Unblossomed roses brought a breath of spring to the wrought-iron bears that formed the palace gates. Reporters, cars, and vans had gathered at the front, and beyond them a warm afternoon drew to a close with yellow sunbeams and ocean breezes.

I gripped the edges of the plain oak podium staff had erected for my use, felt air sweep across my exposed neck and jiggle my the silver lace earrings.

I didn't have a speech prepared. It felt wrong, it made me angry, pinning up my hair into a braided bun that would've made Becky proud, putting in earrings, laying a matching pendent on my neck when Mom was...

"You're nearly as pale as this morning." Chief Braaten was a soft squeeze on my shoulder as he leaned in. "When you're ready."

I shut my eyes, pictured Mom in the bed and Dad beside her, and when I reopened them, my tongue unstuck and the words began to flow.

There wasn't much to say, nothing a scripted piece of paper could have said better. I told those gathered that the general public wasn't in any danger, that I appreciated their love and support, that Mom was stable but it's too early to say if she'll improve.

The Chief took over for questions, offering only the clipped, terse response expected of any ongoing investigation. I stood at his side until he dismissed the crowd, asked when I could meet with the shooter ("Not for a few days"), and retreated to the depths of the palace, an eye on the time. I didn't have much of a chance to change before meeting Marc; and with dinner penciled in for 6:30, there really wasn't time to head back to my room and change yet again. So the outfit I wore to the brief speech- a floor-length evening dress with capped sleeves, a polite v-neck and a knotted, thin ribbon at the waist, would have to do. The fabric was light and just brushed the ground against my heels, the perfect transition from winter to summer, but I had chosen it for its color- a soft grey like weathered beach stones, reminiscent of my mood.

In the hall of room 303, I found Marcus. Like me, he'd assumed there wouldn't be time before dinner to head back for a change of clothes. He'd made a fair effort to clean up since I'd seen him last. More than fair, if I was being honest. Dark charcoal slacks, a matching vest and suit jacket. A nice tie. He'd even shaved and put on cologne, which I almost didn't like as I leaned up and kissed his clean cheek in a warm hello. I almost preferred that cool timber and hay scent of the northern ranch.

"Don't we look like a pair of thieves?" I said, gesturing at his attire and my own. As another couple emerged from their room I took his arm and strolled leisurely down the hall. "I'll look left and you right."

The door was on the left. With me acting as lookout, Marc took care of the door. We stepped inside and I immediately locked it behind us and flipped on a light.

"What's that going to do?" he asked, tilting his head to one side to take in the room. It was larger than I'd expected, lavishly decorated with formal paintings and bookshelves and old artifacts. Wood lay stacked beside an as-yet unlit fire.

I set the key on the mantle, then turned to look at the bedroom across from it. An open door beside it led to a closet, and beside that a private bathroom. "The last time I forgot to lock the door Nik's landlord tried to shoot me."

"You can't escape through a window this time," he added, pulling back a curtain to examine the three story drop.

"But we'd have time to hide." I gave him a once-over; so I wasn't crazy about the cologne. He still looked fantastic, one hand in his pocket, straightening his tie in the window reflection. "So..." I said, gravitating towards the mattress instead of towards him like I wanted to. "Delicate."

Marc lifted the pillows cautiously, then peeled back the sheets while I ducked down under the bed and-

"Ulch." I sat up on my knees, rubbing my temple. Crotchless, neon leopard pink panties. For a woman that old. I couldn't keep myself from being creeped out and yet oddly proud of her for still getting into mischief at that age. "Found it."

Without another word I pointed deep under the bed, where the delicate item must've gotten kicked. Marcus took a knee, then a glance, and got right back up. "All you."

"Ew, no."

"You jumped at the chance to help."

"She only came to us because of you. Your families do dirty work for each other, not mine." I rolled my eyes and reassessed the distance from here to the dark space where it lay crumpled. "Filthy work. Is this a regular occurrence?"

"Not for me," he said, walking to the mantle. On his return, he passed me the fireplace poker. I lost the staring contest over it, and snatched the handle from him.

"Great, but once it's out, then what? They look worn." Abused, really. Maybe a little old. Why was I even examining them? I cringed, shoved the poker under, and pulled them across the carpet and into the light.

"Why couldn't it have been a love letter?" I sat back on my knees; when my eyes fell on the bed, an idea came to mind. I instructed him to strip a case off one of the pillows and hold it open. Using the poker, I caught an opening in the panties, and carefully placed them in the bag.

