by Leslie North
“I’ll let Eric inherit if that’s what it takes,” Phillip said, then had to pause and swallow hard. He didn’t take it back though, just let the offer sit there even though she knew how much it must be costing him to offer this.
She dropped her hand, dropped the reins. The horses she’d been holding, less well-trained than those at the royal stables, wandered off to investigate some hay in the corner. “That’s not what I want,” she said.
He looked up at her, worry and hope warring on that incredible face.
How to say what she meant? She waved a hand at the arena, at the horses in the corner. “Before I met you, this was all I ever wanted,” she told him. “I thought it would mean freedom. I thought that was what I wanted: never having to serve anyone again. But I was wrong. Everyone I ever talked to about my life assumed that serving made me somehow lesser, so I’d started to believe that too.” She knelt down in front of him, and, unable to restrain herself any longer, took his face in her hands. “You taught me something too, Phillip. You taught me that serving others can be one of the most noble and fulfilling pursuits anyone could be lucky enough to pursue. And in comparison to being your Queen, this old dream of mine looks shabbier with every passing minute.”
That glorious, adorable smile started to tug at the corners of his mouth, but she wasn’t quite done.
“I want to spend my life at your side. And trust me, there will likely be plenty of times where I ask you to skip traditions and compromise with some of our obligations, but this isn’t one of them. Stay king, and let me be your queen.”
He leaned forward, took a stray strand of her hair between his fingers, tucked it behind her ear. “I would love nothing more,” he said, staring at her lips like he would also love nothing more than to kiss her.
In the corner of the ring, the stable hands applauded and wolf-whistled, and she smiled. “Vegas isn’t too far of a drive from here. Let’s go find a chapel right now. I don’t want to wait another day to be your wife,” she said, staring at his lips too. God, she wanted this man so bad, right now. She slanted him a suggestive smile. “Although… maybe the wedding can wait a few more hours.”
He scooped her up, and she laughed out loud. “A few more hours it is,” he said. “I most definitely have some ideas for ways we can pass the time.”
She grinned with delight, wrapped her arms around his neck, and finally, finally kissed him. He ducked his head to meet her, and she sighed with happiness. This kiss—it felt like life. It felt like a new dream.
It felt like Phillip and her, forever.
Epilogue
Phillip tried to peer around the edges of the blindfold, but Ella had tied it expertly and he couldn’t see anything beyond vague light filtering around the corners. He tried to guess where she was taking him by hearing alone. Birds chirping, a soft breeze rustling through leaves—they were outside, but he had no idea where. She’d led him in merry circles through what had felt like the entirety of the Summer House and he’d gotten completely turned around.
“There’s a step down ahead, careful,” Ella’s teasing voice called out from in front of him. Her fingers tightened around his hand as she guided him. Today was their first anniversary, and there was no place he’d rather spend it than here, with her. They were on a weekend holiday, which they tried to take at least once or twice a month, no matter how pressing their obligations as heads of state.
She’d become a glorious queen, even better than he’d imagined. She was kind, generous, and sharp as a whip. She couldn’t be intimidated, but neither was she closed-hearted. She made him stronger and he loved her more than he’d realized one person could ever love another.
He was the luckiest man on the face of the Earth, and every day, he thanked the stars above that he’d realized it in time to go after her that day at the stables.
“Ta-da!” Ella whipped his blindfold off, grinning maniacally. He blinked into the sunlight. After his eyes adjusted, he spotted what she was so excited about: a vintage Triumph motorcycle, slightly rusty and missing several parts, with a bright red bow around its seat. “I figured we could spend some time fixing it up together when we come out here,” Ella said, proudly patting the rear wheel. “And look!” With a flourish, she brought something out from behind her back: a new helmet, painted a glittering, metallic silver. “I’m going to get myself one to match later, when I can ride again,” she said with a mischievous grin.
He laughed, taking the helmet and dropping a kiss on her cheek. “I love it.” He moved to the bike and ran a hand over it, whistling. He’d long since been a fan of these and had been meaning to get one to fix up, but had never gotten around to it. “This is perfect,” he told Ella, kneeling down to check out the engine, then blinked as he registered her words. “Wait—when you can ride again? Why can’t you ride now?”
She grinned like the cat who ate the cream and rubbed her belly. “Because I have another surprise for you,” she said. “Though you won’t get to see this one for another, oh, nine-ish months.”
He jumped to his feet, hurried to her side, stared down at her stomach. “No. Really?” he asked, barely able to get the word out past the sudden lump in his throat. “You’re pregnant?”
“Yup,” Ella said gleefully. “The throwing up in the morning part isn’t much fun, but just imagine it: by this time next year, we’ll be parents. A little princess or prince snuggled up in your arms, that wonderful new-baby smell, singing traditional Danovian lullabies at one a.m. feedings.”
