Chap­ter 35: Rhys

As antic­i­pat­ed, Prince Niko­lai and Sabri­na’s wed­ding was noth­ing short of chaos. Roads were blocked off, heli­copters hov­ered over­head cap­tur­ing aer­i­al footage of the grand pro­ces­sion, and the streets were packed with eager onlook­ers hop­ing to catch a glimpse of the fairy­tale come to life. Reporters from around the world clam­ored to cov­er every detail, from Sabri­na’s wed­ding dress train to the glam­orous guest list. Only a select few jour­nal­ists from Eldor­ra’s nation­al media were per­mit­ted inside the cer­e­mo­ny, while oth­ers scram­bled to find a prime spot out­side the church.

Brid­get spent the day per­form­ing the typ­i­cal duties of a brides­maid. While the oth­er brides­maids pre­pared in the bridal suite, I stood by with Sabrina’s body­guard, Joseph. As an Amer­i­can con­trac­tor, Joseph was the sub­sti­tute for Niko­lai’s usu­al Roy­al Guard, fol­low­ing his abdi­ca­tion. While he ram­bled about his pre­vi­ous client’s exploits—unprofessional, but not my concern—I stayed alert, scan­ning the sur­round­ings. With a big day like this, any­thing could go wrong.

For­tu­nate­ly, every­thing remained calm, and before long, Sab­ri­na emerged, radi­ant in her white gown and veil. The brides­maids fol­lowed, with Brid­get bring­ing up the rear. She wore the same pale green dress as the oth­ers, but there was some­thing about her that made her stand out. My gaze drift­ed to the way the fab­ric hugged her curves before I forced myself to look up to her face, where my breath caught in my throat.

I could hard­ly believe she was real.

Brid­get flashed me a secre­tive smile as she walked by, her eyes apprais­ing my suit. “You clean up nice, Mr. Larsen,” she whis­pered.

“So do you,” I replied, match­ing her pace as I leaned in clos­er. “Can’t wait to tear that dress off you lat­er, princess.”

She didn’t reply, but the faint blush on her cheeks told me every­thing.

How­ev­er, my mood shift­ed when we entered the wed­ding hall and I saw Stef­fan Hol­stein sit­ting in one of the front pews. His per­fect­ly pol­ished shoes and coiffed hair caught my atten­tion, but it was the way he looked at Brid­get that stirred some­thing dark inside me. If he didn’t stop star­ing at her, I was going to have to take action.

I tried to focus on the cer­e­mo­ny, but the image of Stef­fan eye­ing Brid­get relent­less­ly made my blood boil. Mur­der­ing a high-rank­ing guest dur­ing a roy­al wed­ding was­n’t ide­al, so I forced myself to con­trol my thoughts.

Brid­get took her place at the altar while I stayed hid­den in the shad­ows. As Niko­lai and Sab­ri­na exchanged vows, I caught Bridget’s eye. She smiled at me—a sub­tle, almost imper­cep­ti­ble smile—just for me. It was a brief, stolen moment amid hun­dreds of peo­ple, and it was ours.

After the cer­e­mo­ny, we head­ed to the ball­room for the grand recep­tion. Lat­er, the sec­ond, more inti­mate recep­tion would be held at Tolose House, Niko­lai and Sabri­na’s new res­i­dence, a short walk from the palace. Only 200 fam­i­ly mem­bers and close friends were invit­ed, no press allowed.

But it was there, at the sec­ond recep­tion, where I had to watch Brid­get dance with Stef­fan. His hand rest­ed on her low­er back, and she smiled at some­thing he said. The jeal­ousy clawed at me, relent­less and bit­ter.

“They make a nice-look­ing cou­ple,” Joseph com­ment­ed, fol­low­ing my gaze. “The princess and the duke. Fairy­tale stuff.” He laughed. “Too bad she’d nev­er go for an aver­age Joe like you or me, huh?”

“Be care­ful what you say next.” My voice was cold, lethal. “Or it’ll be the last thing you say.”

Joseph must have known the dan­ger in my words, because he fell silent, tak­ing a small step back. “It was a joke,” he mut­tered, clear­ly intim­i­dat­ed. “Take your job a bit too seri­ous­ly, don’t you?”

“Show some respect. That’s the crown princess,” I retort­ed. He wasn’t wor­thy of even scrap­ing the dirt off her shoes.

How had Sab­ri­na end­ed up with Joseph as her body­guard? The man had zero social tact, and that was com­ing from me, some­one who could­n’t care less about social niceties.

Joseph wise­ly kept qui­et, though his surly expres­sion said it all. I had big­ger con­cerns to deal with.

Stef­fan and Brid­get remained on the dance floor as the song changed, and though I knew it was out of oblig­a­tion, it still hurt to watch them togeth­er. They made a per­fect pair—Bridget, regal and angel­ic, and Stef­fan, debonair and clean-cut in his tuxe­do.

Then there was me—tattooed, scarred, and haunt­ed by the things I’d done.

By all accounts, Stef­fan was the bet­ter and eas­i­er option for Brid­get. Her fam­i­ly, the palace, and the press all want­ed the Princess and the Duke love sto­ry.

But I didn’t give a damn.

Brid­get was mine. She wasn’t mine to take, but I was tak­ing her anyway—every laugh, every joy, every fear, every inch of her body, and every beat of her heart. All mine.

And I couldn’t take watch­ing her dance with anoth­er man any longer.

I left my post and made my way across the dance floor, ignor­ing Joseph’s protests. I was break­ing every rule of pro­to­col, but most of the guests were too drunk to notice me. I was an employ­ee, bare­ly beneath their notice, and in that moment, it worked in my favor.

“Your High­ness,” I said, my voice dark. “Sor­ry to inter­rupt, but Jules called. There’s an emer­gency.”

I was hold­ing Bridget’s phone while she danced, so the excuse made sense.

Alarm crossed her face. “Oh, no. It must be seri­ous. She nev­er calls for emer­gen­cies.” She looked at Stef­fan. “Would you mind ter­ri­bly if I—”

“Of course not,” he replied, unboth­ered. “Please, take the call. I’ll be here.”

I bet you will. Maybe I could bribe a serv­er to slip some­thing into his drink—nothing lethal, but enough to inca­pac­i­tate him for the rest of the night.

I hand­ed Brid­get her phone to keep up the ruse as we exit­ed the recep­tion room.

But as we stepped into the hall­way, I said, “Jules didn’t call.”

“What?” Bridget’s brow fur­rowed in con­fu­sion. “Then why did you—”

“He was get­ting too close.” My teeth clenched, and my jaw ached.

A beat passed, and Bridget’s face cleared. She glanced around before whis­per­ing, “You know I had to dance with him.”

“You danced with him twice.”

“Rhys, he’s tech­ni­cal­ly my date.”

It was the wrong thing to say, and judg­ing by the way Brid­get winced, she knew it.

I stopped in front of the library, a place I’d scout­ed ear­li­er. “Get in,” I said curt­ly.

Brid­get swal­lowed hard, but she obeyed with­out hes­i­ta­tion.

I fol­lowed her inside and locked the door behind us with a soft click. The room was most­ly emp­ty, with only a rug, a table, and a large mir­ror. The lights were off, but moon­light fil­tered through the cur­tains, cast­ing enough light for me to see Bridget’s wary expres­sion.