A quick knot and the Duchess' item was safely hidden, not that stopped me from feeling squeamish when Marc tossed me the pillowcase and on instinct I caught it. I held the balled fabric against my stomach and nodded at our only exit. "Let's get out of here. I'll phone a maid from my room to have the bed taken care of. Did she say where you're supposed to leave it?"

"Her room."

"Where's that?"

"I will take care of it."

"Did you know she was...so active?"

"I am happy to say I did not," he admitted as we stepped into the hall and the door clicked behind us.

We'd made it about six steps when a confused voice called out "Your Majesty?"

I whipped around, almost nose-to-nose with a blonde woman in her late forties or early fifties- about thirty years younger and less wrinkled than I'd have guessed based on the Duchess. Scrunching up the pillowcase and swinging it behind my back, I returned the woman's curtsy with a bob.

"What are you doing in my room?" She set a gloved hand and glittering clutch against her hip. I didn't have a clue who this woman was, but if she was a guest, I probably should have.

"I'm so sorry. The door to your room was unlocked. I've got a new cat you see," I babbled, glancing at Marc for support.

He flashed a handsome smile and nodded. "She named him the Beast. He's been terrorizing my stables the past week".

"He's a rescue and he escaped the barn," I insisted with a tiny elbow. I let her glimpse a corner of the pillowcase. "He sort of ...To put it delicately he barfed on your pillow. I'm so so sorry, Madame. I got the worst of it here. Hairball, mostly."

"Or a mouse." Marc supplied happily. "We were not sure."

She gasped. "Goodness!"

"I'm having the housemaids bring a new set of bedding. Marc here set the Beast out soon as we found him." I hung my head; my face was burning up between the lies and the guilt-ridden knowledge of what had actually occurred. "Just not soon enough."

"Will it be ready for tonight? My husband and I were headed to dinner, and planned on retiring for the evening after."

Marc fiddled with his pocket, pulling out his own key- a number I casually glanced at. 217. I didn't assign rooms, my job was more or less inviting people to fill them. I wondered briefly what his was like. "If it is troubling to you, you could take my room. It is nice enough."

"Oh, no. I couldn't."

He waved her politeness off. "I am usually staying in the stables, so this one here is no loss to me."

"How kind," I agreed. "What'll it be?"

"This is fine. I'll have Jeff sleep on that side tonight. Is the bathroom safe? I just wanted to powder my nose before we left."

I smiled. "Quite."

"Then if you'll excuse me, Your Majesty."

"Of course. Have a good night."

"Madame." Marc nodded.

She stopped him before he could slip his key back into his pocket. "You know, maybe I should take this," she said, biting the corner of her lip a little as she touched his hand.

Marc let her have it. "I will plan for the stables then."

"Oh no, I won't spend night."

With a finger I closed my open mouth. I'd thought palace affairs were boring... This kind though, made me hungry for a bowl of popcorn. Marc ran a hand through his hair and lifted his shoulder in an "aw, shucks" kind of way that only made things worse. She sidled up against him, and at that point I feigned a gasp, jerked his arm, and started pulling with a shouted "The Beast!"

"Where are we going?" He asked, willingly dragged around the hall corner.

"To my- to the queen's chambers." Eager not to be further delayed, I jogged as briskly as my heels allowed, hitching my dress high enough to keep myself from stumbling. "C'mon." Soon as we made it to the quiet hall of the queen's chambers I dropped the hem and pushed open the door. Marc leaned against it as I flung the pillow case in a corner.

"A cat?"

"I panicked," I said, turning on a standing lamp. "What would you have said?

"Something something horses." He waved his hand emphatically.

"Convincing." The light from the lamp did little to illuminate the vast chambers, which was more a of a house, really, with floor length windows and ceilings high enough that at night with a fire roaring, sometimes I felt like I was staring into deep space. The floor was elegant, imported marble, and the decorations gold and lavish in a hundred ways, none of which made my personal items (a t-shirt flung over the back of a vanity, my shoebox of jewelry, little touristy knickknacks) look very nice. Every morning I woke up and reminded myself that I was a tourist, living in a room I couldn't afford.

A quick call from the landline on the desk and I'd secured a maid.

Marc stayed against the door, at least until the phone clicked into its receiver. "Do I leave?" he asked.

"Stay." An old grandfather clock ticked down towards the dinner hour. There wasn't much of a point sending him back to his room or the barn when we were going to the same place. I leaned against the desk and watched the lights of the courtyard below burn away the gloom of the night. "Your family is a lot less goody twoshoes than I thought."

Marc's footsteps were quiet as he came up behind me. "Excellence and innocence are not always hand on hand."

"Hand in hand," I corrected, glancing over my shoulder with a gentle smile. "What sorts of things have you done for the Duchess?"

