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Your Highness.” She adds my title almost as an afterthought, purely because the bartender is eyeballing her. “I haven't vetted it yet with any of my staff.”
    “You've got less than a minute,” I tell her, picking up my glass, focusing on how the light hits the scotch on the rocks. Everything glows like gold and crystal coming together.
    “You have an image problem. You've been defined, sire, boxed in by the press. There's a dozen playboy jabs every time they say hero. Doesn't matter. Whether you're doing something wonderful, like you did today for that girl and her father, or something...a bit less noble, everybody sees a playboy.”
    Yeah, they do. I barely stop myself from snorting and rolling my eyes.
    They see the truth, I want to tell her, taking another long drink instead.
    The player behind the medals and money is the whole reason I've got at least a dozen girls lined up here every night, offering themselves to me like I'm able to give them the universe.
    In the bedroom, I do. I give them a few glorious hours they'll remember until the day they die, pounding them halfway to heaven with the biggest cock they're ever going to take.
    And then I move onto the next. One and done.
    “What's your point?” I say, my eyes running up and down her trim, skinny body. She's not a bad looking girl, but damn, she's nothing like the models I've had night after night.
    Nothing like the curves I felt on that American broad today.
    “It's not too late to break the mold. We can force the media to redefine you. It's worked for other royals and men in your class for ages. You've heard about Prince Lukov on the Baltic, right? A year ago he was just a womanizer, a drunk, a man they said had ties to the Russian mob...”
    “Please.” I quietly balk at the comparison, sipping my scotch. “I don't have skeletons like Lukov in my closet.”
    “Of course not, Your Highness. All I'm saying is, look what at the reports about him now. Loving husband. Family man. He's only a year into his marriage, and with the royal baby, nobody remembers the old Prince Lukov.” She pauses, seeing the skepticism in my eyes. “Or that Sterner kid, the billionaire in the States. He married his stepsister, for God's sake, but nobody cares about that scandal. They just see charity, family, the handsome married man.”
    “And? I'm not shoving a ring on anybody's finger, or adopting a kid tomorrow, Serena.”
    She smiles nervously, and leans in, just far enough so her leg touches mine. “Even a public courtship could go a long way, sire. A kiss for the cameras with a steady lady, stepping out of your cars with her at the next palace functions, having her come to dinner with you and the Queen. I think –“
    “No.”
    I only say it once. But I'm thinking no, no, fuck no to all that crazy.
    No, no, no, goddammit, because I've heard the same thing tonight. It can't be coincidence.
    I don't know what kind of game her and grandmom are playing, but they're hitting me from every side. Trying to push this marriage scheme.
    It doesn't take much to see right through her. She clams up when I give her the heavy look, knocking back the last of my scotch.
    “Silas, look, I'm not saying you need to get engaged to the love your life. It doesn't even have to be real. You can use me.”
    Don't have a clue how I stop myself from choking on the booze. Shit.
    I'm staring to see what's going on here. Grandmom's using the stick, and Serena, she must be the carrot.
    And does she seem...warmer? I'm used to the stone cold bitch barking orders at the press corps and corralling reporters. Not this soft, smiling stranger I've only met a few times when she shared my bed.
    I wonder how many she had down here before me to put her up to this. And she's still talking, trying to convince me with words she can't be crazy enough to believe.
    “Use me,” she says again, words that would be sexy if they were coming from anybody else. “I'll do anything you want. We'll be perfect when in