below us whisper about me and my entourage. I try to shrink down, not wanting to take the moment away from them.

When the ceremony is finished, and the captain is leading his men off the runway with their wives and kids, Silas sees me.

Surprise. He doubles his speed, walking through the small gate held open by the guards.

I climb halfway down the metal seats to meet him. He grabs me, holds me in those tender, powerful arms, and banishes my woes in a single kiss.

If only they'd stay gone.

“What're you doing here, love? I would've been home in another hour or two.”

“Serena.”

One single word, and his face tightens knowingly. “What did the bitch do now?”

“She insulted me, insulted you, and I'm not going to take it anymore. I'm afraid she's never going to let it go. Whatever she thinks the two of you had. She won't stop being a bitch to me, every time I'm supposed to meet her for those briefings.”

“She won't be easy to replace, Erin.” He frowns, thinking it all over. “I'll probably have to get grandmom's approval, simply because she's been a favorite for several years. Shame, really. Old Henry, her predecessor, never would've treated you like trash. I knew I made a mistake with her. Whatever, I'll do what it takes to sort this out.”

“That's all I'm asking,” I tell him, squeezing both his hands. “I don't need her fired if you think there's some way to make her shut up and show some respect. This isn't an ego clash. I just can't wait and wonder if she'll ever stop questioning us with every other sentence that comes out of her mouth. It's not her place, and it's rude as hell.”

“Forget it,” he growls, sliding one hand down to the small of my back, pushing me against his chest. “She's gone. I'll get Her Majesty on board, one way or another. I've got to be careful not to stress her too much, seeing how she's in recovery. Still, I'll find a way.”

“Oh.” I look down, suddenly embarrassed. I hadn't thought of that. “Well, if you think you can do something.”

“Babe, don't even ask again. I'll put the bitch in the dungeon and give her a talking to myself, if that's what it takes to shut her yap.”

I'm laughing. “You're joking, right? You don't really have a...dungeon?”

He smiles. Yes, that familiar, slightly wicked, damnably handsome curl of the lips.

“Hasn't been used since the eighteenth century, love. I think it's time we made an exception.”

“Don't!” I slap playfully against his chest. “Seriously. She's a bitch, but she isn't a criminal.”

“She's a demon in my book,” Silas growls. “Nobody fucks with my princess.”

He brings his face closer, gently grabs my face, and tips my lips to his. I can feel his breath on my skin, and I'm already getting wet.

“Don't worry, I won't torture her. I won't even scare her unless she really lays it on thick. I'm not letting this go until the palace has a new press secretary. Anyone who insults my wife, my Princess, isn't fit to clean the fucking stables.”

“Wait, stables? You have horses?”

He laughs. A deep, baritone, belly busting sound that's like music to my ears.

“What's a Prince without his white horse? After the wedding's over, I'll take you on a trip to Saxon castle in the south. You can meet Eddy, the stud I used to ride when I was a boy. Only animal on this island who's more hung than me.”

He's insane. I'm slapping his chest again and trying to wiggle away, laughing, but nothing could ever escape these arms. Silas' lips take mine, harder than before.

It's a kiss that tells me I'm going to be reminded just how big the favorite part of his anatomy is tonight. Maybe reminded at least five times.

God, yes.

* * *

He talks to Serena, but he doesn't tell me what he's said. It's morning, several days later, less than an hour before we're due to arrive for tea with Her Majesty.

“You've got nothing to worry about anymore, love. She's been taken care of. Gently, I assure you.”

“So, she's not in irons over in Grace tower?” I nod my head out the window toward the high spire across town, supposedly attached to Silas' castle by a secret passage.

“I wish.” He shakes his head. “I do have principles, whether you want to believe it or not. There's only one woman I want to see writhing in restraints, and she sure as hell isn't Serena.”

He steps up, cups my chin, and silences my next round of sass in a powerful kiss. “Mmm. Now, you're making me wonder who.”

“Bullshit.” His hand glides down my back, lifts off, and smacks my ass. “You know.”

I do. I'm reminded every single day how much he wants me.

We're about to kiss again when Silas' phone goes off. “Yeah?”

I watch his face go dark and tense. He swears under his breath, turns around, and whispers a few more words into the phone. I don't move until he ends the call and stuffs the leather and gold clad unit back in his pocket.

“What's wrong?” I ask, hoping it isn't the Queen's health.

“Fucking protesters. Again.” He paces around me angrily, moving to the window, staring out across the city.

