Renning studied me silently with a deep frown and crinkles in his forehead.

"What?" I asked defensively, uncomfortable with the serious silence and disapproving stare.

Did he not want me to be queen? Was he trying to discourage me all along? Did he not believe I was worthy of the honor? What the hell was Renning thinking?

"Stop staring at me!" I shrieked in panic, unable to deal with the heightened stillness.

Tilting his head slightly, Renning said simply, "You accepting the throne like this doesn't feel very royal."

"I know right!" Phil exclaimed enthusiastically, pushing herself off my shoulder and sitting up straight. "I imagined Win standing in front of a fancy red throne or something, and a long line of knights march toward her. And the last knight kneels before her, presenting her with the sword. And then the king comes forward and places the crown on her head. And maybe the queen presents her with a gorgeous scepter."

The security director grinned at my best friend. "You have a very vivid imagination."

"And technically the sword belongs to the country," Montgomery clarified unnecessarily.

"I was kinda hoping for a He-Man version," I admitted, ignoring my pain-in-the-ass personal guard. "I wanted to stand on the rock, pull the sword out, raise it to the sky, and yell something about power and a castle."

"Ooooh!" Phil's eyes widened with excitement at my revelation. "Would you get struck by lightning and gain magical powers?"

"Maybe." I shrugged, tucking my legs underneath me. "I guess we'll never know considering someone threw me over the rock."

She threw up hands in the air and rolled her eyes at me. "I'm sorry! How long are you going to hold onto that little nugget? For the rest of my life?"

"It's a possibility."

Phil flashed me an evil grin, and I felt my confidence quickly fade.

"And it's a possibility I might share some little truth nuggets about you," she said smugly.

Shit! This girl has so much shit on me!

"You're so pretty," I sang out suddenly, batting my eyelashes and giving her my most fake smile.

My friend laughed hysterically at our basic tit-for-tat threats.

"Hate to break up this little love fest," Montgomery grumbled, stuffing his hands in the pocket of his jeans. "But we should probably follow protocol now Ms. Copeland has accepted the royal responsibility."

Renning nodded, scrubbing a hand down his face. "I'll inform the king and others that need to know."

"So, can I tell my parents now?" Phil asked hopefully, holding her phone in her hand ready to dial.

"Yes, but invite them over here. They need to sign some paperwork, like a non-disclosure form, before you tell them."

"Can they come over right now?"

He hesitated but nodded. "If they have time. Sure."

"What about my mom?" I asked, wondering how she would react to the strange news.

"Hey, guess what, Mom? I'm going to be queen!"

My first guess was she would laugh. Hysterically. I doubted she would laugh so hard she would start crying because that has happened before.

But if she didn't start laughing, then maybe she knew I was a wizard. Or a witch. Or Jesus.

Oh, she and I are gonna have some words if she's known I've had magical powers all this time, I thought stubbornly.

"We'll head over to my office," Renning said, interrupting my imaginary conversation with my mom. "I'd feel a lot better if you talked to her over a secured line."

Despite the billions of nerves shooting off in my stomach, the thought of talking to my mom made me feel better. Even before my dad died, she and I had an impossibly close relationship, which only grew stronger in the years before I left for college. I had wanted to stay home and enroll in a local community college since we were both still grieving, but my mom wouldn't hear of it. Especially when I was accepted to a prestigious arts school in Illinois.

Even though three hours of speeding in the fast lane on the interstate separated us for four years, we remained close even after I had met Phil. I went home as much as I could, and my mom visited me at least twice a year when Mimi, my maternal grandmother, demanded we spend the day at a huge farmer's slash flea market held twice a year.

My mom and I were so tight that I trusted her completely to pack my one-bedroom apartment. Even my special toys not really hidden in the drawer of one of my nightstands. When I lost my job at the photography studio, she vowed to never take a picture from her phone again. The gesture was sweet, but I reminded her how much I loved her snapshots of her two cats, Roman and Stefano.

While I appreciated her offer to fund a tropical destination with Phil, the small amount of adult instinct I had refused to take advantage of her generosity. As much as I loved her for spoiling me with affection, attention, and money, I was a single, unemployed 26-year-old woman who needed to figure out her own shit.

But now? This future queen needed her mommy.

My conversation with my mom went as expected. I had asked her if she knew I was a wizard or something and then listened to her laugh for a good solid two minutes. Technically, she didn't answer the question.

My always supportive mother laughed for another five minutes after I shared the story of the sword of the stone and my decision to become queen. Even when I demanded she research the island and the legend on her computer, she still believed I was pulling an elaborate prank.

