She stiffens in my arms, and I know immediately I’ve said the wrong thing.

She tries to pull away from me, but I keep my arms around her.

“I was only joking,” I say lightly. “Just joking.”

“That didn’t sound like a joke,” she says, wiggling her way out of my arms.

“Well, you have to admit that, joke or not, there’s still a chance that—”

“I think you should leave.” She sits up, pulling the sheets up to cover her chest. All the warmth and affection I saw in her face only moments ago is gone—her walls have gone up again.

“Justine,” I say softly, gently. I reach out to touch her cheek.

She flinches away from me. “Please, just go.”

I start to rise, then stop. “Justine, it’s late. We should just go to sleep and discuss this more in the morning—”

“There’s nothing to discuss,” she says. “When and if I have any children is not for you to decide.”

I’m about to remind her how biology works, but I know that won’t help my case with her right now.

“Forgive me, Princess. I didn’t mean to imply that I was deciding anything for you. I shouldn’t have said it at all. I just made a rather unfortunate joke.” I lower myself back down to the bed. “Please, Justine—can we just forget I ever said it?”

She stares at me for a long moment, and I curse my stupid, reckless tongue—I should have known better than to start talking about children right after our first time together. Tonight wasn’t about the future—it was about this moment, about finally coming together, and I somehow managed to push her away again, to force her to throw the walls right back up.

After a moment, she lowers herself back down onto the bed beside me, but the look in her eyes is still wary. I’ve managed to spoil the connection we’d finally found between us.

“We should sleep,” she says softly.

I nod. “Sleep.”

I reach across the bed, pulling her back into my arms, and though she doesn’t object, her body is stiffer than it was before. She’s fighting me, whether she means to or not.

With a soft sigh, I fold myself gently around her, spooning her with my face against her hair. I ache to bring her back, to draw her back into that little bubble of intimacy we had a moment ago.

She knows that people expect her to have children, I think. And that it’s possible she will conceive, now that we’ve been together. Why is she so upset to hear me say it?

She doesn’t say another word. As the minutes tick by, her breathing slows. I know she’s gone to sleep when I feel her body finally relax fully against mine. In slumber, at least, the walls fall away.

I tighten my arms around her, breathing deeply of her hair. The scent of her fills my nostrils, brings me both a joy and a deep ache.

One step forward, two steps back, I think, brushing my thumb gently against her skin. But at least I get to hold her in my arms tonight.

With that thought, sleep finally overtakes me, too.

* * *

When I wake, I reach for her. Her side of the bed is cold.

I sit up abruptly, looking around. Sun is pouring in through the window.

“Justine?” I call. There’s no sign of her anywhere in the suite.

Quickly, I pull my clothes on. Memories of last night come flooding back. I’m not sure what I expected to happen this morning, but I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that Justine didn’t decide to stay in my arms when she woke.

Once I’m dressed, I stumble out of the suite and the few steps down the corridor to her office. I freeze in the doorway.

Justine’s office is a bustle of activity. Justine herself sits behind her desk, but she isn’t the only one here—there are half a dozen others, some talking amongst themselves, others waiting to speak with Justine. For a moment, I just watch her. For all that her father and brother seem to believe she’s incompetent, the woman in front of me is anything but. She moves and behaves like a woman born to do this—the way she listens to person after person, never missing a beat as she makes quick decisions and dispenses orders, is something of a marvel to watch. She’s a natural—and she does it all with a grace and a passion that is simply, inspiringly beautiful.

My wife listens intently to a woman with a stack of papers under her arm, nodding every few words until the woman is done.

“We should switch the rooms for Session A and Session B,” Justine says. “That sounds like the easiest solution.”

The woman nods. “Right away, Your Highness.” She hurries out of the room, almost bumping into me on her way out.

Justine has already moved on to the next person. “Gustav, have you finalized the guest list for the—” Her voice cuts off when her eyes land on me in the doorway. The man she’s speaking to turns to see what’s caught her attention, and then he bows with a quick, “Your Highness.”