I join him. The streets are teeming with little crowds, tourists and pedestrians, mostly people milling around the palace so they can catch the royals setting off for tea. It's been all over the morning news, Her Majesty's first public event since coming home to the palace.

“I don't understand. What is it they want, Silas?” My hand squeezes his shoulder, trying to be reassuring.

He's bristling with so much rage he won't relax. “They'd hack off our heads if they could. Fucking maniacs, all of them. I'm sure half the bastards are hoping they cause grandmom to have another stroke so the crown falls to me, and they can have their damned referendum.”

He isn't just speaking anymore. He's growling, each word more angry than the last, sending chills up my spine.

“I'm sure it'll be all right. It seems like there's nothing but sympathy for the royal family. If they do anything crazy, the public will turn on them.”

I'm trying to talk with confidence. But truth be told, I know very little about the emotions wrapped up in the political situation here.

That has to change, and soon. Everything's becoming less theoretical by the day with our wedding approaching.

Silas looks at me, his eyes full of flickering blue fire. “I'll tell you something, love. These shit-stirrers are lucky we're not the monsters they claim. If we had the rights and powers we enjoyed five hundred years ago, they'd be rotting away with rats and moldy bread crusts by now.”

Silas' phone chirps again before I can respond. “Shit, time to get downstairs. They want us to leave early, considering the situation. The biggest idiots have been cleared away from the palace grounds, at least.”

I nod, grateful for the small progress. When he takes my hand to lead me out, his grip is tight, almost as intense as the day our first press conference turned into disaster.

“Sire!” A soldier in camo fatigues salutes the Prince when we're outside, heading for our big white limo. We have a military escort, more than just the usual security services, as I can see from the Humvees with heavy guns mounted to the sides.

Silas nods, helps me into the car, looking around him the entire time. My instinct makes me want to run my eyes over the people gathered just outside the gate as well, in case I see any impending violence.

I'm stopped in my tracks, though, because suddenly I'm face-to-face with Queen Marina.

“How are you, dear?” she asks, sitting across from me with Patricia and several bodyguards I don't recognize.

“Perfectly well, Your Majesty!”

Yeah, if perfectly well means stressed as hell.

“You look much better. I'm pleased to hear you're on the mend,” I say, while Silas climbs in next to me.

Is there anything worse than trying to make small talk with a Queen?

“I still have a few good days in me to serve this kingdom,” she says, twirling the platinum and gold tipped cane in her hand. “Silas, what's eating you, boy?”

“The protests,” he growls, as if it isn't obvious. “Can't stay off our damned backs for a single minute.”

I lay my hand on his. Patricia gives us both a sour look. Next to me on the other side, Victor clears his throat uncomfortably.

“They're entitled to their opinions. They certainly won't be allowed to stomp their feet or smash up my property. However, what kind of kingdom do you think we'd have if we didn't allow a place where people are free to express the unthinkable?”

“Yeah, maybe you're right,” he says, clenching my hand tighter. It doesn't sound like he's being honest. “I've been worried about you lately, Your Majesty. That's all.”

“Take your minds off me today, please.” She pauses, looking around at each of us. “That goes for everyone in this car. Today, we have a chance to show our people that we're peaceful and united. I trust no one here wants to screw that up, and too much thought my way isn't helping the situation.”

It's hard not to laugh. I wonder if she knows she's riding on a powder keg.

Peaceful? United? It won't take much to blow it all sky high.

“We'll be at Milton's in five minutes, Your Majesty,” Patricia says. She snidely one-ups Victor, who'd been pulling out his phone to check the time.

“Wonderful. Miss Warwick, you'll be pleased to taste the finest tea in Europe at our traditional spot today,” Her Majesty says.

“Oh, yes!” I clap my hands together, praying it won't ignite the tension in the air. The grin on my face feels crazy. “I love, love, love a good cup of tea.”

I'm trying harder than I ever had in my life to diffuse the invisible rage.

For a minute, nobody says anything. Then Silas relaxes his grip on my hand and starts to laugh, shaking his head.

“Yeah, tea. I'm going to tell them to make mine so damned strong I go blind.”

* * *

I think things are going...well.

Unbelievably well, perhaps. We've just sat down at a private table reserved for the Queen. The media bombards us with camera flashes of our first orders before they're shuffled out the door, leaving us alone.

They won't see us again until we head back to our car, all smiles, Silas gently helping his grandmother down the steps. It's going to be a picture perfect end to a picture perfect photo op with so little drama people will fall asleep when it rolls across their newsfeed.