Poor Renning ended up on the phone with my mom, answering all of her questions and verifying my story. I realized whom I inherited my stubbornness and cynicism from when she finally accepted the truth from Phil's parents, Henry and Helena, who were still in a state of shock themselves. Even Henry took a chance during previous visits, but like most people, they never gave the myth a second thought.

Once reality slowly set in, hysterics overwhelmed my mom causing her to cry and babble about something incomprehensible. Between Renning and I, we caught the most frequently used words during her ramble like "I didn't know," "your father," "what the hell," and my personal favorite, "Are you serious?" Renning had been close to calling one of her neighbors, believing she was on the verge of a breakdown.

Her hysteria soon faded when her full mama bear mode kicked in, demanding I only trust the Coopers and warning me to not sign anything without a lawyer present. I didn't even bother to hide my smirk when my mom interrogated Renning about his job, the other security guards, his family, and his fascination with Stevie Wonder.

Even though my mom wasn't even remotely close to trusting anyone but Phil's parents, she trusted Renning enough to fly her to the island for an indefinite amount of time. She, understandably, needed a few days to take care of some stuff at home. Just the mere thought of having my mom with me soon made me smile.

"Thinking about your mom?" Phil asked, with an all-knowing grin, bumping her arm against mine.

I nodded, playfully nudging her arm with my elbow, as we stepped into an elegant lobby of an equally impressive office building.

The attorneys for the royal family were more than eager for introductions and immediately set up an informal meeting the next day. The Brookroy Division, a seven-story modern gray brick structure with long vertical windows, housed offices, conference rooms, and a chamber for local government officials.

With Renning busy planning my future with a bunch of strangers, Montgomery and Weber had the distinct pleasure of escorting me and Phil around for the day. I delighted in discreetly antagonizing my personal guard for most of the day ever since he scowled at me bounding down the stairs before leaving for lunch.

Did he believe a future queen shouldn't wear a super cute navy sundress with a white tiny dot pattern? Sure, the bodice hugged my amazing boobs and the spaghetti straps obviously left my shoulders bare, but the dress was far from inappropriate for an informal meeting with a bunch of lawyers.

Maybe he didn't like people trampling down the stairs like kids high on a full sugar rush. Was he upset I wasn't wearing cute matching sandals and opted for white sneakers instead? As much as I loved wearing sandals and heels, I felt more comfortable in tennis shoes, especially when I planned to spend my last days of freedom shopping and sightseeing.

Weber bypassed the long main desk of staff answering the phones and chatting with visitors and headed straight for the bank of three elevators. Because the office building was open to the public as part of a popular tourist attraction, visitors and tourists wandered around the lobby, checking out art structures and other displays and figuring out which floor to visit first.

When an elevator opened, Weber was one of the first to step inside, pressing the button for the seventh floor, before standing at the back. Phil, Montgomery, and I shuffled our way toward the back before dozens more squeezed inside.

Not wanting to be squashed between the back wall and some other person, I innocently stood in front of Montgomery with my backside brushing against his front. His body immediately stiffened as he inhaled sharply.

This was too easy, I thought, with a devious smile.

I felt Montgomery's hands firmly grip my hips before I noticed the guy in front of me about to step back for some reason. Before the guy could crash into me, Montgomery pulled me even tighter against him, where my body felt everything.

His muscular and chiseled form.

His soft breath on my neck.

The heat from his strong hands.

A possible weapon shoved down the front of his gray cargo pants.

"Sorry," I squeaked out, mentally face-palming myself for the apology.

Why the hell was I apologizing when he was the one grabbing me from a non-threatening situation? Accidentally bumping into me or crushing my tiny feet were possibly the worst damage the person could have done.

"Sorry about that," the guy standing in front me mumbled, looking over his shoulder at me and then Montgomery.

I flashed him a small smile. "It's fine."

His return grin quickly faded and turned into a deep frown when his eyes darted back to my overprotective guard whose fingers dug deeper into my hips.

Phil giggled as the guy whipped his head around to the front.

From the corner of my eye, I watched my best friend gently chew on a fingernail to keep herself from laughing louder and Weber bite down on his lower lip to prevent a smile. I shook my head slightly and rolled my eyes when Montgomery literally pushed me forward a bit as if I was a first-grader with cooties.

After stopping at every floor, the elevator ride from hell finally ended when the doors opened wide at the final floor.

"Best ride ever," Phil murmured, stepping onto the black marbled floor.

