Sunday morning again, and I’m exactly where I was last week at this time—in recovery mode even though I haven’t had a Saturday night bender. I’ve just made the mistake of reading the latest comments on my first ‘ask me anything’ interview. Unfortunately, my armpit sniffing and mining for boobs act has captured more attention than the interview itself, which has proved counter-productive for my whole ‘take Tessa seriously’ campaign.

I have about thirty offers from creepy men willing to ‘help me adjust my breasts,’ a little move which has made Arthur stifle a laugh every time he’s seen me since Thursday. He also stops me before we head into any meetings or ribbon cutting ceremonies and asks, “Do you need to do a last-minute knocker-check? Now’s your chance.”

Grrrr. Princes, am I right?

A tap at the door interrupts my work. Assuming it’s Mavis to collect my breakfast tray, I call to her to come in. Only it’s not Mavis. It’s Arthur. And I’m in bed still with my bedhead and morning breath, which I’m pretty sure he can smell from over there. I yank the duvet up to my neck. “Oh, I thought you were Mavis.”

“Nope. Just me.” He’s dressed in jeans and a white T-shirt, and oh, my Lord, does he wear this look well. “I was wondering if you’d like to go for a walk.”

A walk? With his royal sexiness? Sounds dangerous. “I thought you were at church.”

“I rarely make it to church. I usually have important business to attend to. Well, that’s my excuse anyway.” He grins. “I like to sleep in sometimes.”

“So, kind of like a regular person.” I smile.

“Kind of, only on a much higher thread count.” His dimples pop as he smiles at his own joke. “So, are you coming or not, Sharpe?”

“Give me about twenty minutes to eat and get dressed.”

“Sure.”

As soon as he leaves, I hop out of bed and glance in the mirror. I definitely require more than twenty minutes’ worth of grooming to look halfway decent, but since he already saw me like this, anything will be an improvement.

By the time Arthur knocks on my door, I’m dressed in a light knit pale pink sweater with a white infinity scarf, and skinny jeans that are tucked into tall brown suede boots. My hair is back in a low pony and topped with a brown cap to hide the fact that it needs some attention. I swipe my lips with some gloss as I hurry to the door. This is not a date. This is not a date.

When I open the door, he’s leaning against the door jamb, which means that we’re so close I can smell his aftershave. Let me tell you, that is some manly, sexy aftershave. I don’t know which brand it is, but it should be called ‘Spontaneous Orgasm.’

“All ready?”

I nod, because my mouth doesn’t seem to work when he’s standing this close to me.

“Let’s go.”

We make our way out the back of the castle, then down a long gravel path that leads around the perimeter of the grounds. The sun shines, warming the skin on my face, and I feel more relaxed than I have since I got here. Arthur seems somehow calmer, as well.

“I hope you don’t mind if I pay you a compliment,” he says.

“Depends on what it is.”

“Setting boundaries again?” He raises one eyebrow and gives me a half-smile.

“Maintaining them.” I laugh. “Boundaries are very important.”

“As is getting the upper hand.”

“That, too.”

“I’ll risk it, then, and hope that I don’t cross your boundary or risk losing the upper hand.”

“Ha! You’re mistaken. I took the upper hand in the limo on the first day, and I don’t intend to give it back.”

“Well, you’re entitled to be wrong.” He bumps my shoulder with his, and I do it right back.

Then he stops and turns to me, and I do the same. His eyes search mine for a moment, and his expression is so intense that I’m reminded of why I was avoiding being alone with him.

“I wanted to say that, over the past two weeks, I’ve been very impressed with how you’ve conducted yourself. You’ve been living among a rather odd group of strangers, whilst under a lot of scrutiny, and you’ve really managed it all with an unusual amount of grace.”

“Oh, well, thank you.” I stammer on the words, trying to quash the swell of pride in my chest at his words. An unusual amount of grace. No one has ever described me that way in my entire life. “What about the on-air boob adjustment?”

“Especially that.” He keeps walking, and I’m glad to not be face-to-face with him anymore. Because if we stayed like that too long, I’m pretty sure that my expression would give me away.

“You’re not what I was expecting, Tessa Sharpe.”

Uh-oh. Here it comes.

“I assumed you’d be an absolute harpy, but you’ve turned out to be rather lovely. In every sense of the word.”

Rather lovely. Nikki is going to die when she hears that one. I look up at him with an impish expression. “You’re just trying to butter me up.”

“Of course, I am. Doesn’t mean it isn’t the truth, though,” he says. “Did I cross your line just then?”

“I’ll allow it.” I put on my best regal voice.

Laughing, Arthur gives a little bow. “Oh, thank you, Madame.”

“Think nothing of it.”

