I, however, know I need to talk to the head of security sooner than later, which means reality is coming whether I want it to or not. “You need to talk to your mom,” I murmur, touching my forehead to her temple because I don’t have the energy to resist.
She sighs. “Duty calls.”
“And you.” I narrow my eyes at Hex. “You were supposed to get out of the arena.”
Hex doesn’t look nearly as repentant as he should. “Technically I did.”
“Going after suspects.”
He shrugs. “I got a good look at a couple of them.”
“Then you can pass that information to the RIA.”
He wrinkles his nose, his distaste for the agency coming through his nonchalance. “Why?”
“Because an intelligence agency is exactly the department who should investigate dissent against the crown. Not a prince.”
With a hefty sigh, Hex rolls his eyes and grabs his phone. “You’re right, but I am only doing this because no one else saw the blokes’ faces. If this makes the RIA even more persistent about me joining them, I’m blaming you.” He looks at Freya, some of his frustration softening. “Sander’s on the phone with Mum.” Then at me again. “Carsten has Gregor on the line.”
Waiting until he wanders back toward Wulfric’s cabin before I say anything, I slowly loosen my hold on the princess. “I guess we have to get back to reality.”
“I am terrified of what my mother is going to say.”
“I’m equally afraid of Gregor. I can only imagine the messages on my phone right now. It’s somewhere in the woods with my gun.” I’ll need to send one of the guards to find both things.
Freya snickers. “Poor Runa was holding on to mine, and I am certain Derek has heard of what happened at the debate and has tried to reach me many times. My friends are probably as panicked as my mother.”
“On the plus side, I doubt anyone will be talking about our stolen glances for a while.”
With bright eyes, Freya surprises me with a quick kiss against my lips before she stands, leaving the blanket with me. “Or stolen kisses,” she says with a smirk. “Can you imagine what the internet will do when they find out?”
When. Notif. It takes me a lot longer than I’d like to get to my feet as my body protests the movement, and Freya is already halfway to thecabin before I find the strength to start walking. But she looks back at me and smiles so warmly that I completely forget about the pain.
All I can think about is a future full of stolen kisses and shared blankets.
There’s no way this is going to end well.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Freya
Thereisagoodchance I am dreaming right now rather than sitting at the breakfast table at the royal family home in Stonemere. Why? Because I am certain I just heard the butler announce the arrival of Derek Riley.
Stifling a yawn, I shake my head a bit as if that might wake me up. “Forgive me,” I say to the butler. “I believe I heard you wrong.Whois in the parlor?”
“Mr. Derek Riley, Your Highness.”
I wish I had not risen so early, beating both my brothers to breakfast. It is not that I do not believe what the butler is telling me, but I do not understand, and they could explain it to me. “Why?” I ask out loud. But as soon as I do, I finally process what he said, and excitement bursts to life in my chest. “Wait,he’s here? In Candora?”
The butler’s lips twitch, though he is far too professional to actually smile. “Yes, Your Highness. He said not to rush you and that he is happy to wait.”
I am already on my feet, eager to see my friend. He was not supposed to arrive for two more days, just in time for the election. With two palace guards trailing behind me, I hurry across the house to the family parlor. Sure enough, Derek is standing at one of the windows, looking out over Stonemere Lake. I am surprised to see him alone; most often when he travels lately, his bodyguard, Hunter, is right by his side. But that does not make me any less glad to see him.
“Derek!” I barely give him time to turn around before I pounce on him, leaping into his arms like a baby koala the same way Liam always does. “What are you doing here?”
His laugh is strained. “You knew I was coming.” The tension is in his voice as well, though I can tell he is trying to hide it.
Sliding to my feet and stepping back, I scrutinize my friend. He is wearing sweats and a baseball hat pulled over his dark hair, and while this is an uncommon look for him in regular life, it is fairly normal attire for when he travels, especially if he charters a private flight. His face is scruffy with the beginnings of a dark beard, but that is nothing new. Unless his current role requires him to be clean shaven, he usually sports some level of facial hair.
