The queen nods. “Great input, Elliot. Thank you.”
Elliot.The man who is both staring daggers at meandwanting me to move in with the prince.
Good lord.What have I walked into?
And why is it suspiciously almost pack-shaped?
CHAPTER 6
Elliot
If there’sa hell for bodyguards, I think it probably looks a lot like this: forced proximity with your most annoying professional rival, the world’s most famous pop star, and a literal prince. The latter two are also holding hands ahead of you, and a pack dynamic you’re supposed to ignore is quietly—and quickly— building.
One that can’t exist because of said prince and his royal role.
We’re two hours post-meeting with Kellen’s parents and Piper’s manager. Paparazzi huddle outside the decorative gates of Hale Palace like wolves in a bad fairytale. I swear I hear their lenses twitching every time Piper so much as flicks a pink strand of hair. The gardens would be beautiful in this weather if I cared about floral arrangements, but right now all I care about is how many sight lines I have to cover and whether Nolan is adequately doing the same.
At least it’s not raining. Yet. The clouds have that “soon” look about them.
Piper and Kellen are doing their best imitation of a couple that’s been dating for more than three hours. It’s not bad, honestly—Kellen’s a fast learner, and Piper has been performing for audiences for years. I suppose this is no different. They don’tso much hold hands as they do interlace fingers in a way that looks accidental. Natural, even.
“Do you think they’re buying it?” I ask Nolan, who walks exactly one pace to my right and ten paces behind our charges, like the world’s most overqualified duckling.
He doesn’t turn his head. “The photographers or the public?”
“Both. The Palace PR people are betting on this becoming ‘the fairy tale of the decade.’” I draw out the last bit like I’m reading it off a cheap tabloid.
“The queen was right.” Nolan’s voice has the warmth of a freezer-burned steak. “This is standard practice among the wealthy. No one’s ever going to question a pretty couple in a garden.”
“Except you.”
He doesn’t rise to the bait. Instead he stays focused on a pair of groundskeepers at three o’clock. “I’m not paid to have opinions about optics.”
“Bullshit.”
He flicks his gaze to me. “My only concern is Piper and her well-being. You and your prince can worry about your own optics.”
So that’s the mood. I’d hoped the new set of orders for us both—protecttwopeople not just our respective one—would mellow him out, but if anything, it’s made him grumpier.
“Suit yourself, but we’re going to have to coordinate if this is going to work.”
He grunts. “We already are.”
I glance ahead. Kellen and Piper walk along a paved path that approaches a marble fountain that’s either supposed to be an allegory for the fertility of the land or just an expensive excuse to show off the royal affinity for naked statuary. Kellen gestures with his free hand, telling a story. Piper’s laugh is genuine andbright as glass wind chimes. The crowd outside the fence shifts as someone gets the shot.
“Are you always like this with your clients?” I ask. “Or is it just me?”
“I haven’t met you before today,” says Nolan, which is both technically true and a massive insult. All Ravenwood Shield Security bodyguards know of each other by reputation.
“So when did you finish the program?” I ask. “I was in the first cohort after they brought in the new curriculum.”
“Three years before you,” says Nolan.
I raise an eyebrow. “You’ve done your research.”
Nolan doesn’t even look at me. Good. His eyes should always be on Piper and Kellen. “Of course I did. You’re going to be as close to Piper as Kellen is.”
The fountain gurgles. Kellen is showing Piper something on his phone, probably a meme or maybe the fact that he’s the viral anonymous baker that millions of people watch weekly. The prince’s profile is so perfect it could have been chiseled by the same artisan who did the marble nymphs nearby. He smiles at Piper and, for half a second, I feel a clench in my chest that is so foreign, so not-bodyguard.