We reach the end of the path, and Arthur takes a key out of his pocket and unlocks the wrought iron gate. It occurs to me where we are going. I’d seen footage once on a documentary about Queen Cecily. We’re going to her gravesite.

He opens the gate and steps aside for me to walk through. “You’re probably wondering where we’re going.”

“I think I know.” As we press on, we find ourselves in a clearing surrounded by tall trees with the gaps filled in by thick shrubs that are just about to leaf out. In the distance, there is a pond with a small wooden bridge leading to his mother’s final resting place.

“This is where I go on Sunday mornings.”

“The more pressing business you need to attend to.”

“You take in every word I say, don’t you?” He gives a slight chuckle. “This is one of very few places where I can be truly alone with my thoughts without having to carefully gauge my next reaction.”

“Is that what it’s like to be you? A long string of careful reactions?”

“Not always, but a lot of the time. But isn’t it like that for everyone? There are societal expectations for all people in each situation.”

“I suppose that’s true, but I think there are more rules for you than for most people.” We cross the arched bridge, and when we reach the top, a large, ornate gravestone comes into view. It is surrounded by hundreds, if not thousands of white lilies that have bloomed now that spring has arrived.

“More people watching and waiting for me to make mistakes, anyway.”

“Like me.”

“And many others. Each one with a different reason to hate me, or in the very least, want to see me mess up.”

“Or see you succeed. You’ve got plenty of those, too.”

“True.”

We stop and sit on a bench a few feet back from the queen’s grave. Silence overtakes us. The stone reads: Cecily Rose, Beloved Mother, Wife, Daughter, Sister, and Queen. A lump forms in my throat. Arthur was five when she died. Arabella was only three months old. I sniff, then realize that my vision has become blurred by unexpected tears for someone I never knew.

“Are you all right?” His voice is gentle. “Oh, I forgot I’m not supposed to ask you anything personal.”

“It’s okay.” My voice is unsteady, and I feel silly being the one getting emotional. “What if we say that while we’re here, in this place, we can alter our agreement. Just for a few minutes.”

“Go off the record, you mean?” he asks.

“Yes. Let’s just be two people talking. Not a prince or a critic. Just for now. Right up until we walk through that gate.”

He smiles, and this time it’s different. It’s not the smooth womanizer I see. It’s just Arthur, a son who lost his mother when he was only a small boy. “I’d like that very much, Tessa.”

“Me, too.” And it’s true. I would. I look back at his mother’s gravestone. “I was just thinking of all that she missed out on. I’m sure she would have given anything to see you and your sister grow up.”

He makes a strangled sound and when I turn to him, the expression on his face is one of bitterness. “If only that were true.” His voice is barely audible.

Before I have a chance to even try to figure out what that means, he asks, “Do you want to have children? I mean, someday, when you’ve found the right fellow.”

“I don’t know, really. I have seven nephews and nieces—soon to be eight. I love them to bits, most of the time. But the whole parenting thing seems awfully hard to do well. I have a feeling I’d mess it all up.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because you’re strong enough to come live among the enemy, smart enough to make a name for yourself, and kind enough to feel sad for someone who lost his mother a very long time ago.” The way he says it is so confident, that I almost think he might be right about me. He goes on, “So there you have it. Solid proof that you wouldn’t mess up a child. At least not too badly.”

I chuckle, then say, “I don’t know about that, but I do know that the thought of loving someone as much as a parent loves a child terrifies me. They’re so fragile, and they need you for everything. Absolutely everything for so long.” I sigh under the weight of that question. “What about you? I know you’re supposed to have children, but do you want them?”

“Very much. But I also know what type of life they’d have in store for them, and to be honest, I don’t know that I can do that to a child.” His gaze falls on the trees in the distance. “You’ve seen how busy I’ve been these past two weeks. It’s nothing compared to what will be expected of me as king. It could be a very long time before I take over, but even now, my life is not my own. In many respects, I’ll be set up to fail as a father.”

“But surely you could do things differently. You’d have the power to say no to certain events so you could be with your children.”

“Somewhat. But the thing is, in a way, the entire nation is mine to care for, and to protect in the way I would my own child.”

“I’ve never thought of it that way. Is that how you see it?”

“Yes, actually. As foolish as that may sound to you.” He glances down a me for a second, and our eyes meet.

The connection between us is immediate. It’s like we’re peering into each other’s souls, but instead of wanting to run and hide, I want to see more. “It doesn’t sound foolish at all. It sounds… sweet.”

“And bloody terrifying.” He turns again to the trees.

“Because you’d be worried about messing up the whole thing on a much grander scale?”

“Exactly.”

“This is going to sound very odd coming from me, but I don’t think you would mess it up. I think you’d be very good at it.”