That's what I'm hoping for, anyway.

Our tea shows up in no time while the royals talk about Silas' dealings with diplomats in Her Majesty's absence. Mine is black, velvety, sweet and citrusy. It's heaven in a cup, a million times more soothing than the shot of something stronger I'm sure Silas is craving.

“Erin helped with the trade ministers from the EU,” he says, eyeballing me while he sips from his cup. “They were very impressed with her candor and beauty when we rolled in to meet them at the foot of the bridge.”

Oh, God. He's referring back to the day I came in front of half the capital, clenching his hand, squirming in my seat.

I smile delicately at Queen Marina, trying to pretend nothing unusual happened. I can't believe he's teasing me like this. If he's hoping I won't go anywhere near his dick tonight, he's doing a great job.

“Yes, I believe the media is taking a slow, but steady liking to our new lady,” she says, looking at me. “Of course, she won't be fully in their eye until the wedding and the ceremony where she's crowned. We're moving to the right place for this kingdom and our family. It just takes time.”

I watch her too perfect false teeth take a huge bite from a flaky croissant. My stomach growls, and I'm mustering up the courage to eat in front of the Queen when the door behind us flies open.

My appetite goes completely cold when I turn around and see who's there. Silas bolts from his chair, whipping around so hard it tips over, hitting the floor.

“What the hell are you doing here, Serena?” he growls.

My heart skips several beats. I don't know if the rage boiling in his eyes is more directed at her, or the guard who let her nose her way in.

So much for picture perfect. The bitch smiles, staring at me, slowly coming closer.

“It's really a shame I have to do this. You were all doing so well on your way in. Heeding my advice about tea today, no doubt.”

“I'm not asking again,” Silas rumbles, his eyes shifting nervously to his grandmother.

I'm quietly praying he won't go nuclear. Jesus, he can't.

Queen Marina doesn't need this stress right now, especially with more bodyguards rushing in, surrounding Serena before she can totally reach our table.

“You thought you could get rid of me. You did what you had to because the American girl decided she didn't like my attitude. I get that, Silas. This isn't about us anymore. I'm here today to protect the kingdom and Her Majesty's honor. Just another patriotic, helpful subject, hoping for the best.”

“Your Majesty?” Patricia looks angrily across the room, gesturing to the guards, making them form a wall between the intruder and the rest of us.

“Let her come forward. Pat her down first. I want to know the meaning of this.”

Silas does a slow, maddening pivot. His face says it all. You can't be fucking serious.

I have to stop the mushroom cloud that's about to turn this room to ashes. I bolt up, wrap my arms around him, and hold him tight. I can feel his huge muscles bulging, trembling ever-so-slightly, his caveman instinct to kill and protect on overdrive.

No, I mouth to him, as soon as his eyes swing to me. You can't.

I'm worried he's going to fling me aside and go for Serena's throat. The guards have finished their pat down, and she's walking past, straight through us, taking a seat at the fucking table like she's part of our group.

“Your Majesty, I hope you'll forgive me. You know I've served you to the best of my abilities for years. That's the only thing I want to do here today, one last time, before I'm on my way out and –“

“Enough. Why are you here?” Queen Marina's royal blue eyes are blazing now. I think she's a second or two away from having the guards haul the bitch out after all.

I hope. Just like I hope it happens before her health takes a hit.

“I've been doing some research before Silas came to me last night and told me I'd never serve the royal family in any capacity again. Lots of research, before he called me a cunt to my face, and swore he'd have me locked up if I dared defy his royal orders.”

My jaw clenches until it feels like my teeth are about to pop. If she's looking for sympathy, it isn't going to work, no matter what Silas did or didn't say.

It's a miracle he's staying quiet. He feels like granite in my arms, a statue ready to come to life and throw Serena out the nearest window if she makes one more wrong move.

“Now, you've all seen the op eds in the papers. The ones that wonder if this wedding is illegal or not, according to the kingdom's laws and traditions. I've talked to several lawyers, and I'm certain it is, but I won't bother going into that because there's still a shred of doubt.” She pauses, reaches for my glass, and takes a long, agonizing pull.

Yeah, the bitch is drinking my tea like a hummingbird. I'm about to ask Silas to restrain me for my own good.

“We have our own lawyers, the very best in the nation. Whoever you've spoken to, they can't possibly be better,” the Queen snaps. “If you have nothing more important than this nonsense, I'll ask you to find your way out, this instant.”

“Oh, Your Majesty, I wouldn't be here if that were the case.” She sets the teacup down loudly. “I've been talking to some doctors in Mexico about Miss Warwick's father.”

