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.

38
BRIDGET
I WAS A MESS OF NERVES FOR THE REST OF THE WEEK. I TRIED TO HIDE IT,
but every­one noticed—Rhys, Mikaela, my fam­i­ly. I blamed it on
stress, but I wasn’t sure any­one believed me.
I didn’t tell any­one about the video. Not yet. The sender hadn’t
con­tact­ed me since, and my replies to their email all bounced. I con-
vinced Niko­lai and Sabrina’s secu­ri­ty team to sweep their house for
bugs as a “pre­ven­ta­tive mea­sure,” but they didn’t find any­thing, not
even in the library.
It should’ve made me feel bet­ter, but it only put me more on
edge. Who­ev­er the sender was, they could move in and out of one of
the city’s most high­ly guard­ed build­ings with­out being detect­ed,
and that wasn’t good. At all.
My top sus­pect was Andreas, but he wasn’t the type to hold
back. If he had a damn­ing video of me and Rhys, he would hold it
over my head. Taunt me with it. Prob­a­bly black­mail me. He
wouldn’t send it once and not fol­low up again for almost a week.
He’d looked for me at the reception—I still didn’t know what for,
as I hadn’t seen him since the wed­ding and he hadn’t con­tact­ed me
—but that was while Rhys and I were in the library.
If it wasn’t Andreas, who could it be? And when would the oth­er
shoe drop?
Because there was anoth­er shoe. I was sure of it.
“Something’s both­er­ing you,” Rhys said on our way back to the
palace from a char­i­ty shop rib­bon-cut­ting cer­e­mo­ny. “Don’t tell me
it’s stress. It’s not.”
I mus­tered a weak smile. “You think you know every­thing.”
I should tell Rhys. He’d know what to do. But a small, stu­pid,
self­ish part of me was afraid of what telling him would do to us. If
he found out some­one knew about us, would he with­draw and
break things off?
If I didn’t tell him, though, the video could blow up in our faces,
and I’d lose him any­way.
My head ached with inde­ci­sion.
“I know every­thing about you.” Rhys’s words rolled over me,
deep and con­fi­dent.
Just tell him. Get it over with like rip­ping off a Band-Aid. Oth­er­wise,
the secret would hang over my head for God knew how long, like a
guil­lo­tine wait­ing to strike.
Before I could broach the sub­ject, how­ev­er, the car stopped. I’d
been so caught up in my thoughts I hadn’t real­ized we were head­ing
away from the palace instead of toward it.
Rhys had parked on the side of the road, next to a for­est on the
out­skirts of Athen­berg. I’d camped there once with Niko­lai in high
school—under strict super­vi­sion, of course—but I hadn’t been back
since.
“Trust me,” he said when he noticed my con­fu­sion, which only
increased as he led me through the for­est. A clear trail snaked be-
tween the trees, so oth­er peo­ple must’ve tak­en the short­cut, even
though the for­est had a main entrance with a gift shop and park­ing
lot.
“Where are we going?” I whis­pered, not want­i­ng to break the
rev­er­ent hush blan­ket­ing the trees.
“You’ll see.”
Cryp­tic as always.
I sighed, equal­ly annoyed and intrigued.
Part of me want­ed to tell him about the video now, but I couldn’t
very well ruin the mood before I saw the sur­prise, could I?
Excus­es, excus­es, my con­science whis­pered.
I ignored it.
When we arrived at our des­ti­na­tion, though, I couldn’t hold back
a small gasp. “Rhys…”
We stood in a clear­ing, emp­ty of every­thing except for a large,
beau­ti­ful gaze­bo. I didn’t even know the for­est had a gaze­bo.
My heart pinched at the clear call­back to our first time togeth­er.
“If we get caught, pull rank.” Rhys held out his hand. I took it
and fol­lowed him inside the wood­en struc­ture. “We’re pret­ty far
from the main trail though, so we should be fine.”
“How did you find this place? You’re like the Gaze­bo
Whis­per­er.”
He laughed. “I planned on hik­ing here some­time and stud­ied the
trail maps. The gaze­bo isn’t a secret. Most peo­ple are just too lazy to
come all the way out here.”
“Why…” I trailed off again when he fid­dled with some­thing on
his phone and soft music filled the air.
“We nev­er got to dance at the wed­ding,” he said sim­ply.
“You don’t like it when I dance,” I half-joked, try­ing to hide the
emo­tion welling in my chest.
What hap­pened in the library dur­ing Nikolai’s recep­tion would
for­ev­er be etched in my mind.
“I love it when you dance. But only with me.” He placed his free
hand on the small of my back.
“You don’t dance.”
“Only with you.”
The burn inten­si­fied. “Care­ful, Mr. Larsen, or I’ll think you actu-
ally like me.”
His mouth curled into a grin. “Baby, we’re way beyond like.”
The but­ter­flies in my stom­ach explod­ed, and a sweet, gold­en
warmth filled my veins.
