All the time I’ve been king—and the twenty years that preceded my taking the crown—never once have I resented the demands my kingdom has made of me.

Until now.

I just want another ten minutes alone with Victoria. Ten more minutes that I don’t have to share with anyone else—or with Kapria. Because for the first time in a very long time, I am with a woman who doesn’t seem to be looking at a king, but at a man.

And I hadn’t realized how badly I’ve neglected that part of myself. Not just the sex. A king can jerk off his cock as well as anyone, and that’s been sufficient for years. But seeing the happiness shining from her stunning blue eyes as I met her at her home, then catching her as she leapt into my arms; the sensual longing I sense in her, and the way I want her so much in return… I haven’t felt any of this before. And I want to wallow in it—and in Victoria’s presence—for a little bit longer. I want to remain here in the car and kiss her again. Or simply talk to her. Because even yesterday, I was only thinking of sex. Of her sweet ass and the glimpse between her thighs. But now, after a half hour in her presence, I’m thinking of so much more. Every moment with her has been surprising, fascinating. I don’t know what the fuck Jeannette was thinking, calling her boring.

She’s bursting with life. First laughing at herself over the mistake with Sauer, then vowing to marry me and serve as Kapria’s queen with emotion thickening in her voice. And although she’s a virgin at twenty-eight, she’s not repressed. Instead she burns with passion as hot as mine, her kisses bold and eager. And she doesn’t simper in any way. Despite her insistence on calling me ‘Your Majesty,’ she doesn’t show me any real deference. So few people speak to me in that honest, equal manner that she’d be precious to me even if I weren’t marrying her.

And I’d sure as fuck like another half hour with her to make certain that she never thinks of breaking it off again.

One more day. One single fucking day. And I’d have lost her.

And I’d never have known how much I’d be losing. Because if she’d broken it off yesterday, I’d have been disappointed but I’d have respected her wish. If I received a letter from her now, though, I’d do everything in my power to change her mind. I’ll do everything in my power to see that she never considers it again.

As king, that power ought to be substantial. But Kapria demands my attention now. And every part of me that the kingdom doesn’t lay claim to, Victoria has already captured. From this day forward, it seems I’ll be a servant to them both.

I’ll gladly be a servant to both. And the explosion of flashbulbs outside the car’s tinted windows means that we can’t put this off any longer.

Victoria flicks a glance at my lap, her blue eyes shining with amusement. I button my jacket as she suggested, then adjust the aching length of my dick so that the bulge won’t be as visible. No chance of it deflating soon. My erection isn’t likely to subside while she’s anywhere within my sight.

As soon as the car door opens, shouted questions join the flashing lights. A fucking herd of paparazzi are outside. Kapria’s a small kingdom and I usually don’t garner this much attention, but the Vic-10 has changed that—and the photographers probably weren’t expecting me to arrive at the palace by car. I live here; I don’t need to come by vehicle. So the sharks smell blood in the water.

Victoria’s blood.

But it’s too late to tell the driver to take us around to the private entrance. All I can do is attempt to shield her, taking her hand and making sure my body blocks any view they might have up her skirt as she exits the car.

But Victoria emerges as gracefully as the queen she will be, her face glowing. If these photographers are as incompetent as the ones who took the pictures in her dossier, they won’t capture the subtle beauty of her features or the sheer magic of her eyes. I’ll have to commission an artist to paint her portrait, instead.

The blinding flashbulbs double in speed and intensity the moment she stands at my side. She smiles up at me with that same teasing look as before, as if the paparazzi don’t exist at all, though they’re shouting for her name. I can’t take my eyes off her as I slowly guide her down the red carpet with my hand at the small of her back. Then the paparazzi notice her engagement ring and it all becomes a deafening roar.

Laughing softly, Victoria looks up at me again—then beyond me. The slightly unfocused gaze that allows her to face the flashbulbs without being blinded by them becomes sharp and narrowed on one photographer.

Thin and dark haired, wearing a t-shirt and jeans and hauling camera cases that must weigh more than he does, the photographer doesn’t miss a beat. “Tell us your name, darling!” he calls over.

“Please escort me closer to him, Your Majesty,” she murmurs and I’m so bemused and curious that I do it without questioning.

Seemingly oblivious of the bulbs flashing in her face, she stops in front of the man—but she isn’t looking at him. Instead admiration shines from her eyes as she studies his camera. “Is that a Hasselblad?”

“It is, doll.” Laughing, he tilts it as if to give her better angle. “I’ll let you touch it if you tell me your name.”

Now she laughs, a bright and lovely sound that tightens every inch of my skin and hardens my dick even more. I fight the urge to escort her away from this cocky fucker, but the sheer pleasure on her face stops me.

She takes the camera and sighs in envy. “Who did you kill to get this?”

“Only the competition. I won Hasselblad’s photo contest two years ago.”

“You’re a fine arts photographer?”

“That’s me. But I still need to pay the bills.”

“May I help you with that, then?” When he nods, she turns toward me with the camera in her hands and her face alight. “Might we have the honor of witnessing Your Majesty’s magnificently imperious stare?”

