The din of the pub was rising, but Poet barely noticed as she hung up the phone, her brow furrowed in confusion.

Is he lying to me? she wondered, staring blankly at the device in her hand. She had never known her father to be untruthful, but who else could the man have been?

“Where are you?” Nick demanded, plopping a pint in front of her. “You look like you’re on another planet.”

She glanced up at him, her eyes clouded.

“I—nowhere,” she replied. “I was just speaking with my father.”

“Oh! His Grace of Luxe. How is the old man?” Nick teased, slipping into the booth at her side. “And when are you going to invite me to a party on the one-hundred-and six-foot yacht at the palace?”

Poet snickered. “Trust me; it’s more of a nuisance than you think,” she said. “It requires so much work and planning to plan a trip or even a party on it.”

“I imagine your diamond shoes are too tight as well?” Nick quipped, and Poet rolled her eyes.

“I’m not complaining,” she replied. “I’m just telling you that the boat lacks a certain functional quality.”

The Cloak and Clock was filled with the after-work crowd, but Nick had managed to secure a seat near the front door before Poet had arrived.

I’m only staying for one, Poet vowed. Then I must get back to work.

“But you didn’t answer my question,” Nick pressed. “How is your dear old dad?”

“He’s all right,” she answered. “I think.”

“Is he sick?” Nick asked, his green eyes clouding.

Poet shook her head. It wasn’t her father’s health that concerned her: it was what he had said when she’d called to give him grief about the King’s Guard being in her class.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Poet,” the king assured her. “I have never instructed one of the men to follow you into class.”

“Well, one of them did,” she insisted. “A handsome fellow, tall, beautiful blue eyes…” She trailed off when she realized she was describing what sounded more like a dating profile for the mystery man.

“I think someone is pulling your leg, Daughter,” King Henry proclaimed. “But I will look into it to be sure.”

“Please do!” she replied. “We had an arrangement.”

“We still do,” he sighed. “I will speak to the head of security on your detail.”

It was the best answer Poet could get for the time being, especially if her father was sincere. But she still could not shake the nervousness following her as she glanced around the pub, half-expecting to see the man from Kincaid’s lecture.

“Hello? I am beginning to feel neglected here,” Nick called, waving his thin hands around for attention. “If I wanted to drink alone, I wouldn’t have invited you along.”

“Sorry,” Poet offered, trying to smile. The expression came out more like a grimace.

“Are you worried about your paper?” he asked, and Poet immediately felt her back tense at the mention of her thesis.

Kincaid was another problem. His almost furious response to her paper had left her scratching her head. She had expected skepticism, but not a complete shut-down of her proposal.

“You don’t know what you’re doing!” he’d hissed. “You’re asking for trouble.”

“This is incredible!” Poet had protested. “I have proof that dragons not only existed in the past, but that they exist today and walk—”

“Keep your voice down!” Kincaid had yelled, his ancient face turning red. “I want no part of your findings.”

This day is just weird, Poet thought. Everyone’s acting strangely.

“Should I just leave you alone with your thoughts?” Nick asked, exasperation tainting his tone, and she looked at him guiltily.

“I’m sorry,” she repeated. “I think I’m just exhausted already. It’s been an unbearably long day.”

She hoped that Chauncey had not vomited on the rug again, but with the way her day had been so far…

“Well, have a pint and I’ll find us a menu,” Nick declared, worriedly glancing at her, as if she was going to leave him alone.

Poet gave him a weak smile. She wanted nothing more than to go home and close off the world in her flat, but Nick had been asking her to meet him for drinks all week. He was harmless, after all, and one of the only people who seemed to like her as a person, not a princess.

“That sounds lovely,” she replied, and his face exploded in relief.

Nick rose and disappeared toward the bar, leaving Poet alone to stare blankly around the establishment, trying to get her thoughts in order. She reached for her beer, and as she put it to her lips, she cringed inwardly.

Mya and her entourage entered the door, as boisterous and obnoxious as always.

Poet sunk into the booth, hoping the almost childish reaction would keep Mya from seeing her.

Screw this. I am going home. This day is cursed, she decided mournfully, wishing with all her might that she would go unnoticed. But Poet could not be so lucky, and as she turned her head, her classmate caught her eye, her vivid chocolate eyes locking on Poet’s.

“Oh, happy day!” Mya chortled, gesturing for her friends to stop. “We get to drink with a princess today!”

“I am not staying,” Poet said quickly as Nick returned with their menus. “Just one pint and I’m off.”

“Nonsense!” Mya chuckled, slipping into the booth at her side. “We never get a chance to see one another.”

And I was just thinking that we see too much of one another, Poet thought miserably.