Justine rushes on as if she never paused. “Have you finalized the guest list for the keynote luncheon?”

“Yes, Your Highness,” Gustav says. “Here it is. We redid the floor plan as you suggested.”

“Thank you,” she tells him. “Let me know if you have any further questions.”

He rushes out—pausing to give me a quick bow—and I take the chance to stride over to the desk. Justine is nose-down in her work again, somehow trying to scroll through something on her computer and sift through a pile of papers at the same time.

“Good morning, Princess,” I say to her.

“Good morning,” she says without looking up.

“I trust you slept well?”

Her cheeks color slightly. She nods. “Well enough. But as you can see, I’ve got a lot to do today. The conference begins tonight, and there are a thousand little things left to do.”

“Anything I can help with?”

Her fingers pause on the keyboard—I think my question surprised her.

“No,” she says. “I have everything under control.”

“Are you sure?”

She hesitates, then finally looks up at me.

I’ve only known Justine a short while, but it’s obvious to anyone paying attention how much this conference means to her—especially now that the money it will bring has become even more important. When I look at her now, I see a woman who’s trying to carry the weight of the world on her shoulders, a woman who’s taken on so much—who wants, so much, for this to succeed—that she looks as if she might crumble at any moment beneath the weight. A rush of sympathy—and admiration—surges through me.

Her mouth opens, then closes again, as if she can’t decide whether or not to speak.

I step closer, lowering my voice so that the people speaking in the corner can’t hear.

“Anything at all,” I tell her softly. “I’m at your service, Justine. Just tell me what to do.”

Her eyes soften. She really does need help, but perhaps not with the conference—she needs someone to take some of the weight off of her shoulders, to help her carry some of the burden she’s taken upon herself. Not just today, not just in this.

I realize with a start that I want to be that man. Somehow, without realizing it, I’ve started to see her burdens as my own—when did that begin? I have no idea whether to be upset or pleased by this realization, but the warm glow of admiration still fills my chest, and I know I can’t turn away from her now.

“Anything,” I say again, and I know she catches the full meaning of the word because she flinches.

“I need…” She glances at the people in the corner, then back at me, lowering her voice. “I haven’t had a chance to eat breakfast yet. If you could send to the kitchens—”

“Done.” I pause. “But I meant something a little harder than that. Truly, Princess—you don’t have to go easy on me.”

She hesitates again. “Then I’d like you to make a promise to me.”

I smile—I’m finally getting somewhere. “Anything.”

“I want you to promise you’ll stay away from James Camden while he’s here. Don’t seek him out, don’t speak to him, don’t even be in the same room as him if you can help it.”

I feel as if I’ve been punched in the stomach. “You can’t be serious.”

“I’m perfectly serious.” Her eyes shift to the people in the corner, but they aren’t paying any attention to us. “You said you’d do anything.”

“Yes, but I didn’t mean…” I run a hand through my hair. “You can’t expect me to just ignore that man.”

“I don’t expect it. I’m asking. You said you were willing to do anything—”

“Not this,” I growl. “I’ll get your damn breakfast, but fuck me if I’m going to prance around pretending that man isn’t a giant prick, letting him do whatever he likes with you—”

“You don’t get it, do you?” Her eyes drop back to the stack of papers in front of her, and her voice loses some of its fight. “Please, William. It’s all I ask of you.”

“I’m sorry, Princess. I can’t promise you what you want.”

“Can’t? Or won’t?”

“Can’t,” I say stubbornly. I also can’t bear the sad, heavy look in her eyes, but I know I could never keep such a promise. “I’m sorry, Princess.”

So much for lifting her burdens, I chide myself. But I refuse to make a promise I know I won’t keep. And I don’t trust James Camden—not one bit. I’ll do whatever it takes to protect Justine, even if it means angering her.