His Runaway Campfire Princess

  HIS RUNAWAY CAMPFIRE PRINCESS

  Gwen Hayes

  GWEN HAYES

  Thank you for reading. If you enjoy this book, please leave a review.

  All rights reserved. Aside from brief quotations for media coverage and reviews, no part of this book may be reproduced or distributed in any form without the author’s permission. Thank you for supporting authors and a diverse, creative culture by purchasing this book and complying with copyright laws.

  Copyright © 2017 by Gwen Hayes

  Published by Gwen Hayes

  Cover design by Lori Carter/Zoe York

  Interior design by Pronoun

  Copy editing by FWS Media

  Distribution by Pronoun

  ISBN: 9781508061373

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  About the Author

  CHAPTER ONE

  MERRIAM RODHAM, PRINCESS OF SIVARTANIA, didn’t always eavesdrop on her father’s conversations, but when she did…

  Oh, who was she kidding? She eavesdropped on her father’s conversations all the damn time.

  Really, it was the only way to find out much of anything as Papa didn’t think his little kitten had the moral fortitude to withstand real life. She was relegated to last position on the need to know list, even when it concerned her. Especially when it concerned her.

  Currently, she was pressed so hard against the walnut wainscoting she was going to smell of lemon polish for days. The problem was corralling the tulle of her ridiculous dress so it didn’t give her position away.

  Papa was speaking with the always dour Duke of Carlysle. The One Who Scowls. The very duke who was not only the bane of her existence, but also had the nerve to be severely sexy while doing it. If you found that kind of thing attractive. Which she didn’t. Not at all. Okay, maybe a little.

  It never made much sense to her why she found him so fascinating. Harmon Maxwell, Duke of Carlysle, Commander of the Royal Palace Guard, didn’t own an expression that wasn’t displeasure. At least when it came to her and whatever scrape she’d gotten herself into. Which to be fair, were more than a handful. This year. So far.

  It was a good thing the Royal Palace Guard had good dental coverage because the man ground his teeth a lot.

  She supposed there was something to be said for his appearance. And that something was exquisite. His body and his mind were finely honed weapons. He loomed over her by about a foot, all broody and muscley and annoying.

  The training he and his men went through for all those muscles was intense. He and his elite team had some sort reciprocal agreement with the special op teams from military all over the world where he trained with their military and did special training instructing for theirs. Harmon was, for all intents and purposes: A US Navy Seal, a British SAS, and a Shayetet 13. It was all very confidential and she wasn’t supposed to know about it.

  In fact, he’d probably be mad if he knew that she knew.

  Oh well.

  It was only fair he found her so aggravating because he happened to push every button she had figuratively but would never in a million years push the important one she had literally. But that never stopped a girl from thinking about it.

  Maybe he didn’t even know about buttons. She hadn’t seen or heard of him romantically entangled with anyone in the last ten years. And Sivartania was too small to not hear gossip about the oh-so-serious second most eligible bachelor in the kingdom. The Crown Prince would be first most eligible, and her brother was romantically entangled with just about everyone. Matthew didn’t even limit himself to women. He just sexed whomever he happened to find attractive. And he found a lot of people attractive.

  She couldn’t see into the room, but she didn’t have to in order to imagine the scene. The duke would be wearing his dress uniform as they were currently all supposed to be attending a soiree in the ballroom of their Manhattan hotel. Yet here they were, the two men cahooting about her in the suite library and her lurking outside the door. Harmon, in his white coat with all the decorations, would be standing at near attention, as was his way. His eyes, though, would never rest. They’d be scoping the exits, the possible threats, the items he could use as a weapon in an attack. Occasionally, he’d reach one large hand up to rub his neatly trimmed beard. It was possibly his only unconscious movement. Though it was equally possible he knew he did it and was programmed by his robotics engineer to have a human tic in order to make him more believable.

  Harmon wasn’t adding much to the conversation, though he never did. He was a very thorough listener. The kind whose silence often brought to the surface the very things the other person had been hoping to hold inside. Lord knows he’d flustered her out of enough secrets over the years.

  Damn him.

  Her father blustered on as normal. He apparently didn’t like Lord Balton, Merriam’s last “paramour.” You’d think he’d be happy that they’d broken up. But no. Everyone was still pretty upset about The Picture.

  Well, there was more than one picture, but The Picture was the most damning of the lot. It was the full-on nude and it made one photographer very, very rich.

  “Balton is an ingrate. Where does she find these degenerates? If her mother were alive to see her boyfriends…”

  Merriam squeezed her eyes shut. If her mother were alive, everything would be different. Life after the attack ten years ago was unrecognizable to the one she lived now. Her father had been a different kind of king then. A different kind of father. Laughter had echoed off the walls of Rodham Palace in those days. Now silence reigned, pushing out joy and laughter and fun.

  So, sometimes, she had to blow off a little steam outside the palace walls. It’s not like she commissioned The Picture. She was as surprised as everyone else when it made it to TMZ. Though she was lucky in that nobody outside her country really knew who she was, so her notoriety was short lived when a real celebrity couple filed for divorce the same day.

