Royal Mate

by Juniper Hart

  The excursion to Oxford took longer than he had expected, and Maximus hunkered down in Ansel’s London townhouse to research his royal mark more carefully. His brother had laughed when he told him why he was there.

  “Oh, Father and his schemes,” Ansel chuckled. “What would he do if he knew you were here right now?”

  Maximus already had enough to worry about; the ongoing feud between the king and Ansel was not one of his concerns. Dealing with King Rui’s madness was a never-ending battle that fell upon Maximus’ shoulders.

  “A princess?” Ansel chortled. “You would think he wants you married to her, not killing her.”

  “He doesn’t know she’s a princess,” Maximus sighed, unsure of how to proceed. He didn’t want to arouse the eyebrows of her security team by following her around, but he needed to contact the girl and find out what she knew. From there, he could decide what to do next.

  If she is a princess, she can’t be that intelligent, Maximus reasoned, basing his judgment on past experiences. Over the centuries, the royalty he had come to know were vapid, spoiled women without much intelligence. He was sure that Poet was no different, even if she did attend one of the most esteemed universities in the world.

  After a week of learning the ins and out of Poet’s surveillance, he decided to make his move. He had learned nothing of value, except that she was stunningly beautiful up close and pursuing a master’s degree in Anthropology.

  The only threat in this princess was the way her loveliness made Maximus’ heart ache.

  Something tells me that is not the information Father wants to hear, he thought dryly, slipping down the dank stairwell into the belly of the castle walls. It was late afternoon, despite the blackness of the skies outside, and Maximus suspected he could find his father with Estrella in the salon. The man was nothing if not a creature of habit. Maybe everyone becomes a creature of habit after seven centuries, Max mused.

  Estrella sat by the fire, crocheting a throw pillow, her dark hair falling freely over her wan face, the shadowy light of the flames illuminating her form. King Rui lay in his own armchair, his head down as he snorted in his sleep like the fallen regent he was.

  Maximus stood in the doorway for a long while, taking in the two, wondering how he had been left to deal with them when the rest of his brothers had gone off to make lives on their own. They all mocked him for his decision to stay, but Maximus believed more and more that he was the only one with a true sense of loyalty to the kingdom and his family.

  Maybe he was more like his father than he chose to admit. Perhaps he, too, was a creature of habit who refused to leave this fallen land behind.

  “Oh, Maximus!” his stepmother called, looking up at him with wise, dark eyes. “You startled me!”

  “Pardon me,” he replied, stepping over the threshold. “I just returned from my journey.” She cast her husband a look, as if waiting for instruction on whether to wake him, but Maximus shook his head. “Let him sleep,” he said, finding a spot on the bearskin to soak up the heat of the fire. “I have nothing of interest to report.”

  Maximus had been weighing whether to tell his father about Poet’s royal lineage, but Rui was known to lose his frail sense of sanity where princesses were involved. The king had tried to marry off his sons on more than one occasion to secure their failing dynasty, and Maximus was not sure he had the energy to explain to his father that was not how things were done anymore.

  “What have you learned about the girl?” Estrella asked, setting aside her craft to study his face.

  “She is only a graduate student from Luxe,” he explained. “Her presence here was no cause for alarm.”

  “Luxe?” she echoed. “I don’t know it.”

  “It is a newly-independent island in the north Pacific. A small country that exports tobacco, mostly.”

  Estrella stared at him. “What else?” she asked softly, as though she knew he wasn’t telling her everything he knew, and Maximus shifted his eyes under her watchful gaze.

  “There is nothing else,” he answered. “That is all there is to it. She is no threat to anyone.”

  “I disagree,” Estrella said flatly, and Maximus was taken aback by her words. His stepmother was not one to argue. In fact, she was rarely one to be heard at all. His brothers often joked that they could not recall the sound of Estrella’s voice because she was so meek.