"Flippin' idiot," I muttered, scowling at my security guard who simply shrugged.

A few seconds later, five attorneys dressed immaculately in business suits eagerly welcomed me and Phil into a large conference room that overlooked a portion of the garden attraction. We sat on one side of the long wooden table, allowing us to look past the lawyers sitting on the other side and glance out the long vertical windows. Weber stood by the closed door while Montgomery positioned himself behind our black roller chairs.

As the lawyers settled into their seats and stared at us with fake and pretentious smiles, an older sixty-something gentleman with a crown of white hair circling a bald spot on top cleared his throat to start the informal meeting.

"I'm so glad you could meet with us, Ms. Copeland," he praised as if we should be honored to meet them. "I'm Terry Ament, and I've been part of the royal counsel for twenty-five years now. While the news of transitioning the crown to someone outside the royal family took us by surprise, we are prepared to advise and assist with your royal responsibilities."

"Thank you," I said politely, disliking most of the words he used and the condescending way he spoke.

Despite his appearance as a kind and loving grandfather that had an endless supply of hard candies in his pockets, the senior attorney could barely hide his arrogant demeanor. When he mentioned his years of service, I heard, "I've been advising the royal family since you were a baby in diapers therefore I know more than you and know what the hell I'm doing."

I also imagined the senior attorney was livid when he learned a single, unemployed woman from America claimed the crown. Because nothing about me screamed power and success. He wasn't wrong, but he could still lose the snooty attitude.

"I'm Kirk Novak," a fifty-something lawyer with slicked back dark brown hair introduced as his fingers paged through a number of papers in front of him. "Before we discuss anything further, we need you and Ms. Cooper to sign a few documents. The first one is a non-disclosure agreement stating neither of you will discuss the conversations during today's meeting."

I shook my head immediately, remembering my mom's advice of not signing anything without proper representation.

"I apologize," I said carefully, staring at his absurd cocky grin. "But you will have to take our word we won't say anything because I won't sign any documents until I have my attorney with me."

Mr. Novak's insincere smile quickly faded. "With all due respect, you really don't need an attorney to sign these standard forms."

"If they're standard, then they can wait until the more formal meeting," Phil said shortly, tapping her manicured nails against the wooden surface. "We were under the impression this was an introductory session."

Shit yeah! That's my best friend, you dummies! my mind cheered enthusiastically at the cool response from my Executive Alliance Director.

The lawyer opened his mouth to protest again, but Mr. Ament raised his hand and shook his head. "It's fine, Kirk. We won't be discussing anything of great importance today anyway."

Mr. Novak pressed his thin lips together probably to refrain from pushing the issue and simply nodded his head.

Jackass, I thought smugly, fighting the urge to smile.

"However," Mr. Ament continued in a more somber tone, with his beady blue eyes glancing between me and Phil. "The courtesy we extended to meet Ms. Cooper doesn't reach beyond today."

"Excuse me?" This jackass truly believed he could keep my Executive Alliance Director from attending future important meetings with me.

Oh hell no.

"He means – " the paper pushy lawyer started to explain when I rudely interrupted him.

"I understand what he meant," I snapped, glaring at the royal representatives. "I want to know why."

"Does she work for you in any capacity?" the senior attorney asked calmly, raising a dark eyebrow.

"Of course not."

"The upcoming meeting discussing your obligations and behavior is reserved for legal counsel and immediate family members."

Seriously?

"Seriously?" I asked, with a frown.

"What does 'discussing her behavior' mean?" Phil added, leaning forward and resting her elbows on the table.

"It means we will thoroughly review the rules of proper conduct and etiquette of a queen," Mr. Ament clarified, obviously disapproving of my best friend's opinions and questions. "As queen of Moneres Islands, you are expected to appear and conduct yourself in a certain way."

"Of course," I agreed, with a short nod.

I wasn't a complete dumbass. While the idea of prancing around in pastel outfits, white gloves, and hat wasn't my cup of tea, I knew a queen needed to remain composed and reserved. Was I normally a composed and reserved person? Absolutely not, but for the sake of a small country, I was more than willing to try.

"Of course, should you not follow the proper protocol, you will face certain consequences." The stupid smug smile returned to Mr. Novak's smarmy face.

"And who will monitor her and decide when her behavior is inappropriate?" Phil asked even though we both knew the answer.

"I imagine as queen everyone will be watching you every move you make, Ms. Copeland," Mr. Ament said, sounding a bit too creepy for my taste. "But, ultimately, the royal counsel makes the final decision."

"Shit no," Phil and I spat out at the same time.