  Her fifteen minutes of fame lasted about twelve. But it didn’t go away quite so quickly at home, of course.

  She’d been so looking forward to this trip to the United States. They’d been to New York once before, when Mama was alive. She and her parents and her brother Matthew had explored the city and while she was sure they’d had a security detail, she didn’t remember it.

  That was before the bomb, though. Before Mama had been killed. Now, she tripped over bodyguards if she turned too quickly.

  It had been Christmas time in New York instead of summer, and the streets glittered with lights and tinsel and bright ribbons and bows. There had been ice skating and red noses and hot cocoa. Oh, and a deli that served corned beef sandwiches, and she and Papa loved them so much they’d gone to it two more times that week, to Mama’s chagrin. No matter where else she went in the world, to this day, Merriam had never found another sandwich as good.

  But this New York was not the New York she remembered. Her social calendar was filled with obligations she didn’t choose. Her body fitted with outfits she hadn’t picked. She hadn’t even gotten to order her own meals. She’d tried to talk Papa into going for a sandwich with her, but the Duke of Carlysle said it would be too hard to secure the area on short notice, and the king had decided no sandwich was worth
the trouble.

  This ball could have been an opportunity for fun—but somehow her father, Aunt Elaine, and Carlysle were able to suck the life out of that too. For one thing, it was during the day. What kind of ball happens during the day? Boring ones. That’s what kind. She hadn’t even been allowed to choose her gown. Aunt Elaine insisted, and her father agreed, the best way to rise above the storm of Lord Balton was a low profile and a horrible dress with too much tulle and poof.

  Nobody in the United States could even pick her out of one of their police lineups, nor would they have heard of her country, Sivartania. They especially wouldn’t care that she and Gregor, Lord Balton, had broken up. Or why. Or what happened before or after. Besides, Americans liked royalty with a little side of naughty. Harry got a lot more press than William did in the states. Harry was her idol.

  Gregor, had been a mistake, to be sure. A very handsome and wickedly fun mistake, but that’s all she’d been after anyway. Merriam had horrible taste in men. Mostly on purpose. She liked the first month of a relationship. She liked bad boys. She liked a little bit of drama. She liked a little bit of reckless.

  “She needs to settle down,” her father said slamming something on a desk or table. “I can’t spend all my time worrying about her. I want her married by year end. Elaine and I have discussed it. I’m going to choose a groom.”

  Merriam’s heart picked up new rhythm, a really uncomfortable one. He wouldn’t dare. Would he? Technically, the king could force her to marry anyone he chose. But this was the 21st century. Nobody did that anymore.

  “Your majesty?” Even the duke was surprised. That never happened.

  “My sister says she’s choosing men to get attention from me. Well, it worked. I want her settled down with a good man. A man who can rein her in.”

  “My apologies, your majesty, but does such a man exist?”

  The next time she got in a room with the duke, he was history. He was right, but still. He was such a stodgemonster.

  Besides, what kind of man wanted a woman he could rein in? Good ones liked a challenge. Of course, she’d never dated a good one, so what did she know?

  Her father made some sort of snarly sound in the back of his throat. “Probably not, but then she’d be someone else’s problem.”

  Merriam locked her jaw to keep the outraged gasp in. Someone else’s problem?

  “I’m not sure choosing a husband for the princess is a good idea. She’ll fight you on it.”

  Damn right she will.

  “I just want her safe and settled, Carlysle. She’ll thank me when she’s got a castle full of babies.”

  A castle full of babies? A castle full of babies! Maybe Papa had hit his head.

  “Your majesty—”

  “I’m announcing it next week, when we get back from this trip. We’ll have a royal ball. I want you to start security preparations.”

  Next week?

  He didn’t even know who he was “choosing” and he intended to announce it in a week. Was he planning on telling her future groom before then, or would he find out at the ball as well? Merriam’s vision blurred red.

  Talking to Papa would be useless. Her father no longer valued her opinion. And he was king, so there were no legal options available. Not really.

  She’d always known that one day, she’d have the duty to marry well for her country. Her brother, as crown prince, had more responsibility to that end than she did. But if something happened to Matthew before he produced an heir, then she’d be queen. Not something anybody wanted.

  If she were king, she’d make sure Matthew filled the castle full of babies before worrying about marrying Merriam off. But Matthew was a man and she was not. So, he could do what he wanted and she could fill the castle with babies and be a problem to an unnamed husband.

  Merriam backed away from the door before she barged in and gave the two men plotting her life a piece of her mind. She had to get away. Had to think.

  But first, she had to slip her protection detail.

  “Princess Merriam. You look lovely this evening.”

  “Shut up, Matthew.” She curtsied to her brother. “I need you to cover for me.”

  Matthew took two cocktails from the proffered tray and handed her one. “No. Last time was a disaster.”

