Chapter 1

Edward

The best fucking thing about being King of Amore?

I can have any goddamn woman in this room that I want.

The only problem?

I’m supposed to announce my engagement to the boring, prissy, title-grabbing cow otherwise known as Ignora Bingsley-Doopenhorf tonight. I’m meant to wrap my big, strong hand around her bony, clammy talons and pronounce her my fiancée, future wife—and future queen.

But I don’t want Ignora Bingsley-Doopenhorf, no matter how much fucking money her father is willing to pour into the royal charities in order to make his daughter a queen.

Nah, fuck that.

The second that she walks into the room, it’s all over.

Ignora Bingsley-Who-The-Fuck-Cares might as well not have even been invited the second I lay eyes on her.

“May I present my sister,” Prince James, my best friend and heir to the throne of Amore’s greatest ally, says as a fucking goddess in golden silk steps into the ballroom.

Well. More like stumbles.

She’s wearing heels so high, they’ve got her ass pushed up to the point where I could balance a glass of wine on it. Her tits are pushed up, too, hugged tight against her chest by the corset of her gown.

Her hair falls around her sweet, little heart-shaped face in golden waves, and her lips—her gorgeous, perfectly shaped lips—are so soft and so plump that they’re just begging to take a dick between them.

My cock goes rock hard in an instant.

“That’s not your sister,” I say in disbelief. “No fucking way.”

“The Princess Gwen,” James assures me with a chuckle. “In the flesh.”

The last time I saw Princess Gwen, she was all knees and elbows, trying her damnedest to just be one of the boys.

But that was years ago. Now, Gwen’s all grown up—and there’s no denying it.

She’s all woman now.

“She’s drunk,” I point out—because as soon as I’m done cataloging everything that I need to do to pretty little Gwen before my damned forced engagement becomes official, that’s the next thing that I notice.

She’s teetering on those heels pretty heavily, even with Princess Aisling at her side, holding her up.

“You would be, too,” James counters. “Meet her fiancé.”

The second that I lay eyes on the man, I want to fucking spit.

Slimy, beady-eyed, and licking his lips like a dog waiting to take a bite out of a big, juicy steak.

Gwen might have grown up since the last time I saw her, but the Marquis de Roach hasn’t changed one fucking bit.

“Him? Really, James?” I raise an eyebrow at my friend and shake my head. “I didn’t take your parents for sadists.”

“Highest bidder, Ed.” James claps me on the shoulder and raises an eyebrow of his own. “Sounds like you know that story well enough, if the things I’ve heard about you and Ignora Bingsley-Doopenhorf are true.”

“Highest bidder my ass. Why wasn’t I invited to the Princess Gwen auction?”

“With your reputation?” James scoffs. “There’s a reason my father has held all of the diplomatic meetings between our countries on Amore soil, my friend. Gwen wouldn’t be within twenty feet of you tonight if it wasn’t for him.”

The way that James looks at de Roach, he doesn’t seem any happier about Gwen’s engagement than I am.

But while James can plea brotherly love, I know that my own unhappiness surrounding the situation is of a less wholesome sort.

Dressed like that—looking like that—there’s only one bed the Princess Gwen should be warming: mine.

“She’s wasted on him,” I growl, lower and fiercer than I mean to.

“With her wits and talents? I’d tend to agree.” James gives me a judgmental look. “But somehow, I don’t think that’s what you mean.”

He’s not completely right—I remember Gwen’s cleverness from when we were children. I remember her boldness, her bravery—the way she never backed down from a challenge and never believed in a fight that she couldn’t win.

For that reason alone, it fucking kills me to see a woman like her end up with a man like him. The Marquis de Roach is notoriously cold—perverted, conniving, temperamental, and even violent, if the rumors are true.

If Gwen’s with him, then de Roach has Gwen’s family over a barrel somehow—and the fact that she’s drowning her sorrows in alcohol instead of fighting back means that it’s bad enough that she’s given up.

That’s what breaks my fucking heart.

The Gwen I knew wouldn’t have ever given up.

But James isn’t completely wrong, either. It’s not just Gwen’s spirit that I’m admiring right now.

In fact, I’m admiring everything about her, starting at the crown of her golden head and ending with what I think she might look like beneath those golden skirts.

Since my father died, I’ve been long past Prince Charming. James is right about another thing—I have a reputation, and not the good kind.

Running a country takes a lot out of a man, and I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t buried my sorrows—and my mouth and my cock—in a royal mistress or two in my time.

But the second I see Gwen like that—flanked by the man who bought her but doesn’t fucking deserve her—smiling through what’s either got to be a whole lot of awkwardness or a whole lot of pain…

Even Kings can’t help but want to rescue the damsel in distress sometimes.

And judging by Gwen’s current ability to keep her feet…

“Ed, don’t,” James warns me—but it’s too late.

This little princess is about to take a tumble.

And I’ll be damned if, when she falls, it’s into anything other than my strong, steady arms.