Chapter 2
Galen Mikos stepped off the private plane and inhaled deeply.
It didn’t matter that he was at a private airport, surrounded by asphalt and jet engine fumes.
It smelled like honeysuckle and home. There were so many things he didn’t miss about being in Thalania on a day-to-day basis—mainly the backbiting and politicking—but he missed this.
The country.
His country.
The country Theo would rule someday, if they managed to pull off a coup.
Galen cursed himself for his fanciful thoughts and checked his phone.
There was nothing from his best friend, which shouldn’t have sent his instincts clanging, but Theo tended to let his stubbornness get in the way of his good sense, and being back in New York…
Yeah, Galen knew exactly where his friend’s head was at.
Theo promised to keep his hands off Meg for all their sakes, but Galen didn’t think for a second that promise would hold.
Theo had a strange moral code and though he took his word seriously, he would create loopholes with that big twisty brain of his, and then it would be up to Galen to get them out of trouble.
Again.
Most days, he didn’t hold it against his friend. It was just the way Theo was.
Galen owed him everything. Wading through shitstorms from time to time was a small price to pay for a tally sheet he’d never balance even if he spent the rest of his life as Theo’s shadow. His friend—his fucking Crown Prince—would be pissed to hear him say it, but it was the truth.
And he wasn’t solving a damn thing by standing here, brooding on shit he couldn’t control. Theo would do what Theo would do. Galen was in Thalania for twelve hours. He’d deal with whatever situation arose when he flew back to New York.
In the meantime, he had a different kind of nightmare to deal with.
Family.
While Galen technically hadn’t been exiled, he couldn’t set foot in the palace without causing an international incident.
The current Crown Prince was Theo’s little brother, Edward, and while he wasn’t a bad kid as such things went, he was seventeen and heavily under the influence of his uncle.
That bastard, Galen would love to spend five minutes alone with. Unfortunately, it wasn’t in the cards.
A matte silver Rolls Royce waited next to the hangar, and he rolled his eyes as he stalked to it and slid into the backseat. “Nice car, old man.”
Dorian Mikos curled his upper lip at the sight of his son. “If I’d known you were going to dress like a peasant, I would have put down a towel.”
Galen glanced down at his worn jeans and raised an eyebrow.
“Some of us don’t feel the need to wave our dicks around to prove how much money we have.
” His father, on the other hand, was dressed in a three-piece suit that some designer had likely created specifically for him.
It shone a little with every move, giving a hint of purple against the blue as the sun danced along its surface.
Combined with the alligator loafers and a fucking lacy handkerchief tucked into his front pocket, he looked every inch a dandy.
All he needed was a jeweled cane to swing about.
Dorian stared at him for a long moment as if deciding how best to manipulate the situation to his advantage.
He was good at that shit, but Galen knew his tricks better than anyone.
Just like he knew how his father reacted when his manipulations failed—with his fists.
He leaned back against the door and crossed his arms over his chest, intentionally taking up more space than strictly necessary.
That’s right, you asshole. Tread carefully.
“You summoned me. I’m here. Might as well stop wasting both our time and get down to business. ”
Another beat of silence. Dorian gave a warm smile.
He was a slimmer, more metro version of Galen, dark hair groomed within an inch of its life, his carefully curated five o’clock shadow giving just enough edge that he played up his masculinity despite his clothing.
An act. All of it was an act. Dorian changed personalities the way some predators changed camouflage.
The end game was all that mattered to him, and if it meant staging a coup against a reigning monarch, he wouldn’t blink.
He hadn’t blinked when he’d tried and failed to take out Theo’s father fifteen years ago.
Don’t dwell in the past. He wants you here about the future. Pay attention.
Finally, Dorian leaned forward. “Your mother wants you home.”
For fuck’s sake. “Not this again.” His home had never been in any of the many properties his parents owned. His father made damn sure of that. When Galen was sixteen, shit hit the fan, and the only person who offered him a safe space in the storm was Theo.
Theo was his fucking home.
Not even Thalania could compare.
And the man sitting next to him who just happened to be his sperm donor sure as fuck didn’t figure into it.
