Chapter 24

Sigurd

Stasi doesn't bring up the wedding again, and the day comes and goes without mention of it.

Do I feel guilty that I didn't go to it?

Still no.

I officiated Torben's secret wedding because he's been a good brother to me. I owed him. And besides, it was fun to help the perfect favored prince to defy the king for the first time in his life.

Etienne and me? That's complicated.

The only times I've ever appreciated Etienne's antics is when they make Father's forehead vein stand out. I like anyone who can keep our father on his toes. And, okay, I admit the second oldest is pretty funny once in a while. But the wedding is a charade, and the marriage is forced. That's all the excuse I need to avoid the crowd of well-wishers and photographers.

The longer I lay low under the radar, the better. There is no doubt in my mind that Etienne won't make it all the way to the coronation. Kala is a good human with healthy self-esteem—there's no way she'll tolerate his behavior. He'll slip up for sure. It will only take one three-day bender for that woman to send him packing. Any photos that might surface from such a bender—like cozying on the dance floor with a random socialite—will only be the icing on the cake.

The only regret I have in not going to the wedding is to offer support for my sister, Flora. If Torben doesn't attend the wedding, it'll be down to her and the palace security to ride herd on our brother.

Bracing myself before the campfire, I take my phone off airplane mode. Sixteen more messages from my sister.

I ring her up.

"Dammit, Flora, if you keep this up, you'll get caught and questioned by somebody."

She snorts. "Not likely. Most of those guys don't know what they're doing."

"Not the one in the kilt. He's a decorated Royal Navy vet."

"Ooh, yes. He's a hot one, isn't he?"

"Special ops," I say.

"How do you know all that but can't remember his name?" Flora asks.

I cringe as a thought occurs to me. "Flora! Is that who you've been dating?"

She takes on an innocent tone. "Me? Dating?"

"Come off it. Everyone but Mother and Father knows you're dating someone. The way you disappear into the woods for hours. You're always on your phone."

"I've always done that. And you have no room to talk about disappearing."

True.

"Just don't go falling in love with the kilt man. Or anyone else until I get back."

"The kilt man—Uther—is a nonstarter. Sable fancies him, and I wouldn't dare stand in her way. Even though he won't give her the time of day."

I shudder at the thought of Sable, the palace stylist, setting her sights on anyone and being ignored. She's a force to be reckoned with.

"Please don't tell me any more about this. It's weird."

"You're no fun. But anyway, I'm calling to tell you you can come home. Etienne and Kala are married. They did it, the wedding went off without a hitch, and they're off to Bora Bora or some other remote honeymoon getaway. The details were vague. You're safe to come out of hiding now."

"No."

"No?"

"It's fake. They'll be divorced in a year, before the crown is on his head. Mark my words."

Flora hums. "Yeah…I don't think so, big brother. The papers all have photos of them kissing on the beach, wearing next to nothing. Looking very cozy and happy, I'd say."

Seems a bit of an invasion of privacy for someone's honeymoon, but I suppose even people in Bora Bora or wherever can be bought by the paps.

Something doesn't sit right with me. "I'll be here for the foreseeable future."

"Why?"

"Because I like being alone. Dunno if you've met me, Flora, but—"

"Yes, yes, I get it, Unabomber."

I make a half-amused noise, enough to arouse suspicion in my sister.

"Wait a minute. Have you met someone?"

She's too good at this, and I hate it. "I do meet people in the world sometimes. I'm not that much of a recluse."

"Yes, you are. Did you meet a woman?"

"The conclusions you jump to…"

"That's not a denial."

Just then, Stasi trots out of the cabin in the skimpiest black and white striped two-piece bikini I've ever seen. She looks like a man-destroying magpie. And suddenly, I'm very uncomfortable talking to my sister on the phone and staring at this woman who makes my dick hard.

Stasi bounces on the balls of her feet and waves to me, unaware of how it makes her breasts jiggle. My gods, she's going to be the death of me if I don't marry her as soon as humanly possible. But, if I marry her now, I increase my risk of becoming king one day. Or maybe what my sister says about Etienne and Kala is true. Perhaps they're solid and won't end up divorced before coronation day. There's no law that says he has to give up the crown if their marriage falls apart after the fact.

"I gotta go."

"Sigurd Allen Edwin Otto Erick Haart, don't you dare…"

Click.

Sorry, sis.

My legs eat up the distance to Stasi, and I sweep her off her feet in a thorough, tonguing kiss. My body rejoices when her legs wrap around me. I kiss her until she's breathless and pulls away.

In my arms, Stasi looks down at me with a soft smile and a certain kind of seriousness in her eyes.

"What brought that on?" Stasi asks.

"I just realized I hadn't seen you since I brought you your tea early this morning. And you looked so cute waving at me that I needed to kiss you properly."

Every word of that is accurate. These last couple of weeks have been perfect. Every morning, I rise early to make coffee or tea, then wake her up with my mouth between her luscious thighs. She goes back to sleep, and I venture out to catch our dinner. Sometimes, she comes with me; other times, she lounges, reads, and enjoys her alone time. We order groceries, sometimes on my phone, sometimes on hers. She's teaching me how to use more tech. We play cards. We watch stupid television shows and sometimes good ones. I enjoy nature documentaries, but I'm happy to sit through anything that captures Stasi's attention when not chopping firewood, sharpening tools, or repairing the dock. We spend the rest of our days watching birds, hiking, and teaching Stasi how to swim and paddle all the various watercraft.

In the evening, we enjoy dinner by the fire, or indoors on alternate nights when Stasi wants to cook for me.

At night, we cuddle, we fuck, we cuddle-fuck. We try all the things the other hasn't done before.

"A girl could get used to kisses like that," she purrs.

"Good. Because that won't change once I make you my wife."

A flush creeps over her cheeks, and she bites her lip.

"On that note, I'm ready."

"To do it in the butt? Good. Let's go."

"No!" she giggles.

"Oh, you mean to marry me. Good. Let's go."

Stasi giggles and squeezes my middle with her soft but strong thighs.

"I'm ready to have a baby with you."

My hands remain on her bottom, and I stare deeply into her eyes. "Are you sure?"

She nods.

"What changed your mind?" I need her to tell me every last moment of her thought process. This is a lot to ask of her, and I feel guilty that I even let that slip out.

"You take care of me. You're so much fun. I like the way you see the world, and I love your compassionate nature. You're good to me even when I don't listen to your advice. You're patient and kind. Your sister adores you, which speaks volumes to me. I know you'll make a wonderful father…one day. And I know things might change once we return to the real world, but I have good instincts about people. When it's right, it's right. So let's do it."

All the while she's been talking, I've been fighting back the lump in my throat. "I'm so…damn…happy."

Her eyes shining, her throat bobbing, she kisses me with trembling lips. Then she drops the bomb. "Good, because the stick just turned pink."