Chapter 8

Sigurd

The fish practically jump right into my boat.

That's how Mr. Black would have described it when he first taught me how to fish when I was young.

I'm anchored at my favorite cove at the shadiest part of the lake, feeling grateful to the former gamekeeper of the palace.

I know my father the king loves me as much as he is capable of love, but Mr. Black gets most of the credit for raising me. As a child, I had no aptitude for piano or violin. My marks in school were mediocre at best, and I was not charming and social like Torben at royal engagements. If anything, photo ops gave me anxiety.

My parents and governesses didn't know what to do with me until Mother came running outside one day, all in a tizzy that Mr. Black was showing me how to string a bow. It was too dangerous, she said.

She fetched Father, expecting him to put a stop to this activity. But the moment the king stepped into the garden where Mr. Black had set up a target, I hit a bullseye.

I remember it as clear as day: Father walked up to Mr. Black, gripped him by the shoulder, barely darting his eyes to me, and said, "Black? He's all yours. Teach him everything you know."

Mr. Black took that to heart, and I was thrilled. Finally, I had found my thing. I thrived under his teaching, and Callum and I, being the same age, became the best of friends.

My life ever since has been hunting, fishing, archery, rock climbing, mountaineering, and survival. Callum and I both enlisted in the royal infantry, quickly working our way up to Ranger status, earning several medals before being discharged with full honors.

Shortly after we returned from the military, Mr. Black fell ill and was forced to retire. Callum moved into the gamekeeper's cottage to care for his father until he died.

I know what Mr. Black would say if he were here right now. "What are you doing out on the lake when you have a lady at home to warm your bed?"

But Stasi is not mine to have. And she's not in my home. It's now the palace's Air-fucking-BB.

And here I am with enough fish in my bucket to feed the two of us for a week, three meals a day.

I wonder what Stasi is up to at the moment.

Where I'm sitting on the lake is about a ten-minute paddle from the cabin. In fact, I can probably find out what she's up to if I get out my binoculars.

Creepy? Yes. But justified. She needs someone to look out for her.

And what I see through the lenses of my binoculars is the last thing I expected to see: Stasi, naked, spread eagle on the dock.

I choke on my saliva at the sight of her round breasts, bare under the late morning sun. Is she ill? Dead? Completely dotty? It's barely 21 degrees Celsius outside!

Jumping to my feet, I nearly capsize the boat in the same way that Stasi did yesterday. My sea legs recover, and I get a grip on myself. I bring the binoculars back to my eyes, and she comes into view again: she sits upright, idly drinking from a can and reading a book, her pink lips parted. I see now that she's not entirely naked but wearing a small triangle of blue fabric that barely covers her undercarriage.

My cock jerks. My mouth waters. My heart races. At the same time, I'm irrationally upset. What if someone sees her? No, it's not likely, but what if she's placed another grocery order, and some sniveling teenage delivery boy comes by? She won't hear the doorbell out on the dock, and what if that delivery boy wanders into the backyard and gets a surprise? My gods, it's straight out of a porn movie.

I shouldn't worry about it, but she's so soft and vulnerable, with every dip and curve exposed to the elements or peeping Toms.

Peeping Toms like you?

This is different. This is different because she's mine.

She's mine. She's mine, she's mine, she's mine.

Gods, she can't be mine. But fuck it all…she simply has to be.

I need help.

Stasi suddenly turns to pick up her phone. She seems excited to talk to the person on the other end.

From my limited ability to lip-read, she's talking to someone she knows. Smiling, laughing, letting her hair down, and running her fingers through her soft red locks. She brings her knees up and hugs them as she talks. Freaking adorable.

"You went where? Oh…how was it? Cool. Who did you see? Oh wow, did you get a selfie with any of them? Well, no, he wouldn't be there; he abdicated, didn't he?"

Shit. She's talking to someone about the royal family. I hold my breath and wait for her to spill the beans.

I can hear her laughing all the way across the lake.

"Oh really? Just the princess? Is she just as pretty in person? Nice…who, me? I'm on the dock naked right now…Yes, I really am! Jealous? Yeah… It's hot down here… I'm about to take a dip…call me later, okay?"

I find myself seething when she hangs up, a million questions roiling through my head. Was that a boyfriend? A suitor? I'm going to be sick. Any boyfriend who comments on my sister's looks to a girlfriend isn't worth Stasi's attention.

And she's moving. Stasi is on her hands and knees now. Good gods, what is she doing?

I soon figure it out. She's stretching. The woman is going to kill me.

My body aches as I watch her arch her back and look up at the sky, her massive tits swinging pendulously beneath her. Then, she tucks her pretty little toes, straightens her legs, and her round rump goes skyward. This is a yoga thing.

A groan escapes from deep in my chest.

I've never seen anyone like her. She's so free with herself. Once Stasi is back on her bottom with legs crisscrossed beneath her, she runs her hands over those beautiful tits, smiling to herself.

My cock hurts so severely I adjust it one-handed, not daring to stop watching her through my binoculars.

What is she doing now?

I watch as she stands, looks around, and walks several paces down the dock, leaving her things. She must have to go get something from inside, perhaps lunch.

I know I should just file everything I saw into my spank bank for later, but I feel I might burst if I wait another minute.

I look this way and that. There's no one around, so I unzip my trousers and pull out my throbbing length, the momentary relief instantly replaced by another rush of blood, demanding to be touched.

Using my own spit for lube, I find myself wishing it was her—Stasi's spit, Stasi's juice wetting my cock. Her hand taking my hard length and pumping me until I come all over her soft, bouncy tits. Or her ass. Or inside her tight cunt.

"I know you're so fucking tight, you gorgeous thing," I grunt, not caring how ridiculous I look and sound out here on the water, sitting in a boat, my cock out.

All I know is I need some relief, and I need it now.

My binoculars cast aside, I see some more movement by the cabin. She's not going inside like I thought. After several paces, she turns around and takes a long, running leap into the water.

What is she doing? She can't swim! Not well, anyway.

Not without a life jacket.

Fuck me.