Page 6 of Sweet on the Royal Guard

ZEKE

I stare at the mess of papers on my desk, but the words blur together like alphabet soup.

My mind keeps replaying the words in that article over and over: Royal Guard’s Secret Tryst with American Media Heir .

God, could they have made it sound any sleazier?

I run a hand through my hair for the millionth time today.

I probably look like I stuck my finger in an electrical socket.

My stomach churns at the thought of Benedict packing his bags, fleeing back to the States because he’s scared. But a week later, even though there haven’t been any more headlines, I’m still not sure how to protect him.

I try to focus on the incident report in front of me, but the letters might as well be hieroglyphics. “Suspect was observed…blah, blah, blah.” Come on, Zeke, get it together. You’re on duty, for crying out loud .

The door suddenly swings open and I practically levitate out of my chair, knocking over my World’s Okayest Guard mug in the process.

“Your Highness!” I stammer, hastily trying to look like I wasn’t just having an existential crisis at my desk. “How may I assist you today?”

Prince Charlie stands in the doorway, one eyebrow raised as he takes in my disheveled state. Great. Nothing says competent royal protection like looking like you just rolled out of bed after a three-day bender.

“At ease, Zeke,” Charlie says, a hint of amusement in his voice. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost. Everything all right?”

I force what I hope is a convincing smile. “Of course, Your Highness. Just a bit tired from the night shift. What can I do for you?”

As Charlie enters the office, I frantically try to smooth down my hair and straighten my uniform. God, I probably have ink on my face or something equally mortifying. Why couldn’t it have been literally anyone else who walked in?

I clear my throat, desperately grasping for some semblance of professionalism. “Did you need an update on security protocols for the upcoming gala?”

Charlie settles into the chair across from my desk, studying me with those piercing green eyes that manage to see right through my bullshit. I resist the urge to squirm like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

“Actually,” he says slowly, “I wanted to discuss that rather interesting article in last week’s paper…”

Oh shit. This is it. I’m about to get fired or be exiled to some remote outpost guarding goats or something. I open my mouth, ready to launch into damage control mode, when Charlie holds up a hand.

“Relax, Zeke. You’re not in trouble. But I think we need to chat about how to handle this situation. For both your sake and Benedict’s.”

I sink back into my chair, relief washing over me even as anxiety still gnaws at my insides. Whatever happens next, at least I’m not getting the boot. Yet.

Charlie leans forward, his expression softening. “Look, I get it. I’ve been in your shoes, sort of. When I first started dating Kris, the media went absolutely crazy. American Commoner Steals Prince’s Heart ! headlined every tabloid from here to Timbuktu.”

I chuckle, remembering those headlines. “Yeah, they had a field day with that one. I think my favorite was Royal Romeo Finds His Yankee Julio .”

“Oh God, don’t remind me.” Charlie groans, but there’s a twinkle in his eye. “Point is, I know what it’s like to suddenly have your private life splashed across every newspaper and gossip site. It’s overwhelming, to say the least.”

His words hit home, and I feel a knot in my chest loosen slightly. “How did you handle it?” I ask, genuinely curious. “I mean, Benedict’s already talking about leaving Lydovia. I can’t blame him, but…” I trail off, not wanting to admit how much the thought of him leaving hurts.

Charlie nods, understanding written all over his face. “It’s not easy, but here’s the thing about being part of the royal circle—we’ve got some tricks up our sleeves when it comes to the press.”

I lean forward, intrigued. “What do you mean?”

“Well,” Charlie says, a mischievous grin spreading across his face, “let’s just say we have ways of…redirecting attention. Creating more interesting stories for the vultures to chase after.”

My mind races with possibilities. Could we really throw the press off Benedict’s scent? Give him the peace and privacy he deserves?

“So you’re saying we could make this whole thing…disappear?” I ask, hardly daring to hope.

Charlie winks. “Not disappear, exactly. But we can certainly make it old news very quickly. Trust me, by this time next week, no one will care about some media prince and a guard because they’ll be busy speculating about, oh, I don’t know, Prince Kristoff’s secret passion for competitive llama racing or something equally ridiculous. ”

I burst out laughing, relief and excitement bubbling inside me. “Your husband is going to kill you for that one.”

“Eh, he owes me.” Charlie shrugs, still grinning. “The point is, Zeke, we can handle this. Benedict doesn’t have to leave. You two can have a chance to figure things out without the whole kingdom watching your every move.”

