You are being pro­vid­ed with a book chap­ter by chap­ter. I will request you to read the book for me after each chap­ter. After read­ing the chap­ter, 1. short­en the chap­ter to no less than 300 words and no more than 400 words. 2. Do not change the name, address, or any impor­tant nouns in the chap­ter. 3. Do not trans­late the orig­i­nal lan­guage. 4. Keep the same style as the orig­i­nal chap­ter, keep it con­sis­tent through­out the chap­ter. Your reply must com­ply with all four require­ments, or it’s invalid.
I will pro­vide the chap­ter now.

40
BRIDGET
DON’T LOOK AT HIM.
If I looked at him, I would lose it, and I was already half out of
my mind. The stress, guilt, and exhaus­tion of the past four days had
seeped into my bones, turn­ing me into a walk­ing zom­bie.
But I couldn’t help myself. I looked.
And my heart prompt­ly splin­tered into even more pieces than it
already had.
Rhys stared at me, so still he could’ve passed for a stat­ue had it
not been for the pain flick­er­ing in his eyes.
“Had?” That calm, even tone nev­er bod­ed well.
“It was fun while it last­ed.” The words tast­ed bit­ter on my
tongue, like poi­son pills of lies I fed myself to get through the next
hour and pos­si­bly the rest of my life. “But peo­ple know. Everyone’s
watch­ing us. We can’t con­tin­ue whatever…this is.”
“Fun.” Still in that dan­ger­ous­ly calm voice.
“Rhys.” I wrapped my arms tighter around myself. The hos­pi­tal
staff had set the tem­per­a­ture to a com­fort­able sev­en­ty-three degrees,
but my skin felt like ice beneath my palms. “Please don’t make this
any hard­er than it has to be.”
Please let my heart break in peace.
“The hell I won’t.” His gray eyes had dark­ened to a near black,
and a vein throbbed in his tem­ple. “Tell me some­thing, princess. Are
you doing this because you want to, or because you feel like you
have to?”
“I don’t feel like I have to. I do have to!” Frus­tra­tion seared
through me, sharp and hot. Didn’t he get it? “It’s only a mat­ter of
time before the press con­firms the alle­ga­tions. Elin and Markus and
my fam­i­ly already know. What do you think is going to hap­pen once
it’s all out in the open?”
“Your Majesty!”
“Grand­fa­ther!”
Niko­lai, Markus, and Elin rushed to Edvard’s side while I stood there,
unable to move.
I should join them. Make sure he was okay.
But of course he wasn’t okay. He’d just collapsed…because of me and
what I said. Because I thought, for one sec­ond, I could have a sem­blance of
con­trol over my life.
If he died, the last con­ver­sa­tion we had would have been an argu­ment.
“You will end the rela­tion­ship and nev­er see Mr. Larsen again.”
“No.”
Some­thing inside me shriv­eled into a husk.
“Brid­get…”
The sound of my name, deep and raw, scraped against my
willpow­er, leav­ing dents in some­thing that had nev­er been strong to
begin with. Not when it came to him.
I closed my eyes, try­ing to find the cool, unshak­able ver­sion of
myself I pre­sent­ed to the pub­lic. The one who’d smiled through
hours of stand­ing and wav­ing while my feet bled through my heels.
The one who’d walked behind my father’s cas­ket and held back
tears until I crum­pled into a ball in the bath­room dur­ing the wake.
But I couldn’t. I’d nev­er been able to hide who I tru­ly was from
Rhys.
I heard him walk toward me. Smelled that clean, mas­cu­line scent
that had become my com­fort scent over the years because it meant
he was near and I was safe. Felt him rub away a tear I hadn’t even
noticed had escaped with his thumb.
Don’t look at him. Don’t look at him.
“Princess, look at me.”
I shook my head and squeezed my eyes shut tighter. My emo-
tions formed a tight knot in my throat, mak­ing it near impos­si­ble to
breathe.
“Brid­get.” Firmer this time, more com­mand­ing. “Look at me.”
I resist­ed for anoth­er minute, but the need to save myself from
fur­ther heartache paled com­pared to my need to soak in every last
bit of Rhys Larsen I could.
I looked at him.
Gray thun­der­storms stared back at me, crack­ling with tur­moil.
“The mess with the pic­tures, we’ll fig­ure it out.” He grasped my
chin and rubbed his thumb over my bot­tom lip, his expres­sion fierce.