For the first time in days, I smiled.
I stepped into Rhys’s embrace, and we swayed to the music
while I buried my face in his chest and inhaled his clean, com­fort­ing
scent.
Our dances would always be ours. Secret, private…forbidden.
Part of me cher­ished the moments that belonged to us alone, but
part of me wished we didn’t have to hide. We weren’t a dirty secret.
We were the most beau­ti­ful thing in my life, and I want­ed to share it
with the world the way all beau­ti­ful things deserved to be shared.
“Where’d you go, princess?” He skimmed his knuck­les down my
back, and I smiled through the ache in my heart.
He knew me so well.
“I’m right here.” I tilt­ed my face up and kissed him. We took it
slow and sweet, explor­ing each oth­er with the leisure of peo­ple who
had all the time in the world.
Except we didn’t.
The kiss, the music, the gazebo…it was the per­fect moment. But,
like all moments, it couldn’t last.
Even­tu­al­ly, it would end, and so would we.
“BRIDGET, WAKE UP!”
The next morn­ing, loud pound­ing roused me from my sleep.
I groaned, my body resist­ing move­ment even as my heart invol-
untar­i­ly gal­loped at the sheer pan­ic in Mikaela’s voice.
“Brid­get!” More pound­ing.
“One moment!” I forced myself out of bed and threw on a dress-
ing gown before I opened the door, tak­ing in Mikaela’s wide eyes
and ner­vous expres­sion. Her skin was paler than usu­al, mak­ing her
freck­les stand out like a dark con­stel­la­tion across her nose and
cheeks.
She lived only a few min­utes from the palace, but she wouldn’t
be here so ear­ly unless it was an emer­gency.
“What is it?”
Was it the video?
My stom­ach lurched. God, I should’ve told Rhys yes­ter­day, but I
hadn’t want­ed to destroy our time at the gaze­bo, and then…then…
Oh, who was I kid­ding? I had plen­ty of time to tell him after-
ward. I’d just chick­ened out like a cow­ard, and now, the chick­ens
were com­ing home to roost.
Breathe. Stay calm. You don’t know what’s actu­al­ly hap­pen­ing yet.
“It’s…” Mikaela hes­i­tat­ed. “Bridge, turn on The Dai­ly Tea.”
The Dai­ly Tea was a celebri­ty news and enter­tain­ment media com-
pany that includ­ed the country’s most-read mag­a­zine and one of its
most-watched tele­vi­sion sta­tions. Some con­sid­ered it trashy, but it
had a huge audi­ence.
Mikaela fol­lowed me to the sit­ting room, where I picked up the
remote with shaky hands and turned on the TV.
“…reports Princess Brid­get is in a rela­tion­ship with her body-
guard, an Amer­i­can con­trac­tor named Rhys Larsen.” The Dai­ly Tea
host’s voice trem­bled with excite­ment. “Larsen has been by her side
since her senior year at the pres­ti­gious Thay­er Uni­ver­si­ty in the U.S.,
and sus­pi­cions about their rela­tion­ship have abound­ed for years…”
For years? That was, for lack of bet­ter words, utter bull crap. Rhys
and I hadn’t even liked each oth­er years ago.
I watched, dis­be­lief sear­ing through me, as can­did pic­tures of us
flashed on-screen with the host’s voiceover com­men­tary. Us walk­ing
down the street with Rhys’s hand on my low­er back—to steer me
around a pud­dle when I wasn’t look­ing, if I remem­bered cor­rect­ly.
Rhys help­ing me out of the car at a char­i­ty gala while our eyes
locked onto each oth­er. Me stand­ing a lit­tle too close to him at an
out­door event a few months ago, but only because it was freez­ing
and I need­ed the body warmth.
All inno­cent moments that, framed in a cer­tain way and cap­tured
at a cer­tain sec­ond, made them look like more than they were.
Then the more damn­ing pho­tos sur­faced. Rhys glar­ing at Stef­fan
dur­ing our ice-skat­ing date, look­ing for all the world like a jeal­ous
boyfriend. Him press­ing me against the car in the park­ing lot of the
Roy­al Botan­ic Gar­dens. Us leav­ing the hotel where we’d spent that
one glo­ri­ous after­noon, our heads bent close togeth­er.
How the hell had some­one cap­tured those pic­tures? Oth­er than
the ice rink, we hadn’t spot­ted any paparazzi fol­low­ing us. Then
again, we’d been distracted—horribly so.
On the bright side, there was no men­tion of the sex tape. If The
Dai­ly Tea had got­ten their hands on it, it would be the only thing
they talked about.
“Is this true?” Mikaela asked, her eyes huge. “Tell me it’s not
true.”
“They’re just pic­tures,” I deflect­ed.
I breathed a lit­tle eas­i­er. Only a lit­tle, because it was still a huge
mess, but it was fix­able. They didn’t have the video. “We can—”
“BRIDGET!”