“You’re right. That does sound odd.”

“To no one more than me.” I smile a little, then explain myself. “I think you’d be a fine king—if we needed one.”

He looks down at me, and I can see there’s an argument forming on the tip of his tongue, but he stops himself. “We’re just two people talking.”

“Right. I almost forgot. I retract that last statement,” I say. “What I meant to say is that over the past two weeks, I can see how much you care about your people. I’ve noticed the way you make each person feel like they are the only person in the room when you are talking to them. And I don’t know if they gave you lessons on how to do that in Prince Charm School or what, but I do know that you make people feel special, and that is a gift that most people don’t have.”

“Thank you, Tessa. That might be the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

“I doubt that.”

“Maybe not, but it means so much more because it’s coming from you.” His gaze pierces me, causing me to feel a little weak. “There’s something I need to know.”

“Sure, what is it?”

His voice is gentle. “Why do you hate us so much?”

I freeze up. “Oh, God. This is going to sound so cold to you, because now that I know you, it sounds very cold to me.”

“Knowing the reason would be infinitely better than having to guess.”

I wince, take a deep breath and start to talk. “I don’t know if you know much about blogging, but it’s a surprisingly hard way to make a living. There are literally millions of people blogging every day about every single topic under the sun. Chances that you’ll be able to pay your bills are slim to none. So, when I was starting out, I was desperate to find ways to separate myself from the pack.” I sigh and feel my heart speed up. “I’m not sure if you can imagine what it’s like to be basically broke, but it’s really rather stressful. I came very close to having to sell everything and move back home with my parents…”

I pause for a second, feeling stripped naked telling a prince what it’s like to be poor. “What I really wanted to do—and still do—is to find a way back to mainstream media. I thought if I wrote about national politics, it would help get me there. But I needed a fresh angle, something that would get noticed. I spent weeks researching, trying to find a gap in what was already being reported. Then one day, I realized that on a lot of sites, people commented on their dissatisfaction with the monarchy—and with our system of government—but I couldn’t find a place where all of those like-minded people could come together to share their opinions.”

“So, you found a gap.”

Nodding, I say, “I found it and filled it.”

I stare at Arthur and am surprised to see that he doesn’t look upset, or hurt, or disgusted. He just looks... like he understands, which is hard to fathom considering what we’re discussing.

I go on, wanting to get it all off my chest. “I do believe in having elected leaders, and I always will. But I found that the more outrageous my posts, the more traffic I would get on the site, from both sides of the argument. I know this is going to sound cliché, but it really wasn’t anything personal. I was just trying to make some money and make a name for myself.”

“I see. So, you were just doing business.”

I groan and cover my face with my hands for a second. “Somehow, I never thought that any of you would ever read any of it. I thought of it as a space for ‘the regular folk’ to come to complain and ask questions and challenge the system.”

“But surely you must have at least considered the possibility that we’d read some of it? As you grew more popular?”

“I had fleeting thoughts, but I always managed to justify it in my mind, telling myself that if any of you did read it, someone like you wouldn’t care what someone like me had to say anyhow.”

Arthur nods. “You’re not alone in that, Tessa. I think a lot of people see us as incapable of having feelings. My sister said that maybe to you, we’re like two-dimensional bad guys from a Bond movie.”

“As much as I hate to admit it, I suppose that’s true.” My stomach twists with guilt. “I don’t know if this will mean anything, but now that I know you, I can see that it was all very unfair. And I wouldn’t blame you if you just lost a great deal of respect for me.”

“Why would I do that?”

“Because if I had some very noble reasons for becoming the Royal Watchdog, it would be one thing, but for it to simply be about money? That’s…”

“Savvy.”

“Savvy?”

“Yes. You saw a business opportunity, and you took it. I don’t particularly like that you did it, but it’s somehow better to know it was just about the money than had it been something more personal.”

I stare at him for a minute, shocked that he could be so forgiving about the whole thing. “You’re a lot more generous than I thought you’d be.”

“Thank you. I’m more generous than I thought I’d be, too.” He grins.

He glances down at my mouth, and I find myself desperately wanting him to kiss me. Oh, dear. This is getting complicated again. I need to put the brakes on whatever this moment is. I turn to face forward again. “Tell me about your mum.”

He’s quiet for a moment before he speaks. “I don’t remember much, really. I can tell you what I know from watching film footage of her by the hour, but my actual memories of her are those of a five-year-old. Fuzzy and incomplete.”

“I can’t even imagine what you went through.”

“Neither can I, really. It’s like it’s all some horrible dream, something that happened to someone else.” His focus is on her gravestone and it’s unbreakable.

