Page 8 of Risky Match (Royal Spies #1)

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F our days later.

Standing outside my parents’ palace apartment, I wait for their butler to let me in. The delay gives me time to mentally run through my list of remaining questions about the mission. Hopefully, my parents will answer them during breakfast this morning.

With a click, the door swings open, and the familiar, silver-haired gentleman ushers me inside.

“Good morning, Grayson. Are my parents in the dining room?”

“They are, Your Royal Highness” he says, bowing his head to me.

He’s old school like my parents and believes in maintaining tradition, but his formality feels awkward given our history.

I’ve known my parents’ butler since I was a small child.

He used to slip me pieces of chocolate in exchange for promises to behave.

As I grew older, it became a game. I’d threaten to do something egregious to extract chocolate from him.

His wink told me he knew I was kidding, but it was our secret.

The memory makes me smile. Holding my hand out, I say, “Perhaps I should knock over the pitcher of orange juice this morning for old times’ sake.”

He wags his finger. “Tsk, tsk. There will be none of that today.”

A foil-wrapped square drops gently into my palm. It’s better than a hug from a favorite uncle.

“I guess I’ll have to be good today,” I tease.

It sounds childish, but this exchange is our way of showing affection.

“Enjoy your breakfast and good luck at Wimbledon. I’ll be watching,” he calls after me.

“Thanks. I’ll do my best,” I say over my shoulder, hurrying to the dining room. I’m anxious for answers. It’s my last chance to learn more details before my team’s flight leaves for London later today.

Entering my parent’s private dining room, my plan instantly goes up in smoke. In addition to my parents, my older brothers, Xander and Evan, are waiting for me.

“Surprise!” Xander says as he gives me a hug.

“I thought you two were both traveling.”

“We were, but we had to congratulate you in person and give you a proper send off,” Evan says.

We’ve always been close, but it’s touching that my brothers flew back just for breakfast. I appreciate their support even if I’d hoped to corner my parents alone this morning.

“Exactly. We’re so proud of you. You deserve this,” Xander adds.

Technically, I deserve a chance to play singles, but they can’t know that.

My brothers have no idea that I’ve spent six to eight weeks each summer for the last eleven years, training as a Covert Royal.

They thought I was at an intensive tennis camp between tournaments each summer.

I was, but it was much more than just tennis.

My brothers never knew about the program because they weren’t eligible for it.

Evan was already in graduate school and on a different path when it started.

Xander was the Crown Prince, destined to be king.

It wouldn’t have been an option for him because the program was designed for the spares —not for royals who would ascend to their respective thrones.

Our parents wanted the spares to have a unique opportunity to serve our countries that consisted of more than cutting ribbons, dedicating hospital wings, and raising money for charities.

They recognized that prior royal children in our situations had had a difficult time finding their place and value in life. They wanted to fix that dilemma.

But very few people in the world know about the highly secret program.

And I don’t want my brothers to learn about it yet.

I feel guilty hiding it from them, but they are too overprotective and would try to keep me from doing anything useful.

As king, Xander now has the power to prohibit my involvement, which makes it even more important to keep my role secret.

My parents are bad enough, but they’ve had years to get used to the idea that I’m trained to spy. Besides, they agreed to my participation in the first place. They can’t complain too much now.

After I’ve proven my worth on more substantial covert royal missions, I’ll share my role with my brothers. By then, it will be too late for them to stop me. At least, that’s what I hope.

A few hours later, I board one of the royal jets with my coach, my physio, my regular bodyguard Erin, and Fausto, who is a new addition to the team.

My parents insisted on a second bodyguard. He’s disguised as my personal chef. Clearly, they’re worried about the danger of my mission.

It’s amusing that my parents are sending bodyguards to keep me safe when I’m the spy with as much or more special training than my guards.

Normally, I’d object, but given the loss of two agents on a related mission, I’ll accept the extra backup protection this time.

There’s another upside too. If Chef Fausto’s cooking is as outstanding as they promised, then we’ll eat extremely well.

This may be one of the smaller jets my family owns, but it’s still luxurious with polished burled wood that shines like a mirror, along with plush, cream-colored leather chairs and a sofa.

Erin and I like to chat during flights, so we take our preferred seats facing each other. We could almost pass for sisters if not for her light brown hair and brown eyes compared to my mahogany hair and green eyes.

The others are on the sofa near the back, already watching a football match on the TV.

As we sink into our seats, the flight attendant appears with our customary drinks. She hands me my favorite mocktail: sparkling water with a splash of pomegranate juice and an orange slice. I’d rather be sipping a martini, but I’m limiting alcohol for Wimbledon.

Since learning about Wimbledon and my mission, my mood swings are epic. One minute I’m fuming mad. The next I’m consumed with disappointment. Then I’m excited about having a real mission and playing at Wimbledon, even if it’s doubles.

Unfortunately, the darker thoughts dominate.

But at the end of our two-and-a-half-hour flight from Catalinius to London, I’ll need to bury any trace of negative thoughts. As far as the world will see, I’m thrilled to be playing doubles at Wimbledon.

After all, who wouldn’t want to play with Blake? He’s not just one of the best players in the world, he’s also drop-dead gorgeous.

“What’s up with the lopsided frown?” Erin asks. “I thought you’d be ecstatic about the invite to Wimbledon.”

“I am.”

“You could have fooled me. We’ve known each other since we were six. That frown means you’re frustrated. Is it the mission?”

Erin would see through any lie, so I admit, “It’s more than the mission.”

She’ll assume it’s another low-risk CRM, involving a basic info exchange. Due to the confidentiality of the mission, she doesn’t know the details. She only knows to be on higher alert.

“Do you want to talk about what’s bothering you?”

“I’d hoped for an invitation to play singles, so it’s a letdown.”

I can’t tell her the mission is why I didn’t get the singles invite.

“I suspected as much. At least you weren’t left out entirely.”

“True. But it’s more complicated than that. I’ll be playing with Blake Knight.”

“Is he a jerk?”

“No. We got to know each other extremely well a couple of years ago.”

“Do you mean what I think you mean? Are you saying you two did the twisted-sheet tango?”

I laugh. “That’s a new one, but yes, we spent a long, incredibly enjoyable night together.”

“How did I not know? With you that’s frontpage news.”

“God, I hope not. That’s one reason I’ve been selective. But I know what you mean. You were on vacation at the time, so my parents sent two other guards. I gave them strict instructions not to mention my guest.”

“Are you hoping to rekindle the relationship?”

“It wasn’t a relationship. Neither of us wanted that. And even if I did want to hook up again, I can’t. He may be involved in my mission. I’ll know more when I’m fully briefed. Regardless, I can’t let emotions distract me.”

“Let’s hope he’s on the periphery of your mission. If that’s the case, there’s no reason not to have a little fun.” She waggles her eyebrows.

“Not this time. I’m worried it’s going to be awkward though.”

“Keep an open mind. If the chemistry is still there, who knows what will happen.”

“We’ll see.” I sigh.