Praise Me: Princess (Praise Me Daily)
Praise Me: Princess: Chapter 8

If she thinks I’m leaving, she’s not paying attention.

Does she think I could kiss that mouth and never kiss it again?

Does she think I would have a picnic with just anyone?

I mean, it was unexpectedly nice, eating lunch surrounded by nature and all of that, but what made it memorable…was Greta. Every second I spend with her is like history being made in real time, every syllable she speaks, every look she gives me, every touch, burns itself into the pages of the book that make up my life. My fabric.

This is my woman.

If I wasn’t sure before, my body would have confirmed it when she climbed on top of me and ownership swelled up and clocked me like a fist, my blood on fucking fire as soon as she started to move on my cock, shy at first, then with more and more abandon until all hell broke loose. Inside of me, between us, everywhere, her hips moving like they were hand-crafted by the devil to drive me insane, while the rest of her was designed by God.

A short time later after our picnic, we’ve arrived back at the palace and my thoughts are still barely coherent. All I can think about is how I’m going to have her tight and tender pussy tonight, even if it means being put to death by firing squad afterwards.

I will find a way inside of her.

I will spend myself there.

The girl didn’t even flinch when I called myself her Daddy and I don’t even know where that sentiment came from, only that I was compelled to establish who I want to be to Greta. Her comforter, her lover, her protector, the only important man in her life. Her first thought in the morning, her final one at night.

And I have no idea how I’m going to pull any of this off.

I hold the door for Greta on our way in through the palace side door, just off the extensive gardens. She looks up at me as she passes, her chin up, smile brave, but there’s wistfulness in her eyes, because she still believes I’d actually be a big enough idiot to leave. I could probably just tell her now that it will take an act of God for me to leave her side, but I can’t bring myself to say the words. I’m feeling rather dramatic about Greta, and if she exhibits any kind of happiness that I’m staying, I might confess out loud that I’ve fallen for her.

I’m trying to figure out what to do about my feelings first.

Our world is not constructed in a way that allows a princess to marry her bodyguard. What if her association with me causes her to be banished? Or publicly shamed? I wouldn’t be able to live with myself. For now, all I know is that death would be a preferable fate to leaving Greta behind, so I will remain. And hope like hell a solution presents itself.

“Do you hear the music?” Greta asks, stopping in front of me.

Closing my eyes, I lean down to inhale the rose water scent from the top of her head. What did she say? Music? I listen…and yes, I hear the faint strains of a violin. “Yes. Is there a concert taking place in the palace today?”

“No, I don’t think so. At least, I wasn’t informed of one.” She blinks her big, melancholy eyes up at me. “I’ll go investigate. Do you want to come with me, or—”

“Where you go, I go, princess.”

She frowns. “But—”

“Lead the way.” She remains confused for a few more seconds before we’re walking toward the great hall, me shaking my head at her back. Two thousand square feet and several twists and turns later, we walk side by side into the great hall, Greta throwing herself into my arms when a loud cheer goes up, echoing off the ceilings. There are at least two hundred people in the room, each and every one of them holding a champagne flute aloft. “To Greta!” sings Queen Ingrid, who sweeps forward in a silver pant suit. “I knew you could do it, my dear. I’m ever so proud.”

Greta stares back at her mother from inside the circle of my arms, though I’m so busy scanning for potential threats, I barely register the exchange of glances. “This is all because I left the palace grounds today?”

“Yes! And it was reported back to me that you went riding and took a nice lunch in the sunshine. You are cured, Greta. Isn’t that wonderful?”

When the princess opens her mouth to speak, she appears ready to deny that she’s cured fully, but she looks at me sharply and closes her mouth. “Um. Yes. Yes, I’m fully cured and should have no problem traveling next week, Mother.” With an audible swallow, she untangles herself from my embrace, my core temperature dropping dramatically the second we’re no longer touching. “Commander Larsen has been of great service, but he should be free to go. Without delay.”

Queen Ingrid studies me. “Yes, of course,” she murmurs. “Thank you for you—”

“Might we have a word alone, your highness?” I interrupt, her dismissal causing panic to invade my chest. Don’t send me away from her.

“Yes, of course, Commander.” The queen accepts another glass of champagne off a passing tray. “Give us a moment, Greta.”

“Stay where I can see you, Princess.”

“Oh, um. Okay.” No sooner has Greta stepped away from our circle is she absorbed by another, a group of men and woman who have clearly been reveling for a while, their laughter loud, their proximity to the princess far too forward for my liking.

“I’ll make this quick,” I say, desperate to return to my post at the princess’s side. “Queen Ingrid, I shall continue my service to the princess. Beyond today.”

“Shall you?” She rears back slightly to scrutinize me. “Would you care to explain this unexpected change of heart?”

I start to speak, but I stop on a dime, because I’m about to lie to the queen. I’m about to tell her I think Greta needs more time broadening her boundaries before she’s ready to travel. I don’t want to make Greta seem any less brave, though, and furthermore, that’s not why I’m staying. I’m staying because I doubt my ability to breathe without Greta.

Seconds tick by.

I pride myself on being an honest man. Do I tell her the truth?

“You’ve realized what an honor it is to serve the crown in this capacity, is that it?” Ingrid slides in smoothly, an eyebrow arched.

“Yes,” I manage, clearing my throat. Not a total lie. Serving Greta is an honor. One I didn’t recognize as such right away, but I do now. To protect my princess, who has been through such torture at the hands of the rebels, is a sacred privilege. “Yes, I am honored, Queen, and I would like to remain as her guard. Indefinitely.”

Silence passes between us. I can see the cogs turning behind her eyes.

Perhaps my feelings are written all over my face.

But to my relief she says, “Very well.” She tilts her head. “And you will travel with us next week to meet her potential new husband, as well?”

My throat burns as if it has been doused in gasoline and set on fire. “Yes, Queen,” I say hoarsely. “Where she goes, I will go.”

“Such a switch from yesterday’s hostility,” she muses. “How very interesting—”

Before she can say more, one of her assistants dashes up and declares one of her political strategists requires an audience. Relieved beyond belief that I’ve been granted permission to stay, I release a shuddering breath and go to find the princess.

But she’s gone.

Greta is gone.