Just casually chatting with a super hot guy way out of my league turned me into a gigantic hot mess. Seriously. My brain would demand why the guy was talking to me in the first place. My eyes would rip off the poor unsuspecting soul's clothes, steering my mind into naked territory. My lady bits would then scream for attention.

More than once, I needed to excuse myself from a perfectly fine conversation before I ruined it with a blatant sexual offer. Even a thought-provoking discussion about Chris Evans' career couldn't stop me from awkwardly blurting out my sexual intentions.

Anytime Phil called "dibs," I could breathe easier knowing I didn't need to worry about being cloyingly charming or how to get into his pants. Even without those hurdles, I still had trouble carrying a normal conversation with a super hot guy and usually remained quiet until I needed to answer a question.

Prince Grayson Bannen was no exception to my brain short circuiting any or all rational thoughts.

Standing well over six feet similar to his father, the prince sported thick dark brown hair that matched the facial scruff, serious brown eyes, and naturally tanned skin. While the king's physique was all defined bulk and brawn, Prince Grayson appeared leaner in faded jeans and dark gray button down shirt with the sleeves rolled to reveal a few black tattoos on his forearm.

I had no doubt his body was well defined underneath his clothes – more than likely hiding a six- or even eight-pack and the elusive v-cut. The beautiful cherry on top of this tall yummy goodness besides the obvious brooding and frustrated look? The dark round glasses protecting his dark eyes and pretty much marking him as a hot nerd boy.

Without the eye wear, the prince would simply appear ruggedly gorgeous with maybe a hint of flirty playboy if and when he ever decided to smile. But once the frames were in place, hello sexy and intellectual professor.

Attractive smart guys were one of Phil's many, many weaknesses. I was somewhat impressed she wasn't hyperventilating as she discreetly stared at the prince who stood behind the couch where his mother sat.

"I don't like leaving the dogs when they're on edge like this," Prince Grayson said with a scowl. "Even the guards can't distract them from wanting to sneak back into the house."

"Have they settled down at all?" the queen asked calmly, draping an arm over the back of the couch.

He shook his head, causing a few locks to fall in front of his specs.

Phil softly inhaled a dreamy breath as I bit down on my lower lip to keep myself from giggling.

"Where are my manners?" Queen Elena asked rhetorically, flashing us a bright smile and a light laugh. "My apologies, ladies. This is my son, Grayson."

Phil and I nodded curtly at the prince who continued to frown as he acknowledged our presence with a quick nod.

"His dogs, Samson and Marley, have decided now was the best time to act out," she explained with a brief grimace. "They normally roam around the house and stay out of trouble, but they sometimes get overexcited when guests are over."

"I'd love to meet them," I offered eagerly, hopeful at the chance to meet the beautiful furballs.

She quickly shook head. "Normally, they're well behaved, following Grayson and Vaughn's commands, but I fear they would jump all over you ladies. I swear sometimes they think they're lap dogs starved for attention."

With my heart aching to reduce myself to begging, my mind knew better and my mouth remained closed. I quickly stared at my hands in my lap to hide my disappointment when the king returned carrying a huge silver tray filled with an assortment of tiny sandwiches and desserts. My stomach rumbled at the exquisite spread, reminding me of the piece of buttered toast I managed to choke down for breakfast.

I had a terrible habit of throwing up when I was incredibly nervous. Meeting an actual king and queen qualified as an anxiety-induced ordeal. To save myself from further embarrassment such as possibly fainting from not eating anything, I nibbled on the slice of bread for some sustenance.

Even though I was still worried I would somehow offend the royal family before the visit was over, the queen's outgoing and friendly demeanor allowed me to relax a bit. As my brain worked overtime to remain composed, my stomach didn't give a shit about manners and demanded something delicious.

The king carefully and proudly set the platter on a coffee table between the two sectionals.

"Ta da!" he said triumphantly, sweeping a huge muscled arm over the feast that could probably feed a small army despite the small portions.

