Page 85 of The Royal's Pet: A MMF Ménage Royal Romance

Ben clears his throat.

I seal the kiss and say, “Wish me luck.”

“You don’t need it.” Rory winks and blows me a kiss.

Ben escorts me out of my room and down the hall. The royal guards are all in red, dressed to the nines. It’s a monumental moment.

“Rooster coming to coop, copy,” Ben says into his headpiece.

“That’s your code name for me?” I scoff. “Rooster?”

“Would you prefer Royal Pain in the Arse?”

“Yes, actually.” I stop at the end of the hall. There’s a curtain separating myself and the balcony. Once I step out there, there will be nothing between me and the thousands of people down below. My heart is positively racing, and I’m doing my best not to break into a sweat. This will be the first time most people have seen me—besides that little snafu with the sex tape. I don’t want to be the prince who shags on camera and who sweats through his first official address.

I stop on my heels and turn to Ben. “How do I look?”

I’m stalling and he knows it. Still, he plays my game. “Good,” he says.

“Only good?”

“Your family would be proud of you,” Ben tells me.

That hits me square in the chest. My father, my mother… what would they say to see me here now? I try to sneak a peek through the curtain, but all I see are shards of white light. “You think he’s watching? My father.”

“Without a doubt.”

“Well, then. Let’s give him a show.”

47

Ben

Rooster is walking.

Clear on ten? Eyes on twenty.

Crowd is rowdy. Calm them down. This isn’t a bloody rock concert.

Check. Check. Copy. Clear.

The voices chatter incessantly in my earpiece as everyone takes their place for the prince regent’s address. My skin buzzes. I’m alert, eyes and ears everywhere. After all the action we’ve seen over the past few weeks, I’m not taking any chances.

I push people to the side to let Roland pass. “Step aside. Prince regent coming through.”

I make eye contact with Tanner. He’s standing at the edge of the curtain. He nods and we flank Roland on either side as he breaks through the curtain and steps onto the balcony.

People. I’ve never seen so many people flooding the palace gates. There’s a whole sea of them below, moving like a massive wave, and they let out a single, joyful roar when the prince shows his face.

Not prince. Prince regent. Reigning monarch, for the time being.

Roland certainly does look the part. The London breeze flutters at the loose strands of blond hair that have fallen around his face. His eyes sparkle, a perfect match to the cloudless sky above us. When he smiles and lifts his hand in a wave, I’m certain I can hear half the crowd swoon.

Dammit. Get your eyes off his perfect mouth and back on the people below.

It’s impossible to watch this many people all at once, but we have a reliable crew. Guards are perched up above like hawks, eyes trained on the crowd below. I can see other suits mixed into the mass, black dots fidgeting with their earpieces and radios.

And, of course, Roland has me at his side. At the first sign of trouble, I’m prepared to throw him to the ground and drag him back to the palace in one piece.

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