My cheeks ache from smiling. They genuinely fucking ache, the way my shoulders sometimes do after one of Karl’s particularly grueling sparring sessions.

Who the hell would have thought that a face needed an exercise regimen?

The Minister of the Treasury’s face is getting a workout, too, but the laugh lines etched deeply around Philippa’s dark eyes prove it’s one that she’s accustomed to. Me, I’m just glad it’s over. The gaggle of journalists and foreign dignitaries have been ushered from the throne room, leaving only the members of my ministerial cabinet and a bevy of assistants and palace staff.

With a grin, Philippa hands me a crystal snifter and pours in a measure of good Kaprian brandy. “You must feel as if the weight of the world just dropped off your shoulders.”

I’ve never carried the weight of the world. Only the weight of a kingdom. And that burden only feels marginally lighter now. Licensing the reactor’s technology will bring in a fortune to Kapria, but the licensing agreements have a fifty-year expiration date, and soon enough the world will have adapted and updated the Vic-10 far beyond its original design. So I have a single lifetime to make certain that Kapria becomes an economic and financial powerhouse, with enough stability to weather the eventual decline in foreign income. I won’t leave the same mess to my children that my father left to me, and I refuse to let my people struggle and suffer as they did under his rule.

This was a significant milestone. But it’s not the end of the journey. There’s still much to do—beginning with my children. Because I don’t have any. Yet.

But it’s the next item on my agenda. One I’m eager to start.

Hopefully Victoria is ready, too.

I’ll know soon if she is. I turn toward my assistant, seeking any news he might have received from Karl, but pause when Philippa’s hand settles on my arm. A sudden silence falls over the throne room, and I realize each of the cabinet members are facing me with a drink in hand.

Solemnly, Frederich Groener lifts his into the air. “Raise your glass to His Royal Majesty, who has dragged our fair kingdom out of the pit of social and economic ruin”—his lips twitch beneath his graying mustache—“despite the frequent kicking and screaming from the old guard.”

Quite frequent. I chose each of my advisors partially because they openly opposed my father’s policies, sometimes at a dear cost to themselves—but that doesn’t mean they always support my policies. Or at least, not the way I go about implementing them. Our goals are often the same but my cabinet ministers almost always advise me to take small steps instead of giant leaps, and to be more restrained in my decisions.

They think I’m reckless. But I have no time for restraint. Not when the goal is improving the lives of my people.

“To Kapria,” I reply, lifting my own glass. “May she ever shine bright.”

“She’ll shine brighter than the sun thanks to the Vic-10,” my agricultural minister quips, drawing laughter from the others.

When it fades, Philippa adds softly, “And to Wilhelm Dietrich—may God rest his brilliant soul.”

I’ll happily drink to that. By handing over his fortune to Kapria’s royal family, Wilhelm Dietrich gave the kingdom new hope for the future. In return, the dying billionaire only asked that his own family’s future was secure and their legacy was preserved. I promised him that it would be, but that obligation is still unfulfilled.

Though not for much longer. Setting the snifter aside, I glance at my assistant, Geoffrey, who might be the living embodiment of the Vic-10 reactor. He’s small, efficient, possesses boundless energy—and, as far as I can tell, is fueled entirely by water. He’s been with me for eight years and I’ve never seen him eat.

“In five minutes, you’re scheduled to meet with Jeannette in your offices,” Geoffrey immediately rattles off, “followed by an interview in the White Chamber with Andrew Bush from Vanity Fair. I’ve also arranged for tea in the south gardens a half hour into the interview. Since you’re already decked out in the formal gear”—he waves his hand at me, indicating the uniform I’m wearing—“I told them they needed to complete the photo shoot today. And Jeannette confirmed with the magazine that you will be featured on the cover.”

Good. This is a critical period. The Vic-10 has secured the world’s attention. While we have that attention, we need to make the world look past the reactor to the kingdom itself. If that means plastering my face across a magazine—or fifty of them—I’ll do it.

“Ask Frederich to join us in my offices,” I tell Geoffrey, then offer Philippa the escort of my arm. “Let us go and further secure Kapria’s future, madame.”

“Maximilian.” Her tone contains a gentle admonishment as her fingers curl around my proffered forearm. “You never rest. Will you not at least spend the remainder of the day celebrating your success?”

