Stop looking at her.

Stop goddamn looking at her. Right now.

But I couldn’t.

Up there, in the glamorous first class cabin, she’d fit right in. Now she’d fallen like an angel from heaven and she was standing there in the desert, my world, with that pretty hair all mussed and her fancy pajamas already dusty and sand between her toes and somehow, she looked even better. All the dirt and dust and roughness just showcased her beauty even more.

There was a smudge of dust on her left cheek. Resisting the urge to reach down and wipe it off that smooth skin was the hardest thing I’d ever done.

Instead, I forced myself to look down at her bare feet. “We got a long way to walk,” I said. I could see for at least a few miles in each direction and wherever the Interstate was, it was beyond that. “You can’t walk like that.”

I thought for a minute and then grabbed hold of the left cuff of my shirt and tugged it until the stitches at the shoulder tore free and the whole tube of fabric slid down my arm and off. I knelt down beside her. “Give me your foot—” I broke off. I knew there was probably some fancy term I was supposed to be using. Didn’t seem right that I kept calling her ma’am. “What am I meant to call you?”

I looked up at the same exact moment she looked down. Her eyes were that lush, verdant green you never see in the desert, the green of thick forest. Our eyes locked and all that attraction just hit me again, like a wave slamming into me from behind and lifting me right off my feet. The temptation to just stand up, bury my fingers in that chestnut hair and pull her down for a kiss…. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d fantasized about kissing a woman. Not fucking her: kissing her.

She parted those perfect lips. Started to form a syllable that might have been Kr— Then she bit it back and swallowed. Straightened her spine and lifted her chin. “Your Highness,” she said firmly.

I stared at her for a beat and then nodded. I got it. “Give me your foot, Your Highness.” The term felt weird in my mouth, like drinking champagne. But it reminded me of who she was and who I was...and that was a good thing.

She lifted her foot into my offered hands and I used the sleeve of my shirt to wrap it like a bandage. I tried not to think about how soft her skin was, like she’d never walked barefoot her entire life, or how elegant her ankles and calves were, like some finely-carved statue. I tore off the other arm of my shirt and wrapped her other foot. There.

As I stood up, my dog tags clinked under what was left of my shirt. In the absolute quiet of the desert, even that tiny sound carried.

The Princess’s eyes locked on the chain around my neck. “You’re a soldier?” she asked.

“Was a soldier,” I muttered. The memories gathered above me, storm clouds made of lead. I felt myself tense—

I forced them back and nodded at the road. “We should start walking, Your Highness, before the sun gets too high.”

She nodded and we walked. Well, I did what I call walking, shambling along like Bigfoot. But she...she glided. Even with bits of cloth for shoes, even on the asphalt that soon got to be baking hot, she was as graceful as if she was on ice skates. Was that something they taught princesses, when they were kids?

And that stereotype of her being spoiled and selfish didn’t hold up at all. She didn’t complain once about the rising heat, or wanting a drink, or how much her feet hurt.

I thought about how scared she must be. Knowing that there are people out there trying to kill you...hell, that had been my normal, in the marines. But for her….

It didn’t help that we were out in the wilds. I didn’t know much about Lakovia, but my image of it was trees and mountains, mist and snow. It sure as hell wasn’t like this. And she was used to being in a bulletproof limo, or in a hotel suite with lots of those guys in blue suits to protect her. Not out here, exposed, with a complete stranger. I wanted to reassure her but that meant talking and I’ve never been much good at that. Even if I was, I sure as hell didn’t know how to talk to a princess. And when I felt like this about her—

There was a growl, off in the distance. The Princess drew in her breath and took an instinctive sideways step...towards me.

That protective urge swept over me. I just wanted to put one big paw on her shoulder and pull her in until she was resting against my chest, my body sheltering her from everyone and everything. Assassins, animals...I’d take them all on. My fingers actually flexed, reaching to do it—

Instead, I said, “Cougar. Probably coming back from a night hunting. It won’t bother us.”

She swallowed and nodded. “We have wolves in Lakovia.”

I nodded. But she must have seen something in my eyes because she cocked her head to one side. A little of the fear left her eyes and, for the first time, I saw just a hint of teasing humor. “You don’t have any idea where Lakovia is, do you?”