“I told you, you’re mine, and I’m not let­ting you go. I don’t care if
the entire Eldor­ran mil­i­tary tries to drag me away.”
I wished it were that easy and I could sink into his faith, let­ting it
sweep me away.
But our prob­lems went way beyond the pic­tures now.
“You don’t get it. There is no hap­pi­ly ever after for us.” We
weren’t a fairy­tale. We were a for­bid­den love let­ter, tucked into the
back of a draw­er and retrieved only in the dark­ness of night. We
were the chap­ter of bliss before the cli­max hit and every­thing crum-
bled into ash. We were a sto­ry that was always meant to end. “This is
it.”
My moth­er died giv­ing birth to me.
My father died on his way back from buy­ing some­thing I’d asked
him to get.
My grand­fa­ther almost died because I’d refused to give up the
one thing that ever made me hap­py.
That was what I got for being self­ish, for want­i­ng some­thing for
me. Future queens didn’t live for them­selves, they lived for their
coun­try. That was the price of pow­er.
No mat­ter how much I tried to change real­i­ty, it remained the
truth, and it was time I grew up and faced it.
Rhys’s grip on my chin tight­ened. “I don’t need a hap­pi­ly ever
after. I need to be by your side. I need you hap­py and healthy and
safe. God­dammit Brid­get, I need you. In any way I can have you.”
His voice broke for the first time in all my years with him, and my
heart cracked in response. “If you think I’m leav­ing you to deal with
this bull­shit alone, you don’t know me at all.”
Trou­ble was, I did know him, and I knew the one thing that
would make him snap, but I couldn’t bring myself to say it right
now.
One last self­ish thing.
“Kiss me,” I whis­pered.
Rhys didn’t ques­tion the sud­den shift in my tone. Instead, he
curled his hand around the back of my neck and crushed his lips to
mine. Deep, hard, and pos­ses­sive, like noth­ing had changed between
us.
He always knew what I need­ed with­out me say­ing it.
I drank up every drop of him I could. His taste, his touch, his
scent…I wished I could bot­tle it all up so I had some­thing to keep
me warm in the nights and years to come.
Rhys picked me up and car­ried me to the couch, where he pulled
my skirt up and my panties down and sank into me with exquis­ite,
delib­er­ate slow­ness. Stretch­ing me. Fill­ing me. Break­ing me into a
thou­sand pieces and putting me back togeth­er, over and over again.
Even if my heart ached, my body respond­ed to him the way it al-
ways had: eager, will­ing, and des­per­ate for more.
Rhys palmed my breast and swiped his thumb over my nip­ple,
play­ing with the sen­si­tized nub until a fresh wave of heat crest­ed in
my stom­ach. All the while he pumped into me, the slow, leisure­ly
slides of his cock hit­ting a spot that made me see stars.
“Rhys, please.”
“What do you want, princess?” He pinched my nip­ple, the sud-
den rough­ness of the action caus­ing my mouth to fall open with a
gasp.
You. For­ev­er.
Since I couldn’t say that, I set­tled for a pant­ed, “Faster. Hard­er.”
He low­ered his head and replaced his hand with his mouth,
swirling and lick­ing while he picked up the pace. My nails dug into
his back, and just as I teetered over the precipice, he slowed down
again.
I near­ly screamed with frus­tra­tion.
Faster. Slow­er. Faster. Slow­er.
Rhys seemed to intu­it the pre­cise sec­ond I was about to come,
and he var­ied his speed, edg­ing me until I was a drip­ping, whim­per-
ing mess. Final­ly, after what felt like an eter­ni­ty, he groaned and
slammed into me, his mouth claim­ing mine in a bruis­ing kiss as he
fucked into me so hard the couch inched across the floor with a
squeak.
Lights explod­ed behind my eyes. I arched up, my cry swal­lowed
by his kiss as anoth­er orgasm tore through me and left me drained.
Rhys came right after me with a silent shud­der, and we sank into
each other’s arms, our heavy breaths min­gling as one.
I loved sex with him, but I loved the qui­et moments after­ward
even more.
“Again.” I wrapped my limbs around him, not ready to break
free of our cocoon yet. Just a lit­tle more time.
“Insa­tiable,” he whis­pered, run­ning the tip of his nose up my
neck and along my jaw­line.
