Chloe and I glance at each other, skeptical. Picturing my stoic bodyguardhead-over-heelsfor anyone is, frankly, rather hard to fathom.
“And… is Galiziaawareof this fact?” I ask.
“Not yet.” Riggs sounds unconcerned by this. “But she will be. Eventually. If she ever notices I’m alive.”
Chloe snorts. “Yeah. Good luck with that, dude.”
As if she’s heard us calling her name, Galizia chooses this exact moment to walk into my chambers. Her light blue eyes go wide as saucers when she spots Riggs.
“Emmett!” she gasps, a blush staining her cheeks. “I mean Riggs. Lieutenant Riggs. Err… First Lieutenant.Sir.” Her blush intensifies and she offers a quick salute, since he’s technically her superior.
Plot twist… Riggs might actually be onto something, here…
Chloe and I trade another glance. She looks like she’s swallowing a laugh; personally, I’m so shocked to see Galizia flustered to the point that she’s tripping over her words, I can barely keep my jaw off the floor.
Galizia and Riggs continue to stare at each other — her, tense and rigid; him, fully relaxed and grinning. Looking at the two of them together, it’s clear there are feelings on both sides of this equation. It now makes perfect sense that Riggs is so willing to join my private security detail… and his motives have nothing to do with serving the crown or advancing his career.
“What are you doing here?” Galizia asks him point blank.
He opens his mouth to answer, but I beat him to it.
“I just hired him,” I blurt, trying not to smile. “He’ll be the second member of my official Princess Guard. Isn’t that great?”
“What?!” Galizia hisses. “Your Highness that’s— I don’t think— why would you—” She clamps her lips together, sucks a deep breath through her nose, and composes herself. “If you feel that’s best, I will support your decision, Princess.”
“See, Your Highness?” Riggs says cheerfully. “She’s totally fine with it. One big happy family.”
Galizia shoots eye-daggers at him.
Chloe giggles. “Oh, this is going to besomuch fun.”
Laughing for the first time all day, I can’t help but agree.
An hour later,all traces of laughter are long gone.
I’m bored out of my ever-loving mind.
Sir Edgar Klingerton, the esteemed earl from Lund who Simms and Lady Morrell thought might steal my heart, is moderately tall, generically handsome, and…
That’s it.
That’s where his good qualities stop.
It’s not that he’s mean-spirited or bad-tempered. He’s simply… excruciatinglydull. In all honesty, I’ve had more fulfilling conversations at the dentist office during an exam, with a mouthful of metal tools compressing my tongue.
So far, we’ve discussed the weather —mild for late November!— our favorite rugby teams —mortal enemies on and off the field— and our favorite brand of cookie —Moxie’s for both of us. We’ve walked along the embankment at an intimate yet appropriate distance, just as Lady Morrell advised. We even stopped for a photo op at a particularly idyllic bend in the river, where we fed some bread to a family of ducks and smiled wide enough to convince the cameras that we’re hitting it off splendidly.
When my heels sink into the mud at one point, Edgar is a perfect gentleman — offering his hand to help me up the grassy embankment, back onto the boardwalk. I smile at all the right times and say all the right things. I bid him goodbye with a warm smile and promises to contact him again in the future.
It’s not until I’m back in the limo, safe behind the tinted glass, heading back to the palace, that I allow the fake smile to drop off my face and the heavy tears to pour down my cheeks.
I’ve just gotten the first glimpse of my future.
And it looks decidedly bleak.
The next weekpasses in a blur of press engagements and highly publicized dates.
I attend a charity fundraiser on the arm of the utterly forgettably Baron of Zareb, whose hobbies include chess matches and running marathons. It is not a love connection, to say the least.