I felt my neck and ears go hot. “Uh...Never was that good with places, Your Highness. Except for the Middle East. They never sent me to Europe.”

She nodded. And as we walked, she told me about Lakovia. It was in Europe, right in the center, wedged between all those places like France and Italy to the west and all those former Soviet states to the east. It was proudly traditional, and a little suspicious of outsiders. And it was unusual in one other way. “We’re one of the few actual monarchies left,” she said.

I let that roll around my head for a second. A real, full-on monarchy. The King’s—her dad’s—word was law: no parliament, no prime minister. Her family weren’t just figureheads, they actually ran the country. Which meant she was a politician, just like the guys who’d taken everything from me.

So why did I like her so much?

As I thought it, I got that feeling again, the one I still couldn’t place, like the wind had caught hold of something inside me and filled it, made it fly like a flag. It went way beyond just being attracted to her.

I stayed quiet and let her keep talking. Partly because it seemed like it was helping her to relax, partly because it meant I got to hear her voice. She told me about their silver mines—the reason Lakovia was so rich—and their weird, old-fashioned currency of silver coins. She told me how the King had sent her to New York for a preliminary meet and greet to see about joining the UN. I could have listened to her for hours. Every word was like a little teardrop of glass, cool to the touch, that smoothed its way over my brow and scalp and then slid all the way down my spine. It was the antidote to all the hot, smoky anger I carried inside me. It calmed me, it settled me, it made me listen and forget everything else. And when it reached the base of my spine, all that class, all that refinement, did something else to me. Something so wrong, it made my damn ears burn all over again. She was just so posh, so...clean, that I couldn’t stop thinking about what it would be like to hear her say something filthy. Like fuck. Or, hell, to hear her say my name, right when she was shuddering and clutching at me and—

I pushed the thought away and we walked on, mile after mile. It was the most peaceful I’d felt in years. Then she told me about Garmania, the country that bordered them to the north. The one that invaded her country five years ago.

My boots hadn’t stopped moving in a couple of hours: marching is second nature to me, I don’t even notice I’m doing it. But when she said that, my stride faltered. Aw, hell. Now I remembered where I’d heard of Lakovia. I’d seen hazy, smoke-filled images of it on CNN: buildings half-demolished by shelling, occupying soldiers moving through the streets, sobbing civilians. A nasty, bloody war that had shocked the world. But not enough that the world had actually done a whole hell of a lot to stop it. Lakovia had won, eventually, and pushed Garmania out, but a lot of people had died. Like everyone else, I’d shaken my head and muttered about how awful it was, but it had all seemed so distant, a country I’d barely heard of, thousands of miles away. Finding out it was her country made my stomach churn. I just wanted to grab hold of her and hug her tight.

“We’re at peace with them now,” she said. Her voice was too light, too casual: I’m not a subtle person, but even I could hear the pain she was trying to hide. “And we’ve rebuilt. But...” She swallowed. “There was a lot of damage.”

Her eyes were distant. I wondered if she’d lost someone. I knew what that felt like and I wouldn’t wish it on anyone.

“The guys on the plane: you know why they were trying to kill you?” I asked.

She opened her mouth as if about to say something but then bit it back and shook her head again. “...no.”

I marveled at how the wind caught her fine chestnut hair. Every time a strand of it billowed across and stroked my bare forearm, my whole body went tense. I was close enough to inhale her scent and it was incredible. Warm female skin, some sweet, citrusy perfume and...something else. Something that calmed me and cooled me even under the blazing sun. It was like she was made of mountain mist.

God, I was like some lovesick kid walking the prom queen home. “Nobody’s threatened you?” I asked.

She shook her head again. “I get threats from crazy people occasionally, but nothing that would explain this. It’s my father who rules. I’m not even important!”

My head snapped round and I almost glared at her. I knew what she meant, but...she was important, dammit. She caught my eye and blinked in surprise. Then her cheeks colored and she watched the ground again. “What were you doing in New York?” she asked.

