Chapter 4 Prince and the Shadow #3
A murmur rolled through the pack. Someone pushed forward, trying to get closer for a better shot. I saw it coming before it happened. Saw the photographer's weight shift. Saw the gap closing.
I didn't flinch. Didn't step back. Just adjusted my stance slightly, opening the angle for Viktor to move if needed while maintaining my position.
Viktor moved exactly as I'd anticipated. One step. Smooth as water. His hand came up, palm open, blocking the aggressive lens without touching the photographer. His body angled between me and the surge.
I felt the heat of his arm brush my shoulder. Noted it. Filed it away. Stayed exactly where I was because retreating would look weak on camera.
“Your Highness,” a man called from the far end. “If the reformists are planning mass action next month, will the crown authorize harsher measures? Curfews? Riot control?”
I let the question hang for just a beat. Long enough to look thoughtful. Short enough to maintain momentum.
“The right to assemble is not the right to harm your neighbor. We will always protect the city first. That means dialogue where possible and firm action where necessary. I hope for the former. We are prepared for the latter.”
Another voice, sharper. An agitator trying to provoke. “Do you accept that the crown's policies helped create this anger? That the movement exists because people feel ignored?”
I'd been waiting for this one too. The accusation wrapped in a question. The attempt to make me defensive.
I didn't take the bait.
“I accept that anger does not appear in a vacuum. It is on leaders to hear what is real and answer it with more than slogans. It is also on leaders to draw lines. Guns on our streets are not policy. Pipe bombs are not debate. Anyone who brings that to London will face the full weight of the law.”
The response was perfect. Acknowledged the concern without accepting blame. Pivoted to law and order. Gave them nothing to twist.
A cameraman stumbled in the crush. I tracked the movement peripherally, already calculating whether I needed to adjust position or let Viktor handle it.
Viktor's presence shifted. The space in front of me widened by an inch that felt like a mile. He didn't touch anyone. Didn't need to. His voice cut through the noise, low and dangerous.
“Back up.”
Not a request. A statement of fact.
The photographer stumbled back, muttering apologies. The crowd settled.
I gave it three more seconds, then turned to my father with a practiced smile. “We should head inside. Wouldn't want to keep the donors waiting.”
My father's hand came to my elbow, but I was already moving. Already guiding the exit. Already in control of how this ended.
Later, after the photographers were gone and the palace fell back into hush, I found Viktor in the west corridor finishing a quiet argument with the head of security about camera angles and blind spots.
I should've kept walking. Should've let him do his job without interference.
Instead, I stopped. Cleared my throat.
He turned at the sound, expression going carefully neutral. “Your Highness. Is there problem.”
“We need to talk.”
His jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. “About?”
“About boundaries. About how this is going to work.” I gestured down the corridor. “My chambers. Now. Unless you'd prefer to have this conversation where the entire palace can hear.”
He hesitated, then nodded. “As you wish.”
We moved in silence past gilt frames and night-muted tapestries. The air smelled like beeswax and rain. The silence felt loaded. Dangerous.
When we reached my door, Apollo was there on his mat, ears up, tail beating a polite rhythm. He rose, looked between us, and made a choice I did not expect. He padded directly to Viktor and leaned his warm bulk against the man's leg.
“Traitor,” I muttered.
Viktor looked down at the golden head pressed to his thigh, expression flat. “He is working animal. Should not greet strangers.”
“He's my dog. He can greet whoever he wants.”
“Not when on duty.”
“He's not on duty. I am. And I didn't ask for a lecture about my dog's professionalism.”
Viktor's eyes met mine. Cold. Assessing. “Noted.”
Apollo offered a paw. Viktor ignored it.
“Shake his paw,” I said. “Or he'll think you're rude.”
“I am here to protect you. Not make friends with your pet.”
“He's not a pet. He's Apollo. And you're being an ass.”
“I am being professional.”
“You're being rigid.”
“There is difference.”
Apollo whined softly, paw still extended. Viktor stared at it like it was a trap. Then, with visible reluctance, he took the paw. Shook once. Released.
Apollo brightened immediately, tail going from polite to enthusiastic. He trotted away, grabbed his favorite rope, and brought it back like tribute.
“No,” Viktor said flatly. “Toy is not in protocol.”
Apollo tugged anyway, insistent. Viktor's stance didn't shift.
I leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. “You know what? Forget the dog. Let's talk about what happened today.”
“Nothing happened today.”
“You intercepted a photographer.”
“I did my job.”
“I didn't need you to.”
His eyebrows rose slightly. “Photographer was getting aggressive.”
“I had it handled. I've been handling press since I was six years old. I know how to manage a crowd.”
“And I know how to identify threats before they escalate.”
“It wasn't a threat. It was a journalist doing his job. You made it look like I needed protection from cameras.” I pushed off the doorframe. “Do you have any idea what that looks like? The Prince who can't handle basic press without his bodyguard intervening?”
