Hell, it was a joint effort, if you know what I mean.
“I’d much prefer to storm the castle, really,” I say, looking upward. “Look at that. I’m sure no one’s used those archery slots in hundreds of years, and I don’t think this masonry would hold up very well to missiles, do you?”
Dom just rolls his eyes.
“Could you please think about something besides how you’d destroy the castle where our allied nation is very graciously putting us up for two weeks?”
To answer my own question, no, the masonry would not hold up well to missile fire.
“I’ll try.”
“Thanks,” Dom says dryly.
We walk along in silence for a while. The gardens are full of trees, bushes, and tall grasses — much more than just a flower garden. After a while, we come up on a gazebo near a duck pond.
I don’t think anything of it until I spy a flash of green, and then a sudden glint of red. Someone’s in the gazebo.
We’re both suddenly walking faster, around the corner, and then we can see her slim white neck, the tops of her shoulders. From the way my dick swells to near bursting almost instantly, I know who it is.
It’s Crown Princess Katarina.
Dom gives me one glance, his face unreadable, then turns and sets off for her, giving me the option to follow him like a puppy or look like I’m ignoring the Princess completely.
He’s a fucking dick sometimes, and I clench my hands into fists at my sides. He strides up to her, leaving me alone on the path, and I have to watch him bow deeply, introduce himself again, and kiss her hand.
She laughs. Goddamn it, she laughs.
Of course she does. Dom is charming and funny. He’s good at this, while I’m still back here on the path behind him, standing like a moron. I look around, trying to figure out a way to come up there and talk to the Princess without looking like I’m just copying him.
Then it hits me: there are flowers everywhere. The answer’s obvious.
I break a bright red rose off of a bush just as the Princess laughs again. He’s still holding her hand in his, still smiling that damn charming smile as I break the thorns off the rose with my bare fingers.
I twirl the rose once in my fingertips, look up at the gazebo, square my shoulders, and stride over, summoning every ounce of charm and wit I’ve got.
As I mount the steps, Dom and the Princess both go quiet, turning to look at me.
I walk up to her and bow, and she nods her head. I swear she turns faintly pink, but it’s hard to tell, and she gives me her hand.
I kiss her knuckles, warm and soft. She smells floral and sweet, so fucking sweet I want to devour her this instant. It’s all I can do to keep myself from pulling her off the bench and into my arms, ravishing her right here in the gardens.
Somehow, I don’t.
“A pleasure to see you again, Princess,” I say. “It’s been quite a while.”
She smiles at me, and something bright and warm flares in my heart.
“Yes, Dom and I were just saying that the last time we saw each other neither of you could grow a beard, and I was in the second year of my grand battle against acne.”
“You seem to have won,” I say, gazing at her beautiful, porcelain skin.
She laughs.
“It was a long, hard war, and I lost a lot of good photo opportunities, but I triumphed in the end,” she says.
I can’t think of what to say next, so I hand her the rose. Katarina takes it, smiling, and holds it to her nose.
“Thank you,” she says.
Dom flicks me a glare, but I ignore him.
“The pleasure is all mine, Princess,” I say.
“Bruno, is there any chance you’ve picked that flower quite recently from these very gardens?” Dom asks me, teasing.
Katarina and I both glance at the ragged end of the stem, which was clearly torn, not cut
“It’s not up to me when inspiration strikes,” I say, teasing him right back. “I saw a pretty girl and wanted to give her a flower. It’s a rose from the heart, Dom.”
“Actually, I’m fairly sure I watched you take it from that bush over there,” he says, grinning.
Katarina is laughing quietly at our exchange, and even though I’m a little frustrated that he’s here, I have to admit that this is oddly fun.
“You don’t have to be so literal,” I say. “Where’s your sense of poetry, or haven’t you got one?”
Behind me, someone clears her throat.
Dom and I turn at the same time to see a young woman standing there, hand folded in front of her, dressed like one of the household staff.
“Princess, I’m terribly sorry, but it’s time to dress for dinner,” she says.
Katarina stands, and Dom and I both take a step back and bow.
