Prick.

Arrogant.

Asshole.

All of those things and more had been said about Lennon, Prince of Hemingway Court, and second in line for the throne. But I knew him, saw him daily... waited on him.

Behind those blue eyes was a man who was lonely, a man who was missing something in his life. I didn't know what that was, but I wanted to help him, wanted to tell him he could talk to me.

I just wanted him.

I had a feeling he acted the way he did because he was pushing people away, because he was hurting inside and didn't know how to deal with it.

I saw it happen with my father before he left us.

But I just was just the help, a servant to the Royal Family. I served him food, cleaned his room, and knew that nothing would ever come of being with him. I’d always wanted him, but I knew I could never have him.

It was my bittersweet reality.

A commoner could never catch the eye of a prince. I was content with that, or at least I pretended to be.

I grabbed the silver tray that held his breakfast and headed toward his room. I passed other servants, even the Duke and Duchess of Alansworth, who were here for a visit, and saw Princess Carolyn just barely slipping into her room for the “night.”

My heart thundered and my hands shook. I curled my fingers tighter, harder into the silver tray, willing myself to be calm. I needed to at least appear that way, even if I didn't feel it on the inside.

But being in Prince Lennon's presence always made me feel unsteady, always had my emotions rising to the top.

I stopped in front of his bedroom door, feeling like my heart was going to burst through my chest. You’d think after being a royal servant for so many years I would have been able to control myself. But the truth was I couldn't, not when it concerned Prince Lennon.

I lifted my hand to give three sharp knocks before entering, but I stopped with my hand mid-air when I heard him shouting to someone on the other side of the door.

“I told you that's not who I am. I don't care what the tabloids say, and I don't give a fuck what anybody thinks.”

I brought my knuckles down on the door, three sharp taps, before gripping the handle and pushing it open. I immediately saw Lennon sitting on the edge of his massive bed, hi cell phone on his lap, his hands tunneled into his short dark hair. His attention was on the ground, his jaw set tight.

I left the door open as I came in, not speaking to him because I knew my place.

I didn’t make eye contact either. “Good morning, Prince Lennon.” I set the tray down on the table off to the side, gave a slight bow, and turned to leave.

“Daisy?”

My entire body stilled, the blood rushing through my veins, pumping harder, faster. I turned around, keeping my hands behind my back, my posture stiff.

“Your highness?” My throat was dry, tight.

For long seconds he didn’t say anything, just stared at me, watching me with this stoic expression. It made my heart beat erratically. I wanted to go to him, just wanted to admit how I felt, how I had felt for so long.

Know your place.

“Thank you,” he said, his voice low, deep.

He kept staring at me, his blue eyes intent, knowing almost. I felt this chill race down my spine, and my entire body reacted just from that look.

“You're welcome, Your Highness.” I forced myself to turn away, to leave the room, but I wanted to stay there. I wanted to have him keep looking at me, keep making me feel like I was special. My thinking was irrational, but it was unavoidable.

I’d felt this way for years, and even if I was only twenty-two years old and a servant, the only thing I wanted was Lennon.

But that was a fantasy, and I needed to realize that my reality was far less glamorous.

* * *

She thought I didn't notice her, or see the way her bright blue eyes were constantly locked on me.

But I did notice her. I'd noticed her for a very long time but hadn't been man enough to actually tell her how I felt.

Even if I was a prince, my life was far from ideal. I had my own emotions, my own doubts. I was lonely, even if people surrounded me constantly. This wasn't the life I wanted, but had been born into. The only saving grace was the fact I wasn’t first in line for the throne. Thank God my brother Ashton had to deal with that.

The tabloids, the whispers that there was something wrong with me, that my melancholy attitude and lack of following my traditional upbringing were a disgusting show of patriotism, were always splashed across the tabloids. This was how it had always been, how it would always be.

My thoughts went back to Daisy, about how I did want her, even if my family probably wouldn't approve. She was a trusted employee, the Royal staff, but that didn't mean my mother and father would say it was okay for me to be with a “commoner.”

But I wasn't better than her. In fact, she was too good for me. She was light, bright, and always inquisitive. I, on the other hand, let my inner emotions, and the fact that I had nothing and no one despite the riches that surrounded me, bring me down.

The very idea of Daisy by my side, of having her as mine, only mine, had this feeling of life washing through me. It had this hope that I didn't have to live this routine life consuming me, making me think there was more than I had ever imagined.

I wanted to break away, to live outside of this traditional box.

I just wanted to be with Daisy. And one way or another I’d have her. I’d make her mine. And fuck anyone who stopped me.