“SPANK ME! MASTER, SPANK ME!” I stifled a laugh at my bodyguard Booth’s face as Leather the parrot squawked in his cage. The parrot’s name said all you needed to know about its previous owner’s sex life, and while some found him amusing, Booth did not. He hated birds. He said they reminded him of giant flying rats. “One day, he and Leather are going to get into it.” Emma, the director of Wags & Whiskers, clucked her tongue. “Poor Booth.” I held back another laugh even as I felt a small pang in my heart. “Probably not. Booth’s leaving soon.” I tried not to think about it. Booth had been with me for four years, but he was leaving for paternity leave next week and staying in Eldorra after to be closer to his wife and newborn. I was happy for him, but I would miss him. He was not only my bodyguard but a friend, and I could only hope his replacement and I had the same rapport. “Ah, yes, I forgot.” Emma’s face softened. She was in her early sixties, with short, gray-streaked hair and warm brown eyes. “Lots of changes for you in a short time, my dear.” She knew how much I hated goodbyes. I’d been volunteering at Wags & Whiskers, a local pet rescue shelter, since my sophomore year of college, and Emma had become a close friend and mentor. Unfortunately, she, too, was leaving. She’d still be in Hazelburg, but she was retiring as the shelter director, which meant I would no longer see her every week. “One of them doesn’t have to happen,” I said, only half-joking. “You could stay.”

She shook her head. “I’ve run the shelter for almost a decade, and it’s time for new blood. Someone who can clean the cages without her back and hips acting up.” “That’s what volunteers are for.” I gestured toward myself. I was belaboring the point, but I couldn’t help it. Between Emma, Booth, and my impending graduation from Thayer University, where I was majoring in international relations—as expected of a princess—I had enough goodbyes to last me for the next five years. “You are a sweetheart. Don’t tell the others, but…” She lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “You’re my favorite volunteer. It’s rare to find someone of your stature who does charity because she wants to, not because she’s putting on a show for the cameras.” My cheeks tinted pink at the compliment. “It’s my pleasure. I adore animals.” I took after my mother in that regard. It was one of the few pieces of her I had left. In another life, I would’ve been a veterinarian, but in this life? My path had been laid out for me since before I was born. “You would make a great queen.” Emma stepped aside to allow a staff member with a wriggling puppy in his arms to pass. “Truly.” I laughed at the thought. “Thank you, but I have no interest in being queen. Even if I did, the chances of me wearing the crown are slim.” As the princess of Eldorra, a small European kingdom, I came closer to ruling than most people. My parents died when I was a kid—my mother at childbirth, my father in a car accident a few years later—so I was second in line to the throne. My brother Nikolai, who was four years my senior, had been training to take over for our grandfather King Edvard since he was old enough to walk. Once Nikolai had children, I would be bumped further down the line of succession, something I had zero complaints about. I wanted to be queen as much as I wanted to bathe in a vat of acid. Emma frowned in disappointment. “Ah, well, the sentiment is the same.” “Emma!” one of the other staff members called out. “We’ve got a situation with the cats.” She sighed. “It’s always the cats,” she muttered. “Anyway, I wanted to tell you about my retirement before you heard it from anyone else. I’ll still be here until the end of next week, so I’ll see you on Tuesday.” “Sounds good.” I hugged her goodbye and watched her rush off to deal with a literal catfight, the pang in my chest growing.

I was glad Emma hadn’t told me about her retirement until the end of my shift, or it would’ve been in my head the whole time. “Are you ready, Your Highness?” Booth asked, clearly eager to get away from Leather. “Yes. Let’s go.” “Yes, let’s go!” Leather squawked as we exited. “Spank me!” My laugh finally broke free at Booth’s grimace. “I’ll miss you, and so will Leather.” I stuffed my hands in my coat pockets to protect them against the sharp autumn chill. “Tell me about the new bodyguard. What’s he like?” The leaves crunched beneath my boots as we walked toward my offcampus house, which was only fifteen minutes away. I adored fall and everything that came with it—the cozy clothes, the riot of earthy colors on the trees, the hint of cinnamon and smoke in the air. In Athenberg, I wouldn’t be able to walk down the street without getting mobbed, but that was the great thing about Thayer. Its student population boasted so many royals and celebrity offspring, a princess was no big deal. I could live my life like a relatively normal college girl. “I don’t know much about the new guard,” Booth admitted. “He’s a contractor.” My eyebrows shot up. “Really?” The Crown sometimes hired private security contractors to serve alongside the Royal Guard, but it was rare. In my twenty-one years, I’d never had a bodyguard who was a contractor. “He’s supposed to be the best,” Booth said, mistaking my surprise for wariness. “Ex-Navy SEAL, top-notch recommendations, experience guarding high-profile personalities. He’s his company’s most sought-after professional.” “Hmm.” An American guard. Interesting. “I do hope we get along.” When two people were around each other twenty-four-seven, compatibility mattered. A lot. I knew people who hadn’t meshed with their security details, and those arrangements never lasted long. “I’m sure you will. You’re easy to get along with, Your Highness.” “You’re only saying that because I’m your boss.” Booth grinned. “Technically, the Director of the Royal Guard is my boss.” I wagged a playful finger at him. “Backtalking already? I’m disappointed.”

