Page 40 of Royal Resistance

But being in the tunnels with Selene is better, because we talk.

And I get to hold her hand.

It’s nice. I hold Selene’s hand as we make our way through the chilly tunnels, the yellow beam of the flashlight the only light.

It’s weakening, but I don’t tell her that.

We walk, and we talk, and it’s nice. It’s like we’re on a date—in a cold, dark tunnel. That might lead to the dungeon if I take the wrong turn.

Which I think I might have.

I don’t say anything about that either, because I enjoy this. I like spending time with Selene.

My dating history is sketchy, at best. I’ve dated women who know the drill, what is expected when dating a prince. Some knew that escorting them to events and galas meant nothing; some didn’t. Then there were women I met when the band were touring, and they wanted Magnus, the lead guitarist, not Prince Magnus.

I’ve never had a serious girlfriend, and now I have a wife.

I’m not sure what scares me the more: trying to be a good king, or a good husband.

One thing I do know is that being a good husband means listening. So as we make our way through the cold, dark tunnels—because I thought it would be a fun thing to do—I listen to Selene tell me about herself.

I find out she’s very close to her father, but didn’t have many friends. She speaks five languages, and has a double degree in psychology and political science because her father wanted her to learn everything she could to help her become a good queen.

Growing up in Avelaine as a princess seems very different from my childhood. Especially the palace. “It was like a museum,” she admits. “Beautiful, and full of art and paintings, but cold. Not like here.”

“It seems pretty cold to me right now,” I say under my breath.

“You can tell that a family lives here. Or… did.”

It hasn’t been a family since my mother died, but I don’t tell Selene that.

“There’s even a portrait of me on the wall,” she says. “It was painted when I was ten, and I look miserable. I’m actually frowning, and the artist said they caught the real me.” She chokes a laugh. “I was so serious, always looking for ways to improve myself, and never letting myself have fun. I have fun,” she finishes defensively.

“I’m sure you do. What do you do for fun? What do you like to do?”

This is what I need to listen for, because while having Selene at my side is certainly an asset for the royal family, I need to know more about my wife. And while she opened up during the weeks of phone calls and late-night meetings here with Duncan, it wasn’t like this.

I feel like I’m finally getting some insight about my wife.

“I like music. Maybe not your music,” she adds apologetically.

“I’m wounded. You wound me.”

Somehow, I can tell Selene is rolling her eyes. “I like to dance. I’ve always danced until they told me I was too old for lessons.”

“You’re never too old for lessons. I’ll find you the best dance teacher.”

“I like to drive,” she surprises me by saying. “My mother used to have a 1972 Mustang that I loved. I learned to drive on it, and it was so much fun, racing through the forests. But Papa got rid of it and gave me a more practical car.”

“Let me guess. A Volvo?”

She laughs at my guess. “Actually, yes. Four-door, automatic transmission. But I’ve always missed driving a standard car. And a fast one.”

It seems to me that, as close as she was to her father, King Theodor might have managed to take most of the joy from Selene’s life.

Or maybe it was just being part of the Avelaine royal family that did it.

“We can get a standard car for you,” I offer.