“She convinced Phillip to agree to pardon you. And you know what Phillip agrees to, he’ll get Edward to agree to. His hand is so far up the Crown Prince’s ass, it’s a wonder the Phillip’s voice doesn’t sound when Edward speaks.”
Galen dropped his arms. “He’s offering to pardon me?
What the fuck does he have to pardon me for?
I committed no crimes.” No crime except being loyal to the only true Crown Prince.
If Theo’s father, the former king, was still alive, none of this shit would have happened.
But a strange illness took him at the hale age of fifty-five, and hell if any of the court physicians could figure out the cause of it.
Murder by poison, most likely, though there wasn’t the slightest bit of proof to uphold Galen’s belief.
Even Theo didn’t believe him.
“You followed Theodore Fitzcharles III into exile. You’ve been plotting with him to stage a coup of your own.”
Galen didn’t let anything show on his face.
It stood to reason that rumor had flown back to Thalania on quick wings.
He and Theo weren’t exactly in hiding, but he didn’t want to advertise their intentions—at least not until they had enough cards up their sleeves to ensure they could win.
Until that point, he would deny it to his dying day.
“I don’t know what you’ve been smoking, old man, but we’re just trying to pick up the pieces after the blow you dealt.
How’s Phillip these days? Do you still suck his cock morning, noon, and night? ”
Dorian’s mouth went tight. “There’s only one person in this car who sucks cock, and it’s not me.”
“If you say so.” Galen shrugged. “You should have called. It would have saved you the jet fuel. I’m not coming back. I made my choice. You and Anne should learn to live with it.”
“There’s more.”
He clenched his jaw and waited. This wouldn’t be good.
Dorian never stopped scheming and seeing a decade’s worth of plans come to fruition wouldn’t be enough to change that.
His father went and proved him right with his next words.
“We’ve arranged an advantageous match.” When Galen just stared, Dorian smiled wider.
“Thought that might catch your interest. Camilla Fitzcharles.”
Galen laughed. He couldn’t help it. The whole situation was too fucking absurd.
“You want me to marry Cami? The same girl whose diapers I changed? Are you out of your fucking mind? She’s a child.
” She was fifteen… no, it was August. She would have turned sixteen over the summer.
Galen shook his head. “I don’t know what you’re into, but I don’t fuck kids. ”
“She’ll be of age in two years. Hardly that much time to wait in the grand scheme of things.”
“Even when she’s of age, she’ll still be a kid. I’m not marrying a fucking kid.” Not that Galen had any intention of marrying in the first place.
But if he ever pulled that particular trigger, it sure as hell wouldn’t be for political gain.
“Next time, try a phone call and don’t waste everyone’s time.” He climbed out of the car and headed for the plane. It should be well on its way to being refueled, and then he’d be en route back to New York.
Back to Theo.
Meg spent the day working and stewing over the knowledge sitting like a rock in her gut. Not only was Theo back in New York, but he was meddling in her life. Not just meddling, but swinging around his giant moneyed cock like he thought he had any right to.
She poured three shots of whiskey and slid them across the bar to the waiting men. What does Galen think of all this? She didn’t know because she hadn’t seen evidence of him since Theo showed up.
It didn’t matter.
Theo crossed the line when he paid for her tuition. She couldn’t afford to repay him. If she could, then she would have paid the damn tuition herself. He wasn’t stupid. He knew that. Which meant he was using this money to lasso her to him and hell like she was going to let that stand.
“Meg?”
She glanced over to find her best friend Cara watching her with worried dark eyes. “Yeah?”
“Honey, are you mad at that glass? You’ve been glaring and scrubbing for like five minutes. It’s clean.” Cara gently extracted the tumbler in question from her grip and set it on the shelf below the bar. “You want to talk about what’s bothering you?”
She couldn’t talk about what was bothering her.
Not without admitting that she hadn’t been completely honest with her friend about her financial situation.
Cara knew she was broke, but there was broke and there was drowning.
Meg was doing the latter. Admitting that aloud to anyone was as good as admitting she’d failed.
Cara might not see it that way, but it was the monkey on Meg’s back. Her problem and her problem alone.