Royal Mistake (The Hidden Kingdom Romances Book 4) Read online

  Royal Mistake

  The Hidden Kingdom Romances #4

  Cami Checketts

  Copyright

  Royal Mistake: Hidden Kingdom Romances #4

  Copyright © 2021 by Cami Checketts

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Contents

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  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Royal Courage

  Also by Cami Checketts

  About the Author

  Royal Security

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  Chapter One

  Princess Belle Magnum walked down the picturesque street of her town, still in her comfortable scrubs as she’d just finished working at the clinic with her future sister-in-law Dr. Grace. She grinned as the tropical sun darted through the trees to warm her face, plumeria and jasmine flowers scented the air, the creek babbled to her right, and children and adults waved and called greetings to her. She loved the people of Magna and everyone loved her right back.

  “Princess Belle?” A darling little girl with pigtails and big brown eyes gazed up at her, holding her mom’s hand.

  Belle bent to the little angel’s level. “Yes, my sweet Paisley?”

  “Where’s your crown and your pretty dress?” The little girl’s nose scrunched. “You’re my favorite beautiful princess, but you need a pretty dress.”

  Belle laughed. “I’m sorry, love. I’m just getting off work and I would get all my pretty dresses dirty there.” She winked. “But I promise I’ll put one on tonight for dinner.”

  Paisley seemed to consider this as her mom looked on with a smile. She finally nodded. “I guess that’s okay. Will your handsome prince be at dinner with you?”

  Belle’s smile stayed in place. She could hardly tell this girl she didn’t have a handsome prince yet. Treck Wilder, her older brother Bodi’s best friend and the royal pilot, was destined to love her. Someday. He gave her looks that made her think he was interested, but neither of them had bridged the gap yet. Soon.

  “Yes, he will be,” she said. It wasn’t a lie; Treck usually made it to dinner with the royal family and their myriad of guests since tourism had come to their island in June.

  Paisley put a dramatic hand to her heart and then whispered, “Are you gonna kiss him?”

  Belle laughed again. “I hope so, love. I truly do.”

  Paisley nodded, all wise and cute. “He’d be dumb if he didn’t want to kiss you. You’re practically perfect.”

  “Oh, you sweetie. You’re the perfect one.” Belle gave her a hug and straightened, waving goodbye and continuing on. Delicious scents wafted from the bakery and she couldn’t stop herself from darting inside. Isabella was at the counter. “Hello, my beautiful friend,” Belle called.

  “Belle. You angel. How was the clinic today?”

  “So fun!” She eased up to the counter, looking through the glass at muffins, brownies, and sweet breads.

  Isabella shook her head. “Only you would think dealing with blood and urine is fun. You need to quit being so angelic. Sometimes I worry I won’t see you tomorrow because you’ve been exalted.”

  “Stop. You’ll blow my head up. Are you closing soon?”

  “Yes.” Isabella smiled shyly, her dark eyes glinting with excitement. “I’m hoping Stuart will stop by.”

  Stuart Falslev. The handsome American military hero. He was too sure of himself and far too appealing, but he rarely looked Belle’s direction. Not that it mattered. She had Treck, and Stuart had made a play for her sister Addie not long ago. It would just be awkward if Belle was interested in him. Which she wasn’t.

  “Oh. I’ll hurry then so I’m not in your way.”

  Isabella laughed. “It’ll be fine. What can I get you?”

  Isabella never rushed her. She must be excited to see Stuart. Not that Belle blamed her. He was a handsome puzzle that she couldn’t figure out, and he didn’t seem to know she was alive.

  “I’ll have a mint brownie, please.”

  “Sure.” Isabella got her the treat, took her coins, and then waved goodbye. “See you soon.”

  She was definitely rushing Belle out the door. “Good luck with Stuart.”

  “I’ll need it. I’ve never seen the likes of him.” She fanned herself dramatically. “Whew he’s hot.”

  Belle knew exactly what she meant. Stuart was different, intriguing, and definitely “hot”. She held the brownie in her right hand so she wouldn’t squish it and pushed the door open, turning for one last wave to her friend as she rushed through. She collided with a wall of solid muscle.

  The man wrapped his hands around her arms to steady her and an incredible sensation of warmth rushed through her. She startled and clung to her brownie, staring up into the dark eyes of none other than Stuart Falslev. “Oh! Excuse me.”

  He looked her over with a slightly open mouth, as if seeing her for the first time. His grip softened and he gently ran his palms down each of her arms. Belle’s entire body quivered in response and the world seemed to tilt. What was happening?

