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.

12
RHYS
I SENSED TROUBLE BEFORE I EVEN ENTERED THE PALACE’S RECEPTION
hall, where I heard Prince Niko­lai talk­ing in low mur­murs. The hairs
on the back of my neck prick­led, and though I couldn’t make out
what Bridget’s broth­er was say­ing, the stressed pitch of his voice set
alarms blar­ing in my head.
My boots squeaked against the recep­tion hall’s over­ly pol­ished
mar­ble floors, and Niko­lai fell silent. He stood in the mid­dle of the
soar­ing two-sto­ry space next to Elin and Vig­go, the Deputy Head of
Roy­al Secu­ri­ty. I’d mem­o­rized every staff member’s face and name
so I would notice if any­one tried to sneak in by dis­guis­ing them-
selves as a palace employ­ee.
I gave the group a curt nod. “Your High­ness.”
“Mr. Larsen.” Niko­lai respond­ed with a regal nod of his own. “I
trust you’re enjoy­ing your day off?”
Since the palace was so heav­i­ly guard­ed, I was off the clock when
Brid­get was at home, which was most days since her grandfather’s
hos­pi­tal­iza­tion. It felt strange. I was so used to being by her side
twen­ty-four-sev­en I…
You do not miss her. I dis­missed the ridicu­lous idea before it be-
came a ful­ly formed thought.
“It’s been fine.” I’d tried draw­ing again, but I hadn’t got­ten much
fur­ther than a few lines on paper. I ran out of cre­ativ­i­ty, inspi­ra­tion—
what­ev­er you call it—months ago, and today had been my first time
pick­ing up my sketch­book since.
I’d need­ed some­thing to occu­py my hands and mind.
Some­thing that wasn’t five-nine with the face of an angel and
curves that would fit per­fect­ly beneath my palms.
Oh, for fuck’s sake.
I hard­ened my jaw, deter­mined not to fan­ta­size about my fuck­ing
client in front of her broth­er. Or ever.
“Where’s Princess Brid­get?” Accord­ing to her sched­ule, she was
sup­posed to be horse­back rid­ing with Niko­lai. But the skies looked
ready to pour, so I assumed they’d called it a day ear­ly.
Niko­lai exchanged glances with Elin and Vig­go, and the nee­dle
on my trou­ble radar inched clos­er to the red zone.
“I’m sure Her High­ness is some­where in the palace,” Vig­go said.
He was a short, heavy­set man with a rud­dy face and a pass­ing re-
sem­blance to a Scan­di­na­vian Dan­ny DeVi­to. “We’re look­ing for her
as we speak.”
The nee­dle pushed past the red zone into the white-hot emer-
gency zone. “What do you mean, you’re look­ing for her?” My voice
remained calm, but alarm and anger bub­bled in my stom­ach. “I
thought she was with you, Your High­ness.”
Elin glared at Vig­go. She didn’t have to speak for me to hear her
scream, Vig­go, you idiot.
What­ev­er was hap­pen­ing, I wasn’t sup­posed to know about it.
Niko­lai shift­ed his weight, dis­com­fort slid­ing across his face.
“She was, but we got into an argu­ment and she, ah, took off while
we were rid­ing.”
“How long ago?” I didn’t give a damn if I sound­ed dis­re­spect­ful.
It was a per­son­al safe­ty issue, and I was Bridget’s body­guard. I had a
right to know what hap­pened.
Nikolai’s dis­com­fort vis­i­bly increased. “An hour ago.”
The anger erupt­ed, edg­ing out the alarm by a hair. “An hour ago?
And no one thought to call me?”
“Watch your tone, Mr. Larsen,” Elin admon­ished. “You’re speak-
ing to the Crown Prince.”
“I’m aware.” Elin could take her glares and shove them up her
ass along with the stick per­ma­nent­ly resid­ing there. “No one has
seen the princess since?”
