I sleep like the dead. I always do when I’m at the hunting cabin. It’s so quiet, so isolated, that it feels like not even the nightmares can find me here, and thank God I don’t wake up screaming. That would really terrify poor Bianca.

Still, I’m first up in the morning. I never did need too much sleep, and my years in the Royal Griskold Guard cured me of any further need I had to sleep in.

It’s barely past dawn when I walk into the kitchen, already dressed, and figure I may as well start making breakfast.

I prep the twenty-year-old coffee maker, and soon enough, it’s happily percolating and dripping brown liquid into the pot. I boil water for tea as well, just in case Bianca’s the tea drinking type. I don’t think she is, but I can’t exactly remember.

Then I really set to work. Growing up, we always had a chef — an entire kitchen staff, actually — but in the guard, it was my turn to cook for all the men occasionally, and it turned out I liked doing it. Even if the hunting cabin doesn’t have much in the way of fresh food, the pantry and freezers are well-stocked, so I grab bacon, frozen berries, the ingredients to make waffles.

I go onto autopilot, I’ve done this so many times, and my mind wanders.

Half of it wanders to Bianca, of course. How right now, she’s asleep in her massive four-poster bed.

I wonder if she sleeps naked, her body soft and warm. I think about what it could be like to wake up next to her luscious naked body, slide below the covers.

Crawl in between her legs and lick her awake, lapping up her sweet honey. Bury my tongue in her pussy and feel the way her body responds when I make her come, again and again.

Shit. There goes my cock for the second time already today. I woke up with a rock-hard erection, and since I finally had a moment of privacy, I took care of it.

Thinking about basically the exact same thing: Bianca, naked and warm, moaning my name.

But then there’s the other place my mind goes: King Edmund’s warning when he agreed to our plan, when he told us in no uncertain terms that his daughter was pure, innocent, and untouched — waiting for her wedding night to lose her virginity to her husband and only her husband.

The king’s not an idiot. He’s well aware of the reputation that the two of us share, but he also knew that this was probably the best option to keep his daughter safe.

So he sat us down and lectured us about tomfoolery and hanky panky and how we had better not get up to any funny business with this daughter, because she’d tell him everything.

No fooling around. No necking.

Yes, he really used all of those words. He may be an excellent monarch, but King Edmund is a little behind when it comes to describing sexual activity.

And of course, during that whole lecture, it was nearly impossible to think about anything else. If someone says don’t even think about touching my beautiful, alluring daughter sexually, what the fuck else is someone going to think about?

I toss some bacon onto a hot griddle, and immediately it splatters fat everywhere, even onto my shirt, and I curse. I didn’t bring too many of them with me, and I don’t want this one to get even more dirty, so I take it off and toss it over a chair, turning the stove down as I do.

Seconds later, there’s a soft padding sound in the hallway, and Bianca comes out, yawning. She’s wearing plaid pajama pants and a tank top, slippers on her feet, her dark hair wild around her head.

No bra. I notice that fucking instantly, because her top is just tight enough for me to see the outlines of her nipples, the lower curve of her breasts. I was already hard, but now my dick swells even more, nudging at the counter in front of me.

Don’t look, I tell myself. Don’t think about it.

Don’t think about grabbing a fistful of that hair as she’s on her knees, hands behind her, lips around your cock.

Don’t think about the way her perfect, full tits would bounce while she rides your cock.

Don’t think about the way she’d scream with pleasure if you both...

“Hey,” she says, mid-yawn.

“Sleep well?” I ask, turning the bacon over in the pan.

Maybe it’s my imagination, but I could swear she looks at my swollen cock for just one moment before walking to the coffee maker and staring at it, her cheeks turning slightly pink.

She just woke up, they were already that color.

Hands off.

Hands off.

“Are there coffee mugs?” she asks, her voice soft and sleepy.

I flip one more piece of bacon over in the pan, then walk over behind Bianca. She’s standing right in front of the cabinet where the mugs are, and I position myself right behind her.

Even though I know I shouldn’t be this close. Even though I agreed with both her father and Beckett that neither of us would do anything untoward to Bianca.

We never asked her what she wants, I think.

I steady myself with one hand on the counter, right by her hip, and reach around her for the cabinet. The very tip of my swollen cock brushes against her through two layers of clothing as I open the cabinet and grab a mug.

I’m an inch from her hair, and her scent only makes me harder. She smells of strawberries and vanilla, warm and enticing.

Before I can do anything worse, I grab a mug with a deer on it, slam the cabinet shut, and back away.

“Here you go,” I say, my voice low and gravelly with desire.

“Thanks,” she says. “Am I good to just...”

Bianca gestures at the coffee maker, sleepy eyes blinking.

Don’t even look at her, I think. If you interact with her much more she’s going to be up against that counter, and you’ll be violating every promise you made.

“Go for it. Coffee’s done,” I say brusquely, and head back to the stove as Bianca fills her mug quietly.