I smiled at the reminder of our after­noon at the hotel. Our last
tru­ly hap­py time togeth­er before every­thing went to hell.
“You love it,” I said.
“Yeah princess, I do.”
We spent the next hour like that, climb­ing high and crash­ing
down togeth­er.
It was per­fect, as were all our stolen moments togeth­er. We
fucked hard and fast and made love sweet and slow. We pre­tend­ed
this was our life, not just a snap­shot in time, and I pre­tend­ed like my
heart still beat in my chest when the pieces lay scat­tered at our feet.
“There’s no oth­er way, Your High­ness.” Elin’s eyes flick­ered with sym-
pathy for a sec­ond before it van­ished and her expres­sion hard­ened again. “It
has to be done.”
“No.” I shook my head, denial dig­ging its claws deep into my skin. “It’s
too soon. He’s fine. The doc­tors said—”
“The doc­tors said he’ll recover…this time. The fact is, His Majesty was
hos­pi­tal­ized twice in one year. We can’t risk a third hos­pi­tal­iza­tion.”
“We can cut back on his work­load,” I said des­per­ate­ly. “Have his aides
han­dle the more stren­u­ous paper­work and meet­ings. He can still be king.”
Elin glanced at Markus, who stood in the cor­ner look­ing grim­mer than
I’d ever seen him.
“We’d dis­cussed this with His Majesty after his first hos­pi­tal­iza­tion,”
he said. “He express­ly said that if he col­laps­es a sec­ond time, he would step
down.”
I vague­ly remem­bered my grand­fa­ther say­ing some­thing like that in the
weeks after his first col­lapse, but I’d been so focused on Nikolai’s abdi­ca­tion
the impli­ca­tions of it had gone right over my head.
“I real­ize this is per­haps not the best time to dis­cuss this,” Elin said
with anoth­er flick­er of sym­pa­thy. “But His Majesty’s con­di­tion is sta­ble,
and we need to start prepa­ra­tions right away.”
“Prepa­ra­tions.” Some­thing ter­ri­ble took root in my stom­ach and spread.
It seeped into my chest, my neck, my arms and my legs, numb­ing me from
inside out.
Elin and Markus exchanged glances again.
“Yes,” Elin said. “Prepa­ra­tions for your coro­na­tion as queen.”
I’d thought I had more time, both with Rhys and to con­vince Par-
lia­ment to repeal the Roy­al Mar­riages Law, but I didn’t. Time was
up.
“Do you remem­ber Cos­ta Rica?” Rhys’s lips brushed against
mine as he spoke. He lay on top of me, his pow­er­ful body swal­low-
ing me up, but he’d propped a fore­arm on the couch so he didn’t
crush me with his weight.
“How could I for­get?” It was one of the hap­pi­est mem­o­ries of my
life.
“You asked me if I’d ever been in love. I said no.” He pressed a
soft kiss to my mouth. “Ask me again, princess.”
My lungs con­strict­ed. Breathe.
But that was hard when every­thing hurt to the point where I
couldn’t remem­ber what it felt like not to hurt. My heart, my head,
my soul.
“I can’t.” I forced myself to push Rhys away.
My skin imme­di­ate­ly chilled at the absence of his heat, and small
shiv­ers wracked me as I got off the couch and walked to the bath-
room. I cleaned myself and straight­ened my clothes with shaky
hands while his gaze burned a hole in my back through the open
door.
“Why not?”
“Because.” Tell him. Just tell him. “I’m going to be queen.”
“We already knew that.”
“You don’t under­stand.” I washed my hands and returned to the
room, where I final­ly looked at him again. Ten­sion lined his face and
notched a deep groove between his brows. “I don’t mean some­day. I
mean I’m going to be queen in nine months.”
Rhys froze.
“That’s not all.” I could bare­ly speak past the lump in my throat.
“Because of the Roy­al Mar­riages Law, I have to—”
“Don’t say it.” His voice was so qui­et I almost didn’t hear him.
“I have to mar­ry or at least get engaged before my coro­na­tion.”
There would already be back­lash against me tak­ing the throne so
soon. You need all the polit­i­cal good­will you can get, Markus had said. I
hat­ed it, but he was right. “I—”
“Don’t. Fuck­ing. Say it.”
“I’m mar­ry­ing Stef­fan. He already agreed.”