“I’ll see you both at the banquet?” she asks, blue eyes dancing.
“Of course.”
“Absolutely.”
“Perfect,” she says, and then she follows the girl out of the gazebo and around the corner.
Dom and I exhale in unison, and I know we’re both watching her perfect, tempting ass as she walks away, her hips moving from side to side hypnotically.
“Goddamn,” Dom says.
“Holy shit,” I agree.
We don’t talk for the rest of the time we’re in the gardens.
Chapter Four
Katarina
Marianna pushes one last pin into my wild red hair, and then makes a satisfied noise, turning me so I can look at myself in the mirror.
Somehow, my normally-uncontrollable hair looks perfect. It’s half pulled away from my face, half loose in ringlets that fall past my shoulders. I don’t know how she does it.
“You’re a miracle worker,” I tell her.
“I’ve had practice,” she says, smoothing one last strand.
And with that, I’m ready for dinner. Normally, dinner isn’t such a fuss — not even diplomatic dinners with visiting dignitaries.
But I’m not normally being courted by several of the visiting dignitaries. Tonight, I’m under strict orders to look my best, so my hair is done, my makeup is done, and I’m wearing a long, flowing blue dress with a gold belt around my waist.
For at least the millionth time in the past hour, my gaze lands on the rose that Bruno gave me. It’s just sitting on my vanity, exactly how it was when he handed to me, broken-off stem and all.
Every time I look at it, I get the tingles. I can’t stop thinking about the two princes — Dom coming up, kissing my hand, giving me such a burning look in the gazebo that a shiver went down my spine.
And then Bruno, a few moments later, giving me this rose. I don’t care that he picked it from a bush in the gardens. I think it’s sweet.
Right. Sweet. That’s not exactly the word for how I feel about them.
It’s not like I don’t know their reputations. They’re both known for getting into the panties of nearly every eligible bachelorette in Europe. It doesn’t seem to matter how uptight, virginal, or well-behaved a girl is — if Prince Dominic or Prince Bruno sets his sights on her, it’s practically guaranteed that her panties will drop.
Really, I should count myself lucky for having met them when I was just a kid. If I’d met them as an adult, even a few years ago, I might already be ruined, a disgrace to my family.
There are even more salacious rumors — that sometimes they set their sights on the same girl.
According to those rumors, Dom and Bruno don’t mind sharing. They might even prefer it sometimes.
Another shiver runs down my back, just at the thought. Unbidden, I suddenly imagine being with both of them. Straddling Bruno’s lap, his hands all over me while I kiss Dom deeply, his tongue in my mouth.
“Princess, are you all right?” Marianna asks, and my eyes snap to the mirror.
I’m bright red, the color of a tomato.
“I’m fine,” I say, my voice a high-pitched squeak. I pick up the rose from the table and hold it up, turning it. “Do you think I could pin this to my dress for dinner?”
She takes it from me.
“Certainly,” she says.
I meet my parents, along with my two younger sisters, in the antechamber of the dining hall. It’s a private room just for the royal family and their staff — no guests allowed, so we can talk freely.
As soon as I enter, my mother’s eyes move over me, scrutinizing.
“You look lovely, dear,” she says, a note of relief in her voice.
“Very royal,” my father agrees.
“Princesslike as fuck,” Alexandra agrees.
Both my parents turn to her, frowning, and she holds up her hands.
“Sorry, I’m kidding,” she says.
“What’s that flower?” My mother asks, looking at Bruno’s rose pinned to my chest.
I touch it gently, the petals soft beneath my fingers. I think of him giving it to me, his lips firm and warm against my hand.
“Prince Bruno gave me this earlier,” I say. “I thought it would be nice to wear it tonight.”
My mother sighs. My father frowns.
“We can’t have you openly favoring Prince Bruno,” he says.
“It’s just a flower, dear,” my mother says.
He shakes his head.
“Take it off,” he tells me. “I won’t have you wearing gifts from one man while entertaining offers from several. You can’t have possibly formed an opinion of anyone yet, and I won’t let anyone else have his hopes dashed.”
I swallow, my fingers trailing along the stem. I don’t want to take it off.