Celebration can come after the work is done. “On my eighty-fifth birthday,” I tell her. “I’ll send up fireworks and watch them…for a few minutes.”

If I don’t waste those minutes before then. Simply shortening my stride to match Philippa’s grandmotherly pace has me bursting with impatience. The few minutes that I promised to celebrate fifty-two years into the future feel as if they are being burned away as we slowly make our way down the long corridor toward the palace’s north wing.

One of my personal security guards tails along behind us—Stephen, not Karl. Which means he hasn’t yet returned from the Dietrich family’s estate in Gentian, a small village tucked away in a narrow valley about twenty miles from Kapria’s capital city.

So I won’t have Victoria’s answer before this meeting starts. But if she had decided against the marriage, she’d have probably notified me before now. After all, she’s had twelve years to change her mind. I haven’t received a letter breaking it off, so I assume she’s still willing to be my bride—and Kapria’s queen.

And if she’s had second thoughts or doubts, she knew where to find me. My offices take up the first level of the north wing, and are situated beneath my personal chambers. Unlike the remainder of the royal residence, my offices have been stripped of the palace’s opulence. No priceless artwork, no ornate furniture. The sleek decor and cutting-edge tech wouldn’t have been out of place on the executive floor of an international corporation. Which, in some ways, is exactly how Kapria functions. When solving the kingdom’s problems, I don’t look to past regimes for inspiration. Instead of I often look to the most profitable organizations and the most progressive governments. So these offices serve only one purpose: as a base for me to conduct the business of ruling a kingdom.

Jeannette’s waiting at the conference table when we arrive. Add forty years, a sharp tongue, and an even sharper brain, and Jeannette could be a female version of Geoffrey—except that I’ve seen her eat. Sometimes she settles for food, but usually she just devours the people who stand in her way. Officially, she’s my social secretary, but in truth she oversees the equivalent of Kapria’s marketing and public relations departments. Every social media post, every news release, and every function that I attend are vetted and approved by a dragon in heels.

But even the dragon defers to a king. When I walk through the doors, she abruptly ends a phone call and rises to her feet. “Your Majesty.” She nods to me, then to Philippa. “Minister.”

“Frederich is coming, too.” Somehow even more slowly than Philippa and I did. I’m tempted to start without him but rein in my impatience. I’m including both cabinet members because I’d be a fool to plan a wedding without advising the Minister of Foreign Affairs and the Minister of the Treasury of my intentions. “Let’s go through to the study.”

I head for the open seating area in the center of the large chamber. This meeting should be short and simple. I’ve been betrothed almost as long as I’ve been king. Now it’s time to marry the girl. There’s not much more to be said than that.

On the sofa opposite my chair, Philippa and Jeannette exchange pleasantries and pour tea. I’d rather ask Geoffrey to stomp on my balls than to pass the time in the same manner. And where the hell is Geoffrey, anyway? I snap up the computer tablet from the coffee table and skim the day’s political briefings. All the news is the same as it was yesterday. The whole fucking world is a mess. But with the trade agreement signed, with the Vic-10 out there, maybe tomorrow will be a little better for some of the people living in it.

And a lot better for the people living in Kapria.

Another ten minutes that I’ll never get back pass before Frederich finally arrives. Geoffrey rushes in behind him, carrying a stack of folders. His eyes widen in helpless apology when he sees my irritated glower. Scampering over, he sets the folders on the table in front of me.

“So very sorry, Your Majesty,” he whispers while the ladies and Frederich exchange their greetings. “The minister asked me to collect these from his office.”

Frederich could have sent his own damn assistant. But no matter. He’s here now, so we can get this shit done.

I don’t wait for them to settle in before I announce, “I intend to marry before the end of this year.” Eight months should be long enough to plan and execute a wedding. “Jeannette, you will coordinate with the bride and decide upon a suitable date. I will pay for the ceremony with my personal funds but you will need to consult with Philippa regarding the budget for any related state functions, and with Frederich regarding the names of foreign officials who should—or shouldn’t—receive invitations.”

A hushed moment passes while Jeannette, Frederich, and Philippa share an uneasy glance. Then Jeannette asks, “Do you intend for Victoria Dietrich to be that bride?”

