I was born with a crown I never asked for.

Every part of my life — who I spoke to, how I sat, when I smiled — was choreographed before I had a chance to choose. I didn’t get to be reckless, or curious, or normal.

Not once.

And by twenty-two, I had everything.

The title. The clothes. The pressure of a kingdom sitting on my spine.

But I didn’t have freedom.

Or love.

Definitely not love.

What I had instead… was him.

Rafe Cameron.

He wasn’t the kind of man they usually assigned to princesses. There was nothing polished or charming about him. He wasn’t chatty. Didn’t laugh at my sarcasm. He didn’t even bow when we first met.

He just said, “I’m here to do a job,” and walked behind me like a shadow I hadn’t asked for.

Ten years older. Ex-military. Quiet. Cold.

And completely untouchable.

⸻

I tried to ignore him at first.

I pretended like I didn’t feel his eyes on me when I walked into a room. I acted like his voice didn’t crawl under my skin when he called me Your Highness in that flat, low tone that somehow always made me feel smaller.

But I noticed him. Every time.

Especially at night.

When the palace halls were quiet, and I’d find him outside my room — still, alert, like he didn’t sleep. Like he didn’t trust anyone else to protect me but himself.

I wanted to ask why. But I never did.

Because I knew the answer wouldn’t be what I wanted to hear.

It would be about duty. Responsibility. Orders.

Never about me.

⸻

The first time I pushed him, it was subtle.

A short dress. A diplomatic dinner. A question I asked just to watch him flinch.

But he didn’t flinch.

He just stared across the table, voice unreadable. “You’re playing with fire, Princess.”

I smiled sweetly. “You’re the one who showed up with a bucket of gasoline.”

His jaw clenched. But he didn’t say anything.

That was his thing.

Rafe never said anything.

He just looked.

⸻

The breaking point came in Vienna.

We were in a hotel after a charity event — separate rooms, of course. I couldn’t sleep. The windows were open. My dress was still crumpled on the floor where I’d dropped it. And I couldn’t stop thinking about him.

I found him on the balcony two floors below mine.

He must’ve heard me before I even spoke, because he turned.

I don’t know why I said it. Maybe I was tired. Or angry. Or done pretending.

But I looked him dead in the eye and whispered, “Do you even want to be here?”

And for the first time ever, he didn’t deflect. He didn’t shrug or say, “It’s my job.”

He just said, “It kills me to be this close to something I can’t touch.”

⸻

He didn’t kiss me that night.

He left.

And I hated him for it.

But I also knew what that meant.

It meant this wasn’t a game.

He wanted me.

The real me.

But he wouldn’t let himself have me.

Because I was royalty.

And he was just the bodyguard.