“A groundskeep­er found her horse,” Vig­go said. “We took it back
to—”
“Found her horse.” A vein pulsed in my fore­head. “Mean­ing she
wasn’t rid­ing it and she hadn’t returned it to the sta­bles her­self.” No
mat­ter how angry she was, Brid­get would nev­er leave an ani­mal be-
hind. Some­thing had hap­pened to her. Pan­ic grat­ed against my in-
sides as I bit out, “Tell me. Have you searched the grounds, or just
the palace?”
“Her High­ness wouldn’t be out there,” Vig­go blus­tered. “It’s
storm­ing! She’s inside—”
“Unless she fell off her horse and is uncon­scious some­where.” Je-
sus, how the hell had he risen to the deputy secu­ri­ty chief posi­tion?
There were ham­sters with more brains than him.
“Brid­get is an excel­lent eques­tri­an, and we have a few peo­ple
search­ing out­side. She could’ve run off to one of her hid­ing places.
She used to do that as a kid.” Niko­lai looked at Vig­go. “But Mr.
Larsen’s right. It doesn’t hurt to be extra thor­ough. Shall we send ex-
tra men to check the grounds?”
“If you wish, Your High­ness. I’ll draw up the quad­rants…”
Un-fuck­ing-believ­able.
I was halfway out the door before Vig­go fin­ished his moron­ic
sen­tence. Too bad the Head of Secu­ri­ty, who was actu­al­ly com­pe­tent,
was on vaca­tion because his deputy was a god­damned idiot. By the
time he fin­ished draw­ing his quad­rants, Brid­get could be seri­ous­ly
hurt.
“Where are you going?” Elin called after me.
“To do my job.”
I picked up my pace, curs­ing the size of the palace as I sprint­ed
toward the clos­est door lead­ing out­doors. By the time I hit the
grounds, my pan­ic had esca­lat­ed into full-blown ter­ror. Thun­der
boomed so loud it rat­tled the door as I shut it behind me, and it was
rain­ing so hard the gar­dens and foun­tains blurred in front of me.
The estate was too large for me to search it all by myself, so I had
to be strate­gic. My best bet would be to start at the offi­cial horse­back
rid­ing trail in the south­east cor­ner and go from there, though the
rain would’ve washed away any hoof­prints by now.
Luck­i­ly, the palace had a fleet of motor­ized carts to fer­ry guests
around the grounds, and I made it to the rid­ing trail in ten min­utes
instead of the half hour it would’ve tak­en me on foot.
“Come on, princess, where are you?” I mut­tered, my eyes strain-
ing to see past the thick sheet of water slant­i­ng through the air.
Images of Brid­get lying on the ground, her body twist­ed and bro-
ken, flashed through my mind. My skin turned ice cold, and the
wheel slipped against my sweaty palms.
If any­thing hap­pened to her, I would mur­der Vig­go. Slow­ly.
I scoured the trails, but twen­ty min­utes lat­er, I still hadn’t found
her, and I was get­ting des­per­ate. She could be indoors, but my gut
told me she wasn’t, and my gut was nev­er wrong.
Maybe she was in an area the cart couldn’t reach. It wouldn’t
hurt to check.
I killed the engine and jumped out, ignor­ing the harsh sting of
rain­drops on my skin.
“Brid­get!” The rain swal­lowed her name, and I let out a low
curse. “Brid­get!” I tried again, my boots sink­ing into the mud­dy
ground as I searched the area near the trail. The rain plas­tered my
shirt and pants to my skin, mak­ing it hard to move, but I’d weath-
ered worse than a puny thun­der­storm as a SEAL.
I wasn’t giv­ing up until I found her.
I was about to move on to a dif­fer­ent sec­tion of the grounds
when I spot­ted a flash of blonde out of the cor­ner of my eye. My
heart tripped, and I froze for half a beat before I sprint­ed toward her.
Please let it be her.
It was.
