One

Partially self-imposed exile.

What had his life come to?

Prince Arran St. Clare of Skymar sighed as he drove, staring out the window at the unfamiliar passing landscape. If only he'd

known his parents' plans when he'd asked them for help, he may have chosen to continue his more entertaining, but less fulfilling,

role of rogue prince. But the past few months, as the mounting tabloid and newspaper headlines continued to flaunt his ungoverned

lifestyle, the shame he had for his behavior had intensified.

How could he have allowed a broken heart to lead him into utter madness for nearly two years?

Especially since he'd been making better choices over the past few months, only to become, quite unexpectedly, caught up in

another mistake. A mistake that led him to using royal funds for a rather scandalous party aboard a yacht. Accidentally, of

course.

His body drooped from the internal wrestling match between his pride, his need for change, and his towering list of mistakes.

Images of the most recent media photos rushed to mind. Famous women and superficial relationships. Parties with less-than-ideal

outcomes. A video of him landing a punch on Lord Darrick.

He winced.

If he'd known Rachelle was the daughter of the overprotective and highly popular conservative leader in Skymar, Arran wouldn't

have pursued a harmless moonlit swim with her.

Punching her father had been entirely provoked. And, unfortunately, captured on video for the whole world to see.

An uncomfortable twinge tightened his chest. Words from the most recent newsprints repeated in his head.

Playboy.

Troublemaker.

Embarrassment.

All arrows finally hitting their mark.

He couldn't continue on his present course. The disappointment on his parents' faces bled clearly into his mind. Perhaps he

deserved his fate: eight weeks with his little sister and her new American husband, living as a commoner and working construction

in a small, backward town in North Carolina... without royal funds.

Plus, part of the agreement with his parents meant Arran would assist with some Christmas charity.

Well, at least he knew how to navigate service projects, a skill for which he particularly excelled among his siblings.

A text popped up on the screen of the car.

Ellie: Expect a feast for dinner. Luke is grilling steak.

Ellie: And watch out for bears. You're coming in late, so there's a chance one might run along your path.

Arran stopped the car in the middle of the street and stared at the message. Bears? Seriously? Bears "along your path," as

if it were the most normal remark in the world. He shook his head, a new twin wave of humiliation and annoyance rising in

his chest.

He didn't need the oversight of his little sister or her country husband to reform. Oh no! He could manage his own reformation.

After all, he was twenty-eight years old.

Plus, bears? Where on earth had his parents sent him?

The GPS glitched and then turned him down a street with brick and stone buildings lining either side of the road. Only a few shops glowed with welcome in the dusk shadows. Most looked closed for the evening.

He brought the car to a stop at the next traffic light and waited for another GPS command. Nothing. Giving the phone a quick

refresh, he tried again.

The connectivity circle kept spinning.

Of course. Bears, exile, and no internet connection.

Perfect. Sounds like a regular modern fairy tale.

The interruption of a car horn brought him back to attention, a green traffic light lit above him. Arran sent a glance over

his shoulder and pulled the car into a nearby parking spot to give himself time to gather his bearings.

Last time he checked the GPS, he was about twenty minutes from Ellie's house.

His attention shifted to his phone. He could text her for directions.

He groaned and pressed his head back against the headrest. Having to contact her for directions sent a double sting to his

pride. For one, she was his little sister, and second, he revolted against asking for help again . After all, he'd be spending the next two months with her and her husband in all their happy honeymoon afterglow.

He cringed at the very idea. The last thing he wanted was to prove himself more inept than his sister or brother-in-law already

thought he was.

A flicker of light to his right pulled his focus to a blinking sign in a nearby window reading "Murphy's Brew." The warm glow

of welcome tugged his interest.

He glanced at the GPS.

Asking a local for directions should be simple enough, right? Less painful on the pride in this particular situation.

After a moment's hesitation, he killed the engine and unfolded from the car.

A quick drink, an easy conversation, and he'd be back on the road with directions in a quarter of an hour or less.