Mya pressed herself too closely to Poet’s side, purposely trying to make her uncomfortable. The action worked.

“You weren’t invited, Mya,” Nick announced, his displeasure as clear on his face as Poet’s was in her gut.

“Oh! I had no idea you were shagging the princess,” Mya snorted crassly. “I should call the Daily Mail, yeah?”

“Mya, what do you want?” Poet sighed.

“A girl can’t spend time with her pal?” Mya chuckled, and her friends laughed appreciatively. Poet had never been able to understand how women like Mya attracted a following. She reasoned they must be bullied into worshipping the abrasive brunette, but it was none of Poet’s business.

“Here,” Nick said, slipping a menu before Poet. It was pointless; she suddenly had no appetite.

“I want to know what you’re working on for your thesis,” Mya purred, snatching a menu from the table. “It must be something good for you to keep it quiet for so long.”

“You’ll see it when it’s published,” Poet retorted evenly.

“Oh, come on now!” Mya insisted, her eyes flashing with annoyance while her full lips maintained a smirk. “Give us a hint, luv.”

“Mya, sod off,” Nick snapped, his patience fading. Poet was already attempting to stand.

“You just reminded me,” she said. “I have to get to the library.” She was lying, of course, but at that point, she just wanted to go home and hunker in for the rest of the day. Even dealing with her dog’s vomit seemed more appealing than spending another minute in the presence of Mya Christensen and the loud group accompanying her.

“No!” Nick cried. “You just got here!”

“Oh, come on, Poet,” Mya leered. “Don’t tell me you’re scared off by little old me. They really do keep you sheltered in Luxe, don’t they?”

Poet bristled at the mockery. She wasn’t afraid of Mya. She merely had no interest in spending her off-time with her.

“Sorry, duty calls,” Poet replied lightly, reaching for her purse.

“Mya, sod off!” Nick squeaked again. Mya snorted but made no move to leave as Poet reached into her handbag to leave a few pounds on the table.

“Don’t worry, Nicky. I’m no princess, but I can keep you company,” Mya taunted as Nick reached for Poet’s arm.

“Please, we’ll go somewhere else,” he pleaded.

Poet shook her head vehemently. It was no longer just Mya and her group making her uncomfortable. The urge to get away from Nick was also starting to become unbearable. It was an underlying urgency in the pit of her stomach, an almost palpable sense of alarm in the pit of her stomach.

However, she soon realized she was trapped between Nick and Mya.

The man had made no secret of his attraction to her, and while Poet had made it very clear that she was not interested, sometimes his attention was borderline creepy. Like at that moment, for instance.

Poet pulled her arm back and tried to wriggle her way out of the booth, blocked by the group trying to keep her in place. A flutter of nervousness sparked through her.

“Let me out,” she said firmly. “I want to leave.”

“Just stay!” Nick begged, shooting Mya a scathing look.

The leer on Mya’s face only grew. “Yeah, princess, why don’t you—?”

“Is there a problem here, Your Highness?”

All eyes turned toward the head of the table, and Poet’s heart caught in her throat. The man who had sat behind her in Kincaid’s lecture stood in front of them, dark glasses covering his eyes as he towered over the table.

Poet stared at him uncertainly, knowing that he didn’t belong there—if her father had been telling her the truth, he didn’t belong to her guard. Right then, though, he was her best chance to escape.

He’s not your security, but he’s here now, she thought, and he’s the least threatening of everyone in this booth.

“There’s no problem, mate,” Nick answered, scowling. “The princess is fine.”

“She does not appear fine,” the stranger replied shortly. “Can I escort you back to your flat, Princess?”

Before she could stop herself, Poet found herself nodding, and the fake guard stared at Nick until he shuffled out of the booth to allow her to leave.

“Must be nice to have someone fight all your battles for you,” Mya chuckled cruelly as Poet slipped out, exhaling in relief. She hadn’t even realized she had been holding her breath.

“Maybe one day someone will consider you important enough to fight for you too, Miss…?” the phony guard offered caustically.

Poet’s head jerked up at the completely unscripted jab, staring at Mya’s face as it contorted into anger.

“Sod off,” Mya muttered, lowering her eyes.

“As you wish,” he agreed, leading Poet by the arm and guiding her out of the pub.

Poet eyed him through her peripheral vision as they made their way into the rain. He pulled out an umbrella and ushered her toward a waiting vehicle parked illegally in a side alley. Any apprehension she should have felt was overwhelmed by the stranger’s nearness.

It was not until the man put her in the passenger side of the simple, black sedan that Poet spoke.

“Who are you?” she demanded when he slipped into the driver’s seat.

