“I’ll leave you to your family then.”
“Excellent work, Captain.”
Damon bowed formally once more, before turning and striding from the room. My dad whistled and shook his head.
“Hell of a soldier, that man.”
“Oh, is he?”
“Absolutely unrelenting in getting what he wants.”
I tried to swallow the heat from my face.
Damon had told me about him being a Captain in the Royal Guard, of course, and of the ongoing campaign he’d been on in the hills fighting the separatists. But seeing him like that, in full uniform, and in full “soldier” mode had been something new.
Not to mention insanely sexy.
“He’s a brute is what he is,” Mallory said with a wave of her hand. “Total savage.”
My father sighed. “Now, my dear, it’s his job, after all.”
I frowned. “A savage?”
“Oh, it’s nothing you need to worry yourself with, my—”
“He’s a killing machine is what he is,” Mallory spat, a sour look on his face. “Honestly, Lorne, the man terrifies me.”
A knot formed in my stomach.
“Killing machine?”
Damon had told me a lot about himself over the last few days. I knew about his painful divorce, his desire to help and make the world a better place by enlisting in the Royal Guard. And of course I new he was in an active campaign, and I’d considered the idea that he’d shot at people. But killing machine?
My dad frowned at Mallory before turning back to me. “Our dear Captain Hunt just has a bit of a reputation is all.”
I chill went through me. “What sort of reputation?”
“He holds the Berne Royal Guard record for most fatalities in an active campaign.”
My stomach dropped.
The kind, loving, fiercely passionate man who’d shown me so much in so little amount of time couldn’t be this man they were talking about. He had to be an evil twin, or an alien body double, or something to make this not true.
I was still shaking my head and trying to process it, when Mallory cleared her throat.
“Adele, honey,”
I hated when she called me that.
“You’re eighteen now.”
“Mallory—” my father started.
“No, Lorne, she has to hear this.”
My stepmother turned back to me, her look almost gleeful.
“It’s high time you were married.”
I frowned. “I’ll get there, I just haven’t found—”
“No, you’ll get there tonight.”
I blinked. “Tonight?”
“At your uncle’s ball. You’ll find a suitor, the arrangements will be made, and that’s the end of it.”
“What?” My jaw dropped as I whirled on my father. “Dad! You can’t just—”
“I’m, uh, I’m afraid I must agree with my Queen on this one, honey,” he said softly. “In fact, I decree it. You will find a suitor this evening.”
“Dad!”
“Your Highness,” Mallory snapped. “And he’s made his decree.”
“No you’ve made a decree for him!” I hurled back.
“Adele!” My father stood quickly, fury rolling around him. “Do as Mal— do as I say.”
The world spun, and I felt like I couldn’t breathe. Tonight. I had to find a suitor tonight, and the only thing I wanted had just walked out of this very throne room.
“You’re a strong young lady, Adele,” Dad said quietly. “But it’s time to marry. You’ll find a nice prince—”
“I don’t want a nice prince.”
“I can find you a not nice one if you prefer,” Mallory snapped.
My dad shook his head at his wife before turning back to me. “You’ll find the right one tonight, my dear. I’m sure of it. And if you don’t—”
“If you don’t I’ll find one for you,” Mallory said wickedly. She shook her head at me.
“Come hell or high water, Adele, you will be married by week’s end.”
Chapter 9
Damon
She didn’t know I was there. That, I’d done on purpose, obviously. One, because it was all part of my wicked plan involving those little panties I’d given her. I knew the label inside the box might have given some of the surprise away, but me being there? She wasn’t expecting that.
She also wasn’t expecting the remote control to those panties being in my pocket.
But the second part was, beyond my own fun games, was that I couldn’t stand to be away from her. I couldn’t abide her going off to that ball without me, surrounded by shitty, leering princes trying to get their paws on her.
Fuck that, she was mine, and no one else’s.
So I pulled out the stops, and called in some favors with some friends in the intelligence wing of the Royal Guard. I had the tuxedo — though in my true fashion of not being one of the sheep, I’d gone with an all-black getup. So, I had the monkey suit, and more importantly, I had the fake invitation to King Lucian’s ball.
But a tuxedo and an invitation didn’t make me belong in a place like this, I was acutely aware of that. I wasn’t “of” this crowd. I wasn’t royalty, and I wasn’t even one of those people who wished they were royalty.