He laughed. Despite his insistence on calling me Your Highness, we’d settled into a casual camaraderie over the years that I appreciated. Excessive formality exhausted me. We chatted about Booth’s impending fatherhood and move back to Eldorra for the rest of our walk. He was near bursting with pride over his unborn child, and I couldn’t help a small stab of envy. I was nowhere near ready for marriage and kids, but I wanted what Booth and his wife had. Love. Passion. Choice. Things no amount of money could buy. A sardonic smile touched my lips. No doubt I’d sound like an ungrateful brat to anyone who could hear my thoughts. I could get any material thing I desired with a snap of my fingers, and I was whining about love. But people were people, no matter their title, and some desires were universal. Unfortunately, the ability to fulfill them was not. Maybe I would fall in love with a prince who’d sweep me off my feet, but I doubted it. Most likely, I’d end up in a boring, socially acceptable marriage with a boring, socially acceptable man who only had sex missionary style and vacationed in the same two places every year. I pushed the depressing thought aside. I had a long way to go before I even thought about marriage, and I’d cross that bridge when I got there. My house came into sight, and my eyes latched onto the unfamiliar black BMW idling in the driveway. I assumed it belonged to my new bodyguard. “He’s early.” Booth raised a surprised brow. “He’s not supposed to arrive until five.” “Punctuality is a good sign, I suppose.” Though half an hour early might be overkill. The car door opened, and a large black boot planted itself on the driveway. A second later, the biggest man I’d ever seen in real life unfolded himself from the front seat, and my mouth turned bone dry. Holy. Hotness. My new bodyguard had to be at least six foot four, maybe even six-five, with solid, sculpted muscle packed onto every inch of his powerful frame. Longish black hair grazed his collar and fell over one gunmetal-gray eye, and his legs were so long he ate up the distance between us in three strides. For someone so large, he moved with surprising stealth. If I hadn’t been looking at him, I wouldn’t have noticed him approach at all. He stopped in front of me, and I swore my body tilted forward a centimeter, unable to resist his gravitational pull. I was also strangely tempted to run my hand through his thick dark locks. Most veterans kept their hair military-style short even after leaving the service, but clearly, he wasn’t one of them. “Rhys Larsen.” His deep, gravelly voice rolled over me like a velvety caress. Now that he was closer, I spotted a thin scar slashing through his left eyebrow, adding a hint of menace to his dark good looks. Stubble darkened his jaw, and a hint of a tattoo peeked out from both sleeves of his shirt. He was the opposite of the preppy, clean-shaven types I usually went for, but that didn’t stop a swarm of butterflies from taking flight in my stomach. I was so flustered by their appearance I forgot to respond until Booth let out a small cough. “I’m Bridget. It’s nice to meet you.” I hoped neither man noticed the flush creeping over my cheeks. I omitted the Princess title on purpose. It seemed too pretentious for casual, one-on-one settings. I did, however, notice Rhys didn’t address me as Your Highness the way Booth did. I didn’t mind—I’d been trying to get Booth to call me by my first name for years—but it was another sign my new guard would be nothing like my old one. “You have to move.” I blinked. “I beg your pardon?” “Your house.” Rhys tilted his head toward my spacious but cozy twobedroom abode. “It’s a security nightmare. I don’t know who signed off on the location, but you have to move.” The butterflies screeched to a halt. We’d met less than two minutes ago, and he was already ordering me around like he was the boss. Who does he think he is? “I’ve lived here for two years. I’ve never had an issue.” “It only takes one time.” “I’m not moving.” I punctuated my words with a sharpness I rarely used, but Rhys’s condescending tone grated on my nerves. Any attraction I’d felt toward him crumbled into ash, dying the quickest death in my history with the opposite sex. Not that it would’ve gone anywhere. He was, after all, my bodyguard, but it would’ve been nice to have eye candy without wanting to drop-kick him into the next century. Men. They always ruined it by opening their mouths.

