I woke to darkness and that tiny, unsettling trembling of the floor that reminds you you’re in a plane. For a moment, I thought I was back in Iraq, strapped into the back of a C-130: my hands actually groped for my rifle. Then I looked down and saw my plaid shirt and jeans and remembered where I was.

The cabin was still dark and everyone was asleep so I figured we were still a way from Los Angeles. I’d been asleep since New York and now I ached all over: my economy seat wasn’t built for someone six foot six. I felt like a bear crammed into a dog kennel and about as good-tempered. All I wanted to do was land, scrape together the bus fare to my apartment, and crash for the rest of the day. But I knew that instead, I had to go job hunting again. Dammit! I let out a low growl.

The guy sitting next to me opened one eye, saw me, and quickly pretended to be asleep again. In a few hours, I’d be a story to tell the guys at his office. I got the red-eye from New York and you wouldn’t believe the guy they sat me next to. Two-fifty pounds and the scariest son-of-a-bitch you ever saw. But until then, he was keeping his head down.

I don’t like scaring folks. It’s just the way I’m built.

I needed to take a leak. I squeezed out of my seat and stood bleary-eyed, looking up and down the aisle. I dimly remembered the cabin crew pointing out where the restrooms were. Some were at the back but weren’t there some up front, just beyond that curtain?

I was so half asleep that I’d pulled aside the curtain and was three strides beyond it when I realized something was wrong. The seats here were bigger, big enough that they’d have fit even me. And the lighting was soft and moody, more like a fancy bar than an airplane. And there was so much space: there were less than ten seats in the whole cabin. Aw, hell. I’d wandered into First Class. I turned around to go back: I didn’t want to get thrown out. And that’s when I saw her.

One time, up in the mountains in Iraq, my buddy rousted me out of my tent at five a.m. and got me to come look at the sunrise. For a full half hour we’d just stood there in silence, drinking it in, imprinting it into our memories because we might never see anything like it again. This was the same. I was rooted, feet pointed back towards economy class, but upper body frozen in place, turned towards her.

She was far and away the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen in my life.

It was her lips that got me first. Softly pink and pursed together into a pout that was both innocent and...something else. Something that meant I couldn’t look away. It was in the set of her delicate jawline, too, even in sleep: she held herself with a sort of authority, but totally different to the officers I’d known in the Marine Corps. I frowned, but I couldn’t figure it out. The closest I could get was statues of emperors I’d seen on field trips to museums when I was a kid. Imperious. And yet at the same time, her lips were so pure, so soft and untouched…. The thought made me exhale through my nostrils like a bull. She looked to be in her early twenties, but goddamn, it looked as if she’d never been kissed.

Something about her drew me in: I wanted—needed to reach down and touch her cheek, just to make contact. But I couldn’t: it felt like I’d break some spell if I did, like trying to catch a soap bubble. She was magical. And there was something else: a feeling deep in my chest that was like something had been caught by the wind. I knew I’d felt it before, but I couldn’t figure out where.

All I knew was, I was in the presence of something special.

There was a fineness to her. Sure, she was a lot smaller than me, but then most people are. But someone had built me using bulldozers to push mountains of earth and rock up into a person, and then shaped it with a wrecking ball. She’d been sculpted out of marble by some artist who’d spent days on the lines of her cheekbones, weeks on the tiny details of her eyelashes.

The blanket had fallen half off her and I thought at first she was wearing some sort of thin, silky sweater. It was the rich, deep red of expensive gift wrap at Christmas. It was only when I saw the airline logo stamped in gold that I realized she was wearing pajamas: a luxury perk they must give you in first class. And her seat had been folded down flat, like a bed, so I was gazing down at her like some prince gazing at Sleeping Beauty.