He swallowed as he reached out, traced his fingers across her belly. A princess or prince. A baby. Their baby.
Concerned at his silence, Ella reached out, put a hand on his cheek. “Are you happy?” she asked, turning that beautiful, earnest face up to him.
He stepped in to her, one hand still on her stomach where his son or daughter slept and the other cupping her cheek. He laughed out loud at the sheer impossible joy of it. “I have never been so happy in my entire life,” he told her, and meant every word.
Because his life before her—he couldn’t even imagine it, couldn’t remember how he’d trudged through the days without this woman at his side. And now that they were about to add another member to their little family…he hadn’t realized life could be this good.
He leaned in and kissed her, and thought of nothing except how he wanted to do this, exactly this, for the rest of his life.
End of Royal Service
Royals Of Danovar Book One
Royal Service, May 24th 2018
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Royal Treatment, May 31st 2018
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Royal Order, June 7th, 2018
PS: Do you love handsome royals? Then keep reading for exclusive extracts from Royal Treatment and The Sheikh’s Diamond.
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About Leslie
Leslie North is the USA Today Bestselling pen name for a critically-acclaimed author of women's contemporary romance and fiction. The anonymity gives her the perfect opportunity to paint with her full artistic palette, especially in the romance and erotic fantasy genres.
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BLURB
The Danover Royal family can’t weather another scandal following Phillip’s notorious wedding. Now, Eric “the spare” is tasked with going full on proper royal to rectify his party boy image. He can start by curing cancer -- or at least working on funding a new scientific breakthrough for breast cancer. But when he finds that the scientist behind t
he new treatment is sexier than all the sinning he’s done in recent years his ‘good boy’ image change hits a major roadblock.
Anna Fernstone has happily avoided one royal wedding only to end up engaged financially with the second in line. What are the odds? Surely it wasn’t normal for a single scientist to have to ward off everyone in line for the throne. But when Eric proves to know a thing or two about the female breast, Anna is too taken to stop him. With their livelihoods on the line, do they risk a once in a lifetime romance even if it has the potential to ruin the reputations they’ve worked so hard to build? In the end they’ll have to choose what means more: what the world thinks or what they think of each other.
Grab your copy of Royal Treatment
Available May 31, 2018
www.LeslieNorthBooks.com
EXCERPT
Prince Eric Augustus Calumn Magnus Bishop whistled under his breath as he broke into the medical laboratory’s front office.
Broke into was a strong term. It conjured up images of padlocks and guard dogs and handcuffs—and not the comfortable padded ones that had been involved in some of Eric’s more adventurous liaisons, either. But he wasn’t actually breaking into this room, he assured himself. More like accessing without permission, using keys he’d borrowed from the lab’s front desk while the receptionist had been too busy fluttering her eyelashes at him to notice.
He twirled the key ring around his finger, opened the door, and strode into Dr. Anna Fernstone’s office with a wide grin. It wasn’t like the good doctor had left him any other option. If he tried to set up another appointment with her, she’d probably just cancel it at the last second or duck out early claiming she’d eaten bad shrimp again. She’d practically forced him to take these extreme measures. He had no clue why. He was trying to fund her research, not kick her out of his country. Although technically Danovar was his brother King Phillip’s country, not his. Thank God.
He flicked the lights on, sat in her chair, put his feet up on her desk—careful not to wrinkle any papers or get dirt on the beautiful cherry wood surface—and waited.
And waited.
And waited some more.
By the time an hour had passed, Eric was getting fidgety. He’d already doodled on her calendar, folded a few of her sticky notes into origami animals—a massive failure by any measure, but entertaining anyway—and tried to nap, also without success. Wasn’t she normally here by eight o’clock sharp? He took his notebook out of his pocket and flipped to the pages dedicated to Anna. Yep, he’d written it right there after they’d first met at his brother’s Summer House Party a few months ago: gorgeous but uptight, and punctual as the Grim Reaper. Had the receptionist tipped her off that Eric was looking for her?
He stood up with a frustrated sigh. He’d thought offering to fund her breast cancer research would be a slam dunk. Dozens of labs across the country were chomping at the bit for the prestige, publicity, and of course money that came with royal approval. But Anna kept stonewalling him, and the clock was ticking. Eric needed her to sign on the dotted line if he was going to get his very first bill through Parliament.
He shuddered as he buttoned his suit jacket back up. If anyone had asked him a few months ago whether he would be willing to make headlines for anything other than going on a bender and accidentally proposing to the very married Duchess of Canterborrough (who’d nearly said yes, he was certain of it), he’d have laughed them out of the room. But things had changed, and now that his big brother had scandalized the country with his tradition-flaunting American wedding, the royal family could no longer afford for Prince Eric to be the nation’s favorite playboy. Instead, he’d been tasked with cleaning up his family’s image, a job for which he was arguably the world’s worst possible candidate. Still, he thought he’d risen to the challenge nicely. He was sponsoring a new healthcare bill, one that would revolutionize several outdated and cluttered Danovian laws. But if he didn’t get good press for it soon, the public would ignore it or even turn against it, and he’d be laughed out of Parliament.
