I’ve been having sex dreams about my best friend’s fiancée.

Very fucking dirty sex dreams.

I’m extremely displeased by this.

But no amount of reminding myself she’s taken, can never be mine, is completely off-limits seems to help.

And it’s all I can think about as said best friend swings and jabs at me.

We’re just going through the motions. I make Torin do this periodically to try to keep him on his toes when it comes to self-defense. He’d much rather run and hike, and head to his ranch and ride his damned horses. But I insist that he at least pretend to know how to throw a punch.

Not that he really needs it. He’s now surrounded by security twenty-four-seven.

And he’s living on a remote island in the North Atlantic where everyone loves him.

No one here really wants to kill him. Or even hurt him.

Except maybe his grandfather, once in a while.

And me on the rare occasion I think about the fact that he is supposed to marry the only woman to ever make me think for even a moment of being disloyal to my position. Or, worse, my friend.

He swings and I sidestep.

I really should let him hit me. Maybe that would make me feel better about the things I’ve thought about doing to his future wife…

Torin lands a punch right to my jaw and my head snaps back.

Okay, that was an accident. But it hurt. And I deserved it.

I step back and shake my head. “Nice shot, Your Highness.”

He frowns, dropping his hands. “How the fuck did I do that?”

There’s only one way—I’m distracted. And feeling guilty. “My amazing training,” I tell him.

He scoffs. “You’ve been training me for eleven years. I don’t think that’s it.”

I lift a brow. I don’t think we should discount that entirely. I’m very fucking good. But he’s scowling. He’s definitely not himself today either.

“What’s wrong with you?” I wipe my hand over my sweaty face.

“Nothing. Haven’t you heard? I’m a fucking prince. My life is full of rainbow-shitting unicorns.”

Okay, wow. He’s never been exactly enthusiastic about his role as Crown Prince of Cara. That’s no secret to me. But Torin is annoyingly optimistic the majority of the time because he’s convinced that things usually go his way, eventually. Because…things usually go his way, eventually.

I probably only need one guess as to why his mood is crap today. “What did your grandfather do or say?”

“Linnea and her family are coming for dinner tonight,” he says.

I suck in a quick breath, able to disguise it as exertional breathing. Fuck. This dinner-with-the-soon-to-be-fiancée-thing happens periodically, of course. But it never gets easier.

On either Torin or me.

In fact, it’s getting more and more difficult.

But it’s better when I have some warning.

This will be the first ‘and her family’ dinner since my birthday a month ago. The night I stepped over the line and…well, fucked everything up completely.

She’s been to the palace twice since then. I saw her, of course, but I avoided being in any room alone with her as if death was waiting on the other side of the threshold.

Or worse—the only woman I’ve ever fallen in love with.

But having her family here makes it feel more like Torin’s in-laws are coming over and reminds everyone that King Diarmuid is getting impatient with Torin’s reluctance to make their engagement official.

“You shouldn’t be surprised,” I tell him, to remind myself that I shouldn’t be either.

“I’m not surprised. Just fucking annoyed. I had to practically plead with him to get him to attend the dinner with Dr. Hill and Senator Waite. They were here to discuss how Cara can help advance green energy initiatives around the world, for fuck’s sake, and he wasn’t interested. But he doesn’t care that I’m not interested in dinner with Linnea’s family.”

It wasn’t Torin’s pleading that had gotten the king to that dinner with Hill and Waite either. Linnea had talked him into it.

“Come on,” I say, beckoning to him. “I get a better workout with a punching bag.”

If Torin would take another decent swing, then I could take a decent swing.

And I’m not admitting it out loud to anyone, but I kind of want to hit my best friend right now.

“I’m not in the mood,” he tells me, wiping the back of his wrist across his forehead.

I roll my eyes. “Listen, Your Highness.” I know he hates when I call him that. “Even princes can get fat and slow.”

“Fine.” The future king squares up. We began circling each other, taking small, soft jabs.

He lands a hard jab to my shoulder, and he grins.

I don’t think he knows that talking about Linnea is a sure way to distract me, but he’ll figure it out soon enough if I don’t focus.

I swing toward his face, and he doesn’t duck fast enough. I clock him on the cheek.

I am, of course, one of the very few people who can hit the Crown Prince of Cara.

I am the only person who can hit him without being hit back by someone bigger and stronger. Because anyone else who hit him would be hit by me.

He frowns and rubs his cheek. “Hey.”

“You really think that if you’re in a fight, they’re going to just let you bitch and moan about your personal problems?”

“Fuck off. Thought my personal problems were kind of in your wheelhouse.”

If only he knew just how in my wheelhouse this particular problem of his is.

“We can talk after you land three punches.”

He will never land three punches on me, and we both know it.

“This is training, not mortal combat.”

I roll my eyes that he even thinks this is close to any kind of combat.

“It’s even better training if you have consequences for fucking up.” I swing again, missing on purpose, but he definitely does not duck in time. “Torin, pay attention!”

“We need to find her a new fiancé.”

This time my fist lands against his jaw solidly.