I sank onto my knees by her side, my chest hol­low­ing at the pale-
ness of Bridget’s face and the large, pur­plish bruise on her fore­head.
A small trick­le of blood dripped down the side of her face, turn­ing
pink when it min­gled with the rain. She was uncon­scious and com-
plete­ly soaked through.
A snarling, pro­tec­tive beast rose in my chest with such feroc­i­ty it
stunned me.
Vig­go was as good as dead. If he hadn’t dragged his feet, if some-
one had fuck­ing called me and told me Brid­get was miss­ing…
I forced myself to push the anger aside for now. I had more im-
por­tant things to focus on.
I checked her pulse, which was weak but steady. Thank God. I
quick­ly scanned the rest of her for signs of injury. Nor­mal breath­ing,
no bro­ken limbs, and no blood except for the cut on her fore­head.
Her hel­met was askew, and dirt smeared her cheeks and clothes.
The beast in my chest snarled again, ready to rip not only Vig­go
but Niko­lai to shreds for not pro­tect­ing her, or at least being there for
her.
He prob­a­bly couldn’t have done any­thing to pre­vent Brid­get
from falling off her horse—judging by her hel­met and posi­tion on
the ground, that must’ve been what happened—but the beast didn’t
care. All it knew was she was hurt, and for that, some­one had to pay.
Lat­er.
I need­ed to get her to the doc­tor first.
I cursed again when I real­ized I had no cell ser­vice. The storm
must’ve knocked it out.
Stan­dard med­ical advice said I shouldn’t move an injured per­son
with­out pro­fes­sion­als present, but I had no choice.
I scooped Brid­get up in my arms and car­ried her to the cart, sup-
port­ing her neck with one hand. We made it halfway when I heard a
low groan.
My heart tripped again. “Princess, you awake?” I kept my voice
even, not want­i­ng to pan­ic and scare her.
Brid­get let out anoth­er groan, her eyes flut­ter­ing open. “Mr.
Larsen? What are you doing? What hap­pened?” She tried to twist
her head to look around, but I stopped her with a firm squeeze on
her thigh.
“You’re injured. Don’t move unless you absolute­ly have to.” We
reached the cart, and I set her care­ful­ly in the pas­sen­ger seat before I
took the driver’s seat and turned on the engine. Relief flood­ed my
veins, so thick it almost choked me.
She was okay. She might have a con­cus­sion, judg­ing by the
bruise, but she was con­scious and talk­ing and alive.
“Do you remem­ber what hap­pened?” I want­ed to speed back to
the palace, which had an in-house doc­tor, but I forced myself to
dri­ve slow­ly to min­i­mize any bumps and jerky move­ments.
Brid­get touched her fore­head with a wince. “I was rid­ing and…
there was a branch. I didn’t see it until it was too late.” She squeezed
her eyes shut. “My head hurts, and everything’s blur­ry.”
Dammit. Con­cus­sion for sure.
My hands stran­gled the wheel, which I pic­tured as Viggo’s neck.
“We’ll be at the palace soon. For now, just relax and don’t force your-
self to talk.”
Of course, she didn’t lis­ten.
“How did you find me?” Brid­get spoke slow­er than usu­al, and
the faint note of pain in her voice made my stom­ach lurch.
“I looked.” I parked the cart near the back entrance. “You should
fire your deputy secu­ri­ty chief. He’s a moron. If I hadn’t found you,
he’d still have his peo­ple search­ing the inside of the palace like—
what?”
“How long did you look for me?” Brid­get gave me a strange
look, one that made my heart twist in the odd­est way.
“Don’t remem­ber,” I grunt­ed. “Let’s get you inside. You’re
soaked.”
“So are you.” She stayed in the cart. “Did you…you looked for
me in the rain by your­self?”
“Like I said, Vig­go is a moron. Inside, princess. You need that cut
and bruise looked at. You prob­a­bly have a con­cus­sion.”