  She smiled regally, and if anyone were watching, which she was sure Harmon was because he always seemed to be aware of her, they would think she and Matthew were talking about the weather or whatever it was people thought royalty talked about when they were being boring. She looked around, and just as she suspected, Harmon was watching her. She cocked her head and gave him what she hoped was an impish smile. It must have been since he responded with a slight scowl.

  The party, as predicted, was an absolute snore. It was like some sort of tea-slash-cocktail soiree. She was overdressed, as she’d known she would be, but her aunt had wanted to give the Americans the impression that their royalty was le bon ton. Merriam went along with it because they were trying to brand Sivartania for tourists, but really, she felt ridiculous.

  Turning her attention back to her brother, she asked, “Did you know Papa is planning my wedding?” She didn’t think Papa had confided in Matthew, but she had to know for sure if he was in on it. And Matthew could do a lot of things, but lying to Merriam was never one of them. They’d relied too much on each other when Mama had died and Papa had closed himself off from them emotionally.

  “Wedding? You’re not engaged to Balton are you? I thought you’d broken up? Good God, tell me you’re not pregnant.”

  She shuddered. Being saddled with Balton her whole life was a horrible prospect even without adding an innocent child into the mix. “Gross. No.”

  “Well then who are you engaged to?”

  She shrugged, mentally heard Aunt Elaine’s voice telling her it wasn’t ladylike, and shrugged harder. “I don’t know. He hasn’t decided yet. I overheard him talking to the Duke of Curmudgeon about it.”

  Matthew paused with the glass near his lips. “Father is arranging your marriage?” His normally sardonic tone was laced with more intrigue than normal. Or acceptable. This was not a game. This was her life.

  “Yes. And as you might imagine, I’m not thrilled with the idea. I just need a small break. Please help me.” She knew he would. But if she had to, she’d remind him of the socialite twins and the throne room and how Papa would feel about what the three of them had done in there. Merriam was not above blackmail.

  Matthew got that mischievous look in his eye. Never a good thing. “If you’re not married when I’m king, I’m most definitely going to arrange your marriage. The possibilities are endless.”

  “Shut up, Matthew. This is serious.”

  He looked into the distance as if he were imagining a grand future. “I’d make you marry the Duke of Curmudgeon. By the way, he knows you call him that and he hates it.”

  “I think the nickname would be low on his list of hates if you forced him to marry your little sister. I hear he knows one thousand ways to kill a man without making a sound.”

  Matthew shrugged. “He’s my best mate. He won’t kill me.”

  He was right. Somehow the two of them remained friends through the years. Though she didn’t think it was the same kind of friendship they’d had when they were schoolmates. Rumor had it there had been epic carousing, though she could hardly imagine the Robot Duke seducing a woman.

  Well, okay, she’d imagined it once or twice in the last few years. After she’d seen him running shirtless one day. She’d always thought herself more of an “ass woman,” but something about his wide, sculpted shoulders and upper arms gave her flutters in her tummy. And then there was the dark thicket of hair on his chest that intrigued her as much as the thinner vertical line of hair that continued past his navel.

  She was getting lost in the memory again when she looked up to find him looking at her quizzically. Damn it. He couldn’t read her mind, could he?

  Her face got hot. That would be supe
r bad.

  “Please, Matthew. If I don’t get away, I’m going to crack.”

  Matthew watched her closely for a moment, assessing. “Right-o. I’ll think of something tomorrow. But maybe for tonight, after this party, I’ll send someone for one of those horrid sandwiches you like and we’ll have picnic in the suite? Unless an attractive woman actually comes to this party, then never mind, I’m busy.”

  She kissed his cheek. “I love you, moron.”

  “Love you too, idjit.”

  They parted ways to mingle as was expected. Parties were their job, after all. They represented Sivartania, and they were each fiercely proud of their home. It may be small and not well-known, but it was beautiful, mostly peaceful, and an artist’s paradise. She knew how lucky she was. How rich her heritage. She would do what her father asked of her—she just needed to be human instead of princess for a day or two. Out from under the microscope of her father and aunt and kingdom and the Royal Palace Guard.

  An hour later, a fire alarm rang out. She was surprised only for a moment. Matthew must have come up with a plan sooner than he thought, so she took advantage of the chaos, spilled her drink on purpose on the ambassador she was speaking to for more diversion, and slipped out the door and onto the busy street.

  She didn’t see anything that made her think he’d arranged anything more than a diversion, so she had to think fast. Before Duke Cylon found her.

  A bus was loading up in front of a hotel several doors down. She squinted to read the letters. Firefly Falls. That sounded promising. She liked fireflies. She hiked up her ball gown and made a dash for the vehicle door.

  She got stuck on the second step. Stupid dress. Mushing it together, she propelled herself to the top step and right into the driver’s lap from the momentum.

  “Sorry.” She sat up as much as she could, but she was wedged into a small place in a big dress.

  The bus was crowded. And now completely silent.

  Everyone was staring at her. The occupants were all in casual summer clothes and looked to be near her age, give or take five years. They looked ready for fun. She read the ball cap of one bus rider, reminding her what the sign on the bus said. Firefly Falls.