"Thank you," Phil and I answered at the same time as I eyed the cute little crustless sandwiches and mini chocolate cakes.

After faux admonishing King Bannen for picking up a handful of tiny sandwiches and popping them in his mouth, the queen encouraged us to help ourselves. I started to lean forward to pick up a napkin when a small whine and a sudden movement caught my attention.

A blurry brown ball skidded into the open living room before scrambling at full speed toward me and Phil. Before I could even process if the tiny creature with its nails clacking against the hardwood floors was a dog or cat, it effortlessly leaped onto the couch and pranced over to sit in my lap. Cocking a head that seemed way too big for its tiny little body, the toy dog stared at me with its wide black eyes as it's little chest heaved up and down from running so fast.

What the hell is this? I raised an eyebrow at either the cutest or ugliest dog I have ever seen.

Even though I had a knack for correctly identifying a canine breed most of the time, I had no idea what to make of the small dog with a squishy face similar to a pug and sturdy frame like a chihuahua.

"Hello, cutie," I cooed, not wanting to offend the queen with my initial thought, as it circled my lap a few times before curling into a ball and closing its expressive eyes.

"Meet Cordelia Josephine," Queen Elena said, casting a confused gazed at the small dog, as I ran my fingers over the pup's light brown smooth fur. "Our youngest daughter, India, adopted her a few years ago when we visited a few animal shelters in Canada. India's heart just broke when she learned Cordy had been at the shelter for almost a year."

"Because who wants to adopt an ugly little rat?" Prince Grayson muttered, raking a hand through his thick hair. "I thought that thing was sick?"

"Grayson," his mother admonished, narrowing her eyes at him, as he shrugged and rolled his eyes.

She's the cutest little thing ever, I suddenly decided, not liking the prince's personal assessment.

"Our daughters, Athena and India, have been on a mission trip in Zambia for the past two weeks. They'll be there for another two weeks before coming home. Little Cordy has simply been miserable the day India left."

"Awww," I said softly, momentarily forgetting about my hunger pains, as the prince helped himself to a few sandwiches.

"You must have a way with animals because this is the first time Cordy has come downstairs by herself. If I didn't take her outside throughout the day, she would simply eat and sleep in India's room all day."

"And shit," the prince added sullenly.

"Seriously?" the queen asked, seemingly more stunned at his language and attitude than the suggestion the toy dog didn't leave the room to go potty. "Just go, Gray. Go take care of the boys."

Even the king who had taken a seat next to his wife frowned deeply and knitted his bushy eyebrows at his son.

"Sorry," the prince muttered without much sincerity before shuffling from the room.

The older woman rolled her eyes and sighed. "My apologies about him. He's been in a mood over the past few days. Normally, his dogs help him relax a bit, but they're in a bit of a mood today."

"What kind of work are the princesses doing in Zambia?" Phil asked smoothly, carefully handing me a napkin with a few sandwiches, since the small dog in my lap rendered me immobile.

With her parents being lifelong humanitarian aide workers, she could easily talk about mission and volunteer trips for hours. Her simple question and her sweet gesture of handing me food distracted me from being nosy.

Why was Prince Grayson so moody lately? Did he want to be king one day? Was he upset with me stealing the crown? And did I technically steal the crown?

"I'm sure you have some questions for us," King Bannen said, stretching both arms across the back of the couch and crossing his legs, about half an hour later. "We would be more than happy to answer them."

"How much traveling is involved?" I asked.

"Honestly, it kind of depends on you," the queen replied easily. "You will be sent all sorts of invitations to anniversary events and celebration festivals, but you aren't required to attend all of them. The royal council will recommend or strongly encourage you to attend certain ceremonies."

"Do you like to travel?" the king asked.

I smiled and nodded.

"That's good because once the official announcement has been made, people all over the world will want to see you."

"What? Why?"

The king and queen exchanged bemused looks before returning their attention to me.