  “She is merely a university student,” Maximus insisted. “Whatever you believe she—”

  “She knows about us, Maximus,” she continued. “You were not here, so you cannot understand the questions she brought forth. But she will be back. I am certain.”

  “And should she return, I will deal with her then,” Maximus snapped, his patience running thin. “I have done my investigation and found nothing of consequence.”

  “If you choose to do nothing, Maximus, you are inviting trouble to our doorstep.”

  “What trouble?” he demanded. “A girl? We are dragons, Estrella. There is no threat she can present that we can’t overcome.”

  “You are hard-headed, like your father,” Estrella sighed. “It will be your downfall.”

  As if hearing the mention of his name, the old dragon king stirred in his spot.

  “What—oh, Maximus! You have returned to us!” King Rui struggled to raise his head against the high back of the wing chair, blinking his cold eyes rapidly, shunning the sleep from his eyes.

  “Yes, Father, I’m home now,” Maximus said.

  “Is the girl dead, then?”

  Maximus looked at him, aghast.

  “Of course not!” he barked with more anger than he had intended. “How am I supposed to kill her?”

  Rui glanced his son like he was the mentally unsound entity in the room.

  “How?” he repeated. “Have you been so removed from the world, holed up in this castle, that you need to ask me such a thing?”

  “Father,” Maximus began, “you know I am incapable of killing a civilian if unprovoked. I assure you, this girl is no threat to us.”

  “And I gave you an order!” Rui growled, ambling to his feet. Even in his decrepit state, the king was a formidable man who commanded authority, particularly when he was incensed.

  “Be reasonable, please, both of you,” Maximus sighed. “Even if I wanted to kill her, I have no just cause to do so. Are you forgetting that?”

  Rui loomed over his son, glowering, his eyes flashing dangerously.

  “I forget nothing!” he roared, as if the mention of his faulty memory was angering him further.

  “Then what do you suggest I do, Father?” Maximus demanded, rising to defiantly stare back into Rui’s embittered face.

  “I suggest,” Rui muttered, his complexion tinging red, “that you pack a trunk and go back to Oxford before she returns here with her armies!”

  Maximus stifled a groan of exasperation.

  “And do what exactly?” he asked sarcastically. “Enroll in university myself?”

  Rui’s eyes lit up at the idea.

  “Yes,” he hissed, and Maximus wished he had kept his mouth shut. “You will enroll in Oxford and keep an eye on the girl.”

  “To what end?” he cried. As the words left his lips, though, he admitted that the notion of seeing the lovely Poet again was appealing. But his excitement lasted only until his father spoke again.

  “You will follow her until she gives you just cause to kill her,” he replied. “And do not return here until she is dead!” Rui whirled to storm from the salon, signifying the conversation was over.

  A thousand questions formed in Maximus’ mind. He looked at Estrella, who had returned to her needlepoint, her face hidden beneath her free-flowing tresses.

  “This is ludicrous,” he grunted at her. “You must speak to him and change his mind.”

  She glanced at her stepson, shaking her head.

  “Why would I do that?” she asked. “I agree with him.”

  Of course she does, Maximus thought furiously, also sp
inning to leave the hearth. She is just like all the other women he has chosen; meek and unwilling to think for herself.

  Even though what they were asking was impossible, Maximus knew his father was not apt to change his mind. He was being banished for a mission, and if he failed, he would be exiled from the kingdom, just as Ansel had been.

  Maximus was filled with a sense of bittersweet. On the one hand, he had always dreamt about leaving the castle, starting his own life somewhere new. At the same time, he wondered what damage Rui would cause if someone was not left behind to wrangle him in.

  He stole up the center staircase, darting to the south-west wing toward his quarters. He had his orders.

  Going forward, he was not Prince Maximus Williams, son of the mad dragon king. He would be Max Williams, Luxe King’s Guard.

  There are worse things to be doing than following Poet Mueller around campus, he thought, smiling slightly as he entered his bedchambers. The only problem was going to be figuring out what to do with her after all was said and done.