I gave her the sanitized version: how I’d been living in LA, working as a bouncer for a bar. How I’d gone to New York for a job, but it hadn’t worked out. I didn’t get into the details of how I’d wound up in this state, or how I’d lost the bouncer gig, or what had gone wrong in New York. No need for her to know my whole history. Once I got her back to civilization, I’d never see her again.

That was the first time I’d thought about saying goodbye to her. I wasn’t ready for how it made my stomach twist.

“So what will you do now?” she prompted.

I shrugged. “Find another job, I guess.” Something where they need dumb muscle. “Or try another city.” I stared at the horizon because I didn’t want to see the look of pity on her face. “I move around a lot.”

“Do you like being on the move?”

The answer, when it came, surprised me as much as her. I just kind of blurted it out. She was easy to talk to, dammit, and it had been a long time since I’d talked to anyone. “No,” I said. “Just haven’t found a home, yet.”

* * *

A half hour later, a blue pickup truck at least forty years old rattled up behind us. An entire family was crammed into the cab while three farm workers lounged in the cargo bed. We flagged them down and I started trying to talk them into letting the Princess have a seat in the cab but she wouldn’t hear of it. So we rode in the cargo bed with the workers, the Princess balancing a chicken in a cage on her knees.

They took us as far as the interstate and then we thumbed a lift from a truck driver who took us right into LA. I grabbed the first cab we saw and told him to take us to the FBI.

* * *

The Los Angeles FBI office was chaos. Every available agent was either investigating the assassination attempt or coordinating the search for the missing princess.

So when we walked through the door there were cheers, prayers and cries of disbelief. Then she was mobbed by her two surviving guards and the blonde-haired woman from the plane. I didn’t get the same welcome. Agents quickly separated me from her and, while they didn’t actually point guns at me, they had their hands on their holsters. I didn’t blame them: when a missing VIP shows up with a big, unshaven guy in a ripped shirt and jeans, they aren’t going to take any chances. But it was a reminder of just how different we were.

“We’ve got your luggage from the plane, Your Highness,” the blonde woman told her. She pointed to a huge pile of bags. At first, I figured the pile was all the luggage from the whole plane and wondered which suitcase was hers. Then I saw that everything matched: cream suitcases, bags, little round boxes, all with the gold royal crest. All that’s hers?!

The Princess glanced up and saw me, smiled, and gave me a little wave. I awkwardly raised one big paw in the air, just in time for one of the FBI agents to thrust a shabby military kit bag into my arms. My luggage. In fact, everything I had in the world.

The Princess ran off to get changed while two agents sat me down in a small room and had me go over everything that had happened about fifteen times. I was finally rescued by the head of the LA office, a Director Gibson. I distrusted him on principle because he wore a suit. But he chased away the other agents and he brought me the first cup of coffee I’d had all day, so I figured he couldn’t be all bad. I rose to shake his hand and he automatically backed up a little before he caught himself. I forget that my size can be kinda...intimidating.

We sat. “You figure out who those guys on the plane were?” I asked between mouthfuls of coffee.

He shook his head. “I can tell you who they weren’t. They weren’t passengers. We’ve accounted for everyone on the passenger list.”

I froze. “Then how the hell did they get aboard?” With airport security so tight these days, it would be flat-out impossible for two assassins to sneak onto an aircraft.

Unless they had help.

I started to get an itch, right between my shoulder blades. It was like when you feel there’s someone right behind you, only a thousand times worse. I knew that feeling. I’d had it on my last day as a marine. That feeling that there’s something huge going on, a plan that’s rolling forward, unstoppable, and you’re nothing more than a bug in its path. And maybe, so was the Princess.

I frowned. There was something else, too. Back on the plane, there’d been something familiar about the way that guy fought. He hadn’t felt like some extremist, trained in a cave and full of religious zeal. I’d fought those. This guy had been schooled by experts. He’d felt like a soldier.

The more I thought about the whole thing, the less I liked it. Who the hell is after her?

While I’d been thinking, Director Gibson had started leafing through a file. It was only when he started talking that I realized whose file it was. “Four tours in the Marines. Afghanistan. Iraq. Two Purple Hearts, two Silver Stars and then you were just gone. Discharged, but it doesn’t say why. The whole thing’s redacted.”

I stared silently back at him.