His expression stayed as neutral as the darkening sky. "What good are secrets if you tell them?"

"You win this round," I sighed. "But only because I kind of like this mysterious side of you." A lone guard passed through the lights, and I pointed to the sky beyond. "Sometimes, I just want them to shut all the lights off and lay out in the lawn. I thought cities were terrible for stargazing. Turns out palaces are even worse."

His hand met my shoulder and slid slowly along my arm until our fingertips touched and I'd stepped into his draw. "I know a place," he began.

A hopeful smile quivered on my mouth, and for a second my shoulders were pressed back into that frigid tailgate and the northern air surrounded us. His hand warmed mine and the memory pulled a shiver from me. "Woah, woah." I waved my hand through the air, grasping for straws when all I wanted was to catch his neck and bring him in for the kill. "Adrenaline. It can make you feel like you're in-in feelings."

"In feelings." Candlelight toned his amused eyes golden. He unwound me like a dancer, keeping only our fingers laced. "So this is adrenaline, is it?"

I twirled myself into his embrace. "Not entirely."

And I kissed him good and slow, restraining the urgency that heated my skin. Knowing we were doomed I didn't mean to do anything more but when he pulled away my hand was firm on his neck, bringing him back. My hands found the end of his shirt and buttons and vest be-damned, slipped underneath the layers to reach bare skin. He flinched then, surprised it seemed, and murmured my name against my neck. Looking over his shoulder at the empty courtyard, I relied on touch, running the pads of my fingertips up along his hip.

His side trembled.

"Harder." He pressed my hand flat against his stomach. I looked up at him, pleased, inquisitive, and raced my nails along his side. He bent just slightly, grabbing the errant hand with a grin struggling to dip into a stern frown. "That tickles."

"Oh?" Aware of my intentions, he lifted me out of trouble. My heels hit the desk chair and down it crashed.

"Shoot," I sighed against his mouth, watching a carved bauble roll from the furniture with feigned displeasure. "We broke it."

He turned my face onto his, mumbling promises to fix it later. His arm held me steady as he sank onto the bed, settling me into his lap. For a second tightness filled my stomach, anticipation of the fears that always descended around this time- but my chest rose and fell and nothing came.

I was keenly aware of every place our bodies met, the sensation of fabric pushed up my leg, his rough palm trailing from calf to thigh in patient strokes. My nails dug into the back of his vest, pinching fabric as I trailed lipstick kisses down his throat.

And then bobby pins pushed against my neck as my head dipped into the folds of the comforter. I turned my cheek to one side, alleviating the discomfort, and he pounced. He found a weak spot in my neck, and me, the one who freaked out, the one who was impervious, cold to the touch, found myself squirming and giggling to escape. He straddled me, one hand sunken into the mattress, keeping his full weight from pressing down. The other palm caught the flat of my back to lift my wanting hips toward his.

"Not very ladylike," he whispered into the soft flesh of my ear. I loved the way he touched me, carefully controlled strength that could dominate the situation if he thought to- I liked that awareness, and the heavy look in his eyes that suggested playing nice was hard exercise.

And oh, did I want to play.

My nails grazed his neck. "I'm a queen."

Soon as the words left my mouth he let go and I bounced against the bed.

"We are even," he huffed, breathless like he'd put in a strong effort to stop. He smoothed the dress back into place with a soft touch. "I hope your curiosity is happy."

It wasn't. I propped myself onto my elbows, empty and unfulfilled as he collected himself at the end of the bed. "Saving some for your visitor tonight?" I teased when I knew my face wasn't a pouting mess.

Using my vanity mirror as a guide, he wiped lipstick from his neck and mouth. "If you need me, I will be sleeping in the stables."

"Wise," I said, resting a hand on his shoulder. "Marc, maybe we should try out the long distance thing."

"Careful." With a light hand he pushed me back down. The pulse that'd only just slowed raced to a feverish beat. He kissed the flushed space above my neckline and pulled back. "That might be adrenaline." With that, he headed for the door. "I will be seeing you at dinner."

"If I'm late it's your fault. This braid took me like an hour to pin up."

Somewhat reluctantly, he grabbed the Duchess' pillowcase, but the grin on his face was all but pleased. "I will not be sorry."

"You will be if I sit next to you."

"What will you do?"

"Something under the table." Noticing a tiny flash of light on the bed, I picked it up and flicked it at him. "You're missing a button."

"Another thing for me to fix." He closed the door on his way out.

I eyeballed the broken chair then the mirror from my bed- my bun had pushed itself to one side. "Fuck," I murmured, holding a few bobby pins in my mouth to readjust the frizzy damage. This was only going to make leaving so much worse.