Marianna pushes one last pin into my wild red hair, and then makes a satisfied noise, turning me so I can look at myself in the mirror.

Somehow, my normally-uncontrollable hair looks perfect. It’s half pulled away from my face, half loose in ringlets that fall past my shoulders. I don’t know how she does it.

“You’re a miracle worker,” I tell her.

“I’ve had practice,” she says, smoothing one last strand.

And with that, I’m ready for dinner. Normally, dinner isn’t such a fuss — not even diplomatic dinners with visiting dignitaries.

But I’m not normally being courted by several of the visiting dignitaries. Tonight, I’m under strict orders to look my best, so my hair is done, my makeup is done, and I’m wearing a long, flowing blue dress with a gold belt around my waist.

For at least the millionth time in the past hour, my gaze lands on the rose that Bruno gave me. It’s just sitting on my vanity, exactly how it was when he handed to me, broken-off stem and all.

Every time I look at it, I get the tingles. I can’t stop thinking about the two princes — Dom coming up, kissing my hand, giving me such a burning look in the gazebo that a shiver went down my spine.

And then Bruno, a few moments later, giving me this rose. I don’t care that he picked it from a bush in the gardens. I think it’s sweet.

Right. Sweet. That’s not exactly the word for how I feel about them.

It’s not like I don’t know their reputations. They’re both known for getting into the panties of nearly every eligible bachelorette in Europe. It doesn’t seem to matter how uptight, virginal, or well-behaved a girl is — if Prince Dominic or Prince Bruno sets his sights on her, it’s practically guaranteed that her panties will drop.

Really, I should count myself lucky for having met them when I was just a kid. If I’d met them as an adult, even a few years ago, I might already be ruined, a disgrace to my family.

There are even more salacious rumors — that sometimes they set their sights on the same girl.

According to those rumors, Dom and Bruno don’t mind sharing. They might even prefer it sometimes.

Another shiver runs down my back, just at the thought. Unbidden, I suddenly imagine being with both of them. Straddling Bruno’s lap, his hands all over me while I kiss Dom deeply, his tongue in my mouth.

“Princess, are you all right?” Marianna asks, and my eyes snap to the mirror.

I’m bright red, the color of a tomato.

“I’m fine,” I say, my voice a high-pitched squeak. I pick up the rose from the table and hold it up, turning it. “Do you think I could pin this to my dress for dinner?”

She takes it from me.

“Certainly,” she says.

* * *

I meet my parents, along with my two younger sisters, in the antechamber of the dining hall. It’s a private room just for the royal family and their staff — no guests allowed, so we can talk freely.

As soon as I enter, my mother’s eyes move over me, scrutinizing.

“You look lovely, dear,” she says, a note of relief in her voice.

“Very royal,” my father agrees.

“Princesslike as fuck,” Josephine agrees.

Both my parents turn to her, frowning, and she holds up her hands.

“Sorry, I’m kidding,” she says.

“What’s that flower?” My mother asks, looking at Bruno’s rose pinned to my chest.

I touch it gently, the petals soft beneath my fingers. I think of him giving it to me, his lips firm and warm against my hand.

“Prince Bruno gave me this earlier,” I say. “I thought it would be nice to wear it tonight.”

My mother sighs. My father frowns.

“We can’t have you openly favoring Prince Bruno,” he says.

“It’s just a flower, dear,” my mother says.

He shakes his head.

“Take it off,” he tells me. “I won’t have you wearing gifts from one man while entertaining offers from several. You can’t have possibly formed an opinion of anyone yet, and I won’t let anyone else have his hopes dashed.”

I swallow, my fingers trailing along the stem. I don’t want to take it off.

“Go on,” my mother says.

Sighing, I unpin the stem from my dress and remove the flower. My father nods.

“Much better,” he says. “And it’s high time we entered dinner.”

He pushes the big doors open, and the room full of people beyond hushes. We stand in the entryway for a moment as everyone stands and a herald comes up to us.

“Announcing the royal family: His Highness, King of Tomassia, Edward the Fourth; Queen Carolina; and Princesses Katarina, Josephine, and Florentina.”

That’s our cue to walk toward our big, ornate chairs, right in the middle of the hall. Since we’re a thoroughly modern royal family we don’t eat sitting on a dais or anything — we just get the best chairs at a regular table.

Instantly, I notice that I’m seated across from Sven. A murmur of disgust moves through me, and I try not to make a face.

“How are you this fine evening, Princess?” he says as I approach my seat.

God, there’s something slimy even about the way he says that. He’s already having trouble making eye contact, his eyes leering down at my bosom. I can practically feel a cold, gross trail on my skin as he looks at me.

“I’m well, thank you,” I say. “And you?”

“I’m quite well,” he says. “We were just discussing where the best fields for polo can be found. I know it’s an unpopular opinion, but I quite like the fields in America. Their grass is unparalleled.”

“That’s nonsense, of course,” says a voice from the other side of Sven, and Prince Dominic leans forward. “Pleasure to see you again, Princess. You look stunning.”

Even though I’m pretty used to compliments — everyone compliments a princess no matter what, it’s simply done — I blush again, the words suddenly drying up in my mouth.

Dominic thinks I look stunning.

“Thank you,” I say.

My father sits, and then everyone else follows suit. I catch a glimpse of Bruno, sitting on Dominic’s other side, two seats down from me.

I try not to think of my brief fantasy from earlier, of both of them. It’s completely ridiculous, of course — I’ve never been with one man, let alone two.

But just the thought makes me feel warm, makes my insides feel like sticky syrup. I imagine Bruno’s lips on the back of my neck, Dom teasing one nipple, then lifting me by the hips, sliding Bruno’s thick, fat erection into my tight entrance—

“Yes, simply delectable,” Sven agrees, knocking me out of my filthy reverie. I try not to make a face, because when he says it, it’s like nails down a chalkboard.

I clear my throat, praying I’m not bright red again, but both Dominic and Bruno are looking at me, almost like they can read my thoughts.

“Thank you,” I say meekly to Sven, and take a delicate bite of soup. “Tell me, how was your journey to Tomassia?”