Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 82317 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 412(@200wpm)___ 329(@250wpm)___ 274(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82317 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 412(@200wpm)___ 329(@250wpm)___ 274(@300wpm)
Those with half a lick of sense who are monitoring this know the diseased part of the tree is King Thomas, and Camille represents the non-diseased part that has to go, because when she turns twenty-five in less than two weeks, she will be the heir apparent.
Something else was imparted to me, something I didn’t know before about why Camille is especially vulnerable until she turns twenty-five. While there could be a legal claim to the throne if King Thomas dies before the princess turns twenty-five, once she reaches that age, Camille will be able to secretly name an heir known only to her. This is done to ensure safety to the lineage, as without knowing who is next in line, it makes it difficult for someone to try to battle their way to the crown without knowing who they’ll be battling.
It’s all very complicated, but it boils down to this: Camille will be inherently safer once she reaches her twenty-fifth birthday.
My suggestion was to pack up and head back, and Dmitri concurred. King Thomas, however, wanted Camille to finish her trip because it was clear by the nature of the conversation, nothing had been set in stone.
But I thought that was too big a leap to take. There’s no guarantee a plot isn’t already underway.
King Thomas was adamant, though, and expressed confidence in us.
I appreciated that, but I wasn’t about to let her run all over DC to visit tourist attractions without some change in security protocol. A call in to Cruce, who put a call in to the president’s Chief of Staff, and we got Camille private tours of the American History and Holocaust Museums today. It was no light undertaking, as each museum had to close its doors for about thirty minutes to let Camille come in via a back entrance where she’s been taken through the exhibits by each museum’s director. The doors were opened to the public after she was well on her way, and they were never allowed to advance on her or enter the rooms she was in.
Of course, the people tittered as they knew someone famous was within the museum. I heard many guesses—movie stars, rock stars, even British royalty. But no one would guess a Bretarian princess because ninety-nine percent of the people have probably never heard of her.
Once Camille finishes these last few exhibits, we’ll head straight for the airport and board for our six thirty takeoff.
I move around the edge of the room we’re in. The director stands quietly beside Camille to watch a video clip of a survivor because there’s no explanation needed for the incredibly painful story she’s watching. The room is dark, but the glow from the screen lights up the tears staining her cheeks. She reaches into her purse, pulls out some tissue, and dabs her eyes as she stoically watches.
It fucking sucks that my only inclination is to go to her side and hold her hand while she gets through it.
It sucks that I can’t.
It sucks that I even want to.
It sucks it’s even bothering me at all.
I suppose it’s stupidity at its finest to think that, despite the fact that Camille and I agreed back in Jonesboro that this is just a fling, that there won’t be feelings attached. Except we traveled to Houston, Vegas, Los Angeles, Jackson, Wyoming, and then on to DC, and there have been feelings.
It’s been a hectic pace, and she’s had a full schedule in all places—some business and some personal. Regardless, we’ve both managed to act as no more or less engaged with each other while in public than we were before. She’s treated me no differently than she’s treated Paul, and I’ve done my job to watch and protect her.
But the nights… Christ… they’re blistering. I spend all night in her bed once she retires, and we’ve managed to try probably every sexual position known to man, and I’m sure we’ve created new ones. There is no part of her body that is foreign to me, and I mean no part. I’ve let her explore me at her leisure, and while shy at first, she’s become quite the vixen.
Clearly, we can’t fuck every minute of every evening we spend with each other. There’s been talking in between. She’s learned more about my childhood, naval career, and what I want from life. I’ve learned more about the very tiny box she will continue to live in, as well as more about her parents and their very close bond. It’s one of the reasons Camille will do her duty, because of her love for them.
I’ve even learned about Marius and their friendship, including their disastrous first—and only—kiss. I told her about my friends at Jameson—that they’re more like brothers—but she couldn’t reciprocate and tell me about her friends. She really only has Marius, and it made me sad for her. She’s an equestrian and has horses on Bretaria, and they’ve been her friends, but that made me even sadder. She’s lived in a free country and yet has been a prisoner.