Zoya, the king’s chef and my best friend, is lying in wait for me when I reach my room.

“Hey, girl, I didn’t know we had plans,” I say, shutting the concealed door behind me. I always feel guilty when she sees me using this door since it basically telegraphs that I've been places that I shouldn't be.

"Get over here and read this." She drags me to a chair, shoves me onto the cushion. Before I can object, she slaps a piece of official court stationery in my hand.

"Got an order to make a kale pie for the wedding or something?" I joke.

"No. I don't think I'll be making another kale dish again," Zoya says, a weird note in her voice.

I glance down, skim the contents, and then nearly lose the contents of my stomach. I'm so glad I'm sitting down. "Where did you get this?" I ask in a shaky voice.

"Brande found a copy in his office an hour ago." Commander Brande is the head of the Matlavia security forces and Zoya's boyfriend.

"An hour ago!" I glance at the clock. “And they’re just now alerting Thom?”

“Brande thought it was a joke first,” my friend admits.

“A joke? A joke is me making a snarky comment about kale cake, not a letter of abdication on official royal stationery! They should have come and got Thom immediately.” I can taste the bitter acid of hysteria at the back of my throat.

Stephen wouldn’t joke about this. Thom, when he was younger and drunk, might have cooked up a letter like this to prank the staff, but not Stephen. He’s always taken his responsibilities seriously. He would never—“King Stephen has been kidnapped!” I jump to my feet. This should have been Brande’s first thought, not that this letter was authentic. “Do they have a search and rescue team out? My God, Thom must be worried out of his mind!”

“Brande’s convinced it’s real,” Zoya says, catching my arm as I lunge for the door.

I spin around. “Well, Brande is wrong. Stephen would never do this. He loves Matlavia. He loves his brother. He was born to be the king.”

From the minute that it was discovered the late Queen Stephanie was pregnant, plans were put into motion that would train Stephen to rule Matlavia.

“I know. I know.” Zoya wrings her hands. “But Brande says—“

Fuck Brande, I think, but before I can utter those unwise words out loud, my phone rings. I answer right away, knowing instinctively who is on the other line.

"You there?" Thom says before I can say hello. He sounds winded, like someone punched him in the gut and he hasn't fully caught his breath. I empathize. I feel the exact same way. I clear my throat of the boulder and squeak out, "Yes, where are you?"

"I'm coming to you. Stay put."

"No," I half-shout. "We can't get—you can't come here." Zoya and I exchange a look of panic. Thom and I can't get caught together—especially not now while Stephen is…well, having a little emotional crisis. Everything needs to be kept calm while we hold the throne for him.

“You heard then?”

The quiet affirmation rocks me back on my heels. I wanted to believe it was a hoax. I could say that to Zoya, but I can’t repeat it to Thom. Thom needs my support now, not an avalanche of denials and tears.

“Yes. I’m sure he’s coming back. There isn’t any need to panic,” I say despite the hurricane-like winds of anxiety rocking my insides at the moment. “I'll come up via the back passage."

"You can't,” he replies bitterly. “Until Stephen comes back, I have to move into the King's Suite."

My heart sinks. That place is crawling with people. There are two guards at the door. Johan sleeps in the antechamber. Even the King's bedroom has a camera in it, for security purposes. Stephen complained about this once, saying he felt like he was shooting a porn film every time he took a woman to his bed, but Johan insisted. The people of Matlavia couldn’t lose another royal, he’d said. Stephen conceded. His compromise was to have sex anywhere but the King’s Suite. Thom was constantly walking in on Stephen having sex somewhere on the palace grounds. A few times, Stephen would even use Thom’s rooms. Thom never once objected, joking that they should have a sock-on-the-door system.

"You can't come here. People will see you." As much as I want to see Thom and hold him, I know I can’t. Outside my thin door, I can hear staff milling about. Voices are rising and I hear exclamations of shock. I have no doubt more people will be pouring into the downstairs quarters seeking affirmation of gossip.

"Fuck the people," he curses quietly, but I can tell he’s stopped moving.

Relief wars with regret. "Once news of Stephen’s abdication gets out, the people of Matlavia are going to be in an uproar.” I force the words out. “You can’t add to that by being caught with your pants down in the room of the head maid. They’d crucify you and stone me.”

He has no immediate response because I’m right. I hate being right.

“I’m going to fix this,” he says after a prolonged moment of silence.

And because I don’t want to add to his already enormous burden, I reply, “I know,” even though the only thing I truly know is that there is no solution to the problem of us. “I have to go. Zoya’s at the door.”

I hang up quickly because the tears that I’ve been battling are resting hot behind my eyes, threatening to spill out. Unless Stephen does come back, Thom and I are done.

"Are you going to be okay?" Zoya shoves a tissue into my hand.

