I kick the heavy entryway door on the main floor of Princess Charlotte’s quarters to close it. The royal guards who protect her almost didn’t allow me in this time.

The reason is simple.

When a wicked man like me decides to start doing good with his life to help others, shit happens.

That’s why it took me three days to make it back here. I left the princess’s side three nights ago, voluntarily stuck my neck out to report what I know about the present threat to Crown Princess Helena, and what did the crown security do when I demanded to speak to my king? They shackled me, shoved me in an interview room, dug into my shady as fuck background and checkered criminal record, fingerprinted me, did some fucked up DNA testing on me, interrogated my sketchy ass, and held me for rigorous questioning.

For close to three fucking days.

And for some reason, after my DNA tests came back, they kept asking me about who I was associated with in Parogon, one of the neighboring kingdoms. I told them time and time again that I’ve never fucking been out of Gideanor in my life, so how the fuck would I know about anyone in Parogon?

Lucky for me, someone on their payroll actually took a second to take their head out of their ass and look into what I showed up here to report to them in the first place.

The details about the Hands of the Four.

It’s this detail mentioned by Crown Princess Helena that got my mental gears grinding to a screeching halt once I had made it home that night the two sisters were talking about it.

Saul, the man who took me in, was an avid chess player. He would go to the park for a few hours every day to sit and play with his old retired buddies. One of those old geezers used to shout out that phrase whenever he won a chess match. The royalty must die at the Hands of the Four, he would say instead of check or checkmate. I remember because I never understood what the fuck it meant, and had asked Saul if his friend was one card short of a full deck, so to speak. Saul would shrug and tell me the old guy was a retired pilot from the crown’s air brigade, and that the man had every right to act crotchety and constantly complain because he had seen more of his fair share of horror in the not so friendly skies, back when the kingdom was mired in regional and international conflict.

But I’d always felt there was more to the phrase.

By the looks of it, I’m right.

Because here I am, a free man again. I’ve been cleared of any wrongdoing, my employment clearance to work at the palace has been reinstated, and crown security is directing their resources where they need to.

All that remains for me now is to pick up where I left off three days ago with Princess Charlotte.

First, she needs to be punished for grinding her sweet ass on my cock, even if I enjoyed every second of it.

Then, we’ll get to the good part.

Except, when I climb the stairs to the second floor and find her standing outside her bedroom, with her eyes narrowed and her posture regal and tight, I know my plans may be up in the air.

“You shall bow to your princess,” she demands. “Kneel.”

I play along for a bit, dropping to one knee just to have an idea where she’s going with this, assuming it’s a turning of the tables.

But it’s not, and I know it isn’t when she adds, “Do you swear fealty to the throne of Gideanor? To honor and obey all decrees, both written and expressed?”

Well shit, if I knew I’d have to swear allegiance to the crown tonight, I’d dress a little more formally.

I lower my head to the floor and answer, “I do, Your Highness.”

“By royal decree, I am henceforth added to your charge. You shall carry me to my bed, undress me, please me, then take me hard.”

She was doing so well. Right up to the last part. Well, it’s not so much the statement as it is her delivery. It’s hard to take a princess seriously when hints of her own laughter muffle her own order. But she is a princess, and I am a loyal follower.

So, I follow her command.

I just hope she doesn’t start to believe that I’ll let her make a habit of this.