“I assume he deserved the smackdown?”
“He grabbed Zan’s ass, and she isn’t a fan of being touched—by anyone, but especially strangers. She has some pretty serious personal boundaries.”
“As she should.” He grunts. “I bet that asshole will think twice before touching a woman without an invitation again.”
“I’m sure he will. She got her point across. Though, I confess I’m a fan of at least one verbal warning before the physical violence.”
Andrew smiles. “Yeah? Are you a secret black belt, too?”
“Not even close, but I haven’t run into any situations where I needed to be. I don’t attract trouble the way Zan does. She’s always had bad luck like that.” I sigh. “And really bad luck with men. But in true Zan fashion, we didn’t know she was married to a massive dickweed until she filed for divorce.”
“Really? Wow,” Andrew murmurs. “I can’t imagine that with my brothers. We don’t usually have secrets, and when we do, we’re shitty at keeping them from each other. Jeffrey applied to join the Royal Guard a few months ago. He managed to keep quiet about it for all of four days before he forgot he was hiding his plans and slipped up in front of Nick.”
“That seems like it would be a good fit for him,” I say, thinking of the other intimidating men in uniform I’ve spotted around the grounds since I arrived. They are definitely Tall, Dark, and Scary’s tribe. “Why was he keeping it a secret?”
“It’s technically against the law for anyone in the line of succession to guard the king,” Andrew says, his eye roll audible in his voice, though I can’t see his expression clearly anymore. My eyes have adjusted to the dim light, but his back is turned to the big, round moon creeping higher in the sky. “It’s an old law, made a few hundred years ago, after one of my ancestors took advantage of his guard privileges to slit his brother’s throat.”
“Yikes.” I bare my teeth.
“The king lived,” Andrew assures me. “And I trust Jeffrey. Obviously. I would have pushed his application through right away, but he wanted to appeal for an exception through the official guard chain of command, prove he didn’t get special treatment. They’re still reviewing his application, but I expect he’ll be approved within a month or two.”
“Good for him,” I say, choosing my next words carefully. I know I shouldn’t ask, but I’m too curious to know what’s up with Jeffery. “Is that why he was staring at me at dinner? Was he on guard? Trying to determine if I’m a threat?”
“I’m not sure what was on his mind tonight,” Andrew says. “He seemed a little off, but maybe he had a bad day. Or is having his man period.”
I smile. “Is that something all the Von Bergen men suffer from?”
He presses a hand to his chest. “Well, not me, of course, but you know how it is with middle children. They’re always so difficult.” He pauses before continuing in a softer voice, “I’m sure Sabrina is the same.”
My blood goes cold all over again, but I manage to shake my head with what I hope is a benign smile. “Not really. Sabrina is the most normal member of the family. Very steadfast and devoted, but well…” I shrug stiffly. “She would say she’s boring.”
“I doubt that,” he murmurs. “All of the Rochat sisters sound fascinating. I look forward to meeting Alexandra and Sabrina someday soon.”
His voice, so husky and low, makes my name sound like something scandalous, a forbidden act that can only be whispered about in corners. A naughty thing you shouldn’t enjoy, but it’s so damn delicious you can’t help yourself.
My name on his lips is a third tumbler of fifty-year-old scotch and hands under the tablecloth, fingers finding their way behind zippers and over panties.
And God help me, but I suddenly want that drink.
Those hands.
I want Andrew to touch me. I want to know what his lips would feel like against mine. I want to discover the way he tastes, the sounds he makes when he loses control, the things he says when he’s not worried about being on his best behavior for his fiancée. I want to be a girl he’s met at a noisy bar, one so loud we have to communicate with the way our bodies move on the dance floor, with how we lock eyes over that last drink, silently daring each other to be the one to ask, “You want to get out of here?”
But that’s never going to happen and standing here lusting over a man who can never be anything but my friend is madness.
So I do what any mature princess in her mid-twenties with the future of two kingdoms weighing heavily on her shoulders would do. I slap Andrew on the shoulder and shout, “Last one to the center is a rotten egg!” and dash between the gargoyles into the maze.