Page 60 of Royal Rising

“When did you call Stella?” I demand as we leave a path of wet footprints up the stairs, trailed by Dillon.

“After you—when Bo was there. Gunnar and Ajax came and grabbed her, so she’s safe and warm at the shelter,” Edie says, pulling her keys out. “I didn’t realize you were worried, or I would have told you.” There’s a puddle on the floor outside the apartment by the time she gets the door unlocked and a little of the tightness in my chest dissolves.

“I didn’t worry about it. It’s a cat.”

“You were. You liked her.”

“I never—she’s a cat. I think it’s a her. She eats my garbage. Course I don’t like her.”

“A cat you’ve been feeding for months. You did. I think you should call Stella and adopt her. I’ll get you a towel,” she promises Dillon as she opens the door.

“Maybe more than one.” Dillon turns to me. “I didn’t know you liked cats.”

“I didn’t either,” I say, bewildered.

As Edie gets him a towel, we manhandle one of her armchairs out the door and into the hallway. I’ve always hated the thought of inconveniencing the men who are paid to protect me, but I’ve talked to them both enough about it to realize they accept it as part of the job. Still, I’m glad to see Edie return with a few towels, a warm blanket and pillow as well as a bottle of water and a muffin for him.

“I like watching her place,” Dillon says, stuffing half the muffin in his mouth and drying his head with a towel.

“Careful you don’t wake up Miss Bessie.” Edie points to the other apartment door where Edie’s seventy-year-old neighbour lives. “Actually, she might like it and come keep you company.”

“I know Miss Bessie,” Dillon says tightly. “I’ll keep it down.”

“I hate the thought of you out here,” Edie frets.

“Just doing my job m’lady.” He pulls out his phone so we can see the puzzle app he’s pulled up. “You get some sleep, and don’t let Maj keep you up.”

I nod good night as I shut the door, leaving him in the hall.

Leaving Edie and me alone in her apartment.

Lightning flashes outside the big living room windows, illuminating the room to a hazy gray rather than pitch black.

It’s about half the size of my apartment but cozy and clean with woman things like candles and books and plants, with a vase full of pretty flowers on the table.

It’s more of a home than my place, and it smells like Edie.

She stands a few feet away from me, shoulders tight and uncertain. I’m over here enough to know where she keeps the corkscrew and her stash of cookies, but it feels different tonight. Maybe it’s the storm and the lack of power that means we can’t sit and watch Netflix like we usually do.

Maybe it’s just because it’s been a strange day.

I—kind of—asked her to marry me today. The echo of that, plus the ghosts of Fenella and Mathias drift between us.

“I don’t like him out there,” she says quietly, like there really are ghosts listening.

“I don’t either, but that’s what he does.” When I’m at my apartment, there are two bodyguards with me at all times—one outside the door, the other staying in the spare room. When I stay in other places, one of them is always with me, the other outside in the car.

There’s not a lot of privacy being a prince, but it’s the only way I know. At least with Dillon and Chase, I get to live my life.

“He appreciates the muffin,” I tell her. “And the blanket.”

“I didn’t want him to get cold. You,” she bursts out, like she’s only now realizing Dillon might not be the only one who is cold and wet. “I’ll get you towels.”

“That would be great since I’m kind of dripping all over your floor.”

By the time Edie is back with a stack of towels, I’ve kicked off my shoes, soggy and ruined from the floating garbage in the alley. And I’ve shucked off my jeans so that I’m standing by the door in my boxer briefs and a soaking-wet shirt.

“Oh.” Edie stops a few feet away, eyes even bigger than usual.

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