Kristina gave a strangled moan of horror. Her legs buckled and she would have fallen if I hadn’t looped an arm around her waist. I held her as we stared at the screen. The King was being carried off stage, his body limp. Then the news program cut to a white-faced news anchor in the studio.

I realized Aleksander, the advisor, was still on the phone. We could hear him saying Oh my God, oh my God, over and over again. Then he said he’d call from the hospital and he was gone.

And then we had to wait, powerless and desperate. I sat Kristina down on the couch and gripped her hand. I couldn’t imagine what she was going through. At least I’d been able to rush my dad to the hospital, to do something. She was stuck thousands of miles away.

After ten minutes that felt like ten weeks, Aleksander called. The King was alive and in emergency surgery. The shooter had somehow slipped away, but they’d found his rifle. “It was my fault,” he kept saying. “I was too slow.”

Kristina hushed him. “You did everything you could.”

Almost an hour went by and then the screen lit up with a video call. I knew the woman must be in her fifties, but she looked no more than forty. Not a single strand of gray dared to break the pitch-black of her shoulder-length hair. Her blue business jacket and skirt were immaculately styled and cut to show off her ruthlessly-toned figure. I could see traces of Kristina in her eyes, although the princess looked much more like her father. But even if the resemblance hadn’t been there, I’d have known who she was from the way everyone bowed. “Your Majesty,” they all said in unison.

“He’s still in surgery,” the Queen told Kristina. Unlike the King, she didn’t bother to acknowledge the staff, or me. “I’ve had the top specialists flown in but it’ll be a while before we know anything.” Her voice barely trembled and, though I could see a hint of tears at the corners of her eyes, it was as if they were imprisoned behind glass. She would not allow herself to show weakness.

The Queen glanced at me and her eyes narrowed. When I followed her gaze, I realized she was glaring at our joined hands. Shit!

“Mother, this is Mr. Buchanan,” said Kristina. “The man who’s been protecting me.”

The Queen’s nod was quick and sharp as a scalpel. “Thank you,” she said, but her eyes seared into me as if she wanted to burn me off the face of the earth. When she ended the call, my stomach was knotted. She knows. Or suspects. And it wasn’t like the distrust I’d felt from Emerik. The Queen seemed to actually hate me, just because I was a commoner. It was a brutal reminder of the gulf between me and the princess. I glanced at Kristina’s troubled face. She was so much more like her father, trusting and kind. I tried to imagine what it must have been like, growing up with a mother that cold and hard. Had she always been like that?

My stomach lurched. What if she hadn’t? What if becoming queen had done that to her? Was that what Kristina would be like, when she eventually took power?

We had to wait another hour for the next update. This time it was Aleksander and, after the Queen, it was a relief to see his friendly face. But the news he had wasn’t good. “The bullet only clipped his heart: he moved just in time to save him. And the surgery went well. But…” He sighed. “He’s lapsed into a coma. The doctors don’t know when he will regain consciousness....”—he pressed his lips tight together—”... or even if he will.”

Kristina nodded, her lower lip trembling.

“What is clear is that this isn’t some simple act of revenge by an extremist group. They tried to assassinate you, now they’ve moved on to your father. This is an act of war by Garmania. They’re trying to wipe out the royal line, to destabilize our country.”

“To what end?” croaked Kristina. From the way she said it, she already knew the answer.

“So that they can invade again,” said Aleksander.

Kristina nodded and ended the call. Then she hunched forward in her seat, almost curling herself into a ball, and began to sob. I reached for her, but she shook her head: give me a minute. I retreated to the hallway.

And found Emerik standing there, arms crossed. It was the first time we’d been alone together that morning and I recognized the look he was giving me. It was the same look Katie Wagner’s brother had given me in high school when I’d asked her out. You hurt her, it said, and I’ll kill you.

I gave him a slow, deliberate nod to show I understood. Then I made a pot of coffee for everyone. They were doing their best to hide it, for Kristina’s sake, but they were shaken: this was their King. He seemed like a really decent guy, despite being a politician. Hell, I’d only spoken to him once and even I liked him.

While the coffee brewed, I called the hospital for an update on my dad. No change. The bullets had done so much damage that, at his age, he’d be in critical condition for days or even weeks. I should be with him, dammit. But I couldn’t leave her, not now.