“I’m okay.” But Brid­get didn’t argue when I slipped my arm
around her waist and her arm around my neck, let­ting her use me as
a crutch as we walked inside.
Luck­i­ly, the doctor’s office wasn’t too far from the back entrance,
and when she saw the state Brid­get was in, she sprang into action.
While she patched Bridget’s fore­head up and gave her a more
thor­ough check for injuries, I dried off in the bath­room and wait­ed
in the hall. I didn’t trust myself not to look at Bridget’s bruise and
cut and not lose my shit.
The sound of rapid foot­steps filled the hall, and my lip peeled
back in a snarl when I saw Niko­lai run­ning toward me, fol­lowed by
Vig­go and Elin. One of the staff must’ve alert­ed them when they saw
me and Brid­get.
Per­fect. I need­ed to let off some steam.
“Is Brid­get okay?” the prince asked, his face wor­ried.
“For the most part. The doctor’s check­ing her out now.” I wait­ed
until Niko­lai was inside the doctor’s office before I turned my atten-
tion to Vig­go.
“You.” I grabbed the col­lar of Viggo’s shirt and lift­ed him until his
feet dan­gled in the air. “I told you she was out­side. Any damn per­son
with com­mon sense would know she was out­side, yet you wast­ed
an hour search­ing indoors while Brid­get was uncon­scious in the
rain.”
“Mr. Larsen!” Elin sound­ed scan­dal­ized. “This is the roy­al palace,
not a dive bar where you brawl with oth­er patrons. Put Vig­go
down.”
I ignored her and low­ered my voice until only Vig­go could hear
me. “You bet­ter pray the princess isn’t seri­ous­ly hurt.”
“Are you threat­en­ing me?” he sput­tered.
“Yes.”
“I could fire you.”
I bared my teeth in a sem­blance of a smile. “Try.”
The Head of Roy­al Secu­ri­ty over­saw my con­tract, but Vig­go
couldn’t find a way out of his ass if some­one plant­ed neon lights
mark­ing the way, much less fire me with­out his boss’s approval.
I released Viggo’s col­lar and set him on the ground when the doc-
tor’s door opened.
“Mr. Larsen, Vig­go, Elin.” If she sus­pect­ed there’d been a scuf­fle
out­side her office, she didn’t show it. “I’ve fin­ished the check­up.
Come in.”
My anger at Vig­go took a back­seat to my con­cern over Brid­get as
we crowd­ed into the mini clin­ic, where Brid­get sat on the hos­pi­tal
bed. She didn’t look hap­py to see Niko­lai, who stood next to her
with a tight expres­sion.
The doc­tor informed us Brid­get did, indeed, have a con­cus­sion,
but she should recov­er in ten to four­teen days. She also had a mild
wrist sprain and the begin­nings of a nasty cold. Noth­ing life-threat-
ening, but she would be uncom­fort­able for the next few weeks.
I glared at Vig­go, who shrank behind Niko­lai like a cow­ard.
I stayed after every­one else left, and the doc­tor took one look at
my face before mur­mur­ing an excuse and slip­ping out the door,
leav­ing me and Brid­get alone.
“I’m fine,” Brid­get said before I could open my mouth. “A few
weeks of rest and I’ll be good as new.”
I crossed my arms over my chest, uncon­vinced. “What the hell
hap­pened? Niko­lai said you ran off after you two got in an
argu­ment.”
Her face shut down. “Sib­ling squab­ble. It was noth­ing.”
“Bull­shit. You don’t run off in anger.”
Not to men­tion, Brid­get hadn’t spo­ken to him once while he was
in the room, which was telling. She would nev­er ignore her broth­er
unless he’d real­ly pissed her off.
“There’s a first time for every­thing,” she said.
A frus­trat­ed growl rose in my throat. “Dammit, princess, you
need to be more care­ful. If some­thing hap­pened to you, I—” I broke