Chapter 6
ALEX
The air outside the basement at MESS feels colder than it did inside. It isn’t exactly chilly; just crisp enough to bite, which I welcome wholeheartedly. It clears my head.
“I’m going to walk to the hotel,” Eva says. “I need air.”
“I was about to say the same.”
She shoots me a look. “Please don’t. I don’t want to start thinking we have things in common.”
“What about the duchy?” I taunt.
“Of all the things we don’t have in common,” she quips, “the duchy is the one we don’t have in common the most.”
I smile despite myself. The pretty shell has some humor.
“May I walk beside you?” I ask.
“If you must,” she says after a beat. “But don’t think I’m warming to you.”
“Understood.”
We fall into step, heading toward the hotel located in the city’s historic center. She keeps her arms folded tight across her chest like a shield.
“I want you to know I will fight you with everything I’ve got. Dirty. No-holds-barred,” she warns. “My lawyer, Pauline, is very good at her job.”
I glance over. “So, this is your idea of small talk?”
“If you’d prefer silence…”
“No, this is delightful.”
We keep walking. Pombrio glows in the late-September dusk.
The limestone facades catch the last golden rays and appear to be lit from within.
Lined with old trees starting to turn, cobbled streets stretch ahead, winding gently.
Cafés hum with end-of-day energy, clinking glasses, and low laughter.
A faint whiff of woodsmoke rides the breeze.
I’d enjoy this stroll more if Eva weren’t so close. Her presence is magnetic and annoying in equal measure. Her perfume doesn’t help. It has none of the sugary sweetness most ladies favor. Instead, it’s seductive in a sharp, provocative way that’s so much her.
We round a corner near the old ramparts.
Ahead, the Chateau des Neiges rises behind its iron gates.
It looms like a relic of war, all gray stone, massive walls, and conical towers stabbing the sky.
From here, its pillars, turrets, and narrow windows give it the look of pure fortification rather than a fairy-tale castle.
A small crowd has gathered outside the gates. It’s thickening fast, with people pouring in from all sides.
“What’s going on?” Eva asks a passing woman.
“Palace announcement,” the woman calls over her shoulder. “They’re opening the balcony!”
Eva turns to me. “Felicia. It must be about Felicia.”
We’re pulled along by the flow like driftwood on a tide. The square before the chateau is already full, bodies packed shoulder to shoulder, all eyes fixed on the second-floor balcony.
Good news or bad? I wonder.
For the sake of the royals, the principality, and all citizens, I hope it’s good.
Someone presses into my back. I press forward. Eva’s arm brushes mine. We’re boxed in.
A kid’s elbow jabs her in the side. She winces, rubbing the spot.
“You all right?” I ask.
“Yes, I’m fine,” she assures me.
I shift sideways and slide behind her. My arms come around her, loose but firm.
She looks up at me over her shoulder. “What are you—”
“Just shielding you from elbows,” I say flatly. “Nothing else.”
She stiffens. “Is that so?”
Of course, I mean to say.
But I can’t. Lying doesn’t come easy to me, and I realize I’d be lying. I wasn’t when I stepped behind her and said it was to protect her. But now that we’re pressed body to body with her back against my front? Yeah, I’d be lying.
Christ, I wish she weren’t wearing that perfume!
I wish her trench coat were thicker. I wish I’d buttoned mine, anything to dull the feel of her rounded, perfect backside nestled snugly against my cock. My stirring cock.
Powerless to stop it, I suffer silently through my body’s blatant disobedience of my will.
Did something move on the balcony?
I shoot a hopeful look up, but no, there’s nothing. The doors remain shut. No one’s coming out yet.
Damn it!
I think about numbers. Prime sequences. Polynomial equations. A detailed mental sketch of Fermat’s last theorem.
But nothing helps. The pressure between us only increases as more people pack in.
Eva tilts her head slightly. “You OK back there?”
Her voice is low. Amused.
She must’ve noticed. One would have to be unconscious to miss a hard-on like this.
“Thanks, I’m fine,” I grunt.
“You sound tense.”
She’s playing with me, the vixen!
I grind my teeth. “All good. You?”
“I feel very… well shielded. Thank you, Alex!”
She knows, no question.
I hate that she knows.
One day, I tell myself, I’ll remember this moment and laugh about it.
The situation is objectively funny. I put myself into it, and now I’m stuck with nowhere to retreat. There isn’t an inch of space to claw back from the crowd to separate me from Eva.
We wait in silence for a few more minutes. I’ve given up on suppressing my erection. All my energy is focused on fighting the urge to press myself harder against her, to push, to rub…
I can’t believe this is happening!
I’ve regressed to a teenager or, worse, turned into a desperate incel. I’m embarrassing myself in front of my number one rival, who’s prepared to fight me dirty and hard.
My cock twitches as the phrase “dirty and hard” sparks a salacious image—one that features Eva.
Amid my turmoil, a part of me can’t help but admire the composure Eva shows in this situation.
She knows I have nowhere to retreat. I’m guessing she understands that I regret my ill-considered gesture that was meant to be gentlemanly but ended up being quite the opposite.
If she didn’t, she’d have shamed me for it, or stepped on my foot, or jabbed me in the ribs with an elbow, or headbutted me backward.
But she’s done none of those things. She just stands within my embrace, a little stiff, and pokes gentle fun at me. Her heart beats fast. I can feel it through my arms, wrapped around her.
Given her long-standing distaste for me, compounded by our current antagonism over the duchy, she must loathe this situation. But she keeps her cool.
Kudos, Eva.
A hush falls across the square. Heads tilt up and phones rise.
The balcony doors swing open.
Reigning Prince Richard steps out with others behind him. There’s no microphone or loudspeaker, just raw joy lighting his face.
“She’s awake!” he cries out.
The square erupts. Everyone’s cheering, whistling, clapping, and hugging. Many tear up and some sob, while others praise God.
“Princess Felicia has regained consciousness!” Prince Richard calls out again. “She recognized her family members! Her doctors say she is stable and out of danger!”
The roar that follows could flatten mountains. I feel happy, too. Still, the voice of reason that never quite shuts up in my head wonders why they didn’t hold the announcement until after the sniper was caught.
Could it be to bait him?
Nah, they wouldn’t take such reckless risks. The most logical explanation is that they either have him or are so close to catching him that it doesn’t matter anymore.
Eva looks at me, her eyes glassy with emotion. “She’s alive!”
“She is.”
She stares up at the balcony again, her body relaxing. If I were a less rational man, I might think she was leaning into my embrace. But I know that’s not true. She just let her guard down, overwhelmed by joy at Prince Richard’s announcement.
The pressure of the crowd eases. I release Eva slowly, careful not to draw attention to the fact that my lower body still hasn’t gotten the memo that we’re in public.
The square continues to cheer.
Eva pulls out her phone, eyes bright. “I’m texting Millie. She’s been so worried about Princess Felicia! I want to be the first to tell her the good news.”
I watch her delicate fingers dance across her phone’s screen. Two equally powerful urges battle in my mind. One urges me to spin around and walk away without looking back. The other wants me to step toward Eva when she’s finished, take her back into my arms, and kiss her senseless.