In the hallowed hall where one of my ancestors, Crazy King Clifford II, once wore his crown—and nothing else. Because he was hot. We’re not supposed to talk about him.

Finally, the shouting quiets down.

And I address the head prick. “Sir Aloysius, what is your stance on the current legislation proposed?”

He sniffs. “My stance remains unchanged, Your Grace. Why should we pass these packages of laws?”

“Because it’s your job. Because the country needs this.”

“Then I suggest Her Majesty agree to our demands,” he tells me, sneering.

And suddenly the dog-eating doesn’t seem so harsh.

I stare him down, my face as cold and hard as my voice.

“That’s not how this works, Sir Aloysius. And you can take your demands and go fuck yourself with them.”

There are a few random shouts of agreement and “here, here.”

Aloysius snaps, “You are not King yet, Prince Nicholas.”

“No, I’m not.” And I look him right in his eyes. “But you should enjoy your position while you can. Because when I am, it will be my mission to make sure you lose it.”

His nostrils go wide and he swivels toward the Queen. “Does your grandson speak for the royal house, Your Majesty?”

There’s a light in my grandmother’s eyes and a smirk on her face. Though she’d probably prefer it not be over something so serious, she loves this. The struggle, the battle, the confrontation—it’s her playground.

“I would have chosen less incendiary words…but yes, Prince Nicholas expressed our thoughts quite accurately.”

See? She wanted to tell him to go fuck himself too.

The Queen stands, and all rise with her. “We are done here, for now.” She scans the room, her eyes touching the face of each Member of Parliament. “Our country is at a crossroads. Rest assured, if you cannot show that you are capable of choosing the right path, one will be chosen for you.”

Then, together, we turn and walk out the large double doors, side by side.

In the hall, walking toward the car, she speaks without looking at me. “That was not wise, Nicholas. You made an enemy today.”

“He was our enemy already. Now he just knows that we know it. I had to say something.”

She chuckles. “You’re starting to sound like your brother.”

“Maybe he actually has a point.”

Speaking of Henry, he’s doing better. It’s been a few weeks since the boat incident and he seems…purged. Calmer. He also reached out to the families of the soldiers, like Olivia suggested. Speaking and visiting with them seems to have brought him some measure of peace.

So, he’s coming with Olivia and I to the seaside. For the weekend.

I don’t mind—I mean, I’m driving in an open-topped convertible with a motorcade of security agents driving all around me, so it’s not like Olivia was going to suck me off on the way there anyway.

That being said, it’s forty minutes into the five-hour drive…and I’m starting to have second thoughts.

“Sobriety is tedious,” my brother says from the backseat. “I’m soooo booooored.”

Then he pops up, placing his forearms on our headrests and hanging his head between us. “Is this how the whole trip is going to be? You two making goo-goo eyes at each other? Do you see that tree over there, Nicholas? Drive toward it as fast as you can and put me out of my misery.”

We ignore him.

Olivia takes her phone out and snaps a picture of a cliff that she says looks like Patrick from SpongeBob, intending to text it to her sister. She talks or texts with Ellie and Marty every day—to check in and check up on how things are going in New York without her. Last night Ellie told Olivia their father was “doing better,” which eased some of her worries.

“Oooh, Ellie,” my brother coos, looking over Olivia’s shoulder. “Let’s call her. Find out if she’s legal yet.”

“My sister’s off-limits to you, buddy.” Olivia frowns.

He flops back onto the seat. “This is so boring.”

It’s going to be a long drive.

But when we get to Anthorp Castle, which sits on a cliff overlooking the ruckus of whitewater waves below, it’s anything but boring. Henry doesn’t want to swim, but he’s interested in cliff diving.

Thank Christ, I talk him out of it.

Olivia and I skip skinny-dipping because of security—and her bare bits are for my eyes only. But we do freeze our arses off in the water down on the beach—Olivia in a turquoise string bikini, me in swim shorts both of us splashing and swimming in the rough waves like randy dolphins.

The good part about cold water is eventually, everything just gets numb.

And the best part about old stone castles is the giant fireplace in every room. We warm up in front of the one in the great hall, on a rug made of rabbit pelts. Olivia dries her hair by the fire and I watch the flames reflect in her eyes, turning them a deep violet.

We eat delicious stew and fresh-baked bread for dinner.

And that night, in the giant antique bed, in view of the stars, Olivia straddles my hips and rides my cock with slow, deliberate strokes. I gaze up at her, like a sinner who’s found redemption. The way the moonlight streaming in from the window bathes her skin in an illustrious glow—fuck, she’s beautiful. I could almost weep with it.

But I don’t. Because there are other, better, ways to show my adoration.

I lift up, my hands skimming her spine to cradle her shoulders. I guide her back—at this angle, I’m still buried fully, fantastically, inside her, but the weight of her upper body rests in my hands. Then I bring my lips to her breast—and I make love to those soft globes with my lips and teeth and tongue. Worshipping them like the deities they are.