Page 39 of His Runaway Princess

“I see. Tell me about your job then. You didn’t want to talk about it in Ravenzario, which makes sense now, but there’s no reason not to talk about it anymore.”

“Even given your status and what I presume your security clearance is here in Øyanord, I cannot tell you things considered classified in Eyjania,” he started. “But in short, I am a member of Princess Genevieve’s security detail. I do the same kinds of things your security detail does. I protect her, and to a lesser extent her family, from all kinds of danger when I’m with her.”

“Why to a lesser extent? Don’t they need protecting?” She gave him a glance out of the corner of her eye.

“They have their own teams. We work together. If they’re in one place, protecting the princess would generally mean also protecting her family.” He hoped she could understand that.

“Would you die to protect her?”

Where could she be going with this line of questioning? “I swore an oath that I would, and I meant every word. My first priority is to get her out of danger. If that can’t be done, my sworn duty is to do everything in my power, up to and including death, to keep that danger from getting to her.”

She stared for a moment before going on. “What about me? If it had come down to it, would you have done that for me on the ferry?”

The answer rolled out before he made a conscious decision on what to say. “In a heartbeat.”

13

Struggling to keep the tears from filling her eyes again, Amalia leaned to one side and dug a hair band out of her pocket then tied her hair back as a way to avoid dealing with the topic at hand for a minute or two.

Not nearly long enough.

Maybe a change of subject? “You shaved.” That should do it.

“I generally don’t shave much on holiday, but do the rest of the time.” He didn’t give any indication that her abrupt change in conversational direction bothered him at all.

“Huh.”Brilliant response, Amalia.

“It generally feels neater, I guess.” He leaned back and propped one ankle on the other knee. “I’ve never really thought about why.”

“Are you required to for your job?” Hadn’t she seen some of their officers with beards before? “King Benjamin has a beard. It’s always neat.”

“No, I’m not, and yes, it is. I’m not sure where I got that idea from. Maybe something I overheard as a child?” His brow furrowed as he sank deep into thought, his gaze downward. She could almost see him searching through his memories, kind of like that kid’s movie she’d watched years earlier where the emotions went through a giant library full of memories stored in marble-like objects.

His head came up a bit. “I don’t know why I have that idea firmly implanted.”

“Would you grow one if I wanted you to?”

She could see him blink then turn to look at her. “Would that be a condition of this whole thing?”

“No. Just wondering.” Amalia did like his look better with the beard, but it wouldn’t sway her decision one way or the other.

She didn’t know what to say next without going back to the conversation she wanted to avoid, but her stomach reminded her of something. “I haven’t had lunch. Are you hungry?”

“I could eat.” He grinned at her. The grin that had started causing her stomach to do flips from almost the first time she saw him. “How do we do that in this place? Is there a kitchen in there?” Ryker tilted his head toward the door.

“There is. There’s no food in it.” She shrugged. “Cooking isn’t something I’m any good at. Remember that old Christmas movie where they go to cut into the turkey, and it makes a kind of noise and is so dried out it’s empty? Or in that 1990s sitcom in New York when they go to the roof to watch a parade balloon and when they get back the apartment is filled with smoke and all of the potatoes are ruined?” Amalia hated to admit this to anyone, much less the man who might - or might not - be her husband.

“I remember both,” he said, caution filling his voice.

“That’s me. My parents and the palace cleaning and kitchen staffs all got together to forbid me from trying to make anything requiring electricity, even in a microwave. Did you know that American breakfast pastry can burn?” She snapped her fingers as she tried to remember what they were called. “The rectangle ones with a jelly inside and frosting on top. I managed to burn those and smell up the apartment for days. It was supposed to be three seconds. I set it for three minutes, though I stopped it before that. The frozen pancakes I obliterated were worse.”

Ryker chuckled. “Impressive. I’ve never known anyone who could do all of that, but I don’t blame them for putting a stop to your attempts.” They went through the door back into the living area. “So how do we get food? Go to one of the kitchens?”

She nodded and pulled out her phone. “We could. Or we could order something and have it sent up. If it’s all the same to you, I don’t particularly feel like being out and about.”

A minute later, she’d entered her choices into the app on her phone. It would submit it to one of the kitchens. A little while afterward, a knock on the door would tell her it had arrived.

Amalia handed her phone to Ryker. “There are some options listed there, or you can ask for almost anything that they normally have on hand. If you wanted lobster, for instance, they might not have any. But if you wanted something with potatoes, you’d probably be all right.”

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