“You’re the security expert,” I added coolly. “Figure it out.” Rhys glowered at me beneath thick, dark brows. I couldn’t remember the last time anyone had glowered at me. “Yes, Your Highness.” His inflection on the last two words made a mockery of the title, and the embers of indignation in my stomach stoked brighter. I opened my mouth to respond—with what, I wasn’t sure, because he hadn’t been outright hostile—but Booth cut in before I said something I would regret. “Why don’t we go inside? It looks like it’s about to rain,” he said quickly. Rhys and I looked up. The clear blue sky winked back at us. Booth cleared his throat. “You never know. Rain showers come out of nowhere,” he muttered. “After you, Your Highness.” We entered the house in silence. I shrugged off my coat and hung it on the brass tree by the door before making another stab at civility. “Would you like something to drink?” Irritation still stabbed at me, but I hated confrontation, and I didn’t want my relationship with my new bodyguard to start on such a sour note. “No.” Rhys scanned the living room, which I’d decorated in shades of jade green and cream. A housekeeper came by twice a month to deep clean, but I kept the place tidy myself for the most part. “Why don’t we get to know each other?” Booth said in a jovial, too-loud voice. “Er, I mean you and Rhys, Your Highness. We can talk needs, expectations, schedules…” “Excellent idea.” I mustered a strained smile and gestured Rhys toward the couch. “Please. Sit.” For the next forty-five minutes, we ran through logistics for the transition. Booth would remain my bodyguard until Monday, but Rhys would shadow him until then so he could get a feel for how things worked. “This is all fine.” Rhys closed the file containing a detailed breakdown of my class and weekly schedules, upcoming public events, and expected travel. “Let me be frank, Princess Bridget. You are not my first, nor will you be the last, royal I’ve guarded. I’ve worked with Harper Security for five years, and I’ve never had a client harmed while under my protection. Do you want to know why?” “Let me guess. Your dazzling charm stunned the would-be attackers into complacency,” I said.

Booth choked out a laugh, which he quickly turned into a cough. Rhys’s mouth didn’t so much as twitch. Of course it didn’t. My joke wasn’t Comedy Central worthy, but I imagined finding a waterfall in the Sahara would be easier than finding a drop of humor in that big, infuriatingly sculpted body. “The reason is twofold,” Rhys said calmly, as if I hadn’t spoken at all. “One, I do not become involved in my clients’ personal lives. I am here to safeguard you from physical harm. That is all. I am not here to be your friend, confidant, or anything else. This ensures my judgment remains uncompromised. Two, my clients understand the way things must work if they are to remain safe.” “And how is that?” My polite smile carried a warning he either didn’t notice or ignored. “They do what I say, when I say it for anything security-related.” Rhys’s gray eyes locked onto mine. It was like staring at an unyielding steel wall. “Understand, Your Highness?” Forget love and passion. What I wanted most was to slap the arrogant expression off his face and knee him in the family jewels while I was at it. I pressed the pads of my fingers into my thighs and forced myself to count to three before I responded. When I spoke again, my voice was frigid enough to make Antarctica look like a beach paradise. “Yes.” My smile sharpened. “Luckily for us both, Mr. Larsen, I have no interest in being your friend, confidant, or ‘anything else.’” I didn’t bother dignifying the second part of his statement—the one about me doing what he said, when he said it—with a response. I wasn’t an idiot. I’d always heeded Booth’s security advice, but I’d be damned if I fed into Rhys’s inflated sense of self. “Good.” Rhys stood. I hated how tall he was. His presence obliterated everything else in the vicinity until he was the only thing I could focus on. “I’ll assess the house before we discuss next steps, including upgrading your security system. Right now, any teenager with access to YouTube tutorials can bypass the alarm.” He shot me a disapproving glare before he disappeared into the kitchen. My jaw dropped. “He—you…” I sputtered, uncharacteristically speechless. “Why, I never!” I turned to Booth, who was trying to melt into the giant potted plant by the front door. “You’re not leaving. I forbid it.” Rhys could not be my bodyguard. I would murder him, and my housekeeper would murder me for staining the carpet with blood. “He probably has first-day jitters.” Booth looked as uncertain as he sounded. “You’ll get along just fine after the, ah, transition period, Your Highness.” Perhaps…if we made it out of the transition period alive. “You’re right.” I pressed my fingers to my temple and took a deep breath. I can do this. I’d dealt with difficult people before. My cousin Andreas was the spawn of Satan, and a British lord once tried to grope me under the table at Monaco’s Rose Ball. He only stopped after I “accidentally” stabbed his hand with a fork. What was one surly bodyguard compared to entitled aristocrats, nosy reporters, and evil family members? Rhys returned. Surprise, surprise, his glower hadn’t melted. “I’ve detected six security vulnerabilities we need to address ASAP,” he said. “Let’s start with number one: the windows.” “Which ones?” Stay calm. Stay reasonable. “All of them.” Booth covered his face with his hands while I contemplated turning my hairpin into a murder weapon. Rhys and I definitely weren’t making it out of the transition alive.