“I do.” When they share another look, I sit forward and frown. “Why? Did she already marry someone else?” Another thought strikes me. Surely I would have been informed if she were in an accident. Unless it happened recently. “She is still alive?”

I ask Jeannette since she’s supposed to keep abreast of events in Victoria’s life, but I don’t wait for her response. I glance at Geoffrey and he’s ready with an answer.

“She is alive and well, Your Majesty. Or at least she was twenty minutes ago, when Mr. Sauer left her home.”

Now those shared glances hold a touch of alarm.

“You’ve already made arrangements with her?” Philippa asks in a troubled voice.

“I sent Karl to inform her that I want to marry soon.” Unless…shit. Now Geoffrey’s the one who is looking uneasy. “What did Karl say? Did she refuse?”

“No—“

Satisfaction floods through me. “Good.”

“—but she didn’t believe him, either.”

My scowl sends him stumbling back a step.

But upon hearing that nothing has been settled yet, relief seems to fill the three people facing me. Jeannette says, “We understand that you made an agreement with Wilhelm Dietrich, but—”

“But nothing.” I sit back. “I have a duty and an obligation to marry his daughter.”

Looking pained but determined, Frederich shakes his head. “That obligation was to a man who has been dead ten years. As no official betrothal announcement was ever made, very few people outside of this chamber even know of the agreement. You can easily choose another bride. A woman who is more suitable for your purpose.”

Few people know of the betrothal for damn good reason. Victoria’s privacy would have been shattered if I had announced the betrothal twelve years ago—or even two years ago. She could never have lived an independent life unburdened by the demands of her future position. Instead, at merely sixteen years of age, she would have been thrust into the public eye and forced to play the role of future queen.

From the date of my birth, I had been prepared for a similar role. But when I became king at twenty, I was still overwhelmed by the weight of the crown. I didn’t want Victoria to carry the same burden. Not that young.

And I don’t give a fuck if the betrothal was never official. I made a promise to Wilhelm Dietrich. I gave my word that I would marry his daughter—and two years later, I gave my word to Victoria, as well. While her blue eyes were swimming with tears and we were standing over her father’s grave, burying him next to her mother, who’d died in childbirth years before. So even the Almighty himself couldn’t turn me away from this course.

But now I wonder how much of a fight this is going to be. “You don’t think she’s a suitable choice?”

“She’s a horrible choice,” Jeannette says bluntly.

“Particularly at this moment,” Frederich adds. “This marriage could be an opportunity to strengthen ties with neighboring nations and allies. Look instead to the sisters or daughters of the powerful political players in Europe.”

“Or the powerful financial players.” Philippa delicately sets her teacup in its saucer. “Give them more reason to invest in Kapria.”

Both would be solid options if I weren’t already betrothed. So instead the options are just a waste of my time. “Her father was one of those financial players,” I remind them.

“Was.” Philippa emphasizes the past tense. “Now that family has almost nothing. An estate, a minor title, a little money. They hardly have anything to offer Kapria now.”

I stare at her in disbelief. “Dietrich’s money still pays your expenses, provides the electricity you use, and paves the roads you drive on. And the Vic-10 will continue providing for us.”

“Yes, but the Vic-10 already belongs to Kapria—and so does Dietrich’s money,” Frederich breaks in. “So the question becomes: What more can the Dietrich family offer the kingdom? That answer is…nothing. And we must look to the future.”

I am looking to the future. To a queen and heirs. But I don’t need to fucking explain myself.

Philippa adds with quiet exasperation, “And it’s not as if you’re in love with the girl, Maximilian. You hardly even know her.”

“That’s true. I don’t know Victoria. But I’m promised to her.” And I haven’t even looked at another woman since ascending to the throne. I might not love her but I’m committed to her—and she has my full loyalty. Which my advisors and Jeannette don’t seem to realize, because they sure as fuck keep talking as if anything they say might make a difference.

“Even a scandal would suit the kingdom better than she would, because Victoria’s real sin is that she’s boring,” Jeannette says dourly. “Boring boring boring. When she’s not being awkward, that is. If you search the internet for her name, the two most popular photos are these.”

