Twisted Games: A Forbidden Royal Bodyguard Romance

“Five days in paradise,” I drawled. “Swimming, sunbathing, fucking—”
“Rhys.”
“What, you don’t like the itinerary?”
“Lower your voice,” she hissed, her face the color of the tomatoes on her plate. “People will hear.”
“No one’s listening.”

Jules sighed. “Tell your man he’s hot as hell but a total buzzkill.”

“He’s not my man. He’s my bodyguard.” I lowered my voice, but I thought I saw Rhys pause for a millisecond before he resumed polishing his knife.

“Even worse. He’s running your life and you’re not getting any dick from it.”

“Jules.”

Kidnapping, blackmail, betrayal…our path to where we were now was anything but conventional. I wasn’t a storybook princess, and Rhys wasn’t Prince Charming.

I didn’t want us to be.

Because while what we had wasn’t a traditional fairytale by any means, it was ours. And it was forever.

“Long time no see,” I teased. We’d only had one dance together before we were pulled away by various friends and family.

“Don’t remind me. My own wedding, and I barely see my wife,” he grumbled, but his frown eased when he drew me into his arms.

“So, tell me.” I looped my arms around his neck. “Was this where you expected to end up as a kid? Hiding in a royal drawing room with your wife on the night of your wedding?”

“Not exactly.” Rhys brushed his thumb over my bottom lip. “But someone once told me we always end up where we’re meant to be, and this is where I’m meant to be. With you.”

Forget butterflies. An entire flock of birds took flight in my stomach, soaring into the clouds and taking me with them. “Mr. Larsen, I do believe you’re a secret romantic after all.”

“Don’t tell anyone.”

“Are you happy, Bridget?”

I squeezed his hand again, a messy clog of emotion tangling in my throat. “I am.”

Did I feel like the weight of the world was on my shoulders sometimes? Yes. Did I get angry, frustrated, and stressed? Yes. But so did a lot of people. The important thing was, I no longer felt trapped. I’d learned to master my circumstances instead of letting them master me, and I had Rhys by my side. No matter how terrible of a day I had, I could go home to someone I loved who loved me back, and that made all the difference.

Three months after my coronation, Rhys and I returned to the Athenberg Cathedral for our wedding.

He hadn’t expected his military buddies to come, since he hadn’t spoken to them in so long, but they’d all showed up. Whatever worries he might’ve had about seeing them again, they seemed to have disappeared. Rhys was smiling and laughing and looked perfectly at peace.

“Do I have to stop calling you princess now?” I asked. “Queen doesn’t roll off the tongue quite as nice.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Don’t you dare. By royal decree, you’re never allowed to stop calling me princess.”

“I thought you hated the nickname.”

I spun her around, and she waited until she was in my arms again before saying, “As much as you hate when I call you Mr. Larsen.”

I used to. Not anymore.

“I was joking.” My lips grazed her forehead. “You’ll always be my princess.”

Bridget’s eyes shone brighter. “Mr. Larsen, if you make me cry at my own coronation ball, I’ll never forgive you.”

My smile widened, and I kissed her, not caring if PDA was against protocol. “Then it’s a good thing I have the rest of our lives to make it up to you.”