Page 102 of Happily Ever After

Burn It All Down

Flicka von Hannover

I saw my chance,

and I took it.

In the sitting room, Flicka took her place in a silver chair. Eight tall, ripped men stood around her, glowering at the door.

Some of her guards wereWelfenlegionwhom Wulfram had stationed atKaiserhausmonths before, and some were Rogue Security who’d arrived that morning when Dieter had contactedthem.

Yes,eightmen, and more stood outside the doors behind her, ready to storm in.

Yeah, she’d told Pierre that they would have one security person each, but this wasSchloss Marienburg,her home territory, where she might have been an actual monarch but for that unfortunate pick of alliances during the Austro-Prussian War. Her family had never acknowledged the Prussian annexation of Hannovernor the Unification of Germany. All that was irrelevant to her family’s royal claims, they believed.

Thus, in her own castle in her own kingdom, she’d bloody well have all the bodyguards she pleased because she was the Queen.

Actually, Flicka was the Princess Royal because her older brother Wulfram would inherit the throne of the Kingdom of Hannover, but she was definitely in charge of the castleat that moment.

Dieter Schwarz stood at her left hand. He wore black slacks that accentuated his long legs and a black tee shirt that was perhaps half a size too small so that it stretched across his broad chest. The tactical holster on his hip matched his slacks, while the blued steel of his handgun was the dark silver accent his ensemble needed.

He stared straight forward, steely-eyed andhard-jawed with late afternoon sunlight haloing his golden hair, and he waited with Flicka.

Two of the guys wereWelfenlegionfrom Wulf’s personal detail. She’d known them for years because Dieter had hired them when Wulfie had lived in Chicago. Dieter had pretty much raided Switzerland for ex-ARD-10 commandos when he’d set up Wulf’s private army, and he’d hired the rest of the world’s unemployedSEALs, Army Rangers, and special ops people when he’d started Rogue Security, plus stolen a few from their national militaries.

Luca Wyss, a SwissWelfenlegionoperator who seemed carved from caramel oak and honey, stood beside her.

Friedhelm Vonlanthen, alsoWelfenlegion,stood on her other side, his dark eyes restlessly roaming the room.

Rogue Security operators had arrived, too, and Dieterhad tasked some of them with this bodyguard duty. Magnus Jenson, whose ice-blue eyes had followed Flicka around Monaco, and Aiden Grier, who might have been a Scotsman or a native Monegasque and thus a spy, considering the extraordinary ease with which he’d spoken Monaco’s dialect of Italian, stood behind her.

The back of her neck prickled.

Aaron Savoie, who had driven them around Paris andhad the saddest eyes Flicka had ever seen, stood behind Dieter. His breath was so slow and easy that he might have been sleeping on his feet with his eyes open, while Flicka’s heart pounded in her chest at the thought that this meeting might go terribly wrong.

The door ahead of them from the hallway pushed open.

Flicka drew herself to sitting with very straight and regal posture, her butt barelytouching the chair. She’d had training in perfect manners her whole life. In a world of faux celebutantes and banal social media influencers, she was a consummate princess.

The men around her tensed and stood straighter. Their hands dangled at their sides, twitching near their holsters on their hips.

Prince Pierre Grimaldi of Monaco and Quentin Sault strode in.

Four German police officers inblack uniforms and smart hats walked in behind them, looking around at the palace’s sitting room. One held a sheaf of paperwork.

Quentin took one look at the strike force surrounding Flicka and stepped in front of Pierre, pushing him back. His hand snapped to his sidearm.

Flicka said, “Come in. They’re for my protection, not to kidnap you.”

Quentin said to her, “This wasn’t the bargain. There’ssupposed to be one guy, each.”

The police had stepped back, their hands also hovering over their weapons.

Flicka said, “I haven’t taken you prisoner and tried to enslave you. As long as we talk and you leave peacefully, no one is in any danger. Besides, you have four police officers around you.”

Quentin shook his head. “Not on these terms. Your Highness, Pierre, out,now.”

Pierre strolledaround Quentin, his hands nonchalantly shoved in his pockets. “Oh, Quentin. You’re such a worrywart. We’re just here to talk.”