“Maybe I’m curious.”
“About what?”
His gaze dropped to my mouth, then back up. The entire exchange lasted less than a second, but I felt it everywhere. “Haven’t decided yet.”
The Kneeling Ceremony was the cornerstone of the show.
It was simple in concept: at the end of each week, the remaining contestants would kneel before the Queen, symbolically acknowledging her authority and their willingness to put her needs first. The men who refused, or who couldn’t do so with genuine respect, would be eliminated. It wascontroversial. It was theatrical. It had spawned approximately three million TikToks and at least forty think pieces about gender dynamics in modern dating.
“Gentlemen,” I announced, returning to my throne and settling the crown more firmly on my head, “welcome to the first ceremony of The Good Boy Games. Those of you who wish to continue in this competition will now demonstrate your willingness to participate. The rules are simple: kneel before the Queen. Not because I demand it, but because you choose it. Because you understand that putting someone else first isn’t weakness — it’s strength.”
Julian sank to one knee immediately, the movement as smooth and practiced as everything else about him. Mason followed, nearly tripping again but making it down with a grin that suggested he was having the time of his life. Derek knelt slowly, his dark eyes never leaving mine in a way that transformed the gesture from submission to challenge.
One by one, the other contestants followed. A wave of designer suits and bowed heads, until only one figure remained standing.
Rhys hadn’t moved.
He stood at his pedestal with his hands still in his pockets, watching the other men kneel with an expression that hovered somewhere between boredom and contempt. When I met his gaze, one dark eyebrow rose in clear challenge.
Well? What are you going to do about it?
“This is gold,” Tessa breathed in my earpiece. “Hold your position. Let him sweat.”
But Rhys looked untouched. Like he could stand there all night, immovable as a glacier, while the rest of the world bent around him. And that — the complete refusal to perform, to playthe game, to be anything other than exactly what he was — made me want to get closer. Made me want to figure out what was hiding behind all that ice.
I rose from the throne and walked toward him.
The other contestants stayed kneeling, frozen in place, watching our confrontation unfold with varying degrees of fascination and concern. When I reached Rhys, I stopped close enough to feel the heat radiating off his body, catching the scent of him — cedar, smoke, a darker note underneath. This close, a muscle twitched near his temple. He was more affected than he wanted me to believe.
“You’re still standing,” I observed.
“Astute.”
“Is this your idea of making a statement?”
“I don’t kneel.” Quiet, but with bedrock underneath — old pain, compacted into three words. “Not for anyone. Not for anything.”
“Ever?”
A flicker in those winter eyes. Pain, maybe. Or memory. Gone so fast I almost missed it. “Not anymore.”
It wasn’t an answer. But it was more than I’d expected. More than he’d probably meant to give. And for one unguarded second, I was seeing past the walls he’d built, catching a glimpse of whatever had made this man decide that surrender in any form was unacceptable.
“You don’t have to kneel.” The words surprised me as much as they surprised him. “But you do have to play. Those are the only rules I actually care about.”
His eyes narrowed, searching my face for an answer I couldn’t name. “And if I won’t?”
“Then you’re welcome to leave. Tonight. Right now.” I held his gaze, refusing to back down. “But I don’t think you will.”
“You don’t know anything about me.”
“Not yet.” I let my mouth curve. “But I’m going to.”
The words landed between us, charged with a voltage that felt bigger than television. Rhys stared at me for a long moment, and he was calculating — weighing his options, his exit strategies, whatever internal battle was raging behind that ice. I held my breath without meaning to, more invested in his answer than I had any right to be.
Finally, his mouth curved to match mine. A challenge accepted.
“We’ll see.”
