The Princess and the Player (Royally Pitched 1)

“Cinderella’s chariot hasn’t turned into a pumpkin yet,” Robert said.

Tristan’s eyes narrowed, and he looked down the hall, first in one direction and then the other. “Am I supposed to know what that means?”

Ever stoic, Robert said, “Fancy a walk on the beach?”

He leaned against the jamb and crossed his arms over his chest. He looked Robert up and down. “You’re not really my type.”

“I know three hundred fifty-seven different ways to kill a man,” Robert returned, deadpan.

“I’ll just get my shoes.”

“That’s probably a good idea.”

Tristan grabbed his trainers and slipped them on, even as Robert started walking down the hall without him. He hurried to catch up and followed him down the stairwell. They didn’t talk down the five flights of stairs, through the lobby, or out onto the boardwalk. When they reached the beach, Robert stopped and waved his hand, indicating the way he should go.

Tristan stepped into the sand but turned to Robert. “I was just kidding, you know.”

“I wasn’t.”

Tristan laughed. “Of course you weren’t.”

Then, he left Robert and his dry humor behind to go find Ele.

There were two people sitting at the now-abandoned firepit. Ele and her second bodyguard, who Tristan hardly interacted with.

“Hey,” he said into the night, trying to catch her attention.

She turned right away and then spoke softly to her companion. He nodded and walked to Tristan. Stepping aside, they passed each other, and Tristan strode on, the disappointment from earlier trampled by excitement.

He didn’t even speak, just pulled her to her feet and into his arms. He held on to her, loving the feel of her in his embrace. Her hat was gone, and her hair hung loose down her back. She ducked her head, so it rested on his chest.

“Cinderella, huh?” he teased.

“What?” Confused, she leaned back, so she could see him. But then it must have registered because she smiled. “Is that how Robert got you down here?”

“He made some mention of it. Right before he told me how many ways he knew to kill a man.”

She laughed. “What did you say for him to feel he had to enumerate for you?”

“I might have told him he wasn’t my type.”

“You’re playing with fire, Davenport.”

“I got that.”

“Do you feel like walking? I know you’re probably tired, but I’m strangely not.”

He reached out and grabbed one of her hands, interlocking their fingers. She turned, and they meandered down toward the water. They walked aimlessly along the shoreline, content with the quiet company.

“You surprised me tonight,” he finally said.

“Good surprise?”

“Of course. It would have been better if I could have acknowledged you or spent any time with you or … I don’t know … touched you.”

“I wanted all of those things.”

“No panic attacks?”