Page 67 of A Royal Mistake

Pippa surveyed her team, already sweating under their facemasks. Air guns. Tons of ammunition. And egos the size of Valeria.

What could possibly go wrong?

* * *

Adrenaline coursedthrough Henry’s veins. Thank Christ he and Pippa were on the same team. No way could he bring himself to shoot her with a paintball. With any luck, her army of suitors felt the same, which would make protecting her during game play a little easier.

Did she have any idea what it felt like to get shot with a paintball? Did any of them?

He had his doubts, judging by the shifty glances and overall discomfort of handling the markers. Well, they were in for a for a crash course. Odds were good they’d be leaving the garden covered in bruises.

Henry studied his team. Pippa. The Prince of Asses. Delacroix. The French count.

Aside from Pippa, he wouldn’t have allied with a single one of them, given the choice. Sure, the Spanish heir was athletic, but he was also an Arschloch. He’d have to be on guard for friendly fire.

No way in hell would he allow the Prince of Asses to shoot him in the back.

“The first thing we need to do is come up with a game plan,” he announced, cradling his marker against his shoulder so it was safely pointing skyward. “We should decide where we’re going to plant our flag. We’ll also need to decide who’s going to play offense and who’s better suited to defense.”

“Who elected you team captain?” Prince Gabriel scoffed, puffing out his chest.

“We don’t have much time. We shouldn’t waste it arguing. Paintball is a game of strategy, athleticism, and skill.”

“Exactly.” A self-satisfied smirk stretched across the prince’s face and Henry wanted nothing more than to erase it with a nut shot. “It just so happens I am a military expert.”

He didn’t bother dignifying the proclamation with a reply. There was a big difference between reading something in a book and actually doing it.

“I’ve studied military tactics from all the great wars,” Gabriel continued, turning to Pippa. “With my extensive knowledge of maneuvers, I should be the team captain.”

Pippa shifted her weight, moving the heavy paintball marker from one arm to the other. “Henry’s right. It doesn’t matter who’s captain. We don’t even need a captain. We need a plan.”

“Leadership always matters,” the prince argued, clearly unwilling to give up the fight.

Spoken like a true heir.

One used to commanding respect, not earning it.

“Have you ever actually served in the military?” Henry challenged, hoping to bring the discussion to a swift end. “Or fought in a battle?”

“No, but—”

“Instead of worrying about who’s got the bigger cock—sorry, princess—maybe we can put our heads together and come up with a plan to win this thing.”

“I’m with you,” the count said, nodding his head and pointing his marker at Henry.

“First rule of paintball,” Henry said, pushing the barrel of the marker to the side. “Don’t point your gun at someone unless you intend to shoot them.”

The count flushed and dropped the weapon to his side.

“And maybe keep your finger off the trigger,” he added.

“You’ve played before?” Pippa asked, curiosity lighting her dark eyes.

He adjusted his mask so it rested atop his head, giving him an unobstructed view of his team and the playing field. “I’ve played with my staff and with volunteers at VDRI. It’s good for team building, but it hurts like a bitch when you get shot.”

Pippa sucked her lower lip between her teeth.

“Don’t worry.” He touched her bicep lightly. “With any luck, you won’t have to worry about that part.”