He presses his mouth to mine, stealing my breath. He is gentle in that first moment, but then sweeps us down onto the bench.
The scent of salt and limes swirls about me as my heartbegins to pound hard enough that I’m sure he can feel it through my bodice and his shirt.
His hands move to my face, thumbs sweeping the curve of my jaw. He holds me there for a second before gently pulling away.
“Proof enough, Evelyn.”
He says it as a statement, not a question, a sly little grin returning.
I purse my lips in thought. “Honestly, I’m not sure I’ve had a large enough sampling to be certain.”
Iker’s face breaks that sly little grin into something toothy and wolfish.
“I’m free for sampling all afternoon. Nothing princely planned until supper.” He forces his features into serious composure. “Will that be enough time, my lady?”
I lean in and dust a quick kiss onto his lips. “It’s certainly a start.”
FOUR YEARS BEFORE
The visitor stood on the dock, parents fussing behind him, wearyfrom travel, though the journey hadn’t been far. Just across the Øresund Strait—a trip he could make with his eyes shut and in his own boat, if given the chance.
And he was planning to take that chance within the year, permission or not.
The day was clear, sun beating down, drying the wooden planks of the dock faster than the sea could make its mark, the waves angry the entire way from Rigeby Bay.
Footmen filed down from the castle, whisking away the visitor’s parents, trunks, and duties, leaving him alone with the beach and his thoughts. At fourteen, those thoughts were mostly of girls.
Brunettes.
Blondes.
Redheads.
All of them swirling in his head despite what he knew to be true about his station—his mother and her metaphors constantly in his ear.
“Tulips wilt no matter their beauty; jewels of the crown shine forever.”
“Blood lasts longer than a whim.”
“The royal vase has room for but one flower, no matter the harvest.”
His feet led him to the sand, eyes snagging on two girls prancing along the beach, slim forms moving in time with a song that barely reached his ears.
A few yards more and the girls stopped, eyes and fingers pointed toward a sandbar, belly up in the swirling waters. That’s when he recognized them—two girls from the village, best friends always up for an adventure, just like he was, though he got the feeling the blonde was rather difficult to impress. Trailing behind them was a boy, his cousin. Another prince.
Then the girls began to remove their dresses, petticoats suddenly catching the sun’s rays in all their angelic white.
He couldn’t look away.
Not when they folded their dresses and laid them on the sand. Not when they sprinted into the waves. Not when he realized the current was as strong as it’d been in the strait, though he was too distracted by daydreams of their petticoats to warn them.
It was only moments later, when the prince dove in behind them, that the visitor was rudely awakened.
The visitor’s feet told him to run. To help. Neither girl had surfaced—it had been too long. He took five steps and halted. His father in his ear this time, another Øldenburg ruler in a land full of them.
“Do not be a hero, Iker; you are already a prince.”
His own kingdom needed him alive. If something were tohappen to him, the future of his home and his family would be in danger. Yet still, another voice, his own, knocked around in his ears.
