"No, you were right. The princess's sister and the East Amboy bodyguard don't make sense--we'll never last."
Did I actually say that to her? What the fuck is wrong with me? What I feel for her is the one thing in my life that makes sense. That matters.
But I never told her that.
Instead . . . instead, I said all the wrong things.
I brace my palm against the smooth wood, leaning forward, wanting to be as near to her as possible. "Elle . . ."
"I've changed my mind, Log
an."
If a corpse could speak, it would sound exactly like my Ellie does now. Flat, lifeless.
"I want the fairy tale. I want what Olivia has . . . castles and carriages . . . and you'll never be able to give me that. I would just be settling for you. You'll never be able to make me happy."
She doesn't mean that. They're my words--the insecurities I put on her--that she's hurling back in my face.
But God, it fucking hurts to hear. Physically hurts--stabbing deep into the pit of my stomach, crushing my chest, grinding my bones. I meant it when I said I would die for her . . . and right now, it feels like I am.
I grab the doorknob to walk inside, to see her face. To see that she doesn't mean it.
"Ellie--"
"Don't come in!" she screeches like I've never heard her before. "I don't want to see you! Go away, Logan. We're done--just go!"
I breathe hard--that's what you do when pain wrecks you, breathe through it. Then I swallow bile, straighten up, turn around and walk down the hall. Away from her. Just like she wants, like she asked. Like she screamed.
My brain tells me to move faster--get the hell out of there, cut my losses and lick my wounds. And my heart--Christ--that poor bastard's too battered and bloody to express anything at all.
But then, just over halfway down the hall, my steps slow until I stop completely.
Because my gut . . . it strains through the hurt. Rebels. It shouts that this isn't right. This isn't her. Something's off.
And even more than that . . . something is very, very wrong.
I glance up and down the quiet hall--not a guard or a maid in sight. I look back at the door. Closed and silent and still.
Then I turn and march straight back to it. I don't knock, or wait, or ask for permission. In one move, I turn the knob and step inside.
What I see there stops me cold.
Because whatever I was expecting, it sure as fuck wasn't this. Not at all . . .
* * *
Chapter 1
Logan
Five years earlier
"You wanted to see me, Prince Nicholas?"
Here's a confession: when the powers that be first offered me a position on the royal security team, I wasn't interested. The idea of following around some self-important aristocrats who were in love with the sound of their own voices--and the smell of their own arses--didn't appeal to me. The way I saw it, guards were only a step above servant-boys--and I'm no one's servant.
I wanted action. A blaze of glory. Purpose. I wanted to be a part of something that was bigger than myself. Something noble and lasting.