Her long hair spilled out over the pillow in a glossy chestnut halo. Her breasts made two full, perfect mounds in the soft fabric, rising and falling as she breathed. Nothing was actually on show, but just the sight of them under the fabric had me instantly hard in my pants. And as I watched, she shifted a little in her sleep and some of the hair fell away from her neck. God, her skin was so pale, so different to my deep tan. Like she’d never been outdoors. My mind started running riot, imagining the body that must be hiding under those pajamas, creamy-white skin and light pink nipples, and all the things I’d like to do to her—

And yet at the same time, I felt guilty for it, like I was tainting her just by thinking those thoughts. Like she was above all that. In fact, something about her made me want to just scoop her up in my arms and...protect her. Even though she’d be like a doll in my big paws. Even though my palms would be rough as hell against that silky hair. Even though I had no business being near something so beautiful.

Someone else thought so, too. A body slammed into me from behind, carrying me forward a few feet before I stumbled to a stop.

I looked over my shoulder and saw a guy in a deep blue suit glaring up at me. To his credit, he wasn’t scared off by my size, even though I was a good six inches taller than him. He was in his sixties, fit for his age, his silver hair meticulously styled and his posture ramrod-straight. I got a military vibe from him.

“What are you doing in here?” he said in a furious whisper. He glanced at the slumbering woman and I realized he was trying not to wake her. “You’re not supposed to be in here!”

His accent was British, like a butler. And as he looked me up and down his lip curled in distaste. I didn’t belong in First Class. Hell, from his expression, I didn’t belong anywhere except in a cage.

Another guy in a blue suit hurried up and stood behind him. He was as young as the first guy was old, early twenties at most, and he was built like a pro wrestler, not as tall as me but wide, a wall of solid muscle. He didn’t look as hostile as the first guy, but he wasn’t messing around.

And now I made out gold trim on their lapels.

“ Lakovia!” he hissed.

Princess? I blinked a couple of times. Princesses were something from fairy tales. But it suddenly all made sense. That look she had... regal summed it up just right. I looked down at that sleeping face and I had absolutely no doubt I was in the presence of royalty. No wonder she looked so finely sculpted, so perfect. No wonder I’d felt like she was special. A princess.

The old guy tried to shove me towards the curtain again, but this time I resisted and he found out that I’m a pretty difficult person to move. I didn’t want to cause trouble. I just couldn’t stop staring at that sleeping face. I’d never seen anyone like her. I was goddamn entranced.

I’d heard of Lakovia somewhere, but I couldn’t remember where. All I knew was that it was somewhere in Europe. I wondered what she was like awake. Probably a spoiled, selfish, champagne-glugging brat.

I frowned. That didn’t feel right. Somehow, I couldn’t imagine her being like that.

“Go!” hissed the old guy, raising his voice a little.

The Princess stirred in response.

The old guy bit back a curse and shoved me forward again. This time, I let my feet move. I didn’t want to cause trouble. Folks always think I must be spoiling for a fight just because I’m big, but all I want is to be left alone. I craned around as I stumbled through the curtain, holding onto the view of her for as long as possible. Then the curtain closed and she was gone. I sighed.

Just as I was about to move off, a female voice drifted through from first class. “Who was that?” it asked sleepily.

Damn it if I didn’t catch my breath, just hearing that voice. She sounded British too, but where the old guy sounded like a butler, her accent was full-on upper class. Clear like glass, polished smooth: it made me want to arch my back like a goddamn cat and rub up against it. It had weight and solidness, a quiet authority. It took all that slow-burning anger that glowed at my core and cooled it, like rolling an ice-cold can of Coke against your forehead on a hot day. I could have listened to her voice all day.

And then the old guy sniffed and said, as if he was discussing something he’d cleaned off his shoe, “No one, Your Highness.”

I closed my eyes. They got that right. No one. Just a big, dumb ground pounder. Born in a barn, only been good at one thing my whole life. And then they’d taken even that away from me.

I went all the way to the back of the plane, used the restroom and went back to my seat. I slumped down and tried to sink into deep, black sleep, the sort so deep there aren’t any nightmares. I figured I’d sleep until Los Angeles.

But when I woke up again, the cabin was still dark. And I wasn’t half-awake, this time, I was bolt upright and alert, pulse racing. I’d heard something from behind the curtain. A muffled scream.

Her scream.

I punched my seatbelt release and started running.