Page 31 of Royal Secret

So, what does that mean for me?

That I’m screwed either way? As long as Courtney is in my life, I’ll be hopelessly tempted by something I can’t have due to my fear of losing the crown.

As I rise from my chair, smoothing out the front of my shirt, the soft buzz of my phone catches my attention. My heart races at the text that appears. Father wants to see me in his study — now.

“Jakob,” he greets me, his voice stern as I enter the study.

“Father.” I nod, taking a deep breath. “You wanted to see me?”

“Sit down,” he instructs, pointing to the chair across from him.

As I comply, I get the feeling that I’m about to be cross-examined.

“Tell me about Courtney,” he begins, folding his hands on the desk. “Has she done anything… unusual during her stay?”

I feel my cheeks warm slightly as her image dances before my eyes — the way her hair falls over her shoulders, the curious tilt of her head when she’s pondering something deeply.

“Nothing at all, Father,” I stammer, trying to maintain my composure. “She’s just interested in her family history, the culture. That’s all. I’ve been showing her around… some.”

A brief look of surprise crosses his face, but he quickly composes himself.

“Are you sure she is only curious?” His tone carries an edge of skepticism, and I wonder who he’s more curious about. Courtney or me.

“Absolutely,” I assert more confidently this time. “Courtney is harmless. She’s genuinely fascinated by Bergovia, nothing more.”

Father watches me for a long moment, his expression unreadable. I can almost hear the cogs turning in his head as he deliberates my words. Finally, he nods, dismissing me with a wave of his hand. “Very well. Carry on, Jakob. But remember, vigilance is paramount. And don’t get… distracted.”

My throat tightens. I know what he means, of course. He’s seen photos of Courtney. He knows how attractive she is; it would be hard for any man to resist her.

But I am not any man. I am a prince of Bergovia. Duty, my country, comes before all else.

“Of course, Father.” I rise quickly, eager to escape the oppressive atmosphere of the study.

His words prickle the back of my neck as I head to the garage, get into my convertible, and drive off. Am I already too distracted? If so, how would I know it? At what landmark have I passed the point of no return?

In front of Courtney’s hotel, I pause to adjust the cuffs of my shirt before heading into the lobby. My heart thrums with anticipation at the thought of seeing her again after days absorbed in work. The guilt of neglecting her simmers within me, but I’m determined to make today count.

The moment she steps into the lobby, time seems to slow. She’s wearing a light-blue dress that complements her green eyes — a shade reminiscent of Bergovia’s summer skies. Her hair cascades over her shoulders in soft waves, and the subtle hint of blush on her cheeks adds an innocent glow that captivates me. She’s effortlessly beautiful, and for a second, all my prepared words slip away.

“Good morning,” I manage. “You look… absolutely stunning.”

She smiles, but there’s a hesitance in her eyes that wasn’t there the last time I saw her. “Thank you. I’m excited to see what you’ve planned for today.”

“Trust me, it’s something special.” In an attempt to bridge the distance I sense between us, I reach out to gently touch her arm. “I’ve really missed spending time with you these past few days.”

Her smile falters just slightly, and she subtly shifts away from my touch. “That’s nice of you to say,” she says, her words measured.

I instantly regret my forwardness, realizing that perhaps I’ve misread the signs, mistaking her gratitude for something more.

Perhaps it’s just that she is keeping her head about her, whereas I am not. She knows that things could never work between us, and she does not need the information I have in order to be assured of that. I did her dirty, as much as I hated to. A decade of playing tour guide would not make up for that.

“Shall we?” I gesture toward the door, eager to recover from my blunder.

“Of course,” Courtney agrees, and together we step outside into the fresh morning.

The drive to our destination is filled with casual conversation, but I still feel that my earlier flirtation has cast a shadow over our rapport. Determined to focus on the surprise I’ve prepared, I steer the topic to her life in Texas, and she tells me about her job, the farmers markets she and her grandmother would go to every weekend, and the occasional weekends spend volunteering at animal-shelter fundraisers with her best friend.

Upon arrival at the Bergovian History Museum, I reveal the day’s agenda. “I’ve organized a private tour for us,” I tell her, gesturing to the grand building. “There’s an expert on Bergovian heritage who will guide us through the exhibits.”

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