“You know he’s got a Pomeranian named Cupcake, don’t you?” Declan murmurs.

I bite my lip, trying not to giggle, and he leans away. The server steps between us and ladles me one scoop of lobster bisque, giving me a few extra seconds to pretend like my brother’s best friend isn’t gossiping with me about the old men who advise my father.

“I’m sure she’s named after the very important battle of Cupcake,” I whisper back. “Huge loss of life, important strategic victory.”

Declan grins and takes a sip of his wine, looking away like the two of us aren’t behaving badly at my nephew Stefan’s christening banquet. It’s a solemn occasion, the one where the three-month-old is officially welcomed into the line of Naraltan succession, and I am not supposed to be tipsily giggling with my brother’s best friend.

Really, I’m just glad that I don’t think he heard my orgasm comment from earlier. He sort of gave me a look when I came out of the bathroom, my face ten different shades of red, but he hasn’t said anything to me all night about it.

And if I know Declan, he’s not exactly the type to keep quiet to me about something embarrassing I’ve done.

After all, the two of us practically grew up together. He’s the crown prince of Floronia, the next kingdom over, but since he and Grayson are best friends and our kingdoms are allied, he spent most summers in our palace.

Declan teasing me is nothing new. The time I was twelve and came out of the bathroom with toilet paper on my shoe, he called me the mummy for a month. The next year, he’s the one who caught me kissing one of my father’s advisor’s sons behind the pool house — my very first kiss — and he called me fish face for ages afterward.

“Any sign of your evil cousin yet?” he asks, his voice still low.

I glance around the table, nervously. I’d forgotten about Malvina.

Hopefully she’s forgotten about us, too.

“I haven’t seen her,” I say.

“Maybe she turned herself into a frog or something by accident,” Declan offers.

Across the table from us, Beckett and Kieran, my brother’s other two best friends, lean in.

“You have an evil cousin?” Beckett asks.

“Like, evil hot or evil ugly?” asks Kieran.

I roll my eyes at them. Along with Declan — and before he met Ella, my brother — they’re notorious womanizers who’ve probably banged their way through half of Europe. Every time I see them they seem to be followed by a small crowd of willing and eager girls who all want a taste of royalty.

Literally. Ew.

Stealthily, I glance over at Declan.

Okay, mostly ew. Specifically the taste part.

I let my eyes linger for half a second too long on Declan: his chiseled jaw, his bright blue eyes, the way he somehow manages to eat soup cockily.

Some ew. A moderate amount of ew.

I’d let him kiss me behind the pool house, I guess.

“Malvina was in her early forties when I was born, so she’s a bit above your age range,” I point out to Kieran and Beckett.

“That doesn’t rule her out,” Beckett says.

“I’ll try almost anything,” Kieran says.

Bianca’s seated next to them at the table, politely and demurely eating her own soup course, but I don’t think she misses the glance that Kieran gives her when he says that.

“Hey, we’ll both try almost anything,” Beckett confirms.

“That’s what I hear,” Declan says dryly. “Except calling a girl the next day.”

Beckett and Kieran are famous for — how do I put this — sharing women. As in, having sex with one woman together. At the same time.

Really at the same time, like all-naked-together-in-bed at the same time. I wish they’d stop looking at Bianca, not that she seems to mind.

“She’s not hot, and she’s not here, and everything is fine,” I say, trying to steer the conversation away from dangerous waters.

“She’s not here yet,” Declan says, a devious grin lighting up his eyes. “Didn’t she fly into your christening on a broomstick, surrounded by a cloud of lightning and bats before bringing down a terrifying curse on you?”

See what I mean about teasing? He’s a jerk. A hot jerk, but a jerk nonetheless.

“No, she came in normally,” I protest. “She was just wearing a bunch of black, and then she shouted a bunch of nonsense, threw some plants, and the guards removed her.”

I don’t remember any of this, obviously. I was three months old. I’ve just heard the stories told again and again.

“You mean... she cursed you,” Declan says, dropping his voice and wiggling his eyebrows.

“I’m not cursed.”

“Are you sure? You got lobster bisque on your dress.”

I look down. It’s a tiny droplet, but it’s right over my nipple, and my face heats all the way up as I think about Declan, of all people, finding it.

Please, like he hasn’t been looking at your boobs since the day you got back from boarding school, I remind myself. He’s Declan. You have breasts.

Of course he’s looking at them. The sky is blue, grass is green, and Declan looks at boobs.

“The curse was for me to die before I’m twenty, so thanks for being all gung-ho about it,” I tell him, dabbing gently at my chest.

He looks down again. I try not to notice.

“I thought your parents went to a good witch to get it reversed,” he says.

I sigh. Maybe if I just don’t answer...

“And the good witch changed it to you falling into a coma, only to be awakened by true love’s kiss,” he says, grinning like an asshole. “Better get on Tinder pretty soon, Princess. Isn’t your birthday pretty soon?”

“I’ve got six months, and also curses are stupid and not real,” I point out.

“Still, hope your evil cousin doesn’t show up tonight.”

“That makes two of us,” I say, and finish my soup.