Esme sat alone in her father’s empty hospital room in the ICU, listening to the sounds filtering in from the hallway beyond. The monotonous beep of heart monitors, the endless inflation and deflation of automated blood pressure cuffs, the distant sobs of a person who’d lost someone dear.

Soon enough that would be her.

Her father was still alive, for the moment, but given the rapid progression of his cancer, he would not have much longer. Pancreatic cancer was one of the most virulent types, and he’d already lasted well beyond his initial prognosis of one year.

The technicians had just been in and wheeled him downstairs to have yet more testing done. The king still held out hope for a cure, but Esme had at last come to terms with the fact that her father would never get better. This was it. The end of the line.

She sighed and stared up at the ceiling.

God, why had it taken her so long to accept the reality? Her only excuse was that she loved her father. But she had loved her mother too, and that hadn’t stopped the queen from dying either. If only she’d resigned herself to it early, perhaps she wouldn’t be in this mess now. Perhaps she could have gotten her father to pass the necessary legislation so that she could have taken her place in the line of succession and ruled her country. But no. She’d spent two years avoiding the truth of her father’s decline, as if living with the constant possibility of his death had made her immune to the consequences, and now it was too late.

She’d done plenty of research, even scoured the countryside to see if her father might have sired a male heir out of wedlock, but he’d been perfectly faithful to his wife. Esme was an only child and a woman—and that meant that in her homeland of Prylea, she was out of luck when it came to the throne that should have been her birthright.

Of course, she could have gotten married and pregnant herself and that would’ve solved things too. A grandson was considered a more direct heir than a nephew. Except she’d been so busy the last few years, first with finishing her schooling, then with helping her ailing father with tasks around the palace that she’d had no time or interest for dating. On the few, rare occasions when she had gone out, the men had only seemed interested in her title and not her as a person. She’d learned her lesson well on that count a long time ago and didn’t plan to ever make that same painful mistake again.

So, changing the law was out. Finding a suitable husband in time was out.

Seemed the entire future Esme had planned for herself was out.

Unwanted tears stung the back of her eyes before she blinked them away. Princesses did not cry, especially in public. Her mother had taught her that, and Esme was a very good student. She squared her shoulders and stood, determined to make the best of the horrible situation and put on a brave face for her father. Her heart might be broken but her spirit was strong, at least for now.

Esme turned to walk out into the hallway for some fresh air and exercise and nearly collided with a broad, tux-covered chest. Strong hands gripped her arms to steady her and the comforting scent of sandalwood and citrus surrounded her. Mr. Raybourn. Z.

“Pardon me, ma’am,” he said. “I mean, your highness. I mean, Esme.”

The fact he fumbled over his words made her smile, despite her sadness. “It’s fine.”

She stepped back and he dropped his hands. Her bare skin tingled from his brief, warm touch and she shivered. “It’s fine.”

He frowned then removed his jacket and slung it around her shoulder. “You’re cold.”

It was a bit chilly, she realized. In truth, she felt numb from everything that was going on. Still, his jacket felt like a security blanket around her and she clutched it closer. “Thank you. Any word on my father yet?”

“Not that I’ve heard, ma’am.” He held up a finger and turned away slightly to speak to someone through his Bluetooth headset—another member of the security team, she assumed. Finally, he turned back to her, his blue eyes solemn. “I’m sorry about all this. Would you like me to call someone to sit with you? A friend or family member?”

Esme shook her head. “No, thank you. I don’t really know anyone that well in DC.”

Z cocked his head slightly as if considering something, then gave a curt nod. “Were you going for a walk?”

“I was.” She inhaled deep. “Sitting alone in that room, waiting, is about to drive me insane.”

“Understood.” He glanced around the hallway then back to her.

“Part of the job?”

“I could use some exercise myself, actually. Standing guard in front of a door all night isn’t exactly good for the circulation.” He gave her a crooked little grin and for the first time she noticed he was handsome. Sure, she’d seen him off and on for the last six months around the palace, usually wearing the black suit uniform of the other security guards and always busy, but this was the first time she really saw him as a man. Tall, broad, well-muscled from his time in the navy. Golden-blond hair, piercing blue eyes, tanned, smooth skin. He was the epitome of the all-American boy. Women probably swooned at his feet wherever he went.