She flicks open one of the folders on the table in front of me—one of the folders that came from Frederich’s office. But as soon as I glimpse the contents, I realize they must have originated in Jeannette’s department. Jeannette keeps dossiers on every public figure that I might come into contact with and briefs me before I meet them. It’s no surprise that they have a dossier on Victoria. I’ve ordered Jeannette’s people to keep tabs on her, but since she’s the daughter of Wilhelm Dietrich, Jeannette would have probably kept a file on her, anyway. No doubt the other folders contain profiles of women without a single embarrassing photograph to their name.

Yet the dossiers were in Frederich’s office. So he must have looked through them, approving a selection of alternate brides. And the three of them must have been planning this ambush together.

But unless she’s in prison for murder—or unless she’s a fucking Nazi—Victoria is going to be Kapria’s queen. I wouldn’t go back on my word for any less of a reason. Hell, and if the person she murdered was a Nazi…I might still consider marrying her. She could be infertile and I’d still marry her, then either adopt an heir or rely on science to get her pregnant. She could screw her way through half of Europe, and I’d still marry her.

And maybe she has. After that windup about Victoria being a horrible choice, I’m expecting at least a sex tape in her dossier. Something that’ll require delicate public relations handling.

Instead I see a photo of a blue ski-suit stretched tightly across a shapely ass sticking up out of a snow bank, with a pair of skis splayed in an upright X, as if she plowed headfirst into the snow. Philippa winces a little when I laugh out loud—partially in relief, partially in amusement.

“The world laughed, too,” she says quietly.

So what if they laughed? It is absurd. But delightful. And when I marry her, that curvy little ass will belong to me—as will the rest of her.

I move on to the next picture and my laughter dies, replaced by a bolt of sheer lust. The photo captures the moment she stepped out of a limousine. Either the wind blew or she misjudged the angle, because the photographer had a direct view of white silk panties nestled between the sleek lengths of her inner thighs, and the camera’s bright flash rendered the delicate fabric partially transparent. Faint shadows hint at the sweet treasure hidden beneath.

With my cock suddenly feeling heavy and my uniform trousers uncomfortably tight, I slide my gaze upward. She’s wearing a short black dress covered in glittering sequins. A night out clubbing, maybe. Her head is turned in profile, as if she’s talking to someone still seated behind her in the car. A wavy lock of long, dark hair conceals most of her face, and the curled tips brush the upper curve of her breast, her lightly tanned skin exposed by the dress’s low neckline.

Desire roughens my voice as I ask, “When was this taken?”

Jeanette says quietly, “Last year.”

Then I should have gotten married a year ago. But the subdued, almost reluctant nature of Jeannette’s reply makes me glance up. Jeannette is never subdued.

When I glance up I find their gazes averted from mine. As if they’re discomfited by the sight of my reaction to discovering how unsuitable Victoria is. Except that’s not what I’m discovering. And they must have misread my silence as dismay. But I’m not dismayed. I’m more determined than ever to have her. These pictures might have been meant as a deterrent but they’re having the opposite effect.

And I’m pleased to see them. Not just because I’m discovering that I want her, but because this was what I wanted for her. Ski trips, nights out with friends. Years ago, I ordered Jeannette to inform me of any significant events or accomplishments in Victoria’s life, but the only notification of achievement I’ve received was for her graduation from Oxford six years ago. Since I didn’t receive any other news about her, I assumed she was doing what these photos suggest—traveling through Europe, attending parties at nightclubs. Her father gave away most of their fortune and assets but their family still has enough money—and her name has enough pull—that she could live completely unburdened and gain entry into any social circle.

I’m almost sorry to end this carefree era of her life. Almost. My gaze returns to her face and settles on the curve of her cheek, her soft red lips. Before the heavy warmth of my arousal can deepen, I glance back up at Jeannette. “These two photos make her a horrible choice?”

I see her struggle for patience. If I were anyone else, she’d have snapped a caustic reply instead of explaining evenly, “Upon the announcement of your engagement, millions of people around the world will Google your bride’s name. These photos will be their first impression of your queen—a bumbling, awkward woman with a plain face and unremarkable personality. And these are some of the only photos of her. She hasn’t accomplished anything of note. There’s nothing about her that will capture the public’s imagination. And considering that her father was a brilliant man, most will expect his daughter to be as brilliant and as driven. So her rather common intelligence will disappoint the public and serve as a poor legacy to the Dietrich name.”