"Well, first, the sword in the stone legend," King Bannen explained patiently, with a smirk, that made me remember he had seen the amazing video of my epic feat. "People will want to meet the person destined to be king – or queen."

"If I'm being honest, Winter," the queen continued, with a small smile. "After watching the video, we almost demanded to see you immediately. If we were naturally curious about the woman freeing the sword, then why wouldn't the world be interested as well?"

Shit, she had a good point, I thought.

"You should also know, you will have our full support," the king said proudly. "If anyone has a problem with you, then they have a problem with us."

"What? Why? Really?" I immediately bit my lower lip to prevent myself from blurting out more one-word questions.

He frowned slightly, looking a bit surprised at my outburst.

"Of course. Why does this surprise you? Why wouldn't we support you?"

Because I'm a 26-year-old single woman who doesn't know what the hell she's doing.

I shrugged. "Because I wasn't born into royalty. Because I was drunk and klutzy when I grabbed the sword."

The king and queen smiled widely at my honesty.

"You're also young and pretty much required to do dumb stuff," Queen Elena said gently. "How you got the sword doesn't reflect who you are as a person. I saw a young woman who wanted the same opportunity as a man. And I see a young woman with a kind heart and good intentions. You're going to make a great queen."

"Argh!" I moaned, following Renning into the house and kicking off one sandal into the air. "You guys are seriously the worst."

"Afternoon tea went well?" Montgomery asked dryly, easily catching the flying shoe with one hand.

He and Weber stood by the unlit fireplace in the living room, presumably waiting to take over the glorified babysitting job of watching me and Phil.

I glared at him, flopping down on the closest couch and yanking off the second heel. Despite a strong temptation to chuck it at my personal security guard for looking so damn smug all the time, my mind and body were too tired to fight.

"Afternoon tea went just fine, thank you very much," I tossed back, slouching against the couch and not caring about crossing my knees or ankles in front of the men. As long as the skirt of the dress covered all the important bits, formal manners were the least of my worries.

Other than Prince Grayson acting like a big baby, the rest of the visit with King and Queen Bannen had been informative and interesting until Phil and I needed to leave. Poor Cordelia Josephine, who never left my lap, cried pitifully loud when I handed her over to the queen. My heart broke for the miserable pup that I almost offered to stay the night with her.

"So, what's wrong?" Renning asked, lowering himself in a chair across from the couch where Phil and I made ourselves comfortable.

"You guys set us up," I accused. "We prepared ourselves to formally meet Queen Elizabeth when, in reality, we were meeting with Prince Harry and Meghan."

All five security guards frowned and exchanged confused looks as if one of them held the crystal clear explanation.

"We were on our best behavior as if we're meeting Queen Elizabeth. Be quiet. Look pretty. Respect the hell out of her," I explained, tucking a few loose tendrils behind my ear. "We would still respect the hell out of Harry and Meghan, but with them, we could've probably relaxed a smidgen or two and maybe kicked back with a beer."

"Who knew being super polite and charming could be so draining?" Phil muttered, resting her head on my shoulder.

"Seriously?" Montgomery answered sarcastically, with a quizzical look.

Tossing him a serious scowl, I regretted my decision not chucking my other shoe at his perfectly styled hair and self-righteous smirk.

"I apologize if we led you to believe this afternoon would be austere and extensive," the director said, with a half smile, as he rested his elbows on his knees.

"Thank you," I accepted, hoping to remember the word "austere" to later look up the definition. "If I wasn't so tired and if you weren't sitting so far away, I'd slug you in the shoulder for the unintentional mislead."

"Royal members are not allowed to hit security under any circumstances," Montgomery pointed out.

Why the hell did Renning assign the most annoying guard to me?

"Well, I'm changing that rule when I'm queen," I declared, with a huff.

Renning turned to say something to the guys when he whipped his head around and stared intensely at me, making me squirm uncomfortably. "Does this mean you're accepting the royal throne."

Oh yeah, I should probably tell someone about my intentions.

I shrugged. "Yeah, I guess so."