Mikaela and I exchanged wide-eyed glances as my grandfather’s
bel­low thun­dered down the hall.
Uh-oh.
AN HOUR LATER, I SAT IN MY GRANDFATHER’S OFFICE WITH ELIN,
Markus, and Niko­lai, who’d insist­ed on join­ing the emer­gency meet-
ing. Mikaela had been polite­ly but firm­ly dis­missed. I wasn’t sure
where Rhys was, but it would only be a mat­ter of time before he was
roped into the con­ver­sa­tion.
“Your High­ness, you must tell us the truth. It’s the only way we
can help you fix this.” When­ev­er Elin was pissed, her left eye would
twitch, and right now, it was twitch­ing hard enough to pop a blood
ves­sel. “Is there any truth to the alle­ga­tions?”
I’d reached a fork in the road.
I could either lie and drag out the cha­rade, or I could tell the
truth and let the chips fall where they may.
If I did the lat­ter, Rhys would be fired, but he was prob­a­bly al-
ready on the chop­ping block whether or not the alle­ga­tions were
true. He was too high pro­file now, and peo­ple would gos­sip regard-
less. The palace couldn’t afford that kind of dis­trac­tion.
But if I lied, I could at least buy us some time. Not a lot, but
some, and that was bet­ter than noth­ing.
“Bridge, you can trust us,” Niko­lai said gen­tly. “We’re here to
help you.”
Not real­ly, I want­ed to say. You’re here to help the crown and its
rep­u­ta­tion.
Per­haps that was unfair, but it was true to vary­ing extents. They
didn’t care about me, Brid­get. They cared about the princess, the
crown, and our image.
My grand­fa­ther and broth­er loved me, but when it came down to
it, they would choose what was good for the roy­al fam­i­ly as an insti-
tution over what was good for me.
I didn’t fault them for it. It was what they had to do, but it meant
I couldn’t trust them with my best inter­ests.
The only per­son who had ever seen me and put me first was
Rhys.
I looked around the room. There was my grand­fa­ther, whose ex-
pres­sion remained neu­tral even as anger and wor­ry flick­ered in his
eyes. Markus, tight-faced and tight-lipped, who was no doubt fan­ta-
siz­ing about wring­ing my neck. Elin, who for once wasn’t look­ing at
her phone but was instead star­ing at me with bat­ed breath. And fi-
nal­ly, Niko­lai, by far the most sym­pa­thet­ic of the bunch, though
wari­ness creased his brow.
Then I thought about Rhys. His rough hands and rough voice,
and the way he held me. Kissed me. Looked at me, like he nev­er
want­ed to blink.
Baby, we’re way beyond like.
I took a deep breath, steeled myself, and took a fork in the road.
“The alle­ga­tions are true,” I said. “All of them.”
I heard a sharp intake of breath all around. Markus pinched his
tem­ple while Elin flew into action, her fin­gers mov­ing over her
phone fast enough to start a Cat­e­go­ry Four hur­ri­cane.
Dis­ap­point­ment carved deep grooves into Edvard’s face. “Mr.
Larsen’s employ­ment is ter­mi­nat­ed, effec­tive imme­di­ate­ly,” he said,
his tone sharp­er than I’d ever heard it. “You will end the rela­tion­ship
and nev­er see or speak to him again.”
He spoke not as my grand­fa­ther, but as my king.
My nails dug into my thighs. “No.”
Anoth­er sharp intake of breath from every­one present.
Edvard straight­ened, the remain­ing neu­tral­i­ty in his face giv­ing
way to anger. I’d nev­er dis­obeyed him, not when it came to the big
things. I loved and respect­ed him, and I hat­ed dis­ap­point­ing him.
But I was sick and tired of oth­er peo­ple dic­tat­ing how I should
live and who I should be with. While I would nev­er have the free-
dom of a nor­mal per­son, one who hadn’t been born into this life, I
had to draw the line some­where. How was I sup­posed to rule a
coun­try if I couldn’t even rule my own life?
“I can’t stop you from fir­ing Rhys,” I said. “But I’m not end­ing
my rela­tion­ship with him.”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” It was the first time I’d ever heard Markus
curse. “Your High­ness, he is—was—your body­guard. He is a com-
mon­er. You are first in line to the throne, and the law dic­tates—”
“I know what the law dic­tates. I have a plan.”
Well, half a plan, but if I round­ed up, it was a full plan. I knew
what I need­ed to do, I just need­ed to fig­ure out how to do it. There
were a hand­ful of min­is­ters I was cer­tain would sup­port a repeal of
the Roy­al Mar­riages Law, but the oth­ers need­ed over­whelm­ing pub-
lic sup­port for polit­i­cal cov­er.
How­ev­er, if I brought up the issue now, with the alle­ga­tions float-
ing around, I might as well wave a sign scream­ing It’s true! I’m in a
rela­tion­ship with my body­guard!
Edvard’s face red­dened while Markus glared at me.