A plain face? The only remaining photos in the dossier aren’t from the web, but from Jeannette’s internal publicity files, taken at events within Kapria. In one, she’s posing with a student awarded with a scholarship from one of Dietrich’s foundations. In another, she’s handing out ribbons to the winners of a village horticultural show, which is exactly the sort of ceremonial activity that the sister of a local baron might do, and that she’ll be required to do as queen—though on a larger scale.

And she’s not plain. Thick dark hair falls in waves around her delicate features, and her wide smile emphasizes the subtle point of her chin. Everything about her is pretty and pleasing.

Except for her eyes. Those are stunning. Though the rest of her features faded from my memory after our one meeting during her father’s funeral, I’ve never forgotten her eyes, or the tears that transformed them into a sapphire sea.

These photos don’t capture the effect of her eyes, but she’s still not plain. Maybe she’s not beautiful in the high-cheekboned, fashion model sense, but she’s not going to be walking down a runway. She’s going to be in my bed and at my side, and the way she looks is perfect for both roles.

I glance through the rest of the dossier—pausing when my fingers encounter heavy linen stationery. A note from Victoria…and addressed to me.

I’m damn sure I never received it. “When did she send this?”

Jeannette frowns slightly, as if trying to recall. “After you sent the flowers marking her graduation, I believe. It’s nothing but a thank-you note.”

Six years ago. Scowling, I unfold the letter, which begins with the standard formal greetings and expressing gratitude for the gift. Then,

As I am no longer occupied by my academic studies, I humbly request the honor of serving at Your Majesty’s pleasure, whether within our fair kingdom or abroad.

Always yours,

Victoria

Always mine. And as I’m occupied by imagining the kind of service I might have requested of her six fucking years ago, Jeannette opens another folder.

“Adele von Schuster”—she shows me a photo of an elegant blond—“of the Viennese von Schusters, and whose father is likely to become the next chairman of the Bilderberg Group. Here she is cutting the ribbon to open Kapria’s new fine art museum.”

“A perfect choice,” Frederich confirms with a nod.

“And this is Felicity Pfieffer”—a brunette who draws a murmur of approval from Philippa—“whose family founded the Bank of Europe. She recently donated a new wing to Kapria’s university hospital, along with a generous grant toward their Alzheimers research program. And here is Elsa zu Danzig—”

I laugh. “The actress?” And the only film star born in Kapria. Worldwide, more people would recognize her face than would recognize mine.

Jeannette isn’t laughing. “During her latest trip home, she visited the children’s cancer wing, which brought international attention to our national health program. And in a recent interview, she indicated that she would like to settle in Kapria and retire from the film industry. A match between Your Majesty and Elsa would capture the world’s attention, as Grace Kelly did—and as Prince Harry’s fiancée did.”

“Perhaps we would capture the world’s notice,” I begin dryly. “But what I notice is that Victoria is also in all of these photos. Here, here, here.” Attending the same events as these other women.

“Yes, but she is always in the background, Your Majesty. Even these other pictures”—Jeannette points to the snow bank—“she was only photographed because she was at the same ski resort as Lara Muller. This other one was taken during Chloe Schmidt’s bachelorette party. She is not the one who stands out, except for the wrong reasons. Should Kapria’s queen always be in the background?”

“Victoria will not be in the background when she is queen.” And I have wasted enough time. Standing, I tell them, “My mind is settled. Victoria will be my bride.”

Jeannette exhales a resigned sigh. “Shall I contact her, then, and persuade her that the king intends to marry? Since Karl apparently couldn’t do it.”

“I’ll see it done.” Irritation makes my voice harsh. But I won’t risk Jeannette saying something that sends Victoria running. “And from this point forward, I won’t tolerate a single word spoken against her.”

“We would not need to. The world will shout what we have just said,” Philippa proclaims, then appeases me with, “We will support Your Majesty’s decisions, of course. Even those we disagree with.”

“As is Your Majesty’s right,” Frederich says grimly. “We are only advisors. And you will do as you always do.”

“And I will spin whatever occurs into gold.” Jeannette purses her lips. “As I always do.”

As if I’m ushering my kingdom into an international crisis instead of thinking of Kapria’s future, as I have every single fucking moment since I was born.

