York would love to know how Roy knew that.

“Are you sure you shouldn’t invite the family?” Logan said. “I’ve met her brothers. Well, at least Ford, and Tate, and —”

“This is what she wants,” York said. “And you know the Marshalls. They show up and suddenly there’s drama.”

“More than explosions and kidnappings and assassinations?”

Point, Logan.

He smiled. “Okay. I’ll see if we can rustle you up a preacher.”

“And a church, if you would.” York headed to the door.

Roy followed him out into the hallway. “You’re sure about this?”

York turned. Paused.

“In my bones, I know RJ and I are meant to be together. And ever since the bombing yesterday, I can’t help but feel like if we don’t do this now, then…” He sighed. “Something’s coming, Roy. Maybe I’m just feeling a shadow over my shoulder with this bounty on my head. Or maybe it’s just that sense you get when you know someone’s following you, right?”

Roy nodded slowly.

“But I can’t help but believe this is it. I need to marry RJ now. Because Logan is right. We don’t know what tomorrow will bring and I…I don’t want to wait another day. Not another minute.”

A beat, then, “Okay, then we have no choice.”

York frowned.

“It’s time for the bachelor party.” Roy grinned and threw his arm over York’s shoulder. “I feel like it’s time for you to meet my old mate, Gunner Ferguson, protection officer to the future king. He’ll know just where to spend your last night of freedom.”

Chapter 9

Their story just had to end happily. Because RJ simply refused to believe anything else.

“Coffee, miss?”

She sat on the outside deck of the Royal Lodge, overlooking the grandeur of Hadsby Castle, the hamlet of Dunholm.

“Yes, please.”

The castle was straight out of a fairytale, a motte and bailey construction, with the keep on a rise, a walled courtyard or bailey, surrounded by a palisade and what was once a moat, perhaps, but was now a flower garden.

One side of the palisade led to woods and the mew, or stables.

Another side, the entrance, was gated, and guarded, like Windsor Castle, with the gate opening to a cobblestone drive that led to Old Dunholm.

Four drum towers anchored the corners of the castle, topped with parapets. The flag of Lauchtenland flapped from the western rampart.

Yes, she’d entered a fairytale, because today, she was getting married.

York had left a note, wrapped inside was his credit card under her door.

Buy a dress.

Sweet. And maybe he meant for a ball, but given his reaction to her idea last night, probably not.

If he could, he’d put her in one of those towers like a medieval king, just to keep her safe.