I tried to figure out what we should do. We knew now what the assassins had done after we’d finally plugged the leak and lost them in Texas. They’d flown to Lakovia to assassinate the King. They must have false passports, or the FBI would have stopped them at the airport. More evidence that someone high up was helping them.

With them in Lakovia, Kristina should be safe in the US for now. If I could keep her off the grid, maybe she could wait this whole thing out. I just had to take her somewhere we could disappear. Someplace with plenty of tourists, where no one would look twice at a woman with a British accent. New Orleans! We’d rent a cheap room somewhere and just vanish.

I handed out the coffee and marched through to the living room to tell Kristina. “Grab your stuff,” I told her. “We’re going to—”

“I’m going home,” she said.

I blinked. “What?”

“Back to Lakovia.”

I could feel my face falling. “Lakovia is the most dangerous place in the world for you right now! The assassins are there, waiting for you!” I stepped closer. “I know you want to be with your dad, but there’s nothing you can do right now. You’ll be safe in the US and—”

“You don’t understand,” she said, standing. “My father’s incapacitated. I’m next in line. Garrett... I’m now Queen!”

My jaw dropped. I’d been so busy thinking about her as a person and how upset and scared she must be, I’d never thought about that part. “But they’ll kill you!”

“My people need me. Our country can’t be without a ruler, not if Garmania’s about to invade.”

She looked up at me and God, the fear on her face. This whole thing was taking her back to what happened to her during the war, to being left alone in that black, bare stone cell. And yet that imperious jaw was set firmly. She was doing this for her people, even though she was terrified. Even though she was years from being ready to rule. Even though it would probably mean her death. That fluttering in my chest, that swell of loyalty: I’ve never in my life respected someone so much. It only took me a split second to make my decision.

“If you’re going,” I told her, “I’m coming with you.”

She looked at me, incredulous. “Garrett, you can’t!”

“I’m not letting you go back there unprotected.”

“I’ll have my royal guards.”

“They couldn’t protect the King.”

Emerik, Jakov and Caroline had drifted in, drawn by our raised voices. Kristina looked embarrassed and lowered her voice. “Garrett... Lakovia is a different world. You know how traditional we are. There are barely any foreigners. You wouldn’t fit in.”

“I don’t give a damn.”

“You wouldn’t be allowed. The only people allowed to protect the Queen are the royal guards and—”

“Then make me one.”

She froze and stared at me.

“Make me a royal guard,” I repeated.

She held my gaze for another second and then lowered her eyes to the floor. “Give us the room, please,” she said, then waited while they left. When they’d gone, she took my hand. “Garrett... I’m the Queen, now.” Her voice was shaking. “Even if there was a way we could be together before, we can’t be now. The people, the media... they’re deeply distrustful of outsiders. If you come with me, we can’t be together.”

I knew she was right. Knew this would be even harder than before because I’d have had her and lost her. Hell, I’d be right next to her, all the time, but unable to hold her, touch her, kiss her. It would be torture.

But not being able to protect her... that would be even worse. I looked her right in the eye. “I understand,” I said, “Your Majesty.”

Her eyes were filling with tears. Her throat moved, but she couldn’t speak, not without losing it completely. She just nodded.

“Tell me what I have to do,” I said.

She bit her lip. “Kneel,” she managed.

I went down on one knee before her, like I’d seen them do in the movies.

“Repeat after me,” she croaked, barely holding back the tears. “I swear allegiance to my Queen.”

I looked her right in the eye. “I swear allegiance to my Queen.”

“I promise to pro—to protect her from all dangers, foreign and domestic.”

My deep Texas growl filled the room. “I promise to protect her from all dangers, foreign and domestic.”

“I will guard her to the end and sacrifice whatever my duty demands, even if—”—she gulped, sobbed, recovered—”even if it demands my own life.”

“I will guard her to the end,” I repeated. “And sacrifice whatever my duty demands, even if it demands my own life.” That feeling I’d had, ever since I first met her, was filling my chest. I’d never thought I’d find something worth giving myself to, after the marines. But her? My Queen? Hell yeah, I’d die for her.

She nodded: it was done. I was a royal guard. I could see her trying to form thank you with her lips, but she’d started crying too hard to get it out. Instead, she reached down, placed her hand on my head and knitted her fingers into my hair. I nodded and gently rested my own hand on top of hers.

It was time to go to Lakovia.