CHAPTER ONE
Prince Tor, youngest son of the House of Asgersen, stood silent, his expression grave, but stoic, as his oldest brother, King of Tapt Oyer spoke vows to his bride.
Reflecting the old Norwegian roots of the country, the centuries old Lutheran church was filled with royal guests, dignitaries, and representatives from some of the most wealthy and powerful families in the world.
Young distant cousins, one from Tapt Oyer and one from their family's branch in America, dressed in white robes like the pastor, but without the vestments, approached the large brass candelabras on either side of the altar to light the candles as part of the wedding ceremony.
The small island country of Tapt Oyer was getting a new princess.
However, in that moment, Tor's attention was not on the royal couple, but it was fully fixed on the woman standing as maid-of-honor.
Blythe Whitney-Jones, Travel journalist with a Vlog and her own show on a small cable channel. Best friend to the soon to be crowned princess, Blythe was also undeniably the sexiest woman Tor had ever seen.
Five feet, eight inches tall, she wore her brown hair long and wavy. No perfect curls or updo, even for the wedding. Just silky, brown waves Tor itched to run his fingers through. Could it be as soft as it looked?
Unlike a lot of the women who made their living on the small screen, she wasn't rail thin, but had lush curves with gorgeous breasts and a sumptuous bottom. Neither were the result of augmentation. Blythe was too natural for that.
She might make her living in front of the camera, but she was not one of the plastic people.
And Tor liked that. A lot.
His world was filled with people who did whatever was necessary to present the perfect façade. Amidst all that fake, Blythe Whitney-Jones was real.
From her tendency to tease his dignified brother to shutting down anyone who even thought of criticizing her best friend, she was a breath of fresh air blowing through the palace every time she visited.
Her cerulean gown not only brought out the clear sapphire blue of her eyes, but also clung to the curves Tor longed to caress.
When they got within six feet of each other, Tor's hands sometimes literally shook with the need to touch her. At first, he hadn't liked how strong her effect on him was, but he'd gotten used to the sexual heat that surged through him in her presence.
Now, he craved it. Craved her.
At twenty-two, he had yet to have full on sex, though he knew all sorts of ways to give and receive pleasure without actual intercourse. He'd never met a woman who made him crave joining their bodies, not merely seeking pleasure from one another.
Not when that act could come with so many complications.
He was a prince and that was a fact he could never forget.
Blythe wasn't on the make, looking to catch herself a prince though. Even if she had not been so vocal about how little she wanted what she called her friend's fairytale, Tor would have instinctively known that Blythe was not one of the women who would trade sex for royal status.
She just wasn't the type.
And that was rare in his life.
"Stop it." A feminine voice hissed in his ear.
He looked sideways at his best friend and spoke without moving his lips. "I'm not doing anything."
Tor had grown up knowing Else Kirkson. Her family had emigrated to America with his great uncle three generations ago, and had been instrumental in building the connections between the two countries that brought with them military, economic and technological benefits to this day.
In exchange for first rights to buy from the rich oil reserves of his country, of course.
It worked well for both nations.
Many assumed that since they got along so well, he and Else would one day marry. That was so not going to happen. They were more like siblings than friends.
She got a kick out of treating him like a little brother, even though she was only two months older.
"You're drooling, Tor." And she liked to tease.