“Must have been something big. With your record, they wouldn’t discharge you without a damn good—”

“I hit a guy for asking too many questions,” I growled.

He tried to look tough but I could see the way he paled. He nodded and put the file down. “Well, whatever the reason you left...I’m glad you were on that flight today. She would have been dead, without you. You did a good thing.”

And he held out his hand.

I sat there staring at it for a second. It was a hell of a long time since anyone had praised me, longer still since someone had wanted to shake my hand. I slowly took his hand and shook it. For a suit, he wasn’t so bad.

When we went back into the main room, everyone was on their feet looking at something. It took a while for me to press my way to the front and then, as the crowd parted….

She’d changed into a dress—

No. Dress wasn’t right. She’d changed into a gown.

I’d heard stories of women spending thousands of dollars on clothes. I’d never understood how a few handfuls of fabric could possibly cost that much...until I saw this. It probably cost a year’s rent on my apartment and it was worth every damn cent.

It was a warm white, formal but approachable, somehow. It clung tight on her top half, following every curve of that gorgeous body. It wasn’t low cut—it was carefully respectable, in fact—but it revealed just enough cleavage and hugged her just closely enough to spark a whole chain reaction in my brain about what she looked like underneath. It nipped in tight at the waist and then flared out into a huge, circular skirt that went right down to the floor and must have been four feet across at the bottom.  The whole thing was embroidered with gold thread but the pattern was so delicate, it didn’t look gaudy or flashy. It looked...beautiful. I hadn’t realized princesses still dressed like...well, princesses. But then I remembered how fiercely traditional she’d said Lakovia was. And I loved it. She looked like a princess should look.

But the dress was only a frame. What mattered was her. That long, shining chestnut hair wasn’t mussed now: it hung in soft waves over her shoulders. There wasn’t a trace of dust or dirt on her pale skin and the fear in her eyes had gone. She wore a gleaming silver tiara, each point holding a tiny, sparkling jewel.

She’d been gorgeous on the plane, asleep in pajamas. She’d been gorgeous in the desert, dirty and disheveled. Now she was the Princess of Lakovia again and she took my breath away.

She’d been moving around the room, thanking the FBI agents for their hard work. They were grinning and doing their best to bow and curtsy. I recognized the look in their eyes because I’d felt it, too: surprise at how friendly and down-to-earth she was.

And then she turned, saw me and walked towards me. The entire room turned to watch. I felt like a teenager again, watched by the whole school as the prom queen approaches. She stopped right in front of me. “I need to thank you,” she said.

I swallowed. When had my mouth gotten so dry? “It was nothing.”

She just looked up at me and I saw in those big green eyes just how grateful she was. More than she could say. And I had that feeling again, like the wind had grabbed hold of something inside me, ballooning it, tugging me into action. I stood up straighter. My arm kinda twitched like it wanted to do something but I didn’t know what. What is this?

I settled for just nodding. But partway through, I caught her eye and a crazy idea blew through me like a tornado. I’d remembered something from old stories my mom used to read me when I was a kid. Knights who saved princesses and what they said afterwards—

I wanted to say, the only thing I ask for is a kiss from you. The words were actually on my lips. I could hear the blood pounding in my ears. No, you idiot! No!

She was too beautiful, too special. I wanted—needed—to just scoop my hand under her butt, pick her up and tilt her back and—

My mouth opened. I drew in a breath. No! What are you doing?!

And I saw her draw in her breath, too. Not horrified. Anticipating. Her cheeks colored but her eyes flicked down—did she just look at my lips? Everyone was still watching us but they’d all faded into the background. They didn’t matter anymore.

And then someone stepped between us. The old guard from the plane, his silver hair as perfectly coiffed as ever. “All of us are grateful,” he told me. His voice was smooth but his eyes bored into me like lasers.

I felt my face go hot. You big idiot! Like she wants you kissing her. I’d been kidding myself. She’d been horrified, not excited.

And then the Princess glanced up at me and blushed.

Guiltily.

I forced a smile onto my face. “You’re welcome,” I told the old guard.

“This is Emerik,” said the Princess. “He’s been my guard since I was a baby.” Then she nodded at the young guard, the one who was all muscle. “And that’s Jakov: he’s much newer.”