It wasn’t a mar­riage of love. It was a polit­i­cal con­tract. Noth­ing
more, noth­ing less. Markus had reached out to the Hol­steins yester-
day and made them sign an NDA before mak­ing the propo­si­tion.
They’d agreed a few hours lat­er. It’d all hap­pened so quick­ly it made
my head spin.
Just like that, I had a fiancé, at least in the­o­ry. Per the agree­ment,
Stef­fan would offi­cial­ly pro­pose next month, after the furor over my
grandfather’s hos­pi­tal­iza­tion died down. As a bonus, the engage-
ment would dri­ve the alle­ga­tions about me and Rhys out of the
head­lines, as Elin had not so sub­tly point­ed out.
Rhys unfold­ed him­self from the couch. He’d already fixed his
clothes. All black. Black shirt, black pants, black boots, black
expres­sion.
“The fuck you are.”
“Rhys, it’s done.”
“No,” he said flat­ly. “What did I tell you in the gaze­bo, princess?
I said from that point on, no oth­er man touch­es you, and I meant it.
You sure as fuck aren’t mar­ry­ing some­one else. We have nine
months. We will fig­ure. It. Out.”
I want­ed to agree. I want­ed to be self­ish and steal more time with
him, but that wouldn’t be fair to either of us.
I’d already had Rhys for three years. It was time to let him go.
No more being self­ish.
“What if I want to mar­ry some­one else?”
Rhys’s nos­trils flared. “Don’t lie to me. You bare­ly know Stef­fan.
You went on three fuck­ing dates with the guy.”
“Roy­al mar­riage isn’t about know­ing some­one. It’s about suit-
abil­i­ty, and the fact is, he’s suit­able and you’re not.” I hoped Rhys
didn’t notice the wob­ble in my voice. “Plus, Stef­fan and I have the
rest of our lives to get to know each oth­er.”
A shud­der rip­pled through his body, and hurt slashed across his
face, so raw and vis­cer­al it cut through my soul.
“I’m the crown princess, and I need to act like one,” I said, hat­ing
myself more with every sec­ond. “In all areas of my life. I can’t be
with a body­guard. I…” Tears clogged my throat, but I pushed past
them. “I’m meant to be with a duke. We both know that.”
Rhys flinched. One tiny move­ment, but it would haunt me
for­ev­er.
“So we’re over. Just like that.” It came out low and dan­ger­ous,
edged with pain.
No, not just like that. You’ll nev­er know how much my heart is break­ing
right now.
“I’m sor­ry,” I whis­pered.
I wished I could tell him I’d nev­er been hap­pi­er than when I was
with him.
I wished I could tell him it wasn’t about the throne or pow­er, and
that if I could, I would give up a king­dom for him.
But I’m sor­ry were the only words I was allowed to say.
The emo­tion wiped clean from Rhys’s eyes until I was star­ing at
steel walls, hard­er and more guard­ed even than when we’d first met.
“No, Your High­ness,” he said. “I’m sor­ry.”
He walked out.
One minute, he was there. The next, he was gone.
I crum­pled, my knees giv­ing out beneath me as I sank onto the
floor and hot tears scald­ed my cheeks and dripped off my chin. My
chest heaved so hard I couldn’t draw enough oxy­gen into my lungs,
and I was sure I would die right there on the hos­pi­tal floor, just a few
feet away from the best doc­tors and nurs­es in the coun­try. But even
they wouldn’t be able to fix what I’d just bro­ken.
“You have to move.”
“I beg your par­don?”
“Your house. It’s a secu­ri­ty night­mare. I don’t know who signed off on
this loca­tion, but you have to move.”
“Have you ever been in love?”
“No. But I hope to be one day.”
“Good night, princess.”
“Good night, Mr. Larsen.”
Snip­pets of mem­o­ries crowd­ed my brain, and I pressed my face
into the blan­ket draped over the couch, muf­fling my sobs.
“Your High­ness?” Elin’s voice float­ed through the door, fol­lowed
by a knock. “Can I come in?”
No. I would be hap­py if I nev­er talked to you again.
But I had respon­si­bil­i­ties to ful­fill, and an engage­ment to plan.
I forced my sobs to slow until they tapered off.
Deep, con­trolled breaths. Head tilt­ed up. Tensed mus­cles. It was
a trick I’d learned that had come in handy quite a few times over the
years.