  For the first time since learning about the girl, Maximus felt a flutter of doubt in his gut.

  Killing her might still be his only option if he ever wanted to come home again.

  3

  The din of the pub was rising, but Poet barely noticed as she hung up the phone, her brow furrowed in confusion.

  Is he lying to me? she wondered, staring blankly at the device in her hand. She had never known her father to be untruthful, but who else could the man have been?

  “Where are you?” Nick demanded, plopping a pint in front of her. “You look like you’re on another planet.”

  She glanced up at him, her eyes clouded.

  “I—nowhere,” she replied. “I was just speaking with my father.”

  “Oh! His Grace of Luxe. How is the old man?” Nick teased, slipping into the booth at her side. “And when are you going to invite me to a party on the one-hundred-and six-foot yacht at the palace?”

  Poet snickered. “Trust me; it’s more of a nuisance than you think,” she said. “It requires so much work and planning to plan a trip or even a party on it.”

  “I imagine your diamond shoes are too tight as well?” Nick quipped, and Poet rolled her eyes.

  “I’m not complaining,” she replied. “I’m just telling you that the boat lacks a certain functional quality.”

  The Cloak and Clock was filled with the after-work crowd, but Nick had managed to secure a seat near the front door before Poet had arrived.

  I’m only staying for one, Poet vowed. Then I must get back to work.

  “But you didn’t answer my question,” Nick pressed. “How is your dear old dad?”

  “He’s all right,” she answered. “I think.”

  “Is he sick?” Nick asked, his green eyes clouding.

  Poet shook her head. It wasn’t her father’s health that concerned her: it was what he had said when she’d called to give him grief about the King’s Guard being in her class.

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about, Poet,” the king assured her. “I have never instructed one of the men to follow you into class.”

  “Well, one of them did,” she insisted. “A handsome fellow, tall, beautiful blue eyes…” She trailed off when she realized she was describing what sounded more like a dating profile for the mystery man.

  “I think someone is pulling your leg, Daughter,” King Henry proclaimed. “But I will look into it to be sure.”

  “Please do!” she replied. “We had an arrangement.”

  “We still do,” he sighed. “I will speak to the head of security on your detail.”

  It was the best answer Poet could get for the time being, especially if her father was sincere. But she still could not shake the nervousness following her as she glanced around the pub, half-expecting to see the man from Kincaid’s lecture.

  “Hello? I am beginning to feel neglected here,” Nick called, waving his thin hands around for attention. “If I wanted to drink alone, I wouldn’t have invited you along.”

  “Sorry,” Poet offered, trying to smile. The expression came out more like a grimace.

  “Are you worried about your paper?” he asked, and Poet immediately felt her back tense at the mention of her thesis.

  Kincaid was another problem. His almost furious response to her paper had left her scratching her head. She had expected skepticism, but not a complete shut-down of her proposal.

  “You don’t know what you’re doing!” he’d hissed. “You’re asking for trouble.”

  “This is incredible!” Poet had protested. “I have proof that dragons not only existed in the past, but that they exist today and walk—”

  “Keep your voice down!” Kincaid had yelled, his ancient face turning red. “I want no part of your findings.”

  This day is just weird, Poet thought. Everyone’s acting strangely.

  “Should I just leave you alone with your thoughts?” Nick asked, exasperation tainting his tone, and she looked at him guiltily.

  “I’m sorry,” she repeated. “I think I’m just exhausted already. It’s been an unbearably long day.”

  She hoped that Chauncey had not vomited on the rug again, but with the way her day had been so far…

  “Well, have a pint and I’ll find us a menu,” Nick declared, worriedly glancing at her, as if she was going to leave him alone.

  Poet gave him a weak smile. She wanted nothing more than to go home and close off the world in her flat, but Nick had been asking her to meet him for drinks all week. He was harmless, after all, and one of the only people who seemed to like her as a person, not a princess.

  “That sounds lovely,” she replied, and his face exploded in relief.