Simple.

He pushed open the door of the bar and found the atmosphere not too different from a Skymarian village pub. Dimly lit, the

space offered a blur of activity, from billiards on one side to darts on the other. Combating aromas of perfumes and colognes

mingled with the hints of savory dishes.

A responsive growl erupted from Arran's stomach, reminding him that he hadn't eaten since flying out of Skymar early that

morning.

The idea of Luke's steak sounded better and better.

A burly man stood behind the counter, his full beard and flannel shirt giving off a similar vibe as the Scots in the northern

mountains of home. "You look a little lost, stranger."

"A stranger, yes." Arran took a seat on an empty stool, unfurling his grin. "Lost? Not anymore. I was hoping to find a place

like this one for a brief respite and a bit of direction."

"Respite?" The man's dark brow rose along with one corner of his mouth. "Sounds like you came a long way to stumble into my

door." The man leaned an elbow onto the counter and studied Arran through narrowed eyes. "Tourist?"

Arran hesitated at the man's unreadable expression. Did the bartender have something against tourists? "I'm actually here

to visit my sister." He unleashed a broad smile. "You may have heard of her. Princess Elliana St. Clare?"

So much for keeping to anonymity.

"Nope." The man gave a shake of his head before stretching back to stand upright. "Can't say we have much use for princesses

around here." The man shared a smile with a nearby woman. "Now, if you were related to Andy Griffith or some famous sports

player, that'd be different."

The smile slid from Arran's face, a sudden... discomfort squeezing in his chest. Even when he preferred anonymity at times, someone always recognized him. They had his entire life.

Prince Arran. Fourth child of King Aleksander and Queen Gabriella of Skymar. Fun-loving, formerly contentious, playboy royal.

On the arm of the rich and famous.

Who else was he?

He stumbled around in his head for a response to this new epiphany. Did he even know anymore?

"My... my sister married a local. Luke Edgewood?"

The man's gaze darted to Arran. "Luke Edgewood?"

Arran's body tensed. "Yes?"

"You're Ellie's brother?" With a raised brow and a tip back on his heels, the man surveyed Arran anew, as if measuring him. "The fancy fella

who'll be working with Luke for the next few months?"

"Y... yes." He drew out the word even more slowly than before. Fancy fellow?

"Well, why didn't you say so from the start? Luke told us we ought to set you right if we saw you."

Set him right? What could that mean? Especially from a brother-in-law? "Actually, I was hoping to get directions to Luke's

house, if you could... set me right with those."

"Sure thing." The man raised a brow, a mischievous twinkle lighting his pale eyes. "But first, we're gonna give you a Mount

Airy welcome."

Arran had no time to ponder further because the man called to the room. "Hey, y'all!" The voices hushed, faces turned toward

the bar.

"This here is Ellie Edgewood's brother, and he's in need of a warm Mount Airy welcome."

An eruption of voices rose in response, as men and women alike raised their glasses in salute.

"First things first, Ellie's brother." The man leaned back against the bar. "Let's introduce those royal tastebuds of yours to the best brew this mountain's got to give. That is, if you think you're man enough to handle it."

The glint in the bartender's eye inspired a rise of caution in Arran's stomach, but he shrugged it off. Though he'd rarely

taken whiskey over the past month in an attempt to start cleaning up his life, Arran knew how to hold it.

And what better way to show the locals he meant to enjoy their comradery? "My home is known for some of the best brew around.

You'll have to work hard to impress me."

"Oh, not to worry, Ellie's brother." The glint deepened in the man's eyes. "We're more than ready to meet the challenge. In

fact, this stuff may knock you right off that royal seat of yours."

***

"Sure."

A single word propelled Charlotte Edgewood from her comfortable, introverted role as behind-the-scenes support person into

the lead coordinator for The Mistletoe Wish program.

And as the word slipped from her lips, she shuddered in shock.

She was not a leader. How was she supposed to manage something as large as the annual Christmas fundraiser?