I laugh and she clicks away.

“You want a camera like that?” I ask, already planning to tell Geoffrey to find one for her.

She smiles and shakes her head. “As much as I enjoy photography, I don’t need one. My camera serves me perfectly well.” She takes a few more snaps of me, then she turns toward the photographer again. “Sell those to a racy men’s magazine if you can’t find a tabloid that’ll take them,” she tells him, then adds, “I’m Victoria Dietrich.”

“And will you tell us about that ring you’re wearing, too?”

She only teasingly waggles her fingers at him as I escort her away again.

Over the cacophony we leave behind, one voice calls out, “Is this the woman your advisors called a horrible choice?”

What the fuck? That’s exactly what Jeannette said. Tension grips the back of my neck but I don’t turn or acknowledge that voice. My only glance back is to meet Karl’s eyes. He heard it, too. Without words, I command him to find out who the hell opened their mouths. Someone talked about yesterday’s meeting. Normally I wouldn’t give a shit—I don’t have any goddamn secrets—but when that leak disparages Victoria, it matters a hell of a lot more.

Karl will find out who talked. But it’ll take time. So I’ll trust that the leak will be buried in all the other news coming out of Kapria, including the forthcoming engagement announcement. Until then I’ve got no doubt what the purpose was. Yesterday three people told me that Victoria wasn’t suitable. Now someone’s trying to fuck with this marriage.

She’s already wearing my ring. But somehow that’s not enough anymore. Not after she was already so damn close to breaking it off.

But luckily Victoria doesn’t seem to have heard the shouted question. Even if she had, she couldn’t know that there was any truth to it, and her attention is focused ahead of us, not behind. To me she quietly says, “There is the Swedish ambassador, seeking you out before you enter the palace and everyone else can steal Your Majesty’s time.”

Fuck everyone else. Frustration boiling within me, I tug her to a halt and capture her attention by bringing her slender fingers to my lips, before turning to greet the Swedish ambassador and accepting his congratulations on the trade deal. I’m like a selfish little boy, resenting that he’s interrupted my short time with Victoria—then a jealous little punk when he turns curious eyes in her direction.

“Victoria Dietrich.” She smiles prettily at him and gracefully holds out her hand. “I’m pleased to meet you, Ambassador Nilsson.”

“The pleasure is mine.” He clasps her hand and holds it, his eyes twinkling. “You are Wilhelm’s eldest daughter—and the one he named the Vic-10 reactor after?”

“I’m that Vic,” she confirms. “And the number ten is because his invention went through ten iterations before it stopped exploding, so it not only bears my name but reflects my personality when I was a young girl.” She pauses when the ambassador chuckles, then adds, “I overheard you offering His Majesty congratulations, but I understand that your own are in order—and not just for your country’s part in the trade deal, but because your daughter Helen recently gave birth to a son.”

The laughter in the old man’s eyes is suddenly filmed over by a sheen of tears. “My first grandchild.”

“You must be very proud. I imagine only the most incredible occasion could have pulled you away from her.”

He nods. “A better future for them both.”

Victoria smiles. “Then I’m pleased that my father’s legacy is a part of that brighter future. But only a part. This would all have been impossible without His Majesty’s tireless dedication.”

I shake my head. “Many are responsible for it. I have done nothing alone.”

“His Majesty is too modest,” she says to Nilsson, before looking up at me and adding saucily, “You should accept all of the congratulations that are headed Your Majesty’s way, for they are well deserved, and your shoulders are broad enough to bear them. As for me, I have monopolized Your Majesty’s time long enough—I ought to move aside and allow others to bestow their humble gratitude.”

Everything within me tightens and fights against her leaving my side. I know she will have to. But I am not ready to let go yet. I glance at the ambassador and the older man reads my unspoken request, stepping back to give me a final moment with Victoria.

There’s so many damn things I want to do. Throw her over my shoulder and carry her off to bed. Kiss her until her knees give out. Instead I let my admiration fill my voice as I say, “That info on Nilsson’s daughter wasn’t included in Jeannette’s dossier.”

She grins. “I always do my homework.” On her fingers she ticks off, “Political science, etiquette, public relations—”

I capture those fingers and bestow another lingering kiss. “You have prepared well. I could not have asked for a more perfect bride, Victoria Dietrich.” My voice low and gruff, I tell her, “Once inside, we will not have much time to discuss anything. It’ll be all small talk and bullshit. So I’ll tell you now that waiting until October of next year is unacceptable.”

A laughing smile lights her beautiful face. “Perhaps I can fit Your Majesty in earlier.”

“We will marry by the end of next month.” Because I won’t wait until the end of the year. Her eyes widen, then her lashes fall to conceal the flare of heat as I softly add, “And we will take a full month for a honeymoon. You will be fitting me in night and day, Victoria.”

Her breath shudders and she nods, her cheeks tinged pink. I press her fingers to my mouth, and the new explosion of flashes makes her engagement ring sparkle and gleam.

She’s mine. And soon the entire world will know it.