  Nick rose and disappeared toward the bar, leaving Poet alone to stare blankly around the establishment, trying to get her thoughts in order. She reached for her beer, and as she put it to her lips, she cringed inwardly.

  Mya and her entourage entered the door, as boisterous and obnoxious as always.

  Poet sunk into the booth, hoping the almost childish reaction would keep Mya from seeing her.

  Screw this. I am going home. This day is cursed, she decided mournfully, wishing with all her might that she would go unnoticed. But Poet could not be so lucky, and as she turned her head, her classmate caught her eye, her vivid chocolate eyes locking on Poet’s.

  “Oh, happy day!” Mya chortled, gesturing for her friends to stop. “We get to drink with a princess today!”

  “I am not staying,” Poet said quickly as Nick returned with their menus. “Just one pint and I’m off.”

  “Nonsense!” Mya chuckled, slipping into the booth at her side. “We never get a chance to see one another.”

  And I was just thinking that we see too much of one another, Poet thought miserably.

  Mya pressed herself too closely to Poet’s side, purposely trying to make her uncomfortable. The action worked.

  “You weren’t invited, Mya,” Nick announced, his displeasure as clear on his face as Poet’s was in her gut.

  “Oh! I had no idea you were shagging the princess,” Mya snorted crassly. “I should call the Daily Mail, yeah?”

  “Mya, what do you want?” Poet sighed.

  “A girl can’t spend time with her pal?” Mya chuckled, and her friends laughed appreciatively. Poet had never been able to understand how women like Mya attracted a following. She reasoned they must be bullied into worshipping the abrasive brunette, but it was none of Poet’s business.

  “Here,” Nick said, slipping a menu before Poet. It was pointless; she suddenly had no appetite.

  “I want to know what you’re working on for your thesis,” Mya purred, snatching a menu from the table. “It must be something good for you to keep it quiet for so long.”

  “You’ll see it when it’s published,” Poet retorted evenly.

  “Oh, come on now!” Mya insisted, her eyes flashing with annoyance while her full lips maintained a smirk. “Give us a hint,
luv.”

  “Mya, sod off,” Nick snapped, his patience fading. Poet was already attempting to stand.

  “You just reminded me,” she said. “I have to get to the library.” She was lying, of course, but at that point, she just wanted to go home and hunker in for the rest of the day. Even dealing with her dog’s vomit seemed more appealing than spending another minute in the presence of Mya Christensen and the loud group accompanying her.

  “No!” Nick cried. “You just got here!”

  “Oh, come on, Poet,” Mya leered. “Don’t tell me you’re scared off by little old me. They really do keep you sheltered in Luxe, don’t they?”

  Poet bristled at the mockery. She wasn’t afraid of Mya. She merely had no interest in spending her off-time with her.

  “Sorry, duty calls,” Poet replied lightly, reaching for her purse.

  “Mya, sod off!” Nick squeaked again. Mya snorted but made no move to leave as Poet reached into her handbag to leave a few pounds on the table.

  “Don’t worry, Nicky. I’m no princess, but I can keep you company,” Mya taunted as Nick reached for Poet’s arm.

  “Please, we’ll go somewhere else,” he pleaded.

  Poet shook her head vehemently. It was no longer just Mya and her group making her uncomfortable. The urge to get away from Nick was also starting to become unbearable. It was an underlying urgency in the pit of her stomach, an almost palpable sense of alarm in the pit of her stomach.

  However, she soon realized she was trapped between Nick and Mya.

  The man had made no secret of his attraction to her, and while Poet had made it very clear that she was not interested, sometimes his attention was borderline creepy. Like at that moment, for instance.

  Poet pulled her arm back and tried to wriggle her way out of the booth, blocked by the group trying to keep her in place. A flutter of nervousness sparked through her.

  “Let me out,” she said firmly. “I want to leave.”

  “Just stay!” Nick begged, shooting Mya a scathing look.

  The leer on Mya’s face only grew. “Yeah, princess, why don’t you—?”