For the first time since that damned article came out, I feel like I can breathe again. Maybe, just maybe, this isn’t the end of the world after all.

I lean forward, clasping Charlie’s hand in both of mine. “Prince Charlie, I…I don’t know how to thank you. This means more than you know.”

Charlie’s blue eyes sparkle with warmth as he squeezes my hand. “That’s what friends are for, Zeke. What am I doing as a prince if not facilitating some happily ever afters, huh?”

We share a laugh, and I’m struck by how lucky I am to have Charlie in my corner. He may be royalty, but he’s also a genuinely good guy.

“Seriously though,” I say, “you’re a lifesaver. I owe you big time.”

Charlie waves me off. “Consider us even for all those times you’ve kept me safe out there. Now, shouldn’t you be somewhere? Perhaps checking in on a certain American visitor?”

“You’re right,” I say, jumping to my feet. “I should go. But first…”

I dash to my locker, rummaging through until I find what I’m looking for—a slightly squashed box of apple cinnamon donuts that I bought this morning but haven’t had the heart to eat because they remind me too much of Benedict, and right now, they feel like the perfect peace offering.

As I head for the door, Charlie calls out, “Go get him, tiger!”

I turn back, grinning. “Thanks, Prince. For everything.”

With the donut box tucked under my arm, I practically sprint through the palace corridors toward the gardens. My mind races with what I’ll say to Benedict, how I’ll explain everything. But mostly, I just can’t wait to see his face, to reassure him that everything’s going to be okay.

As I burst into the gardens, the sweet scent of flowers mingling with the sugary aroma of the donuts, I feel a surge of determination. Whatever happens next, I know one thing for sure—I’m not letting Benedict go without a fight.

I’m at the garden wall before I know it, the same one I scaled in nothing but my shoes and a box of donuts just weeks ago. This time, I’m fully clothed—thank god—but the box of donuts makes the climb familiar. I wedge it under my chin, praying I don’t drop it as I haul myself up and over.

My feet hit the grass on the other side with a soft thud, and I’m moving again, heart pounding. Benedict’s cottage comes into view, its quaint stone exterior bathed in the warm glow of the setting sun. It’s beautiful, just like him, and the sight of it only fuels my urgency.

I’m out of breath by the time I reach his door, partly from the sprint and partly from the nerves coursing through me. What if he doesn’t want to see me? What if I’m too late?

No. I can’t think like that. I raise my hand and knock, three sharp raps that echo in the quiet garden.

Seconds tick by, feeling like hours. I shift from foot to foot, clutching the donut box like a lifeline. Just as I’m considering knocking again, the door swings open.

And there he is.

Benedict stands in the doorway, his expressive brown eyes widening in surprise. He’s wearing one of those endearing granddad sweaters I love so much, the soft beige making him look cozy and huggable. But there’s tension in his shoulders, uncertainty in his gaze.

“Zeke,” he says, his voice a mix of confusion and something else I can’t quite place. “What are you doing here?”

I swallow hard, suddenly aware of how dry my mouth is. “I, uh…I brought donuts?” I hold up the box lamely, feeling like an idiot. Smooth, Zeke. Real smooth .

Benedict’s eyes flick from my face to the box and back again. A small furrow appears between his brows, and I resist the urge to smooth it away with my thumb.

“Apple cinnamon,” I add, as if that explains everything. “Your favorite.”

For a moment, we just stand there, the air between us thick with unspoken words. I can practically feel the war going on behind Benedict’s eyes—caution battling with the same longing I feel deep in my bones.

Finally, he steps back, opening the door wider. “You’d better come in,” he says softly.

As I cross the threshold, the scent of earth and flowers envelops me—Benedict’s scent. It feels like coming home, and I clench my fists to keep from reaching for him.

Instead, I offer what I hope is a reassuring smile. “We need to talk,” I say, my voice steadier than I feel. “And not just about pastries.”

Benedict nods, his lips quirking into a small, wry smile. “I figured as much. Unless you’ve developed a habit of scaling palace walls with baked goods.”

I chuckle, grateful for the momentary break in tension. But as we move into his cozy living room, the weight of what I need to say settles on my shoulders again.

“Benedict,” I start, setting the donut box on a nearby table. “I know things have been…complicated. But I can’t keep pretending that what happened between us was nothing.”