“A hunting cabin?” King Edmund rumbles. “My daughter’s being threatened by… by some sort of modern day internet gang and your solution is a building that’s hundreds of years old?”

His cheeks are starting to turn bright red, his mustache bristling under his impressive nose, dark circles under his eyes. Next to me, Beckett sits up straighter, obviously ready to argue back, but I cut in before he can get started.

“That’s why it’s perfect,” I say, spreading my hands in front of me. “It’s completely off the grid. Everything is solar-powered. There’s no phone, no internet, and that side of Mount Diavolo doesn’t even get cell reception.”

The king glowers, but his mustache stops twitching.

“She’ll be harder for them to find, and even if they do, they can’t rig traffic cameras or hack a car’s computer system to smash into a building,” I go on. “They’ll have to come for her the old-fashioned way, and either they won’t, or they’ll have to contend with us.”

“The best they’ll be able to do is give Alka-Seltzer to a squirrel,” Beckett chimes in.

A few of the serious faces around the table smile, very slightly, and I remember why I brought Beckett. Someone needs to be charming, and for my whole life, it’s never been me. My best friend, on the other hand, has one of those personalities people gravitate toward.

Queen Madeleine looks at her husband, face serious, head tilted, and he looks back at her. Famously, even though he’s technically the monarch, he’s long said that she’s his best counsel.

“They have a point,” she says. “Besides, there are advantages to entrusting her to another kingdom.”

The king frowns.

“Such as?”

“No one will be looking for her there,” she says, simply. “Whatever problem they have with Bianca is likely a problem with Voravia, not with the girl herself. Exploding a building in Griskold may be considerably less tempting to them.”

The king looks back at us, still frowning.

“We’ve been close allies for several hundred years, Your Highness,” I say quickly. “I spoke with Prince Julian himself about the matter, and he agrees that the risk to the Kingdom of Griskold is both minimal and happily taken on to ensure the princess’ safety.”

Beckett and I aren’t royalty. Technically, I’m 247^th in line for the Griskoldian throne, and he’s 266^th, but we’re merely noble, not royal.

Merely. It’s still a pretty good life, not to mention we served in the elite Royal Griskold Guard with the Prince himself, so we both have a direct line to the palace should we need one.

“Hmmmm,” the king murmurs, looking at his wife, stroking his mustache with two fingers.

Queen Madeleine turns to us.

“We’ll need to discuss this in private with our advisors,” she says, perfectly civil and gracious. “Would you mind giving a few hours to mull over our options and decide how to best alleviate this threat to our daughter’s safety?”

“Of course,” I say, as Beckett and I both stand, buttoning our suit jackets at the same time. “Please take all the time you need, Your Majesty.”

The king and queen both stand, extending their hands across the table, and we shake them firmly.

“Make yourselves at home as well as possible,” she continues. “We’ll send for you shortly.”

And with that, we’re dismissed.

* * *

“Where do you think she is?” Beckett asks.

We’re both sitting in some sort of waiting area, on matching chairs, a tasteful coffee table piled with magazines in front of us. It feels more like I’m visiting the dentist than the top-secret bunker of Voravia’s government, and it’s a little strange.

“Not here,” I say.

Beckett sighs, putting his hand behind his head. His feet are already on the coffee table, but even if someone came in right now, they wouldn’t mind because it’s Beckett.

“They wouldn’t put her with the rest of the government right now,” I say. “I’m sure she’s off at a separate secure location, being guarded by—”

“I heard you two were here,” a female voice says, and my heart leaps in my chest.

Bianca comes around a corner, smiling at us, and plops down on a third chair. Shadowing her are two big, hulking, serious men, so of course I can’t help but size them up.

The first one I could take in a fight, easy, even though he might be an inch or two taller than me. He’s got the look of a man who could be surprised easily. The second one might be more of a challenge.

But then again, I’m damn good at fighting.

“At your service, Princess,” I say with a grin.

She blushes, faintly. It’s a very good look on her.

“We were just discussing whether you were here,” Beckett says, taking his feet off the table.

She sits at a third chair, her movements sensual and graceful in a way I’ve never seen before: the curve of her neck, the slope of her breasts, the slight movement of her hips.

Bianca’s beautiful and innocent and wicked and wide-eyed all at once, and the combination’s fucking intoxicating. I know she’s a virtually untouched virgin — she’s the princess of Voravia, of course she is — but something about her gives me the notion that if someone could get her into bed, she’d be fucking incredible.

The raw, rough part of me wants to see her on her back, hands clutching the sheets as she moans my name, wants to see her perfect red lips stretched around my cock as her blue eyes water, looking up at me.

The deepest, roughest part of me wonders what it would be like to fuck her on her hands and knees, grabbing a handful of her hair, Beckett in front of her pumping himself into her—

“What did you decide?” she teases gently, her eyes dancing as she looks from one of us to the other, shaking me out of my stupid daydream.

Stop it, I tell myself sternly. You can’t share Bianca.

She’s not the kind of girl you could share, the kind of girl who would let you.

“Does it matter what we decided?” Beckett asks, grinning.

She smirks, her eyes flicking to me.

“Sounds like you decided I wasn’t,” she says.

“That’s what Kieran thought,” Beckett volunteers.

“I just thought it was unlikely,” I say, tearing my eyes away from her perfect form.

Even though she’s just wearing gray slacks and a sweater, it doesn’t stop me from imagining every perfect curve of her body underneath, and it’s been a few weeks since I saw her last. I’m hard as fuck and trying desperately to hide it.

“Well, surprise,” she says, eyes dancing. “Does one of you win a bet or anything?”

As she says it, her tongue flicks along the underside of her top lip, and I’m frozen for a split second.

“Too bad we hadn’t gotten that far,” Beckett says, still grinning. “What should we bet on next time, huh? Loser has to wear a bright pink top hat for a week?”

I scowl. Most of the time I’m more amused than anyone by Beckett, but not now. Not when Bianca’s life is in danger, not to mention he’s currently charming her half to death while I sit here like a black cloud.

“You want to make bets about Princess Bianca’s safety?” I ask, leveling a glare at him.

Bianca turns faintly pink, her cheeks flushing slightly.

“I’m not making bets on her safety,” he says, leaning forward. “I’m just trying to make things—”

A door opens, cutting him off, and a young woman wearing a neat suit steps through it, bowing slightly to the princess, then nodding at both of us.

“The King and Queen will see you again,” she says, and my stomach tightens.