At the banquet, Josephine and I have been seated at different tables. I seriously consider simply sitting at her table anyway, and letting whoever’s seat I take find another goddamn place to sit, but I don’t.

I can act like I belong in polite company, even if I know I don’t.

Besides, it’s for the best. Being close to Josephine is too almost overwhelming, too much for me to take. Ever since I first saw those awful tabloid photos of her a few months ago, I knew she was beautiful, stunning, luscious in ways I don’t have words for.

But being near her, in person, is almost more than I can take, and I don’t want the animal inside me to take over in the middle of this banquet.

Dinner finishes. Afterward there’s brandy and cigars, and I force myself to partake in both, along with an incredibly tedious conversation about the economic implications of the new trade agreement between Finland and Russia.

I don’t care about the trade agreement. What I want to do is race off to Josephine’s chambers, break down the door, take her trembling body in my arms, and taste her.

But I want more than that from her. I can’t explain it, but I need her ways I’ve never felt before, in ways that go beyond a single night or two.

I want to make her mine forever, and I know that if she thinks I’m a monster, that won’t happen.

* * *

It’s late before I finally get back to my chambers in the south wing of the palace, and I’m fucking exhausted from being in polite company for hours, because I know what everyone’s thinking behind their smiles.

They think I’m a freak. A monster. A brute who’s totally unfit to be in public, let alone polite society.

And I know that, despite everything, they think I’m a murderer.

This is why I haven’t gone out into public in years, at least not as Prince Leopold. I’ve left the palace, of course; I’m not a hermit or a shut-in, and you’d be amazed at what a hat and sunglasses can do. If anything, not officially leaving the palace in the fifteen years or so since the incident has given me a more normal life than I’d have otherwise.

I walk over to the windows and look out at the moonlit gardens, intersected by neat paths, orderly like everything else in this tiny country. I watch them for a long time, because there’s something soothing in their perfect layout, every corner ninety degrees, every walkway perfectly parallel.

Something moves in the corner of my vision, and I look down.

It’s a woman, wearing a long dress, and she’s slowly strolling along one of the paths, absentmindedly flicking flowers as she walks past them. Even though I can’t see her face from my window, there’s something about the way she moves, something incredibly alluring about the shape of her body.

I know exactly who she is.

And she knows that she’s strolling right in front of my windows.

I lean forward slightly, gripping the stone window frame with both hands in a desperate effort to maintain control because just the sight of her floods me with desperate need. All I can think about is earlier today, her back against the wall.

The way her lips parted, just barely. The flush that rose to her cheeks, the way her back arched against the stone.

The faint, faint scent of arousal so strong she couldn’t hide it.

And God, more than everything else, her submission. We both knew that she could have screamed and the guards would have come running, but she didn’t. There were a million ways for her to get rid of me, but she didn’t do any of them.

I’m hard again, so hard it hurts.

I know what she wants. I’ve known what she wants from the second I laid eyes on her in that bar.

And I know why she’s casually strolling underneath my window at midnight.

I find the nearest staircase and head down to the ground floor, then outside, into the gardens. I know I’m in full view of half the castle, but I don’t give a shit if anyone sees me.

Everyone knows what I’m here for. Let them watch.

After a few minutes, I see a figure ahead of me, on the path, the dress shining dully in the moonlight, her slim waist curving out to perfect hips and an ass made for grabbing. I reach out and snap a flower from a rose bush.

See? I can be a fucking gentleman.

As I approach, Princes Josephine turns. She doesn’t exactly look surprised, but she looks like she’s suddenly uncertain about this.

“Your Highness,” I say, and bow, presenting the flower.

“Prince Leopold,” she says.

She takes the rose gingerly, like she thinks it might bite her, and her gaze lingers on the torn stem at the bottom where I pulled it from the bush.

“Call me Leo,” I tell her.

“What are you doing out here, Leo?” she asks softly, though the look in her eyes tells me that she already knows.

“I should ask you the same thing,” I say, stepping closer.

She glances at the wall of windows, all dark and half-hidden.

“Taking a walk,” she says.

“Taking a walk below my window late at night?” I growl, stepping closer again. “There are a thousand places to walk at the palace, Princess, and you picked this one.”

Josephine takes a deep breath.

“I can walk wherever I like,” she says.

“And you like walking where I can see you,” I say, stepping forward again. Now we’re inches from each other, and if she can’t see the enormous bulge in my pants, she’s blind.

I feel like every nerve is my body is twitching, ready to jump through my skin with tension because I want to claim her mouth, push her to the ground and ravish her tight virgin cunt. I want to be the first man she feels there, and I want it now, here.

“Tell me, Princess,” I whisper, sliding one hand through her hair, then locking it in place. “Are you still as wet for me as you were this afternoon?”

I pull her hair just slightly, and her head tilts back a fraction of an inch. She swallows, her eyelids lowering a little, her breath quickening.

“How did you know?” she asks.

I slide my other arm around her waist, my fingers digging into her back, and I grin as I tower over her.

“Lucky guess,” I say.

Then I bend down, crushing my mouth with hers, and I claim her.