Page 32 of Modern Romance September 2026 Books 5-8

“I don’t know my mother’s thoughts on what happened, but people have told me she used to be happy. Hopeful that she and my father could make things work. You saw how that worked out. I would rather you have a dozen affairs than look at me the way my parents looked at each other just now.”

We stare at each other for what feels like an eternity. Then, slowly, Dominic walks toward me. I want to turn, run back to my suite and give in to the storm waging inside me.

But I’m not just a princess, a future queen. I’m also a woman who has a few threads of pride left.

Dominic stops in front of me. His hand comes up, his fingers settling lightly on my neck. I inhale sharply as heat blooms beneath his touch. My heartbeat quickens as he trails his fingertips up my neck, along the curve of my jaw, and then rest on my chin. He tilts my head back until our eyes meet.

“Hear me now, Princess. This may be an unconventional marriage, but you’re mine now, just as I’m yours.” He leans down, eyes glittering. “If that doesn’t work for you, tell me. Because if we say our vows and you sleep with another man, I’ll kill him.”

“That seems extreme.”

“It’s not.” He releases me, steps back. “Go rest.” And then he walks back out onto the balcony.

I shiver at the loss of his touch on my skin. Confused by his dedication to our arrangement, by the stark difference in his attitude toward our impending marriage versus my parents, I can’t think of anything else to say. Yet I also can’t deny the relief blooming beneath the surface, a gratitude that he’s already taking our vows seriously before we’ve even said them.

Dominic stands gazing out over the sea. He looks like he belongs here, a future leader of Siravelle. The part of me that once dreamed of helping lead this country, a part I’d thought had died with my grandparents, sparks to life.

Be careful, a quiet voice whispers in my ear. He may commit to the marriage, to being a father. That doesn’t mean we’ll have the kind of marriage my grandparents did, the kind of union I once dreamed of for myself.

I leave his suite without another word, closing the door softly behind me. Dominic may look like he belongs here.

But he’ll never truly belong to me.

Chapter Eleven

Dominic

I never dreamed of being a king as a kid. Fed, yes. Sleeping in a bed instead of a dumpster or a cardboard box. Occasionally, I’d imagine what it would be like to live in one of the penthouses I’d gaze up at when I ventured to the Upper East Side in search of fatter wallets.

But being a secret prince or heir to a kingdom never crossed my mind. And after a week of living in Siravelle, I don’t understand why anyone would want that. It’s hell.

I look at myself in the mirror. I wore suits back in New York, especially when I had client or investor meetings. But I also wore my share of T-shirts and jeans. Some of the rougher, grittier jobs demanded it. I doubt I’ll be wearing many pairs of jeans from here on out. Tailored suits like this will be my uniform from now on.

I frown. I don’t regret the decisions I’ve made. Turning Hawke Security over to my vice president was hard. But Henry Tucker served with me in the Rangers, as did a handful of my bodyguards. Men who, like Aiden and Cassian, proved they could have my back. We may not have been best friends. But I knew I could count on them when it mattered.

It’s strange, I don’t even miss New York that much. I spent over thirty years of my life there. There were some good memories, sure, but plenty of bad ones, too. Horrific memories that, if I ever let my guard down, would drag me back down into a painful place I’m not sure I’d be able to crawl out of again.

Walking out onto my balcony that first day, breathing in the salt air and seeing the glimmering green forest, the deep blue of the sea, was like waking up and realizing the dream is real.

One of the few bright spots in my new life. A life Sophaya tried to warn me about.

The first day was as close to as normal as I got, and that was including witnessing Sophaya’s parents’ nasty argument and abysmal treatment of their daughter. No wonder the woman was ice-cold when I first met her. Probably the only way she could survive those two.

After Sophaya left, I spent the rest of the day exploring the palace. Most people eyed me with curiosity, but the black badge trimmed in gold kept people from asking questions. I didn’t see Sophaya again until dinner. Probably for the best, since my temper was still simmering from her offer to let me indulge myself elsewhere after we were married.

My second day was getting assigned my own aide, Enrique, and receiving a formal tour of the palace. Our engagement was formally announced to the press that evening.

Thankfully I’d told Aiden and Cassian about my engagement before I flew to Siravelle. Cassian had been shocked. Aiden had been surprised, too, but hadn’t asked even half the questions Cassian had, as if he’d suspected something all along.

The last two days have been back-to-back meetings, introductions and more meetings. Our wedding is three weeks away, an official month after the announcement of our engagement went out. Thankfully my French is passable enough I don’t have to undergo tutoring to learn Siravelle’s official language. Even though the majority of the population speaks both French and English, adapting to their customs is the right thing to do.

But there’s still plenty of learning. In addition to the crash course on Siravellian politics, geography and history, I’m also attending meetings on the wedding, an event that seems to focus more on making a spectacle than on Sophaya and I actually getting married.

There are moments when my temper flares, when I have to bite back my words. My schedule is planned out before I wake up. Unless I’m in the privacy of my suite, someone is with me at all times. It’s like being yanked back into the foster care home I lived in before I took to the streets, a place where the refrigerator was kept locked and I had to provide a full accounting of my whereabouts if I was more than five minutes late getting home from school.

I’m putting up with it. For now. For Sophaya. But I won’t tolerate it for much longer.

My frown deepens. I’ve barely seen Sophaya unless it’s in passing, usually at meals as I’m on my way in and she’s on her way out. To others she may seem calm, composed. But I see the signs of the strain: the darkness under her eyes, the paleness of her skin, the listlessness in her movements.