"I can't thank you enough." Lori Paxton sent an unadulterated look of appreciation as she placed a protective palm over her

extended abdomen. Her gaze traveled down Charlie and back up. "And I know it's not your usual choice, but I'm sure you'll...

figure out how to manage everything. And the Christmas Gala too."

Charlie's face went cold as she cast a look down at her work-worn jeans and faded T-shirt.

The Christmas Gala?

She gave her ball cap a tug, just to look a little less like the tomboy she was, and a powdering of dust hit the floor. She

bit back a whimper.

I can't do this.

Did she even own a pair of heels? And she'd never worn an evening gown.

"With the babies due any day, there's no way I can participate, let alone coordinate."

Charlie forced her lips into a smile.

Hopefully.

"But... but do you think maybe Diane would be the better option? I mean, she's been more involved at the party and hosting

level than me."

Was that Charlie's own voice? All wobbly and breathless?

What had compelled her to volunteer in the first place? She was a carpenter ! Not a presenter!

Her gaze dropped to Lori's middle, and her shoulders drooped. However, someone needed to help. But Charlie was the worst qualified someone for the job.

"Diane is tending to her mama after her surgery, remember?"

Hope withered to match the dust from Charlie's hat. "Of course." She drew in a breath, praying for courage.

Maybe she needed to do this.

This could be her chance to prove to everyone, including herself, that she could step beyond her fears and the mold she'd

resigned herself to. That there was a brave woman living underneath her faded jeans and six-year-old work boots.

"I'm happy to do it," she finally said.

Which wasn't a lie. Completely. Charlie had assisted in the Christmas fundraiser for years. She knew the schedule, the people,

and how it worked.

Unfortunately, her smile must not have registered the appropriate holiday cheer.

"You'll have support from our usual volunteers." Lori rushed ahead. "Besides, isn't that prince coming to help?"

That prince?

Charlie's smile tensed at the reminder of her cousin Luke's brother-in-law assisting in their little mountain service project.

A rebel prince, from what she'd heard. She quelled an eye roll. How could he possibly help?

"Doesn't that sound like the strangest thing to say?" Lori laughed. "A prince coming to our rescue."

A memory rushed to Charlie's mind: her eight-year-old self in full princess costume, dancing around the living room while

watching copious amounts of princess-themed movies. Real-life disappointments had certainly redefined those childhood dreams.

Besides, the last thing she needed was to babysit a maverick monarch while navigating such a daunting leadership role.

"I don't really expect him to help," Charlie offered. "There's a good chance working for Luke will be enough to keep him busy."

"It's a wonder he's offered to come at all." Lori chuckled. "A prince! Building houses! In our little town?"

It didn't make sense to Charlie either.

After Lori shared a few more suggestions, Charlie gathered her bag, scooped up the fundraiser's files, and took the stairs

down to the street. The lamps lining Main Street attempted to compete with some of the few shops still open after 7:00 p.m.

on a weekday.

Charlie's gaze landed on the little steeple rising above the other buildings at the end of town, and she sent a prayer heavenward.

Surely God would help her through this. Even if it involved a hairstylist and—she swallowed the lump in her throat—possibly

wearing... heels.

The sound of laughter pulled Charlie's attention next door to Murphy's Brew, one of the most popular nighttime spots in Mount

Airy. Light blazed from the bar's windows, teasing passersby in for warmth, fellowship, and some of the best cheese pretzels

on the planet.

She shook her head at the idea of Caine Murphy and the pride he took in his potent home brew, then made her way to her truck.

She'd just started the ignition when her phone buzzed to life.

Luke: Have you happened to see a prince in town?

Air burst from Charlie's crooked lips as she reread the note. Interesting intro to a conversation.

Charlie: I gave up that pursuit in grade school. Why do you need a prince, anyway? Don't you already have a princess living at your

house?

Luke: My princess happens to have lost a brother. He was supposed to be here a couple hours ago.

Charlie's bottom lip dropped, and she sent another look down quiet Main Street. How on earth could anybody get lost in Mount Airy, of all places?