PRINCESS BRIDGET VON ASCHEBERG OF ELDORRA WOULD BE THE DEATH OF me. If not literal death, then the death of my patience and sanity. Of that, I was certain, and we’d only been working together for two weeks. I’d never had a client who infuriated me as much as she did. Sure, she was beautiful (not a good thing when you were in my position) and charming (to everyone except me), but she was also a royal pain in my ***. When I said “right,” she went left; when I said “leave,” she stayed. She insisted on spontaneously attending crowded events before I could do the advance work, and she treated my security concerns like they were an afterthought instead of an emergency. Bridget said that was the way things had worked with Booth, and she’d been fine. I said I wasn’t Booth, so I didn’t give a damn what she did or didn’t do when she was with him. I ran the show now. She didn’t take that well, but I didn’t give a shit. I wasn’t here to win Mr. Congeniality. I was here to keep her alive. Tonight, “here” meant the most crowded bar in Hazelburg. Half of Thayer had turned out for The Crypt’s Friday night half-off specials, and I was sure the bar was over max capacity. Loud music, loud people. My least favorite kind of place and, apparently, Bridget’s most favorite, considering how vehement she’d been about coming here. “So.” Her redheaded friend Jules eyed me over the rim of her glass. “You were a Navy SEAL, huh?” “Yes.” I wasn’t fooled by her flirty tone or party girl demeanor. I’d run in-depth background checks on all of Bridget’s friends the moment I took the job, and I knew for a fact Jules Ambrose was more dangerous than she appeared. But she didn’t pose a threat to Bridget, so I didn’t mention what she did in Ohio. It wasn’t my story to tell. “I love military men,” she purred. “Ex-military, J.” Bridget didn’t look at me as she finished her drink. “Besides, he’s too old for you.” That was one of the few things I agreed with her on. I was only thirtyone, so I wasn’t ancient by any means, but I’d done and witnessed enough shit in my life to feel ancient, especially compared to fresh-faced college students who hadn’t even had their first real job yet. I’d never been fresh-faced, not even when I was a kid. I grew up in dirt and grit. Meanwhile, Bridget sat across from me, looking like the fairytale princess she was. Big blue eyes and lush pink lips set in a heart-shaped face, perfect alabaster skin, golden hair falling in loose waves down her back. Her black top bared her smooth shoulders, and tiny diamonds glittered on her ears. Young, rich, and regal. The opposite of me in every way. “Negative. I love older men.” Jules upped the wattage of her smile as she gave me another once-over. “And you’re hot.” I didn’t smile back. I wasn’t dumb enough to get involved with a client’s friend. I already had my hands full with Bridget. Figuratively speaking. “Leave the man alone.” Stella laughed. Fashion design and communications major. Daughter of an environmental lawyer and the chief of staff to a cabinet secretary. Social media star. My brain ticked off all the things I knew about her as she snapped a photo of her cocktail before taking a sip. “Find someone your own age.” “Guys my age are boring. I’d know. I dated a bunch of them.” Jules nudged Ava, the last member of Bridget’s close friend group. Aside from Jules’s inappropriate come-ons, they were a decent bunch. Certainly better than the friends of the Hollywood starlet I’d guarded for three excruciating months, during which I saw more “accidental” genital flashings than I’d thought I would ever see in my life. “Speaking of older men, where’s your boo?” Ava blushed. “He can’t make it. He has a conference call with some business partners in Japan.” “Oh, he’ll make it,” Jules drawled. “You in a bar, surrounded by drunken, horny college guys? I’m surprised he hasn’t—ah. Speak of the devil. There he is.” I followed her gaze to where a tall, dark-haired man cut a path through the crowd of said drunken, horny college guys. Green eyes, tailored designer clothing, and an icy expression that made the frozen tundra of Greenland look like tropical islands. Alex Volkov. I knew the name and reputation, even if I didn’t know him personally. He was a legend in certain circles. The de facto CEO of the country’s largest real estate development company, Alex had enough connections and blackmail material to bring down half of Congress and the Fortune 500. I didn’t trust him, but he was dating one of Bridget’s best friends, which meant his presence was unavoidable. Ava’s face lit up when she saw him. “Alex! I thought you had a business call.” “The call wrapped up early, so I thought I’d swing by.” He brushed his lips over hers. “I love when I’m right, which is almost always.” Jules shot Alex a sly glance. “Alex Volkov in a college bar? Never thought I’d see the day.” He ignored her. The music changed from low-key R&B to a remix of the latest radio hit, and the bar went wild. Jules and Stella scrambled out of their seats to hit the dance floor, followed by Bridget, but Ava stayed put. “You guys go. I’ll stay here.” She yawned. “I’m kinda tired.” Jules looked horrified. “It’s only eleven!” She turned to me. “Rhys, dance with us. You have to make up for this…blasphemy.” She gestured at where Ava was curled into Alex’s side while he wrapped a protective arm around her shoulders. Ava made a face; Alex’s expression didn’t so much as budge. I’d seen blocks of ice show more emotion than him. I remained seated. “I don’t dance.” “You don’t dance. Alex doesn’t sing. Aren’t you two a bundle of joy,” Jules grumbled. “Bridge, do something.” Bridget glanced at me before looking away. “He’s working. Come on,” she teased. “Aren’t Stella and I enough?” Jules let out an