Hunting Beauty (Possessing Beauty 4)

There was roar, like a lion breaking free from a cage, followed by the sound of shattering glass and something toppling to the ground that had the guards outside the room drawing their weapons and yelling into earpieces.

The screaming was matched by different yelling, this one sounding more like Damon, and followed by another sound of splintering wood.

Then, I heard the words

“I love her, Your Highness!”

And right there, I knew I wasn’t staying out of that room anymore.

“Your Highness, your father is not to be dis—”

I shoved away the guards that tried to stop me, kneed another in the groin who tried to grab me, and then kicked in the doors to my father’s personal study.

The place was in tatters. Three of the glass-doored bookshelves along one wall were toppled to the ground, books and glass across the floor. A chair lay broken in two, and the usual things on top of my father’s desk were dashed across the ground.

My eyes flew to the far wall by the window, where my father had Damon up against the wall by his throat.

“Dad!”

He turned, his face red as he shook his head.

“Adele, honey, whatever this predator of a man has done to you, I promise you, justice will be—”

“Dad, I love him.”

The room froze, my father’s brow furrowing.

“What?”

“I— I love him, Dad,” I said, quieter this time. “I love him like you loved Mom.”

And that did it.

With one word, the tension in the room dropped — along with my father’s hand from Damon’s throat, I might add.

Dad heard Damon out, and even if at first he was hesitant, what with our age difference, he saw the way we looked at each other. He saw the way we finished each other’s sentences, the way our eyes lingered on each other, and the way we were clearly doing everything in our power not to touch, out of respect to him.

“I won’t have this relationship turning into a media circus,” my dad finally said. “I mean the two of you dating. If that drags on, I won’t—”

“Your Highness, with all due respect?” Damon stood, chest out in military fashion as he addressed my father.

“I don’t intend to date your daughter.”

I saw my father’s eyes narrow as his fist clenched.

“I intend to marry her.”

And everything froze — at least to me, that is. I remember turning slowly, my jaw dropping as I looked at the man of my dreams, standing there in front of my father — the King — and pledging his love to me. Through the fogginess of that memory now, I even remember him dropping to one knee and formerly asking my father’s permission.

…Oh, and he said yes, by the way.

There was this explosive moment of rejoicing, and me leaping out of my chair and jumping into Damon’s arms, shrieking as he he spun me around.

“I didn’t have a chance to actually ask you yet—”

“Yes,” I whispered into his ear as he hugged me tightly. “Yes forever.”

After that, the real tough talks got underway, because after that, Damon got into the other business at hand: Mallory.

The castle was on lockdown. Arrests were made. Lawyers were called in, judges were woken up, and Parliament was assembled. In short, a royal shit storm erupted in Berne that night. And it was bad. Not everyone went quietly, let’s just say that. Some of Mallory’s people actively fought arrests. There were a few firefights that night — some even in the castle itself.

But come morning, it was a new day.

The last of Mallory’s people were locked up, along with Mallory herself, who screamed that it was all lies of course until the proof was shoved in her face.

My dad filed for divorce by lunch.

The non-terrorist separatist — the ones who’d backed Damon’s ceasefire agreement, laid down their weapons that afternoon, and by the following day, an official treaty was signed.

Four days later, Damon and I were married — “by week’s end,” by the way. Though I’m betting that irony was lost on Mallory at that point. Anya grilled me mercilessly for more details about Damon and me, but I’m holding out — that is, until she tells me about this mysterious “club” she keeps going off to and coming back from on cloud nine…

If there was any remote concern about my marriage to a “non-royal,” well, for one, it’s a non-issue. This is, after all, the modern times, and not the time of King Arthur, and I’m allowed to marry whomever I please. But for two, it matters a whole lot less now — now that Damon’s been offered a seat at my father’s royal council as head of intelligence.

Dad, by the way, made it crystal clear that the offer had zero to do with Damon being his son-in-law, and everything to do with him being one of the most loyal, trusted, and truth-seeking men he’d ever known.