I nodded respectfully at them both. Jakov grinned at me but Emerik just glowered.

“And I’m Caroline,” said the blonde-haired woman, running forward, a huge smile on her face. “The Princess’s maid.”

The Princess was still blushing every time she looked at me. “Please, come with us. I need to call home and Aleksander will want to meet you.”

I nodded and fell in beside her as she walked—in the floor-length dress, she seemed to glide. “Aleksander?” Too many names, most of them with that strange, Lakovian sound.

“The chief advisor to the royal family. He handles communications with the media and other nations...we couldn’t operate without him.” She showed me into a side room. A laptop was open on a desk and she started a video call.

Almost immediately, a white-haired man in an expensive suit answered. He was sitting at an old-fashioned desk and behind him was a tall, very narrow window, almost like something you’d get on a castle. Then it hit me that he was probably in the palace. It really looks like that? Through the glass, I could see a deep valley lined with trees. Lakovia was beautiful.

“Thank goodness,” said Aleksander with a deep sigh. “The FBI have been sharing all their data with us in real time. We knew you survived but it’s so good to see your face!” He smiled and the Princess beamed. It reminded me of a kindly uncle and his niece. “The FBI say they can get you on a flight in a few hours. Your parents are flying home from Paris: they’ll be back before you arrive.”

The Princess nodded. Then she grabbed my hand and tugged me into shot. “This is Garrett Buchanan. He’s the one who saved me.”

I shuffled my feet and gave Aleksander what I hoped was a respectful nod. It occurred to me that maybe I should have gotten changed as well. I was still wearing the shirt with the torn-off sleeves.

But Aleksander leaned towards the camera, warm and welcoming. “The whole of Lakovia owes you a great debt,” he said with feeling. I gave him another nod.

“Aleksander….” The Princess’s voice had changed. “There’s something I need to tell you. I haven’t told the FBI yet. I haven’t told anyone.” She threw a quick, guilty look at me. “But you need to know. The men who tried to kill me...I heard one of them speak. And I’m sure his accent was Garmanian.”

There was a sudden intake of breath from everyone in the room. Caroline turned pale. Emerik looked as though he wanted to punch something. And then, weirdly, he glared at the young guard, Jakov, who was staring at the floor. What was that all about?

Aleksander nodded gravely while he thought. “You were right not to tell anyone,” he said. “If it gets out that someone from Garmania tried to kill you….”

“...it could restart the war,” whispered the Princess.

I felt my hands tighten into fists. I’d seen way too much of this when I was a marine. Even when there’s peace, grudges carry on for decades, through generation after generation. There’s always some nutjob who says things like never forget and wants vengeance for their grandfather. With a few acts of terror, the whole thing can erupt again, like blowing on the embers of a fire. And the war between Lakovia and Garmania ended less than five years ago….

“I’ll have our intelligence services investigate,” said Aleksander. “And I’ll ensure any mention of Garmania stays out of the press.”

“I’m sure they were just a couple of extremists,” said the Princess. “Nothing to do with Garmania itself.” We could all hear the emotion in her voice. She needed that to be the case. I wondered again if she’d lost someone in the war.

“You’re probably right, Your Highness,” said Aleksander. “But we have to be certain.”

The Princess nodded and ended the call. At the same time, Director Gibson knocked on the door and then tentatively opened it. “Your Highness?” he asked. “We’ve organized a convoy to take you to the airport.”

The Princess nodded and her entourage filed out. She turned and looked up at me. “Will you be coming with us?”

By now, we were alone. I opened my mouth. Hesitated, the yes already on my tongue. I’d do anything just to spend another few minutes with this woman.

But that was crazy. Maybe she’d wanted me to kiss her but she was royalty, for God’s sake. For a few hours, our paths had crossed. Now it was time for both of us to get back to reality. She had the FBI to protect her, now. She didn’t need a dumb grunt. Hell, I wasn’t even a soldier anymore. I’d been damn lucky to make it through that morning without a flashback: if I’d frozen up at any point, she’d have been dead.

And the longer I spent with her, the more chance she’d ask questions. She was too damn easy to talk to. And I couldn’t relive what happened or let her see what a wreck I was inside. Not when she was so perfect.

