Page 8 of Royal Reluctance

There had been a path of rose petals, all colours, soft against my bare feet. I slowed my steps when I walked to meet him— not because of nerves or cold feet but because I wanted to savour every single moment of this day.

Bo and Spencer had hung strings of fairy lights among the lower branches, soft sparkling white lights that suddenly turned blue as the justice of the peace greeted us, and then green. Bo had been so flustered that I had to kiss him right then, before we were even declared husband and wife because I was so happy.

It seems like a lifetime ago. It seems like it happened to another person—another Hettie who stumbled into a fairy tale and got to have her happy ever after with the prince.

That obviously didn’t happen.

I step into the clearing, wiping all thoughts of that October day out of my mind. Not that I have to try very hard because once I see Bo, all conscious thoughts vanish because Bo…

Bo is…

He’s…

My inhale is shaky and after that I think I forget to breathe at all.

Bo holds the ax over his head and swings it down to neatly split the log. It used to mesmerize me when I watched him dismantle a tree, the sound of the ax, the crack of wood surprisingly soothing.

Despite the cold air, he’s only wearing a long-sleeve T-shirt that clings to his arms and chest like it was smoothed on by an admiring female.

Arms and chest that seem… different… than when I last saw him in person.

Bo was always muscular—he was the first of the four princes to be named Sexiest Man—but he seems to have grown. Filled out.

Become more manly.

Very… manly.

And I drink him in like I’m in desperate need of water.

I have seen pictures of the prince, and for a while, I followed his lumberjack career as he travelled the world with his ax to compete in events like log chopping and speed climbing.

Watching the man climb a tree like some kind of oversized monkey is a lot sexier than it should be.

What I’ve seen of Bo in the last eight years didn’t look real. He’s beautiful and muscular, but it was like he was the Prince Charming of a fairy tale. One that liked to chop wood.

Not like the man I had been hopelessly in love with.

He doesn’t see me and I stand in the shadow of the trees watching him, trying to come up with what to say. He splits log after log, the damp patches on his shirt the only evidence he’s worked up a sweat.

He’s wearing a black beanie on his head—could it be the same one he used to wear?

But there are other differences.

The beard is thicker, hair curling under his hat. The furrow between his eyes that appeared when he had a lot on his mind is more pronounced. What is he trying to forget about?

The bark of a dog jerks me out of my observation and for a moment I’m afraid, but then I recognize him and my heart swells.

“Kody!” I cry before I stop myself.

Bo whirls around as Kody thunders past him. I crouch, hands outstretched, focused on the dog. Kody bounces around me, and I swear he’s smiling. I pat him everywhere I can reach until he calms for a moment and I can throw my arms around his neck.

He’s thicker around the middle, with more white than black on his nose, but it’s still Kody.

If this is what it feels like to be welcomed by a dog—

This is such a bad idea

But the thought of what’s waiting for me back home urges me forward.

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