aggrieved sigh. “I suppose. Way to guilt-trip me.” “I learned the subtle art of guilt-tripping in princess school.” Bridget pulled her friends onto the dance floor. “Let’s go.” To no one’s surprise, Ava and Alex called it a night soon after, and I sat at the table by myself, keeping half an eye on the girls and the other half on the rest of the bar. At least, I tried. My gaze strayed back to Bridget and Bridget alone more often than I’d like, and not just because she was my client. I’d known she would be trouble the minute Christian told me about my new assignment. Told, not asked, because Christian Harper dealt in orders, not requests. But we had enough of a history I could’ve turned down the assignment had I wanted to—and I’d really ******* wanted to. Me guarding the Princess of Eldorra when I wanted nothing to do with Eldorra? Worst idea in the history of bad ideas. Then I’d looked at the picture of Bridget and saw something in her eyes that tugged at me. Maybe it was the hint of loneliness or the vulnerability she tried to hide. Whatever it was, it was enough for me to say yes, albeit reluctantly. Now here I was, stuck with a charge who barely tolerated me, and vice versa. You’re a goddamned idiot, Larsen. But as infuriating as I found Bridget, I had to admit, I liked seeing her the way she was tonight. Big smile, glowing face, eyes sparkling with laughter and mischief. None of the loneliness I’d spotted in the headshot Christian gave me. She threw her hands in the air and swayed her hips to the music, and my gaze lingered on the bare expanse of her long, smooth legs before I tore it away, my jaw tightening. I’d guarded plenty of beautiful women before, but when I saw Bridget in person for the first time, I’d reacted in a way I never had for my previous clients. Blood heating, cock hardening, hands itching to find out how her golden hair would feel wrapped around my fist. It’d been visceral, unexpected, and almost enough to make me walk away from the job before I started, because lusting after a client could only end in disaster. But my pride won out, and I stayed. I just hoped I wouldn’t regret it. Jules and Stella said something to Bridget, who nodded before they left for what I presumed was the bathroom. They’d been gone for only two minutes when a frat boy-looking type in a pink polo shirt beelined toward Bridget with a determined expression.

My shoulders tensed. I rose from my seat right as Frat Boy reached Bridget and whispered something in her ear. She shook her head, but he didn’t leave. Something dark unfurled in my stomach. If there was one thing I hated, it was men who couldn’t take a ******* hint. Frat Boy reached for Bridget. She pulled her arm away before he could make contact and said something else, her expression sharper this time. His face twisted into an ugly scowl. He reached for her again, but before he could touch her, I stepped in between them, cutting him off. “Is there a problem?” I stared down at him. Frat Boy oozed the entitlement of someone who wasn’t used to hearing no thanks to Daddy’s money, and he was either too stupid or too arrogant to realize I was two seconds away from rearranging his face so thoroughly a plastic surgeon wouldn’t be able to fix it. “No problem. I was just asking her to dance.” Frat Boy eyed me like he was thinking of taking me on. Definitely stupid. “I don’t want to dance.” Bridget stepped around me and stared Frat Boy down herself. “I already told you twice. Don’t make me tell you a third time. You won’t like what’ll happen.” There were times when I could forget Bridget was a princess, like when she was singing off-key in the shower—she thought I couldn’t hear her, but I could—or pulling an all-night study session at the kitchen table. Now was not one of those times. Regal iciness radiated from her every pore, and a small, impressed smirk touched my mouth before I squashed it. Frat Boy’s ugly scowl remained, but he was outnumbered, and he knew it. He shuffled off, muttering “Stupid cunt” under his breath as he did so. Judging by the way Bridget’s cheeks pinkened, she heard him. Unfortunately for him, so did I. He didn’t make it two feet before I grabbed him hard enough he yelped. One strategic twist of my wrist and I could break his arm, but I didn’t want to cause a scene, so he was lucky. For now. “What did you say?” A dangerous edge bled into my voice. Bridget and I weren’t each other’s favorite people, but that didn’t make it okay for anyone to call her names. Not under my watch. It was a matter of principle and basic ******* decency. “N-nothing.” Frat Boy’s puny brain had finally caught up with the situation, and his face reddened with panic. “I don’t think it was nothing.” I tightened my hold, and he whimpered in pain. “I think you used a very bad word to insult the lady here.” Another tightening, another whimper. “And I think you better apologize before the situation escalates. Don’t you?” I didn’t need to spell out what escalates meant. “I’m sorry,” Frat Boy mumbled to Bridget, who blinked back at him with an icy expression. She didn’t respond. “I didn’t hear you,” I said. Frat Boy’s eyes flashed with hate, but he wasn’t stupid enough to argue. “I’m sorry,” he said louder. “For what?” “For calling you a…” He shot a fearful look in my direction. “For calling you a bad name.” “And?” I prompted. His brow creased in confusion. My smile contained more threat than humor. “Say, ‘I’m sorry for being a limp-dicked idiot who doesn’t know how to respect women.’” I thought I heard Bridget choke back a small laugh, but I was focused on Frat Boy’s reaction. He looked like he wanted to punch me with his free hand, and I almost wished he would. It would be amusing to see him try to reach my face. I towered over him by