J A C Q U E S

Two months earlier...

I needed a break.

I was done playing royal wingman. First it was Luc and his whirlwind romance, then Casper and Sophie. I loved them like brothers, but lately I'd become the designated third wheel in every love story.

And I was tired of it.

I wandered the halls of the hunting lodge, restless and irritable. Eventually, out of boredom more than anything, I decided to check in on Sophie. Casper had asked me to keep an eye on her, and I figured at least she might not be planning a fairytale wedding in the next ten minutes.

I headed toward her apartment—and the second I opened the door, she collided with me.

A small, red-headed blur slammed into my chest.

I caught her instinctively, arms steadying her before I'd even registered what was happening. She looked up at me, wide-eyed, her cheeks flushed, lips parted in a soft gasp. And her eyes—shimmering with tears—hit me like a blade to the ribs.

Something shifted.

I didn't know her name. I didn't know what she was running from. But I knew one thing, deep in my bones: this girl was mine.

Mine to protect. Mine to hold. Mine.

She stumbled backward, and I steadied her. My voice came out low, almost casual—but inside, I was already a storm.

"Hey, where's the fire?" I asked.

She sniffled, muttered an apology, and tried to slip past me.

No chance.

Whatever had broken her—I wanted to break it in return.

I kicked the front door shut behind me with a quiet thud and leaned against it, deliberately blocking her exit. She wasn't going anywhere.

"Are you going to tell me who made you cry so I can beat the shit out of them?" I said.

She shook her head, eyes cast down.

"Well, I ain't moving until you give me the bastard's name."

"Please, I don't mean to inconvenience you with my problems," she said. "It would be better if you allowed me to pass so that I can be on my way."

"Nuh-uh. No can do, honey."

I folded my arms, making it perfectly clear I wasn't budging. She finally looked at me—really looked—and something flickered in her gaze.

"Who are you?" she asked.

"I'm Jacques. Now it's your turn, honey."

"Christie," she replied softly.

Christie.

"And what's the name of the guy who made you cry?"

She hesitated. I could see her weighing it. Chewing it over like the answer might damn us both.

"Even if I did tell you his name, you wouldn't be able to do anything," she replied

"I'll be the judge of that."

Her resolve cracked. Just a little. And then—like it hurt to say it—she whispered:

"It's Prince Rudolph. Do you understand why it's hopeless?"

The name burned through me like acid.

I forced a smile. A fake one, the kind that never reached my eyes. "Ah, yes. Rudolph," I said tightly. "Prince Douche-Canoe."

Her lips twitched. Almost a smile—but she swallowed it down, like even that was more joy than she deserved.

She bowed her head, shame washing over her. "I have disappointed the Prince and deserve his admonishment."

I bristled.

"What have you done to upset him?"

"I have angered him by coming here with Sophie," she said quietly. "He is my fiancé and I must return to him. Please let me pass."

"You're not going back to him," I said flatly.

"I have to. If I stay, it will only make him angry."

"Honey, let me deal with it."

She stared at me like I'd grown two heads.

"You can't deal with it—he's the King's cousin!"

"Baby," I said, "I'm the King's best friend. I'm practically his brother. I will talk to Casper and get the engagement voided."

"Sophie has already tried. It's useless."

"Then we'll figure something else out." I pushed off the door, smooth and sure, and looped an arm around her waist. Her body fit against mine like it had always belonged there. "Rudolph has the sense God gave a goose. He won't be hard to beat."

I guided her away from the door, keeping close—too close. I needed to be between her and the world. Between her and him.

I led her to the couch and knelt in front of her, watching the way she clutched that letter like it was the only thing tethering her to reality. Her nails had dug into the paper. I gently pried it from her hands and tossed it over my shoulder.

"Forget about it. He's dead to you," I said, trying to keep her eyes on mine.

But her gaze drifted—still drawn to that damn letter.

I needed to ground her. Anchor her to me.

I reached out, took her hand, and began to rub slow, careful circles into her palm.

"I love reflexology," I said lightly. "It helps calm the nerves."

She bowed her head. "I'm sorry. It's not that I'm ungrateful...but I have to go back."

"No, you don't. You can stay here. With me."

I meant every word. She didn't know it yet, but I wasn't letting her out of my sight. Not tonight. Not ever.

"I suppose, one night wouldn't hurt," she said at last.

"Hey, that's my girl—except you're not going anywhere near that son-of-a-bitch, ever."

"He's my fiancé," she said softly. "I will have to go back to him in the end."

The word fiancé lit a fuse in me.

He wasn't her anything. He never had been.

"He's not your fiancé. Don't ever call him that again."

She looked up at me, voice almost pleading. "Look, I understand that you are trying to help, but you'll only end up getting yourself into trouble. I'm not worth it. Just let me go."

My jaw tightened.

She didn't know what she was worth.

Yet.

"I'll be the judge of what you're worth," I said softly.

And in that moment, I knew I'd burn Port Cressida to the ground before I let Rudolph have her.