“Better that than Prince who gets injured because bodyguard was too polite to intervene.”
“I wasn't going to get injured. It was a camera, not a weapon.”
“Cameras can be weapons. Angles can be aggressive. Crowds can turn.” His voice stayed level. Professional. Infuriating. “I will not apologize for doing what I was hired to do.”
“I didn't ask you to be hired. That was my father's idea.”
“And I did not ask to be assigned to spoiled prince who thinks security is optional. That was my boss's idea.”
The words hung between us. Sharp. Brutal.
“Spoiled prince,” I repeated. Voice gone quiet. Dangerous.
“You asked for honesty. There it is.” Viktor's expression didn't change. “You treat security like performance. Like image management. You do not take threats seriously because you think charm and good publicity will protect you.”
“I take threats plenty seriously. What I don't take seriously is some Russian mercenary treating me like I'm incompetent.”
“I do not think you are incompetent. I think you are reckless.”
“Reckless.” I laughed. Sharp. Bitter. “You've been here for not even a day. You don't know anything about me.”
“I know enough. I know you smile for cameras while insurgents plan your death. I know you shake hands with people who want your family destroyed. I know you pretend two assassination attempts in six months are normal.”
“They are normal. For me. This is my life. This is what being heir means. Smiling while people try to kill you. Pretending everything is fine while the world falls apart.” I stepped closer. “You think I'm reckless? I'm surviving. I'm doing my job. Just like you're doing yours.”
“My job would be easier if you let me do it.”
“And my job would be easier if my father hadn't hired a bodyguard who treats me like a liability instead of a person.”
Viktor's jaw worked. “You are not liability. You are principal.”
“Really? Because from where I'm standing, you look at me and see a problem to be solved. A variable to be managed. Not a person who might actually know what he's doing.”
“I look at you and see someone who will get himself killed if I am not careful.”
“Then maybe you're in the wrong job.”
“Maybe I am.” His voice went flat. Cold. “But until my boss recalls me, we are stuck with each other. So we can either make this work, or we can spend a long time fighting while people plan your assassination.”
Apollo whined softly, sensing the tension. He dropped the rope and pressed against my leg instead of Viktor's. Smart dog.
I took a breath. Let it out slowly. “I didn't want a bodyguard.”
“I did not want to guard a prince.” Viktor's expression didn't soften. “But here we are. Making best of bad situation.”
“So what now?”
“Now you let me do my job. And I will try to do it in way that does not embarrass you in front of cameras.” He paused. “But if I see threat, I will act. Even if you do not like it. Even if it makes you look weak. Because looking weak is better than being dead.”
“And what if I disagree with your assessment?”
“Then we argue about it after you are safe. Not during.”
I studied him. This immovable wall of discipline and duty who looked at me like I was both a responsibility and a problem he couldn't solve.
“Fine,” I said. “You do your job. I'll do mine. But stay out of my way when it's not a real threat.”
“I will decide what is real threat.”
“We'll disagree about that.”
“Yes,” he said. “We will.”
The silence that followed was not comfortable. It was the kind loaded with everything we hadn't said. All the ways this assignment was already going wrong.
Viktor moved toward the door. Stopped. Looked back.
“With permission, I will check your rooms.”
“Permission granted.” My voice came out colder than intended. “Try not to rearrange my furniture.”
He started the sweep with brutal efficiency. Checking corners, vents, balcony latches. All business. All professional distance.
Apollo followed him anyway, hopeful. Loyal to people who didn't want the loyalty.
I watched Viktor work. Watched the way he moved through my space like he owned it. Like he had the right to be here even though neither of us wanted this arrangement.
“Clear,” he said finally. “I will post guards at the end of the hall. Adjust the camera in the west corner. It is too low.”
“You noticed that in one pass.”
“I noticed it when we walked in.” He headed for the door. “I will be outside if you need anything.”
“I won't need anything.”
“Good.”
He left. Door closing with a quiet click that felt like punctuation on everything wrong about this situation.
Apollo whined, looking between the closed door and me. Confused why the soldier had left. Confused why I'd let him.
“Don't get attached,” I told the dog. “He's not staying. Soon as this assignment ends, he'll be gone. Back to whatever war zone he crawled out of.”
Apollo tilted his head. Didn't believe me.
I didn't believe me either.
Because part of me had noticed the way Viktor moved. The way he'd positioned himself between me and the crowd without hesitation. The way he'd looked at that photographer like violence was always an option and he was comfortable with it.
The way he'd called me out instead of placating me. Told me the truth instead of what I wanted to hear.
Most people lied to princes. Told them what they wanted to hear. Smiled and bowed and pretended everything was fine.
Viktor had called me spoiled. Reckless. A problem.
And somehow that felt more honest than anything anyone had said to me in years.
I sat on the edge of my bed, running my hands through my hair.
Apollo dropped his head in my lap. Offered comfort I didn't deserve.
“This is going to end badly,” I told him.
He wagged his tail anyway. Optimist.