I’m livid as I leave my offices. It must show. Geoffrey trots along at my side but doesn’t risk saying a single word.

Karl doesn’t have the same sense of self-preservation. He shows up beside me—apparently out of nowhere, as he often does. That ability is why he’s the head of my personal security. That, and because I consider him a friend. He’s also one of the few people who doesn’t defer to my rank. Not in private, anyway. He does his job and follows orders, but if I ask him to tell me whether something is shit, he’ll not only tell me the truth, but describe exactly how bad it smells.

But this time the stink is coming from inside the house. “What the fuck happened? Why didn’t Victoria believe you?”

He scowls. “She thought her sister was playing a practical joke on her.”

“And you couldn’t convince her?”

“No.” He hesitates before adding, “I didn’t try hard. I had a feeling it would upset her more than she already was.”

Now I’m scowling, too. “You upset her?”

“Or announcing that you wanted to marry her did.” He shrugs. “Perhaps I wasn’t the best person to send.”

Maybe not. But it was done for good reason. As my head of security, Karl can not only judge what needs to be done for Victoria and her family to keep them safe, but he also moves like a ghost when he wants to. If I’d sent Jeannette or Geoffrey to alert Victoria of my intentions, the press would have pounced. But Karl can disappear from public sight when he wants to—and even when he doesn’t, he’s not memorable. He cultivates a bland, average appearance for that very reason.

Now he adds unhelpfully, “She said she’s available next year.”

Christ. I look to Geoffrey. “You have her schedule?”

“Of course.” He must have familiarized himself with it, because he doesn’t even consult his calendar before adding, “Tomorrow she’s taking the early train into St. Moritz to attend the Women of the Future conference, and returning late in the afternoon. And she’ll be at the palace tomorrow evening for the the reception dinner to celebrate the Vic-10’s worldwide release. Wilhelm Dietrich’s family was invited, of course. Jeannette seated them at Philippa’s table.”

Probably to keep me from speaking with her. “Put her at my table.”

Geoffrey pales. “Your Majesty, the seating arrangements required months of delicate planning and…” His voice trails off when he gets a look at my face. Squaring his narrow shoulders, he declares bravely, “I will go and battle the dragon.”

“Good man.”

As he runs off, Karl asks, “Trouble from the old guard?”

My advisors. Who aren’t all old but admittedly have more decades under their belt than I do. Their experience makes them valuable to me, as is our shared hatred for everything my father stood for. But even when they look toward the future, they are also deeply rooted in the past. “Victoria was photographed with her panties showing. Google it. Or don’t.” I can’t stop the world from looking, but I can stop Karl. “Just take my word for it.”

He shrugs. “This day and age, the only remarkable thing is that she was wearing any panties at all.”

True. And I can’t stop imagining ripping those panties off. Of tasting her. Of taking her. The world might see a bit of white silk but the rest is mine.

But before I can lay any claim to her, I need to make certain she’s protected. “What’s the situation with her security?”

Karl rubs his forehead. I remember him making that same gesture once while we were pinned down by insurgents and he was trying to figure out how to get us out alive. “It’ll be a challenge. There’s no wall around the estate. The house has multiple unsecured points of entry. And her sister left me alone with her in the garden without even verifying my identity.”

Jesus. “You have until tomorrow evening to arrange a team.” After that, everyone will know who Victoria belongs to. “The family will be out of the house attending the reception. Install what you need to then.”

“I will. And I have a team on her now,” Karl says, then adds, “A discreet team. She won’t know they’re there until everything is in place.”

Good. I reach the White Chamber, where an interviewer waits to ask me about my kingdom and how the Vic-10 will revolutionize the world. To ask me how every step I’ve taken has been building to the moment I signed the trade agreement. To ask me about everything I’ve worked for—and am still working for. This interview is just another way to lift up Kapria, which has been my sole purpose in life.

But all I can think about is Victoria’s ass sticking up out of the snowbank, and picture myself gripping her hips and pushing into her hot pussy from behind. All I can see is her sleek thighs and white panties…and imagine how fucking good it’ll feel when those legs are wrapped around my waist, squeezing me tight as she comes screaming my name.

Maybe she is a horrible choice. Already I can’t even focus on what needs to be done.

But I don’t fucking care. I want her.

And I will have her.