Good thing Esme wasn’t most women.

She nodded, and they headed down the hall and around the corner. A glance behind them showed another guard had already taken up residence outside her father’s door. Perhaps that was what Z had been talking to his team about earlier. If so, she admired his organizational skills.

Thankfully, it was late enough at night that most of the visitors were gone. Those who lingered were nestled in at their loved one’s beside for the evening, so there weren’t many gawkers lining the corridor to stare at the two people who were grossly overdressed and out of place.

Silence between them stretched taut and she felt the need to fill it. Esme prided herself on her conversational skills. It was an essential part of diplomacy. After all, looks might catch a man’s eye, but sharp, witty conversation would capture his secrets.

“So, do you miss it?” she asked Z as they strolled past a long bank of windows. Nighttime DC glittered in the velvet darkness like scattered jewels. “The SEALs, I mean.”

Z shrugged, staring straight ahead. “Sometimes. I’ll get back there soon enough though. My team’s like my family. It was tough leaving them behind to work in the palace.”

“But what about the danger? Surely you don’t miss risking your life every day.”

He chuckled, low and deep. The sound of it rolled over her like a gentle wave, pulling her a bit further under his spell. He glanced down at her, a good foot taller than her own five-foot-three, his blue eyes glittering in the moonlight streaming in through the windows. “You get addicted to the adrenaline of it, you know? The constant alertness and watchfulness. I love it. Love standing between whatever enemy we were fighting and freedom. Love the sacrifice and the salvation. Love everything, really.”

“What happened?” She’d tried to find out more about him in his employee files at the palace, but most of his career had been a series of missions so confidential that the files were redacted down to almost nothing. All she could really tell was that he’d been very highly regarded—until that had abruptly changed, after which he had been sent to her country as a gesture of goodwill to her father and a veiled punishment for Z, himself. She’d have to get her info straight from the source. But that was fine, she wanted to hear it from him. “Why did you leave and come to work in Prylea?”

“There was an…incident.”

“Incident?”

“Accident.”

“What kind of accident?” she asked, unable to stop herself even though the look on his face said she shouldn’t go there. They turned another corner and proceeded down another hallway, this one apparently unoccupied, if the quiet darkness was any indication.

“Are you always this nosy?” Z stopped abruptly and turned to her, his face half hidden in shadows.

“Are you always this paranoid?” Esme countered before she caught herself. Thank goodness the hallway was dark, because her cheeks prickled with heat. She exhaled slow and hung her head. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry into things that are none of my business.” So much for my vaunted conversational skills, she thought wryly. She always struggled with tact when she was tired and overstressed.

He leaned his back against the wall and scrubbed his hands over his face. “No. I’m the one who should apologize. You’re my employer and I should never have spoken to you like that. I’m sorry.”

She walked over to lean beside him, not close enough to touch, but close enough to feel his heat again through the fabric of his tux jacket. The silk of her gown swished in the quiet air. “I tend to talk too much sometimes, especially when I’m nervous.” She looked over and caught his wary expression. “It’s not you. It’s this whole situation. My dad’s condition, the impending succession, all of it. I’ve waited too long and now I’m screwed.”

“Pardon?” He frowned. “How?”

“Well, my father sired no male heirs. No other children at all except me. You know as well as I do that my cousin is just waiting for news of the king’s death to make his move. I wasted what time I had to get my father to change the laws and now I’ll be out of a country soon unless I think of a solution.”

He nodded, silent. Both of them stared across the hall into the shadows beyond.

“So,” he said a minute later. “Thought of anything yet?” His words dripped with amusement and soon both of them were laughing. It felt so good after such dark times earlier and Esme felt some tension leave her body.

In spite of herself, she laughed—even as she shook her head. “There is one way, but I don’t even know how I’d go about accomplishing it at this point.”

“What’s that?” Z asked.

“I’d have to get married.”