I nod because it’s hard to talk given that a lump the size of King Stephen’s signet ring is lodged in my throat.

It was difficult maintaining a relationship with Thom as the prince, but we found time after hours, on weekends. Thom and I even vacationed together in a tiny town in America where Thom was sure no one would recognize him. He was right. Plus, we hardly left the attic of the bed and breakfast. Most of our time was spent in bed, gorging ourselves on fluffy pancakes, homemade jam, and so much sex that I had a hard time walking for an entire month.

Until Stephen returns, Thom will be acting regent. He will have more responsibilities and more attendants and more scrutiny.

Privacy is for peasants, Stephen had once said in a moment of rare snarkiness.

Before, if we'd been caught, there would have been an outcry, but Thom was convinced that we could overcome it. He was the spare and a fun-loving one at that. His party reputation was diligently cultivated for maximum shock, in part to protect his brother but also to make our relationship seem safe and normal.

“If they think that I’ll never settle down, once I announce I’m in love and want to marry you, it’ll be a relief, not a shock,” he’d told me.

I didn’t disagree with his plan at the time because I was too desperate to keep him. Any plan sounded good to me. But there’s no plan or scheme or scandal that would allow the illegitimate daughter of a chambermaid to sit on the throne of Matlavia next to the king.

Stephen has to come back.

The news of King Stephen’s abdication sweeps through the downstairs staff like a brush fire in the wheat fields on the Tenvis Plain.

Did you hear?” Anna, the morning chambermaid, exclaims when I reach the sitting room of the staff quarters the next morning. There are a dozen workers crowded behind her, which is far too many employed people not doing their jobs. "Did King Stephen really step down from the throne?"

"The place will be a helluvalot livlier with Thom in charge," someone else crows.

"We'll be broke in a year, but at least we'll have fun getting there," snarks another person.

“Enough gossiping,” I snap. “Regardless of what is happening upstairs, our responsibility is to keep the royal residence in tip-top shape. If you aren’t scheduled for work, go home. If you are scheduled for work, get to your posts.” I whip out my iPad and start reading off the list. “All official events are canceled. The public tours will still take place, but all upstairs chambers are off-limits. Security is extra-tight today, so please do not go upstairs unless you are responding to a specific request. Mrs. Holloway has informed me that security will be arresting anyone who is non-authorized personnel. Remember that we are the downstairs staff and that we are not to be seen nor heard. Thank you.”

The maids look at me surprise but don’t say anything before nodding their heads with a muttered, “Yes, Miss Penelope,” and going off to do their assigned tasks. I know I’m being a bitch, but I can’t help it, not today. My head is pounding and my eyes feel gritty—I barely slept, worry about Thom and our future making it impossible to do anything but toss and turn.

I force myself to concentrate on my own job and clean my assigned rooms with a vengeance, vacuuming the carpets to an inch of their lives. I need the distraction that housework usually gives me, but the routine is too familiar to provide much help today—I clean and dust on autopilot while I try to calm myself. My stomach is knotted with a dread I can barely even acknowledge to myself. It’s like if I think it, I’ll will it to happen and so I do everything I can to avoid giving my fear life. But this doesn’t stop the anxiety from growing and growing.

Hours later I’ve finished my tasks for the day and I’m about to clock off when my supervisor and head housekeeper, Mrs. Holloway, finds me in the office.

“There you are, Pen,” Mrs. Holloway says, slightly out of breath like she’s been rushing. “Are you done for the day already?”

I turn, surprised at her question. Usually Holloway is highly critical of any maid who she considers to be “dilly-dallying” and takes too long to finish their assignments. One of the reasons I’m head maid is because I’m very efficient at my job and always finish in less time than the other maids. “Yes, ma’am, everything is done.”

Holloway frowns. “I’m so sorry then for asking you to do something else before you clock off. Evidently there were children on the tours today and they made quite a mess in the library and knocked some of the books off the shelves. Would you mind tidying up in there right now?”

My heart starts pounding. The royal library has been my special domain in recent years, my assigned space to keep clean—because I treat books with the proper respect, I’ve heard Waverly, the major domo, say when asked by one of the other maids why I was the only one allowed to clean it. It’s because of Thom that I have the library—he very subtly made suggestions to Waverly and Mrs. Holloway about how nice and orderly the library was every time after I cleaned it, and soon afterwards I became the designated maid for the room. He would find out my schedule for cleaning the room and go there to meet me, and then help me clean up the mess we’d make there together.

I smile for the first time that day. “Of course, Mrs. Holloway, I’ll go up right now.” I would bet anything that Thom had created the “mess” and had asked for it to be tidied—I know he’s waiting for me there.