My face goes dark. I'm afraid to check my own pulse and discover proof my blood just froze.

“As we know, he's very been very sick, but he's on the mend. What's very interesting is the funding.” She turns away from the Queen, staring up at us, tucking her blonde hair back in that almost flirty and completely antagonizing way. “You see, Silas, I know you didn't pull the money out of that little trust stipend you like to use on liquor, parties, and gifts for you women.”

“I don't have a fucking clue what you're talking about, woman, but you're going to be sued for every word you say. I'm keeping track, starting now.”

“Sued? Ha!” Her shitty grin only gets bigger. “The only one who's going to be suing anybody will be Suzie Q. Public. Probably led by the Republic Firsters. For all their flaws, they've got some powerful legal contacts. Seriously, Your Highness, what were you thinking? Using a public account on this medical bribe for your whore of a wife?”

She shakes her head slowly, mockingly sad. I want to slap her stupid face until it's spinning like a merry-go-round.

“Did you really think you could just snap your fingers and Victor could pull money from wherever, without getting caught? In this case, the royal wildlife fund, which receives several million a year from public tax dollars for wilderness and recreation? It almost worked, I suppose. You probably wouldn't have gotten caught if I hadn't been motivated to follow every single transactions. Thing is, my Prince, I did. And the scandal will kill Her Majesty when I feed it to the press.”

Silas spins around, turning me with him. He's eyeballing Victor now.

“Your Highness...I...there wasn't enough in your private account at the time to cover a private, unscheduled trip to Mexico and the extensive treatment Mister Warwick received. Your trust fund wouldn't have disbursed additional money quickly enough when time was of the essence to save his life. For the record, the nature fund in question only receives partial public reimbursement each year. Most of its money comes from admission fees to the parks, and I was certain it wouldn't be a problem. This is, of course, entirely my fault, and I'm deeply sorry.”

Silas isn't listening anymore. Serena stands up, drifts past us again, looking over her shoulder as she heads for the guards.

I can't bear to look at the Queen. She's probably as speechless as I am. I'm fucking devastated, hurt and confused, hanging onto him like a helpless monkey.

“This all could've gone down so differently, once. I really did love working for the palace, just like I used to love you, my Prince. Who knows where life will lead us once you're a pretender to a throne that doesn't exist anymore, but it's a shame we'll never cross paths again. We could've been something beautiful.”

“Don't let this fucking bitch leave,” Silas growls to the guards.

I hear several other chairs scrape across the floor. The Queen, Patricia, and Victor are all talking at once. Serena starts screaming the second one of the men in the suits grabs her arm.

The whole world spins, catapulting my field of vision around and around until I'm going to be sick.

I can't do this. I have to get out of here. I need to move my feet out the door beyond all the commotion, before I pass out.

It's a miracle. I do better than just power walk because something makes me run, without tripping on my heels or my skirt.

Silas yells after me once. But the guards are too busy with the anarchy all around them to think about catching me, and he never gives the order to chase me down.

I burst through the doors and run across the hallway. The teahouse is attached to an old hotel, where I crash down on the seats in front of a TV, burying my face to hide my tears.

Serena has the perfect bait to destroy everything that matters to him.

And it's all my fault.

For the first time in weeks, I want to be home. Back in North America, wherever dad is, consoling myself on being a good daughter because I don't know if I can be a good wife.

I can't be a good Princess.

God. There's something on TV. I see it through my blurry eyes, a scary scene outside the palace. It's the protests. They're still happening, live.

Two men tangled together in a crowd, fighting. One wears a black shirt with a big, red X through a gold crown held by the double-headed eagle.

Another man has a purple lapel pin for the Queen, but it's hard to make out. His shirt looks bloody – probably from the broken nose the protester gives him before the police throw him to the ground, jabbing a taser into his side.

This kingdom is a mess. And it's only going to get worse when Serena drops the bomb, assuming she makes it out of here without being able to sue royal security for assault.

Everything suddenly feels radioactive. It's killing me, shattering my heart in a way I've never known.

I don't want to leave him. Really, I fucking don't, more than I've ever wanted to avoid a thing in my entire life.

Doesn't matter. I can't ignore the sick truth gnawing at me deep in my soul.

This kingdom, this family, is going to tear itself apart if I stay a day longer. I won't watch that happen, even if it causes my heart to shrivel up and die.

I can't be his Princess – with benefits, or without. I can't be anywhere on this island anymore.