I don’t get much sleep that night. I stay in Mila’s room until late, chatting and drinking, but I don’t presume to sleep in her bed, and she doesn’t invite me. When I do finally go back to my own room, I barely can fall asleep. I’m too busy thinking about what happened up on the ramparts.

Mila is fucking incredible. There’s no denying that anymore. She’s so goddamn sexy, and that felt so good I can barely explain it. I’ve slept with my fair share of women, but never has it been like that before. Maybe it was the atmosphere, or maybe it was something else, but that was the best fucking sex I’ve ever had.

And I want more. I have to get more. That pussy was delicious and tight. I want to feel those pretty lips wrapped around my cock.

Not only that, though. I want to keep her close. I want to fall asleep next to her and to wake up next to her. I want to feel it all with her, which is almost more surprising than anything else.

This thing with Mila, it’s not a game for me anymore. It’s becoming very, very real, and that’s a big deal.

I don’t know how she feels about it, though. I can’t push. I don’t want to tell her any of this. I don’t want her to think I’m a psycho or something like that. We have a long day today.

I wake up, tired but still refreshed. I take a quick shower, get dressed, and then head into Mila’s room.

“Good morning, Princess,” I call out.

She pokes her head out of the bedroom. “It’s too early.”

“I know, but it’s a busy day today.”

She sighs. “Do we have to?”

“We have to.” I grin at her. “Come on, get ready.”

“Fine,” she grumbles and disappears back into her bedroom.

Today is the driving tour of the countryside. Mila and I will be in one car with Aleks and another bodyguard and we’ll be followed by another car of guards plus a car of reporters. We’re basically driving around for a few hours, making a couple of stops for some photographs, and then coming back to the castle. It’s a simple PR thing, but we have to start early.

Mila gets ready and dressed in a half hour, and soon we find ourselves out in the cool Bellestanian morning, bundling into big black SUVs. Aleks is driving our car, while Mila and I sit in the back. We head out toward our first stop, a little bakery in the nearby village.

I watch Mila as she watches the countryside pass by. I love the way she watches it with such wonder in her eyes. Bellestan really is beautiful. It’s temperate all year round, like California. Bellestan is famous for grapes and olives and sheep, but there are other amazing parts of the country. I personally believe that the bread is better in Bellestan than anywhere else, but I can’t exactly prove it.

We don’t chat too much, I just let the countryside do most of the talking. Bellestan used to be a largely agrarian society, with most people working in fields and factories. Education wasn’t a priority, at least until the Soviets left and the monarchy took over again. My family did a lot to advance people and to push the economy of Bellestan into the present day.

Women and minorities are treated with equality and respect, at least under the law. There are still old, outdated attitudes toward women working and having sex, but it’s getting better all the time. And there’s still a fear and a hatred of outsiders and foreigners.

For whatever reason, in every country, people always fear immigrants and those that look different from them. I never understood it. I’m an American immigrant, and I’ve done nothing but build an enormous company that employs thousands of hardworking Americans. The world is always changing, but people aren’t able to change with it sometimes, and they end up blaming their problems on others. Bellestan has its fair share of that. People are unsure of outsiders and are afraid that they’ll destroy the Bellestanian culture.

That won’t happen, of course, not if people don’t want it to. Really, people should be excited to see Koreans, Mexicans, Slavs, and Poles moving into their neighborhoods. The food alone is worth it.

Hopefully that’s something I’ll be able to help with. When I’m King, I’ll do my best to change people’s attitudes, to show them that they don’t have to be afraid of foreigners. We’ll be an open and welcoming society of people that live together as equals, no matter where they come from.

That’s in the future, though. Right now, we pull up out front of the little bakery and climb out.

“It’s cute,” Mila says.

“They make really good stuff.”

“Are they famous?”

I shake my head. “Not at all. They’re as local as it gets. Come on.”

The owners of the bakery are an old married couple, now in their late sixties. I shake hands with Ricky and I kiss the cheek of Rian. I always smile when I think of Ricky and Rian.

We go inside and the reporters follow. It’s a pretty standard event. We make small talk, taste the bread, and get some pictures. Mila does remarkably well, though people aren’t speaking English most of the time. She politely smiles and pays attention, even if she can’t understand. But most importantly, she seems to genuinely love the food, and I can tell that Ricky and Rian are a fan of her.

When the photographs are finished, we head back outside. “Is this what it’s like, being Prince?” she asks me.

I laugh and shake my head. “No, not at all. This sort of thing is part of it, but this is just a PR thing and everyone knows it. It’s mostly just because we’re visiting.”

“So when you’re King, you won’t visit those two?” she asks me.

I give her a sly smile. “I didn’t say that.”

We climb into the car and head off to our next destination, a tire factory not far from here. It’s in a more densely populated part of the outlying villages, and as we get closer, I notice that there are more people out in the streets. Houses and shops are packed more closely together, almost resembling a small town back in America. People are lined up in the streets, most of them silently watching as our cars drive past.

“What are they doing?” Mila asks me.

“I don’t know,” I respond. “Aleks, what’s going on?”

“I’m not sure, my Prince,” he says. He picks up his walkie and speaks in Bellestanian. “Everyone, be careful. I don’t like the looks of these people.”

There’s some chatter over the walkie-talkie, but I go back to watching the people. They don’t seem aggressive, but they don’t seem happy, either. It’s strange. They clearly are out here for us, since I can’t see any other reason why so many people would line up like this outside, but they’re not doing anything. There are no signs, no slogans, no chanting, just quiet faces watching us drive by.

We reach the factory not long later, and we quickly go inside. The mobs are left behind us, and soon we get lost in the tour of the factory, lead by the foreman named Ravi, a kind Pakistani man. The reporters take their pictures, we have our small talk, and soon this leg of the morning is over. We’re back in the cars and heading out to our next destination.

The guard car is in the lead with our car in the middle and the reporters bringing up the rear. We’re driving through the town we came through not long ago, with the silent mobs watching us pass. This time, however, as the lead car moves through the most densely-packed intersection, it slows down then comes to a stop.

“What the fuck?” Aleks asks. He gets on the walkie. “What’s happening?”

“There’s something in the road,” the guard responds.

“Can you get around?”

“Not with all the fucking people.”

My heart starts to race. “Tell them to clear it,” I say to Aleks.

He glances back at me. “It’s too dangerous to leave the cars.”

“Fuck,” I say softly. “What do we do?”

Aleks chews on that for a second. “Can you get over it?” he asks the lead car.

“No,” he says. “It’s a bunch of shopping carts with rocks in them.”

Aleks curses and I glance at Mila. We’re speaking in Bellestanian, but she can tell that something is off.

“What’s happening?” she whispers.

“Stay here.” I open the door.

“What the fuck are you doing, Bran?” Aleks calls after me.

I just ignore him. These are my people. I don’t think they’d hurt their Prince, even if they are unhappy with my family. Maybe I’m stupid as fuck, but something needs to be done, and I have to be brave.

I shut the door behind me and head up toward the lead car, heart racing in my chest.