“I’m sure.” I wish I hadn’t asked because now I want to hold him tightly to me, and there’s no way I can do that. No matter how badly I want to.

“She never should have married my father.” He starts talking, and I’m not sure he even knows I’m here. “She wasn’t cut out for this life, for life with him. There’s a necessary grit that she didn’t have. It killed her in the end.”

The official report suggested that she died of a suddenly ruptured aneurysm. But I think that he may have just revealed a horrible, dark secret that he’s been holding onto since he was a young boy. I sit next to him in shock as the pieces start to fall into place. His over-protectiveness about Arabella and his grandmother. He’s so careful to make his sister’s life as easy as possible, so she won’t end up buried next to her mother.

He suddenly snaps out of it and looks down at me, a bit of panic behind his eyes. “I apologize. I’m being dramatic.”

“No, you weren’t.” My gaze hardens, but I can see he’s not going any farther down that road than he already has. “You’ve been through hell.”

“Everybody goes through some type of hell, don’t they?” Arthur shrugs. “She was your age when she died, you know. So young.”

“And beautiful. And much loved by the people.”

“Yes, she was.” He smiles. “But no one really knew her. She could be very silly. She would sing to me, all kinds of songs. I was particularly fond of her version of the Munch Bunch theme song.”

“I remember that show.” I smile, then start singing. “The munch bunch, have run away...”

He grins, then does something completely unexpected. He sings, too. “The munch bunch, are here to stay...”

I laugh, surprised at this side of him. “What’s the next line? I forget.”

Arthur goes on singing. “The munch bunch, have found a home…”

I pick it up from there. “With a garden…”

We both laugh for a minute at ourselves. I blush at the silliness of it all.

His face grows suddenly serious. “I don’t remember much about her, but I do know she would have liked you. Very much.”

Tears spring to my eyes for the second time this morning. “That’s kind of you.”

“It’s true.” He reaches up and wipes the tear from my cheek with his thumb. “You have this tough exterior, but inside, you’re a person who cares very deeply about others.”

“How do you know? Maybe I’m granite through and through?”

“Because you just sang with me. And now you’re crying.”

“Well, bugger. I gave the game away.” I sniff a little and smile through my tears.

“Since we’re just two people right now, and people are prone to doing stupid things, I’m going to do something very stupid.” He glances at my lips again.

“What?”

“I’m going to kiss you.”

“That would be stupid.”

“And yet, unless you say no, I’m going to do it anyway.”

“I’m not saying no, so I must be as stupid as you.”

“Thank God for that.” He lowers his mouth over mine and kisses me. A soft, achingly beautiful kiss that warms me from my lips to my toes and back. I’ve never been kissed like this before. It’s so gentle, so real, that I find myself melting into him.

His hand slides over my cheek and he tilts my head, giving him better access as his tongue finds mine. Our mouths move with the perfection of a champion ice skating pair, gliding and soaring together. My hand reaches for his chest, and I instinctively cover his heart with my fingers. Now that I’ve seen what he’s been through, I’ve seen him in my mind’s eye as a lost, little boy with no mother to love him, I want to protect him and save him from anything that could hurt him. Including myself.

We stay like this for a long time, just kissing each other, nothing more. It’s not sexual, but it’s the most intimate, perfect moment of my life, and I can’t remember a time when I’ve felt so close to anyone. The world falls away, and we are no longer a prince and his harshest critic, but two flawed human beings needing to be understood. And for one brief and beautiful kiss, we give each other what we’ve both been missing for far too long.

When it’s over, I pull back, stunned at what just happened. I look at him and he looks as shocked as I feel.

“Well, that was… unexpected.”

“Yes, it was.” My breath is gone.

“We should be getting back.” He stands and holds his hand out to me. I take it and let him help me up.

Our fingers intertwine as we walk in silence, and there is something so natural about the feeling of his hand touching mine—something so pure and familiar.

When we step over the bridge, I stop and turn to him. “I’m so sorry about your mum.” I reach up and touch his cheek. “I promise I’ll never tell anyone.”

“Thank you.” He leans down and presses his forehead to mine. I close my eyes and just feel him here. The weight he’s been carrying for so many years makes my heart want to burst with pain. He moves his face back, then kisses my forehead. “Thank you for being here with me.”

“There’s no place I’d rather be,” I whisper because my voice has been sucked away with sorrow. His sorrow. I can’t hold back any longer. I wrap my arms around him and hold his body tightly to mine, and part of me hopes I can take his burden from him. Even just a bit. After a few more minutes of holding each other and more soft kisses, we break apart and start back toward the world again.

“I don’t want to walk through those gates,”

“Me either.” His face is filled with regret.

“But we have to.”

“So, we do.”