I almost can’t believe my eyes.

But there’s no doubt in my mind.

It’s her.

She’s even wearing that same choker around her slender neck, the one that looks a lot like a collar.

I can’t forget a face like that. Or a body like that. The picture I’m looking at doesn’t show any part of her below the neck, but I remember.

“Pretty, aren’t they?” The man asks. Exhaustion is still written all over his face, but he’s beaming with pride.

“Yes, they’re lovely,” I answer, briefly tearing my eyes from the man’s phone that I’m holding in my hands.

I couldn’t care less about the other two girls in the picture. I only have my eyes on her, the one with the big, doe-like eyes the color of café au lait, the one with the wavy honey-brown hair tumbling down her back.

“This is Clara, my oldest,” he says as he points at the girl on the left. “Irina, the middle one—” his index finger moves to the girl in the center, then finally to the girl on the right “—and Rosemary, my youngest daughter.”

Rosemary.

So that’s her name.

It fits her. A name from the old world, classic and elegant. But most importantly of all, that name is just another clue that she belongs to me.

I haven’t stopped thinking about her since I saw her last month. In fact, I’ve taken screenshots and short videos of the moments she’s caught by the surveillance cameras.

That tight little yellow dress, covering her up while showing off all her curves. That black choker around her neck. That golden rose pendant that rests between her collar bones, pulsing to the beat of her heart.

And now this old man is telling me that beauty is his daughter?

If I were a little more naïve, I’d be stumbling all over myself to declare this to be the work of fate. I’m not going to do that, but I know an opportunity like this will not come by twice.

“They’re all grown up,” I comment casually as Albert, my butler, comes to pour us more red wine. He raises a questioning eyebrow at me, but I press on. To the old man, I say, “They must be starting their own families now.”

“Oh, no.” Wrinkles appear on the man’s forehead and around his brown eyes when he chuckles. “My girls haven’t been lucky when it comes to love, especially Rosemary. She hasn’t ever had a boyfriend.”

And yet, despite the man having daughters of marriageable age and me obviously staring too long at the picture, he makes no mention of match-making.

It doesn’t surprise me, of course. Even though I’m royalty, my reputation as a sadistic beast has preceded me.

Still, I suppress a smile from spreading across my face.

So she’s really a virgin.

I had my doubts when I saw the white band around her wrist at the club. There was a meaning attached to every color, and white was for virgins.

But I thought a girl like her must have had many suitors. She couldn’t possibly be untouched.

“I have to admit it’s good to have them all to myself, though, even though that sounds selfish,” the old man suddenly says, smiling awkwardly.

Returning his smile, I wonder if he simply said that to fill the silence. I’m so used to quiet and solitude that it feels normal to me.

“Well, Quentin, I should retire for the night,” I say. “I have an event to attend in the morning. It’s the anniversary of the women’s division of the Royal Navy tomorrow.”

“Thank you so much for everything, Prince James. I mean, Your Royal Highness,” the old man says as he stands up.

“Oh, please. No need to get up. Just sit back and enjoy your meal.”

“Thank you,” he repeats, stubbornly getting up. “If it weren’t for you, I don’t know what would’ve happened to me. I could’ve gotten lost in the woods and gotten attacked by wolves. You’ve saved my life.”

“Don’t mention it.” I give him the same polite smile that I usually give the press, then leave him with the mountains of food on the table.

I live alone in this big palace—along with Albert and the rest of the staff, of course. So when a guest comes, Albert tends to go overboard.

I thought this old man was just an ordinary lost traveler. This part of the woods is thick and it regularly swallows up hikers into its depths.

But it turns out he’s related to her.

Based on his non-reaction at my obvious interest in his daughters, Quentin has probably heard about my depraved desires. And just like the rest of the kingdom, he doesn’t want me to get close to any of them.

They seem like a nice little family, and he seems to think Rosemary would be better off if she never sees me again.

He’s wrong, of course, but he doesn’t know that.

In fact, I suspect I’m the only one who knows about his daughter’s dirty little secret.