“No,” I said at last. I gazed down at her, trying to drink in as much of her as possible so I could remember her forever. “You’re in good hands, now.”

She tilted her head to one side for a second and her eyes were hurt. What did I do wrong? The urge to reach down and lay my big paw on her cheek and tell her nothing and pull her in and kiss those sweet lips was almost more than I could take—

But then she gave a quick little nod. “Well, then I suppose this is goodbye.” She drew in her breath. “Thank you, Mr. Buchanan. I won’t forget you.”

I’d never heard my name said that way, with respect. And the sound of that upper-class accent sliding over all the hard consonants, like smooth glass coating the pebbles in a creek...it was addictive. But I just nodded.

She held out her hand towards me and I went to shake it. But she was holding it palm down, not palm sideways. A hazy memory from old movies filled my mind….

I took a half step back and bent at the waist in what I hoped was a bow. I brought one big hand up under hers: God, her fingers were so slender and cool, next to mine. And then I pressed my lips to the back of her hand. Her skin was soft and so smooth...For a second I stayed there, my hand pressing into hers, my lips hot against her, my heart racing. I couldn’t let go.

I was goddamn crazy for this woman.

I forced myself to straighten up. Halfway there, we locked eyes and I froze. I could see the need in her, the reflection of that pull I was feeling. I could hear her breathing quickening, matching mine. All I had to do was tug on her hand and pull her in for a real kiss—

She’s a goddamn princess!

I straightened fully and looked away. Immediately, she looked away too. And then she was hurrying out the door.

All the FBI agents were occupied organizing the convoy so I wandered to an upstairs window to watch. Three big black SUVs were standing by the curbside. This is it, then. Goodbye. I’d only known her a handful of hours but the idea of not being there to protect her was chewing away at me. Even though she was with the FBI now. Even though the danger was probably passed. I still had that itch between my shoulder blades. Something about this wasn’t right.

Or maybe I just didn’t want to let her go.

The Princess’s entourage were getting into the center car while FBI agents got into the front and rear ones. See? Lots of protection. I did the right thing.

They got the Princess to climb in last, so she was exposed as little as possible. Smart. They know their stuff. I did the right thing.

She had to bundle up the skirts of the huge dress like a bride on the way to her wedding. Her pale skin gleamed in the dim interior of the car, her chestnut hair shone—

I did the right thing.

An FBI agent slammed the door and—

Suddenly, I was running. Jumping down the stairs. Grabbing my kit bag. I burst out through the doors, ran over to the Princess’s car and jumped in beside her. “I’ll come with you as far as the airport,” I told her breathlessly.

A delighted smile spread across her face, so wide I could see her fighting to control it. She looked down at her knees for a second, then back to me. “Very well, Mr. Buchanan.”

I looked around for the first time. The back of the car was huge, with three seats facing backward and three facing forward. The Princess sat directly across from me, with her two guards next to her. Emerik was giving Jakov another of those long, venomous stares. What was it between those two? Sitting next to me was Caroline...and in the final seat was FBI Director Gibson. I was surprised that he’d come along but it gave me even more respect for the guy.

The convoy moved off. For the first few minutes, I just soaked up how beautiful she looked. With the door closed, the tinted windows made it even dimmer inside and her pale skin and the cream dress seemed to shine. I felt...lucky, just to be near her.

But by the time we reached the highway, the silence had become uncomfortable. I realized the entourage were used to this: they’d sit there quietly while the Princess chatted away to some prime minister or president. Now I was that guest, sitting right across from the Princess, and they were all waiting for me to say something. I felt my neck getting hot. Goddamn it, I’m no good at this stuff. The Princess gave me a desperate look—

“Your English is real good,” I muttered.

She beamed, relieved. “English is actually our official language.”

I blinked. They spoke English in Lakovia?

“It’s a funny story,” said the Princess. “About three hundred years ago—”

Movement just outside the window caught my eye. A red SUV was pulling alongside us, its window open. I caught a glimpse of a black-clad figure and the gleam of a gun barrel—

“Get down!” I yelled. I lunged forward, hooked the Princess around the waist and threw us to the floor, my body covering hers, as bullets ripped through the car.