“I already told you, Your Highness. I am—”

“You are not a member of the King’s Guard,” she interjected. “You think I don’t know my own security detail?”

“Do you?” he replied evenly, pulling away from the curb. “I am new.”

“You are not under my father’s employ,” she insisted. “And if you are, you should be fired immediately.”

He cast her a sidelong look. “Why would you say that? I believe I just intervened when you needed me. I think that is part of the job, yes?”

“Firstly, no member of my team is to tail me inside any building,” Poet said. “Secondly, you are not to speak to outsiders. Your job is to protect me, not dole out jabs to my friends—”

“Your friends?” the man scoffed, interrupting her. “They did not seem like your friends to me.”

“Thirdly, any security officer who wishes to keep his job would never interrupt me,” she continued.

“Touché,” he muttered, but Poet could see the smirk on his face.

“And finally, there is no way you are a member of my team because you would never put me in the front passenger seat. If you want to pretend to be my security, at least do your research first.”

A slight pause followed her announcement, and then the fake guard began to laugh.

“Anything else?” he asked, steering the car toward her street.

Poet tensed at his nonchalant response. “You know where I live?” she demanded. “How? Why?”

The man sighed deeply. “Because I was hired by your father to watch you from a distance and befriend you. He’s worried about you, but I didn’t want to lie to you.”

She looked at him suspiciously.

“Is that so? Because he claims he knows nothing about you,” Poet replied. “How can I believe you?”

“You’re in my car and you came with me willingly. You must see I’m no danger to you,” he said.

Poet found herself blushing as she realized he spoke the truth. She had not even second-guessed getting into his vehicle or leaving the pub with him.

Before she could respond, her cell chimed in her bag.

“That would be Nick,” she sighed, reaching for the device.

“Is he your sweetheart, then?” asked the man. “You didn’t seem to like him much from where I stood.”

Poet’s head turned toward him, sensing a note of disdain in his voice.

“No,” she answered quickly. “He’s only a friend of mine. A sometimes-inappropriate friend, but a friend nonetheless.”

Her driver nodded, and Poet realized she didn’t even know his name. Instead of asking, she turned her attention to her phone and sighed.

Mya is gone. You can come back, the text read.

I’m already at my flat, she texted back. Another time?

“Would you like to go back to the pub?” the man asked, as if he had read the message himself. Poet snickered.

“Not in the least,” she assured him. “I just want to go home and take a warm bath.”

She felt a flush tinge her cheeks. Perhaps that had been entirely too much information, considering he was a complete stranger. For some reason, though, she didn’t mind that the attractive man might envision her naked and surrounded by bubbles. She found herself wondering what he looked like naked and surrounded by bubbles. Her blush deepened.

“Here we are,” he told her, arriving in front of her building.

Poet moved to open the door, but to her surprise, the man jumped from the driver’s side to let her out.

He is going to continue with this charade, she thought, half-amused as she accepted his arm and hung under his umbrella while he led her to the front door.

Poet looked behind her, searching for other members of her detail, but she could see no one in sight. She had never before cared for what they thought of her decisions, yet now she wondered what they would make of her arriving home on the arm of a strange man.

I am not arriving home on the arm of a man! she chided herself, aghast that she had phrased it like that in her own head. I am being escorted home by a guy trying to catch my attention.

It both amused and alarmed her simultaneously, and Poet could not help being intrigued by the dark-haired stranger who had rescued her from the tavern.

“Do you have a name?” she heard herself ask aloud as they entered the lobby.

“Max,” he answered, and she cocked her head to the side as they stared at one another for a long minute.

“Would you like to come upstairs for a cuppa?”

Again, Poet was surprised at herself. How long had it been since she had invited a man into her flat? What would her father say if he found out?

She shoved the thoughts out of her mind and waited for a response, a small smile toying on her lips.

“Another time,” Max replied, bowing slightly. “I am illegally parked.” He offered her a quick, nervous grin and turned to leave.

The smile froze on Poet’s lips, her heart hammering with the rejection.

It didn’t bother him that he was illegally parked at the pub, she thought sullenly, watching as he disappeared back into the rain and toward his car.

The entire encounter had been bizarre at best, and Poet could not make sense of any of it. He was obviously not part of the King’s Guard, and yet no one from her security detail had intercepted his presence. Could he truly be some kind of personal bodyguard for her?

It was not like she would get a straight answer from her father if she asked him, but Poet still couldn’t believe that her knight in shining armor had anything to do with the Island of Luxe.

Long after Max had driven away, Poet remained in the doorway, watching after him in the rain. Whoever he was, she hoped to see him again soon.

Something tells me I will, she thought with tentative confidence.