“Sounds awful.”

“Yes, well, I don’t have to worry about that because there are no men around who want to get hitched to me anyway, so…” She swiped her hand under her nose then gathered his jacket tighter around her. “It was a silly idea. Desperate times, desperate measures and all.”

“Aw, c’mon, Esme,” Z said, nudging her shoulder with his. The brief contact sent a shower of sparks down her whole left side before she tamped them down. Must be the exhaustion and jet lag. Had to be. This was her bodyguard, a man she barely knew. He looked her up and down and she couldn’t help the tingle between her thighs. He was a good-looking guy, after all, and she wasn’t totally immune to his charms. “I bet there are all kinds of guys lining up to court you.”

“Court me?” She snorted, reaching up to make sure her jewels were still in place—a ruby and diamond necklace that had belonged her mother and a matching set of earrings. The last thing she needed was to lose part of the crown jewels on this trip along with everything else. “What are you, from the nineteenth century? I believe we call it dating nowadays,” she teased.

“Fine. Date you, then.” Z turned slightly to face her, zeroing those bright blue eyes on her. The effect was quite mesmerizing. “You’re a beautiful woman. Men must chase after you wherever you go if you don’t mind me saying so.”

“I don’t mind.” She giggled like a nervous schoolgirl then straightened, her mother’s voice echoing through her head reminding her to behave like a proper princess. “But no. Men are not flocking to me like hungry seagulls. Except for the ones who only want a royal title to flaunt around.”

“Ouch.” He cringed. “Occupational hazard, huh?”

“Yep.” She smoothed her hands down her skirts and he pushed away from the wall. They continued on. “So, unless you know of a website for royals dating, I’m pretty well out of luck.”

He scrunched his nose. “Isn’t there some kind of network between you guys, a way for you all to communicate with each other.”

“Royals ‘R Us?”

“No.” He laughed. “I don’t know. I guess I never really thought about a predicament like yours before. You’re sure there’s no other way for you to keep the crown of Prylea under your control instead of your cousin’s?”

“I’m sure. I’ve spent the last year searching.” She sniffed. “If only I knew an eligible guy, someone trustworthy and strong, who would be willing to marry me for a year and then quietly divorce after the kingdom was settled.”

“Is that allowed?” Z asked. “Divorcing, I mean.”

“There’s no law against it. But for me to hold on to the throne, I’d have to produce a male heir first.”

“Oh. Right. Then you’d be the Queen Mother?”

“Yes, and I’d rule in my child’s stead until he turned eighteen. The parliament wouldn’t be able to do anything about it.” She did her best to hide the sadness that swelled inside her from such a clinical explanation of what should have been a joyful act. The concerned look Z gave her said she’d done a poor job of it. “I want to get married and have children someday, I do. But all the political intrigue surrounding it now, makes if feel more like an obligation than a special part of life.”

“I’m sorry,” he said again, stopping at the next corner which led back down the hall to her father’s room. They lingered in the shadows. “I wish I knew someone for the job.”

“Me too.” She gave him a rueful smile. “Don’t suppose you’d be up for the offer, huh?”

She felt as shocked as he looked by her words. She’d not meant to say that out loud, but now that it was out there, it wasn’t such a bad idea. He was strong. He was trustworthy. He was single. No family men were hired on as security at the palace, for fear their private lives could be used against them in a crisis.

“Me?” His voice creaked out, several octaves higher than usual, and she bit back a grin. She’d obviously shaken him. It was just as well, she supposed. Parliament would’ve had a field day if they’d returned to Prylea engaged. “I’m not really the marrying type, your highness.” He backed away slowly, his hands in the air. “We barely know each other. I’m your bodyguard. I don’t want kids at all right now. I don’t think—”

“Calm down.” She chuckled and walked past him back into the well-lit hallway toward her father’s room. “It was just an idea. But you can help me find a suitable mate, yes? Screen them for me and dig into their backgrounds.” The elevators dinged in the distance and her father’s physician walked out. She backed away, meeting Z’s gaze. “Think about it. I need to speak with the doctor now. Let me know what you decide later.”