Which was where Anna came in. Or where she was supposed to have come in. He would fund her research, the press would laud him for it, and he’d get the chance to tout his new bill on front pages across the nation. He would be able to explain what a win/win situation it was if she would sit down with him for longer than five minutes.
He tugged at his collar, which suddenly felt too tight. It had seemed like a good idea to dress up for this meeting—he knew he looked good in a suit, plus Anna seemed like she might appreciate the effort—but now the damn thing was trying to asphyxiate him. Either that, or the thought of failing at his first serious venture into politics was making it hard to breathe.
A voice echoed in the hall. Making a snap decision, Eric strode toward the door. He’d find out where Anna was, or failing that, locate a strong cup of coffee. How did Anna manage to get up and be productive this early every morning? Although now that he thought about it he supposed she was the type to be in bed, herbal tea consumed and flannel pajamas on, by nine p.m. sharp. Which might account for why he had a pounding headache and she was curing cancer.
He opened the door and popped his head out. “Hi there!” he called to the lab assistant who’d just walked past the office.
The man, who was wearing black scrubs and hot pink Nikes, turned and then did a double-take. “Your Highness,” he said, an appreciative note in his voice as he gave Eric a slower up-and-down perusal. The man bowed, and if Eric wasn’t mistaken he whistled a quick catcall under his breath before he came back upright. “What can I help you with, sire?”
Eric smiled and put his hands in his pockets. If the assistant had read pretty much any Danovian tabloid in the last decade he’d have to know the prince was straight, but he looked like the type of guy who’d appreciate a little harmless flirting even so. “I’m interested in the work this lab is doing and happened to be in the area,” he replied. “You look like just the man to give me the full tour.”
The assistant quirked an eyebrow at the open door behind Eric. “You happened in the area…of my boss’s office? Which was supposed to be locked?”
Eric leaned against the doorframe and shrugged, pulling the borrowed keys out of his pocket and tossing them casually in the air. “It would seem so. What can I say? I’m a bad boy.”
Unable to hold a straight face at that ridiculous line, the assistant snorted.
“Come on,” Eric coaxed. “I’ve got all kinds of juicy stories about the private lives of Danovian nobility. How about I tell you one, and you show me around?”
He needed to get into the back, the part of the lab that was restricted to the scientists and their assistants. If Anna wasn’t in her office she was probably back there, and his borrowed key ring could only get him so far—the restricted area was set on fingerprint locks.
The assistant hesitated. “I was on my way to do some calibrations on the new MRI machine,” he said.
Eric tossed him the key ring as a show of good faith, then loosened his tie. “Perfect!” he said. “I’ve always wanted to try out one of those things, see what all the fuss is about. I have to take my shirt off, right?”
The assistant grinned. “Oh yes,” he said, “you absolutely do.”
Thirty minutes later Eric was shirtless as promised, lying flat on his back and waiting for the tubelike machine to start up around him. There was one already on in the room across from his, and he could hear it thumping loudly even through the wall. “Is mine going to be that loud?” he called, but the assistant didn’t answer. He was already in the other room, fiddling with the controls. He’d told Eric to lie as still as possible while he got the MRI ready to go, but had only mentioned that Eric should expect “light tapping,” not what sounded like a herd of elephants line-dancing on his neighbor’s roof.
The intercom beeped. “Hold still please, Your Highness.”
Eric sighed and tried to stop fidgeting. As part of the process of drafting his healthcare bill, he’d
interviewed quite a few patients to get a better idea of what they went through, and many of them had mentioned their fear of this machine even as they expressed eagerness to get its results. He could certainly understand the former. It was a good thing he was too sleepy to be claustrophobic, because this thing was narrow as hell. Maybe he could do a PSA or something to make them seem less scary.
Through the intercom, he heard a door open. “Morning, Anderson,” said a woman’s voice. There was a brief pause, then: “Holy Moses, you’ve got a live one for me today, huh? I could wash my panties on those abs.”
Eric smothered a smirk. The assistant must’ve accidentally left the intercom on. He had no idea who was speaking, but she sounded brash and also kind of cute in a dorky way. Who even said Holy Moses?
The man laughed. “I know, right? He’s all yours, Dr. Fernstone.”
Eric pulled his head up so fast he nearly hit it on the top of the machine, then remembered he was supposed to be lying still. Over the intercom, the door closed, meaning Anna was now alone in the control room. He’d finally found her. And she could hardly duck out of this meeting, not with him stuck in one of her very expensive machines.
“Hello!” he called.
