Page 77 of Royal Rising

Childish, yes. But there’s a part of me that feels good thinking it.

“Big event at the castle,” Fenella says. “I thought I’d see what the town had to offer me for my last night here.” She looks me upand down—that look that only women give to each other. The look is bad enough but those striking violet eyes? Who gets to have purple eyes?

Sophie leans in. “Stella’s going,” she whispers. “I think it’s a big thing for Gunnar. And she’s—” Sophie mimes her head exploding.

I can only imagine because that’s exactly what I’ve been trying not to do—imagining myself at one of the family dinners. That seems too far off; too unbelievable.

Getting my head around me and Kalle is one thing. One thing at a time.

I make them drinks and move off to fill a pitcher with beer, Like this morning, there’s not going to be enough for me to do that will keep my mind off Kalle.

Not with Fenella right in front of me, causing me to wonder and worry about what happened between the two of them.

She’s beautiful, and rich. She has everything she could ever want.

Why wouldn’t she want Kalle? And if she does, there’s no way I could compete with her. I manage a bar. I wear jeans and T-shirts. Fenella is heir to a billion-dollar toy company. She’s wearing a pair of purple flared, high-waisted pants and high heeled boots, with a gauzy shirt shot through with silver threads—most likely real silver—and tied under her breasts, leaving her belly bare.

She’s gorgeous, so why wouldn’t Kalle—

A shout and a crash knock me out of another Kalle-stupor. One glance shows me that once again, Jubblie Mark is in the middle of something, and once again, Coy Schmidt seems to be the instigator.

Without a word, I head over to the pool table where a beer bottle has been knocked to the floor. Thankfully, it’s not broken but the puddle of beer is spreading, and Mark is doing his best to break one of the pool cues over his knee.

“They’re stronger than they look,” I tell him. “And if you do break it, you’re paying for it. Plus, I’ll kick you out of here for good.”

Only a few heads turn, but Mark is one of them and he drops the cue on the table with a guilty expression.

That should have been the end of it. I know these guys, and they are all aware I don’t stand for fighting or causing damage, especially when Kalle isn’t around.

Unfortunately, there’s a few out-of-towners in the group. Guys I don’t know.

“Go away, little girl,” one of the men jeers. I think I’ve heard someone call him Steve-o. I think it’s a suitable name for a jerk.

Yes, I’ve already pegged him as a jerk. “Little girl?” I echo.

Jubblie Mark backs out of the crowd, Coy Schmidt right behind him. These men don’t know me, and they don’t know The King’s Hat, and they’re spoiling for a fight.

“That’s what I said.” Steve-o steps up to face me. He’s no Kalle, but he does have a few inches on me. He’s also a little unsteady on his feet and holding a nearly empty pint glass.

I make a note to add the cost of it to his bill because I have a feeling he’s going to drop it in a moment.

“Why don’t you toddle back off to your little hen party over there and leave us men to our business?” His sneer doesn’t do anything for his level of attractiveness, which is slim to none already.

Sneers and jeers—my least favourite part of managing this bar.

“And what exactly is your business tonight?” I ask coolly.

“Smashing heads and taking names,” someone behind him shouts.

“Not in my place, you aren’t.”

The rest of the bar has gone quiet. “Your place,” Steve-o says scornfully. “You’re nothing without your big, bad boyfriend here. Kalle’s little princess.”

“Don’t you talk to her like that,” someone shouts from behind me. I think it might be Ken McKibbon.

I also have a sensation there might be a wall of men lined up behind me, ready to charge if I give the word. These are men, most of whom would happily throw punches at each other if given the chance, and they’ve banded together to support me.

At least I think that’s what is going on. And the way Steve-o looks over my shoulder suggests I may be right. It’s nice they have my back, but a full-out brawl is the last thing I want, or need tonight. Or any other night.

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