I force myself to walk briskly rather than run like mad up the back stairs to the royal library and open the hidden door. Ordinarily I’d admire the ornate room—more than grand enough to be a ballroom, with mahogany bookcases soaring three stories high and the beautiful Baroque frescoes painted on the domed ceiling as well as the hundreds of rare books and manuscripts shelved in there, but all I have eyes for is Thom, whirling around to face me as soon as the door opens. His face, drawn tight with strain, breaks in a beautiful smile at the sight of me and then I’m in his arms, our mouths and bodies trying desperately to meld together.

Finally, I’m where I belong and I never want to leave. His tongue is scorching hot and the ridge of his erection grinds into my stomach. I perch on my tiptoes, trying to place that hard shaft in the right place. He wraps a hand around my neck, just below the regulation bun all the maids are required to sport, and holds me in place so he can assault my mouth with all the fervor of a desperate man.

It’s as if we hadn’t kissed in a month or a year instead of a day. The fire he’s stoking makes my knees weak and my head spin and my sex wet. I’m all prepared to start ripping off my clothes when Thom lifts his mouth from mine. A small moan of protest escapes my lips.

He gives me a half smile and drops his forehead against mine. “God, I needed that,” he murmurs.

I nod. Yup, I definitely needed that, too. And more. I run my greedy hands down his shirt, skipping over the defined ridges that Thom built up swimming, playing polo, and carrying guns around during his time in the Matlavia Army. Down until I reach the bulge tenting out his expensive wool pants.

I give the shaft a squeeze, and this time it’s Thom who can’t prevent a groan.

“Pen,” he warns but doesn’t move away.

I slide the zip down and slip my hand inside, searching for the opening in his hand-stitched silk boxers. “Yeah?”

“You should—“

But I make contact with his bare flesh before he can finish his sentence. His cock is hard as the marble quarried on the Lithos island. My mouth waters. I love sucking on him. I love the taste and the feel and the smell. I love how needy he looks, how the hunger created by my loving him flushes his cheeks and hardens his eyes.

I bend my knees, but Thom catches me. I look up into a pair of regretful eyes. He helps me to my feet and leads me over to one of the leather sofas flanking the big stone fireplace. A portrait of the late King Gerald hangs above the mantle.

He settles into the corner and pulls me down next to him.

I stroke a hand through his hair, rubbing his scalp gently. “What’s going on? Today must have been crazy. I couldn’t stop worrying about you.”

He sighs, a soft puff on my face. “It’s been a nightmare. We’re trying to contain Steve’s abdication before someone leaks it to the press, but we don’t have long. Callie came to the palace today and was utterly hysterical.”

I wince in sympathy. “It must absolutely suck, to be jilted by Stephen so close to the wedding. I wouldn’t wish that on anyone.” Nope, not even her.

“Yeah, I’d feel bad for her except she’s being a total bitch. I finally get why Steve didn’t want to be married to her—she’s said some pretty ugly things about him.” He pulls back a little and I see the grim set of him mouth, the stark desperation in his eyes. That icy dread that had vanished when he kissed me returns with a vengeance.

I swallow, my throat suddenly dry. “What happened?”

Thom closes his eyes for a moment. “Steve had told me that Callie wants to marry the king, not Steve, and he’s right. Now that Steve’s abdicated and I’m the current king, Callie is demanding that I take my brother’s place and marry her.”

“What?” I gasp. The iciness inside me spreads. I try to fight it. “But she can’t do that! You may be brothers, but you are hardly interchangeable.”

Thom smiles tightly, it’s more a grimace. “I agree, but evidently to Callie we are interchangeable. If I don’t marry her, she’s calling in all the loans that her family’s banks have made to Matlavia, and the country will be bankrupt.”

Thom’s face starts to swim in my vision. Callista’s family is like the Rothschilds of Matlavia—they own the biggest banks in the country, and Stephen had chosen her as his bride for very sound financial reasons. I suddenly, violently wish he’d remembered those reasons before turning Callie into the ultimate scorned woman. How could Stephen have done this to his brother?

“Wha—” I have to clear my throat before I can continue. “What does the Council say?”

Thom stills, and the agony in his eyes when he meets my gaze tells me. “They want me to marry Callista.”

I don’t ask him how he’d responded. He’d given me the answer when he stopped me from going down on him, because that pleasure belongs to someone else. I cover my mouth and force myself to take deep breaths so I don’t vomit all over the Aubusson carpet at the thought of someone else besides me down on their knees, taking Thom into her mouth.

Last night I had to come to grips that my forbidden relationship with Thom would remain in the shadows, but I’d comforted myself—lied to myself, I guess—that we’d still have something. We’d still find each other, love each other, only it would be infrequently and always and forever a secret.

Now we won’t have even that, because Thom’s not the type of man to vow allegiance one day only to break that promise the next. And while I might be okay being his private lover, I won’t be the mistress to a married man.