a good eight inches, and he had shrimp arms. “I’m sorry for being a limp-dicked idiot who doesn’t know how to respect women.” Resentment poured off him in waves. “Do you accept his apology?” I asked Bridget. “If you don’t, I can take this outside.” Frat Boy paled. Bridget tilted her head, her face pensive, and another shadow of a smile ghosted my mouth. She’s good. “I suppose,” she finally said in the tone of someone who was doing someone else a huge favor. “There’s no use wasting more of our time on someone insignificant.” My amusement tempered some of the anger running hot in my veins at Frat Boy’s earlier comment. “You got lucky.” I released him. “If I ever see you bothering her or another woman again…” I lowered my voice. “You might as well learn how to do everything left-handed because your right one will be out of commission. Permanently. Now leave.” I didn’t have to tell him twice. Frat Boy fled, his pink shirt bobbing in the crowd until he disappeared out the exit. Good riddance. “Thank you,” Bridget said. “I appreciate you dealing with him, even though it’s frustrating it took someone else to intervene before he got the hint. Isn’t me saying no enough?” Her brow puckered with annoyance. “Some people are idiots, and some people are assholes.” I stepped aside to allow a group of giggling partygoers past. “Just so happened you ran into one who was both.” That earned me a small smile. “Mr. Larsen, I do believe we’re having a civil conversation.” “Are we? Someone check the weather in hell,” I deadpanned. Bridget’s smile widened, and I’d be damned if I didn’t feel a small kick in my gut at the sight. “How about a drink?” She tilted her head toward the bar. “On me.” I shook my head. “I’m on the clock, and I don’t drink alcohol.” Surprise flashed across her face. “Ever?” “Ever.” No drugs, no alcohol, no smoking. I’d seen the havoc they wreaked, and I had no interest in becoming another statistic. “Not my thing.” Bridget’s expression told me she suspected there was more to the story than I was letting on, but she didn’t press the issue, which I appreciated. Some people were too damn nosy. “Sorry that took so long!” Jules returned with Stella in tow. “The line at the bathroom was insane.” Her eyes roved between me and Bridget. “Everything okay?” “Yes. Mr. Larsen was keeping me company while you guys were gone,” Bridget said without missing a beat. “Really?” Jules arched an eyebrow. “How nice of him.” Neither Bridget nor I took the bait. “Calm down, J,” I heard Stella say as I returned to the table now that I’d handled the situation with Frat Boy and her friends were back. “It’s his job to look after her.” Damn right. It was my job, and Bridget was my client. Nothing more, nothing less. Bridget glanced at me, and our eyes locked for a split second before she looked away. My hand flexed on my thigh. Sure, I was attracted to her. She was beautiful, smart, and had a spine of steel. Of course I was attracted to her. That didn’t mean I should or would act on it. In my five years as a bodyguard, I’d never once crossed my professional boundaries. And I wasn’t about to start now.

ONE OF THE WORST THINGS ABOUT HAVING A ROUND-THE-CLOCK BODYGUARD was living with them. It hadn’t been an issue with Booth because we’d gotten along so well, but living in close quarters with Rhys put on me on edge. Suddenly, my house seemed too small, and everywhere I looked, Rhys was there. Drinking coffee in the kitchen. Stepping out of the shower. Working out in the backyard, his muscles flexing and his skin gleaming with sweat. It all felt strangely domestic in a way it hadn’t felt with Booth, and I didn’t like it one bit. “Aren’t you hot in those clothes?” I asked one unseasonably warm day as I watched Rhys do push-ups. Even though it was fall, the temperature hovered in the high seventies, and a bead of sweat trickled down my neck despite my light cotton dress and the ice-cold lemonade in my hands. Rhys must be roasting in his black shirt and workout shorts. “Trying to get me to take my shirt off?” He continued his pushups, not sounding the least bit winded. Warmth that had nothing to do with the weather spread across my cheeks. “You wish.” It wasn’t the most inspired answer, but it was all I could think of. Honestly, I was curious about seeing Rhys shirtless. Not because I wanted to sneak a peek at his abs—which I grudgingly admitted had to be fantastic if the rest of his body was anything to go by—but because he seemed so determined not to be shirtless. Even when he left the bathroom after a shower, he was fully dressed. Maybe he was uncomfortable getting half-***** in front of a client, but I had a feeling not much discomfited Rhys Larsen. It had to be something else. An embarrassing tattoo, maybe, or a strange skin condition that only affected his torso. Rhys finished his pushups and moved on to the pull-up bar. “You gonna keep ogling me, or you got something I can help you with, princess?” The warmth intensified. “I wasn’t ogling you. I was secretly praying for you to get heatstroke. If you do, I’m not helping you. I have…a book to read.” Dear Lord, what am I saying? I didn’t make sense even to myself. After our moment of solidarity at The Crypt two weeks ago, Rhys and I had settled right back into our familiar pattern of snark and sarcasm, which I hated, because I wasn’t a typically snarky and sarcastic person. A shadow of a smirk filled the corners of Rhys’s mouth, but it disappeared before it blossomed into something real. “Good to know.” By now, I was sure I was beet red, but I lifted my chin and reentered the house with as much dignity as I could muster. Let Rhys bake in the sun. I hoped he did get heatstroke. Maybe then, he wouldn’t have enough energy to be such an ***. Sadly, he