Charlie: Clearly, my skills at locating princes are pretty rusty. Does he resemble your wife? Blond hair, blue eyes, practically perfect

in every way?

Luke: No one looks as good as my wife.

Charlie's grin stretched. Give the man a wife, and suddenly there's an influx of romantic talk.

Charlie: So, I'm looking for a slightly less perfect, male version of your wife?

A photo popped up on the screen to reveal a man who resembled Captain America a little too much for Charlie's peace of mind.

Styled blond hair, pale blue eyes, perfect smile.

In a tux.

Have mercy!

She cleared her throat.

Luke: Before you fall in love with him, know that one of his ears is shorter than the other.

Charlie belted out a laugh before she typed out a reply.

Charlie: I've outgrown my infatuation with princes, so I think he's safe from me.

Luke: Well, since you're not going to marry him, at least shine some of that good heart in his direction. I think he could use

it.

Charlie: Sounds like he could use some direction in the geographical sense, too, if he's lost in Mount Airy.

Luke: Clearly, looks don't equal smarts. Except in my case.

Charlie shook her head with a sigh. Rescue a troublemaking prince? That's exactly how she wanted to spend her evening.

Her gaze caught sight of her shadowed reflection in her rearview mirror. Large gray eyes stared back at her, highlighted by

the glow of the streetlamps.

Her daddy had always said she looked like her mama, but thankfully, he'd never held that against Charlie. He'd rarely spoken

about the woman who married him, bore him a daughter, and then disappeared when Charlie was nine.

Without one look or note back.

In fact, last Charlie heard, her mama still had a few years left of her prison sentence for armed robbery.

Charlie pulled off her hat, and strands of her ash-brown hair fell around her pale face. Maybe the hair and face shape resembled her mom's, but the vulnerable eyes staring back didn't at all. of the last memories of her mama flashed through her mind, the woman's expression tightened into a customary frown.

"I had hoped you'd be blond like my mama."

"Why don't you have the fine bone structure of some of the other girls?"

A dozen other phrases echoed from the past with a rush of condemnation.

"Your eyes are too large."

"Your nose is too small."

Charlie closed her mind to the memories, returning her cap and starting the truck.

Raised with boys.

Works with boys.

How on earth was she going to learn to dress and act like a lady?

She shifted the truck into gear and drove twenty minutes to the nearby town of Ransom to her somewhat-restored brick Victorian.

Her dad had purchased it with a plan to renovate and sell it, but he'd only partially completed things before unexpectedly

dying in a construction accident two years ago. Her heart twinged at the memory, as it always did.

Though her daddy had been no Prince Charming, he'd done his best to love her enough for two parents. She closed her eyes and

leaned her head back against the seat. What she wouldn't give for one of his hugs right now.

She blinked away the sting in her eyes and stared back at the massive house. She really ought to sell the place, but the idea

of getting rid of it somehow felt like losing another piece of him.

The fancy sconces her daddy had placed on either side of the front door shone into the night as if they were a private "welcome

home," so she nodded toward them in acknowledgment and stepped from the truck.

As soon as Charlie's feet hit the drive, she froze.

A low growl reverberated nearby, sending a chill from the base of her spine to the crown of her head. She took a slow turn

and looked down the quiet street populated with old houses and flickering streetlamps.

Another growl.

A bear? Her face cooled. Wolf?

She pressed her back against the truck.

The growl came again.

Her head jerked in the direction of the sound. Whatever it was waited at the back of her truck.

She cast a glance to her front door. Should she make a run for it?

The growl sounded again, but this time it ended with a high-pitched whistle.

A whistle?

And now that she thought about it, the growls sounded rather rhythmic.

She moved a few steps toward the sound, another "growl" turning into a... hum?

What in the world?

Flipping on the flashlight on her phone, Charlie peered over the bed of her truck and nearly dropped her phone at the sight.

Lying on his back, mouth open and hair erratic, slept Prince Captain America.