Royally Not Ready(19)

“Fermented cod cakes.”

“Fer-fermented?”

He nods.

“As in, like . . . brined fish?”

“Yup. I’m sure you’ll get your fill while you’re here.”

I highly doubt that’ll ever enter my mouth. Brined fish cake doesn’t really scream appetizing to me.

“Think you can run again?” he asks.

“I mean, I know I can. The question is—do I want to?”

“The answer is yes,” Keller says while getting behind me and pushing.

“Hey, watch it, handsy.” I swat at him. “I don’t need you touching my sweat.”





There is something incredibly humbling about taking a sitting shower in a wooden bathtub. And I use the term bathtub pretty loosely—some might call it an oversized bucket, or perhaps the receptacle used for laundry. It’s just missing a washboard.

After we returned to the castle, I secretly watched Keller do lots of variations of pushups while I pretended to stretch my legs. Regular pushups, wide pushups, narrow pushups, one-handed . . . pushup jacks. You name it, he did it. He asked if I wanted to join him in his ab routine, and of course, being well versed in an ab workout, I felt confident enough to say yes. That was, until we were seesawing what felt like a boulder back and forth. After five up and downs, I was spent.

Once Brimar and Lara arrived—looking as though they barely even worked up a sweat—I stumbled into the kitchen in need of breakfast and coffee. Brimar made a giant pot of apple oatmeal. Not my first choice, as I was sniffing out more of a Danish option, but I’m going to tell you right now, the moment I took my first bite, I asked for seconds.

Not sure what kind of magic potion Brimar put in his oatmeal, but I had two bowls. After that, I made Keller swear to stay downstairs while I took a bath/shower, because of the doors. He obliged, and I spent a good portion of time learning how to shower without spraying water everywhere. I found if I held the sprayer with my legs while I lathered, that worked best, but at one point, the surprisingly hard water pressure shot straight up the vag and it felt . . . nice.

Anyway, now that I’m dressed for the day, had that “solid” workout, and am fed, I’m ready for what’s next.

“Please tell me the Internet is working,” I say, wanting desperately to connect with Timmy and tell him about the number of muscles I saw rippling through Keller’s arms while he did pushups. Twenty-two, in case you were wondering.

Wearing black-rimmed glasses—hello, hotness—Keller taps away on his computer, pauses, and says, “Yes, we have Internet.”

“Oh, sweet Jesus,” I cheer as I pull my phone out. “What’s the password? I’d love to talk to Timmy.”

“Only one device at a time,” Keller says.

“Uh . . . are you saying we have dial-up?”

“I’m saying it’s close enough to it.” He checks the time on his watch and then says, “We have five minutes.”

“Five minutes before what?”

“Before the call.”

“What call?” I ask. Lara and Brimar are outside tending to some “security” thing while Keller and I sit on a couch together.

“The call with King Theo.”

“Wait . . . you mean I’m actually going to meet them? Over a video call?”

“Yes, and before you ask why, they’ll explain it all.”

“Are you going to stay for the conversation?”

“Yes,” he answers. “It’s my job to be a part of your business.”

“Is that so? Well, then maybe you should know when I took a shower today, the sprayer hit my private parts and it felt good. There you go, how’s that for being in my business? Going to write it in your diary?”

His eyes zero in on mine, his brows drawing together, and for the life of me, I can’t stop chanting over and over in my head, “Spank me. Spank me,” when he gives me that look.

Before he can say anything, his computer chimes and he says, “They’re calling.”

“They are?” I quickly sit up and adjust my long-sleeved shirt. “Oh God, how do I look? Do I have anything in my teeth?” I flash Keller my teeth. “How about my hair? I feel like it needs more volume. Do I need more volume?”

Ignoring me, he accepts the call and says, “Your Majesty, it’s good to see you.”

Your Majesty? Oh God, is that what I should call him?

Maybe Your Grace?

Possibly Kingy . . .

“Keller, my boy, how’s everything at Harrogate?” a deep, rich voice asks, causing my mouth to dry up immediately.

That’s him. That’s my mom’s dad. A person I never thought existed.

“Everything is well. The winds have tampered with the Internet out here, but I’m glad we were able to get it running.”

“Me, as well. I’ve been antsy to meet Lilija.”

I freeze.

The sound of my name, said just the way my mom used to say it . . . it feels like a spiral of shock hits me all at once, straight in the chest, squeezing my heart until I feel as though I can’t breathe.

“Is she there?” he asks.

“Yes,” Keller says as he sets the computer down on the coffee table, pulling me into the frame.