didn’t, and he had plenty of energy left to be an ***. “How’s the book?” he drawled later, when he’d finished his workout and I’d grabbed the closest book I could find before he entered the living room. “Riveting.” I tried to focus on the page instead of the way Rhys’s sweatdampened shirt clung to his torso. Six-pack abs for sure. Maybe even an eight-pack. Not that I was counting. “Sure seems that way.” Rhys’s face remained impassive, but I could hear the mocking bent in his voice. He walked to the bathroom, and without looking back, he added, “By the way, princess, the book is upside down.” I slammed the hardcover shut, my skin blazing with embarrassment. God, he was insufferable. A gentleman wouldn’t point something like that out, but Rhys Larsen was no gentleman. He was the bane of my existence. Unfortunately, I was the only person who thought so. Everyone else found his grumpiness charming, including my friends and the people at the shelter, so I couldn’t even commiserate with them over his bane-of-myexistence-ness. “What’s the deal with your new bodyguard?” Wendy, one of the other long-term volunteers at Wags & Whiskers, whispered. She snuck a peek at where Rhys sat in the corner like a rigid statue of muscles and tattoos. “He’s got that whole strong, silent thing going on. It’s hot.” “You say that, but you’re not the one who has to live with him.” It was two days after the upside-down book debacle, and Rhys and I hadn’t exchanged any words since except good morning and good night. I didn’t mind. It made it easier to pretend he didn’t exist. Wendy laughed. “I’ll gladly change places with you. My roommate keeps microwaving fish and stinking up the kitchen, and she looks nothing like your bodyguard.” She tightened her ponytail and stood. “Speaking of changing places, I have to head out for study group. Do you have everything you need?” I nodded. I’d taken over Wendy’s shift enough times by now to have the routine down pat. After she left, silence descended, so thick it draped around me like a cloak. Rhys didn’t move from his corner spot. We were alone, but his eyes roved around the playroom like he expected an assassin to pop out from behind the cat condo at any minute. “Does it get exhausting?” I scratched Meadow, the shelter’s newest cat, behind the ears. “What?” “Being on all the time.” Constantly alert, searching for danger. It was his job, but I’d never seen Rhys relax, not even when it was just the two of us at home. “No.” “You know you can give more than one-word answers, right?” “Yes.” He was impossible. “Thank God I have you, sweetie,” I said to Meadow. “At least you can carry on a decent conversation.” She meowed in agreement, and I smiled. I swore cats were smarter than humans sometimes. There was another long stretch of silence before Rhys surprised me by asking, “Why do you volunteer at an animal shelter?” I was so startled by the fact he’d initiated a non-security-related conversation I froze mid-pet. Meadow meowed again, this time in protest. I resumed my petting and debated how much to tell Rhys before settling on the simple answer. “I like animals. Hence, animal shelter.” “Hmm.” My spine stiffened at the skepticism in his voice. “Why do you ask?” Rhys shrugged. “Just doesn’t seem like the kinda thing you’d like to do in your free time.” I didn’t have to ask to know what types of things he thought I liked doing in my free time. Most people looked at me and made assumptions based on my appearance and background, and yes, some of them were true. I enjoyed shopping and parties as much as the next girl, but that didn’t mean I didn’t care about other things too. “It’s amazing how much insight you have into my personality after knowing me for only a month,” I said coolly. “I do my research, princess.” It was the only way Rhys addressed me. He refused to call me by my first name or Your Highness. In turn, I refused to call him anything except Mr. Larsen. I wasn’t sure if it accomplished anything, since he gave no indication it bothered him, but it satisfied the petty part of me. “I know more about you than you think.” “But not why I volunteer at an animal shelter. So, clearly, you need to brush up on your research skills.” He flicked those steely gray eyes in my direction, and I thought I spotted a hint of amusement before the walls crashed down again. “Touché.” He hesitated, then added reluctantly, “You’re different from what I expected.” “Why? Because I’m not a superficial airhead?” My voice chilled another degree as I tried to cover up the unexpected sting of his words. “I never said you were a superficial airhead.” “You implied it.” Rhys grimaced. “You’re not the first royal I’ve guarded,” he said. “You’re not even the third or fourth. They all acted similarly, and I expected you to do the same. But you’re not…” I arched an eyebrow. “I’m not…?” A small smile ghosted across his face so fast I almost missed it. “A superficial airhead.” I couldn’t help it. I laughed. Me, laughing at something Rhys Larsen said. Hell must’ve iced over. “My mom was a huge animal lover,” I said, surprising myself. I hadn’t planned on talking about my mother with Rhys, but I felt compelled to take advantage of the lull in our normally antagonistic relationship. “I got the gene from her. But the palace didn’t allow pets, and the only way I could regularly interact with animals was by volunteering at shelters.” I held out my hand and smiled when Meadow pawed at it like she was giving me a low five. “I enjoy it, but I also do it because…” I searched for the right words. “It makes me feel closer to my mom. The love for animals is something only we shared. The rest of my family likes them fine, but not in the same way we do. Or did.” I didn’t know what prompted my admission. Was it