Tropical Holiday Tails - Zoe Chant Page 0,15

pants of his uniform. “How far down does this go?”

Chet groaned, helpless under her hand. His cock was an embarrassment of riches—he had endured years of porn star jokes (and flat out envy) from fellows in locker rooms. He never wore shorts. He even had a special underwear exception as the standard Royal Guard uniform simply couldn’t contain his goods; that had been a stunningly awkward conversation to have with his commander.

It wasn’t all the good luck that some might guess. His first kissing girlfriend had fled in terror, and he had generally gotten used to a mixture of doubt and caution in reaction to disrobing in amorous situations, to the point where he had basically given up on amorous situations altogether.

But Agneta had no terror, no doubt, and no caution. “I want it all,” she murmured near his ear.

Chet was cheerfully prepared to give it to her, all of it, when a second door in her chamber, one they hadn’t bolted, suddenly opened and the king of Valtyra walked in like he owned it.

Which he probably did.

“Cousin!”

“Guard!”

“Your Majesty!” Chet snapped to attention.

It was hard to pinpoint which of them was most chagrined.

Not Agneta, who simply smoothed her hair and tugged her collar up where it belonged again. “You could knock, cousin,” she scolded.

“I didn’t know you’d be doing anything like that,” King Einar said, mortified. “What is the meaning of this, Royal Guard…er…Chad, is it?”

“Chet,” Agneta answered for him. “He’s my mate.”

“You’re engaged to the count from Norway!” Einar reminded her.

“You can break that off,” Agneta said carelessly.

“It’s a political contract, Agneta, not an appointment for tea.”

“My mate, Einar,” she reiterated.

“We don’t get the luxury of choosing our own relationships,” Einar said firmly. “And you’re not a spoiled child, to shirk your duties.” He gave Chet a steely-eyed glare. “Speaking of duties.”

Chet decided it was a good time for supplication. “Your majesty,” he said respectfully, slowly kneeling. “I wish a dispensation from my vows, and the permission to court your cousin’s hand honorably.”

“Am I talking to a wall here?” Einar snapped. “The answer is no, the answer will always be no. You should both be ashamed of yourselves. I wouldn’t expect better of you, Agneta, you’ve always been spoiled rotten and gotten everything you ever wanted, but you, Guard Chet. You came up through our toughest program. You should know how to have self control, how to carry out the duties you’ve been set. You should be protecting my cousin, not molesting her.”

“Don’t be so dramatic,” Agneta scoffed. “He was not molesting me and you know it.”

“Your majesty…” Chet had returned to his feet, but was uncertain how to proceed. Nothing in guard training or subsequent service had prepared him for this particular situation.

“I’ve made up my mind!” Einar roared.

“Fine,” Agneta snapped back. “Then we’re leaving. Enjoy your cold little kingdom and your frozen rock in the north. I’m going somewhere warm, and Chet is coming with me.”

“You can’t do that,” Einar hissed.

“Watch me,” Agneta hissed in return.

“Guard Chet!”

Chet, who had been struggling with his instinct to step between them, snapped to attention automatically.

“You will stand down and return to your commander for reassignment immediately. Have a second set of guards sent up immediately and have her highness placed under house arrest.”

Chet blinked at him.

He wasn’t surprised by the order, and he wasn’t conflicted. He knew exactly where his loyalty lay, and exactly what he had to do.

“I’m sorry,” he said briefly, and just as Einar started to look smugly at Agneta, he continued. “Her highness has already ordered me to a warmer climate. Can I help your highness pack?”

Agneta laughed. “We really are going to have to work on that, darling. I won’t need to take much.”

Einar sputtered in outrage. “You can’t do this! I’m the king!”

“You’ve been king for about a week,” Agneta pointed out. “And I can put you in a headlock.”

“I could cut you off,” Einar threatened. “You’d be out of the succession.”

“I have my own trust money from Grandmama,” Agneta said airily. “And no one wants me in line for the throne, least of all myself.”

“It’s Christmas Eve, Agneta,” Einar pleaded desperately. “Can’t you just stop being stubborn for five minutes and think about the implications?”

“It’s Christmas Eve, Einar,” Agneta countered. “Can’t you just be happy for me?”

There was a moment of quiet between them, each testing the other silently, neither budging.

Then Einar rubbed his face in a thoroughly un-king-like way and gave a noisy sigh. “Go,” he said, resigned. “Just go. I give