because I wanted to prove I wasn’t volunteering as a PR stunt? Why did I care what Rhys thought of me, anyway? Or maybe it was because I needed to talk about my mom to someone who hadn’t known her. In Athenberg, I couldn’t mention her without people shooting me pitying looks, but Rhys was as calm and unruffled as ever. “I understand,” he said. Two simple words, yet they crawled inside me and soothed a part of me I hadn’t known needed soothing. Our eyes met, and the air developed another layer of thickness. Dark, mysterious, piercing. Rhys had the kind of eyes that saw straight into a person’s soul, stripping past layers of elaborate lies to reach the ugly truths underneath. How many of my truths could he see? Could he see the girl beneath the mask, the one who’d carried a decades-long burden she was terrified to share, the one who’d killed— “Master! Spank me, Master!” Leather chose that moment to let loose one of his notoriously inappropriate outbursts. “Please spank me!” The spell shattered as quickly as it had been cast. Rhys flicked his gaze away, and I looked down, my breath gusting out in a mixture of relief and disappointment. “Mas—” Leather quieted when Rhys leveled it with a glare. The bird ruffled its feathers and hopped around its cage before settling into a nervous silence. “Congratulations,” I said, trying to shake off the unsettling electricity from a moment ago. “You might be the first person who’s ever gotten Leather to stop mid-sentence. You should adopt him.” “Fuck no. I don’t do foul-mouthed animals.” We stared at each other for a second before a small giggle slipped from my mouth and the iron curtain shielding his eyes lifted enough for me to spot another glimmer of humor. We didn’t talk again for the rest of my shift, but the mood between us had lightened enough that I’d convinced myself Rhys and I could have a functional working relationship. I wasn’t sure if it was optimism or delusion, but my brain always latched onto the smallest evidence things weren’t so bad to cope with discomfort. The wind nipped at the bare skin on my face and neck as we walked home after my shift. Rhys and I had fought over whether to walk or drive, but in the end, even he had to admit it would be silly to drive somewhere so close. “Are you excited to visit Eldorra?” I asked. We were leaving for Athenberg in a few days for winter break, and Rhys had mentioned it would be his first time in the country. I’d hoped to build on our earlier flash of camaraderie, but I’d misjudged because Rhys’s face shut down faster than a house party raided by cops. “I’m not going there for vacation, princess.” He said there like I was forcing him to go to a prison camp, not a place Travel + Leisure had named the ninth-best city in the world to visit. “I know you’re not going for vacation.” I tried and failed to keep the annoyance out of my voice. “But you’ll have free ti—” The high-pitched squeal of tires ripped through the air. My brain didn’t have time to process the sound before Rhys pushed me into a nearby alleyway and pressed me tight against the wall with his gun drawn and his body covering mine. My pulse kicked into high gear, both at the sudden spike of adrenaline and the proximity to him. He radiated heat and tension from every inch of his big, muscled frame, and it wrapped around me like a cocoon as a car sped past blasting music and leaking laughter out of its half-open windows. Rhys’s heartbeat thumped against my shoulder blades, and we stayed frozen in the alleyway long after the music faded and the only sound left was our heavy breathing. “Mr. Larsen,” I said quietly. “I think we’re okay.” He didn’t move. I was trapped between him and the brick, two immovable walls shielding me from the world. He’d braced one hand protectively against the wall next to my head, and he stood so close I could feel every sculpted ridge and contour of his body against mine. Another long beat passed before Rhys re-holstered his gun and turned his head to look at me. “You sure you’re okay?” His voice was deep and gruff, and his eyes searched me for injuries even though nothing had happened to me. “Yes. The car took a turn too fast. That’s all.” I let out a nervous laugh, my skin too hot for comfort beneath his fierce perusal. “I was more startled by you throwing me into the alley.” “That’s why we should’ve driven.” He stepped back, taking his heat with him, and cool air rushed to fill the void. I shivered, wishing I’d worn a thicker sweater. It was suddenly too cold. “You’re too open and unprotected walking around like this. That could’ve been a drive-by.” I almost laughed at the thought. “I don’t think so. Cats will fly before there’s a drive-by in Hazelburg.” It was one of the safest towns in the country, and most of the students didn’t even own cars. Rhys didn’t look impressed by my analogy. “How many times do I have to tell you? It only takes once. No more walking to and from the shelter from now on.” “It was literally nothing. You’re overreacting,” I said, my annoyance returning full force. His expression turned to granite. “It is my job to think of everything that could go wrong. If you don’t like it, fire me. Until then, do what I say, when I say it, like I told you on the first day.” Any trace of our semi-truce from the shelter vanished. I wished I could fire him, but I didn’t have a say over staffing decisions and no good reason to fire Rhys other than we didn’t get along. I’d been so sure our shelter interaction marked the beginning of a new phase in our relationship, but Rhys and I had taken one step forward and two steps back. I pictured us flying to Athenberg with nothing except our familiar icy silence keeping us company for hours and grimaced. It was going to be a long Christmas break.