  Stuart suddenly went stiff, stepped back, and gave her a detached, slightly-mocking look. “Excuse me, Princess.”

  He brushed around her and into the shop. Belle felt the effect of him brushing so close, and if the sharp intake of breath she heard from him was any indication, he felt it too. She expected him to stop, turn to her, talk to her, but no. He went right up to the counter and started flirting with Isabella.

  Her friend responded with a broad grin and flirted right back.

  Belle had never had someone disregard her like that. Everyone on Magna loved her and were exceptionally kind to her. It was even more shocking to be dismissed so rudely because of the warmth and connection she’d felt with him.

  Belle backed out of the shop, waiting for him to look around. He suddenly did. His dark eyes pierced right into her, and her heart pounded as if she’d sprinted a mile. His eyes trailed over her and then he simply inclined his chin and turned away.

  Dismissing her, again, just like that.

  Belle walked out onto the street, hardly hearing the greetings coming her way. What had just happened? Why had it affected her so deeply while it hadn’t affected Stuart at all?

  She blew out a breath. He was a toughened military man who’d traveled the world. She was an innocent princess who’d never left her island. He had probably felt nothing. Her shoulders rounded slightly, but she immediately pushed them back and focused on Mr. Schriver who was making his way slowly toward her.

  “What you got in your hand, darling girl?” Mr. Schriver asked.

  She looked down at her squished brownie. It was ruined, just like any hopes of something happening with Stuart. She needed to forget the American. He didn’t matter to her. At all. He was rude and not her type.

  Treck. She needed to focus on his easy-going
nature and happy smile. Treck was her focus.

  Why then did she have to stop herself from gawking through the bakery window at Stuart?

  Chapter Two

  Stuart Falslev lay on his back in the dust, gritting his teeth against the sharp stab of pain in his left shoulder. The scents of dirt, sweat, and horses washed over him, making him want to gag. Which made no sense. He wasn’t a gagger.

  It was probably the hundredth time he’d been knocked off his borrowed horse, Annalisa, trying to joust Alaric, Kingston, Malik, or any of the other Magnite men. Maybe it was because the islanders had been trained from birth on up to ride a horse and somehow joust from the back of the beast. Maybe it was the horse’s fault. Who named their horse Annalisa anyway? It was a wussy name, far too pretty of a name for a horse. Stuart needed a horse as strong and determined as him. He needed a horse with a name that would help him be taken seriously.

  He should move, roll over, and stand up. Fight again. It was one of the few times in his life that his competitiveness didn’t overcome everything. Everything hurt. He’d joined the military the day he turned eighteen, worked his way into being trained as an Army Ranger, and been involved in dangerous ops throughout the world. He’d been shot and stabbed by the enemy. He’d been worked near to death, beaten, and demeaned by his commanding officers and his own father. He could easily recall hurt like this many times in his life. Pain he was used to, but not humiliation. He would never accept humiliation, but he’d been forced to swallow his share of the uncomfortable emotion on the idyllic island of Magna.

  What was wrong with his shoulder, and how could he hide that he was hurting?

  Prince Commander Alaric appeared above him, grinning widely. Stuart liked Alaric. Usually. He loved this remote kingdom that belonged in a past century. Except for when he got bested at jousting. At least by now, after a month living here, he could beat everyone but Kingston at the sword. And he was rarely beaten in hand to hand combat and never at target shooting or tracking.

  Had he dislocated or separated his shoulder? Usually he would shake the pain off and keep going, but right now he didn’t dare move.

  “You dead?” Alaric asked.

  “I wish I was,” he gritted out. Above all else, he had to retain his pride—quite often, pride was all he had—but dang, this hurt. He closed his eyes again and willed himself to move, but his body didn’t obey. The ground was hard and the agony was sharp and all he wanted was to knock Alaric off his horse for once. Stuart’s dad had told him hourly as a child and teenager that he’d never amount to anything. At times like these, it was the only voice in his head. Stuart had spent his adult life determined to be successful, to win, and to someday shut that voice up.

  “I need a new horse,” he said, hoping it didn’t sound like whining. “Who names their horse Annalisa anyway? I’m going to import a horse from Ireland. Don’t they have the best-bred horses in the world?”

  He said all of this casually when inside he wanted to cry. Should he tell Alaric how much his shoulder hurt? Alaric usually hit him straight in the chest with what they claimed was a blunted lance but often felt like a sharp spear. This time the blow had been off-center and had smacked him in the left shoulder. Was it out of socket? That would make sense. He’d seen that happen before and the guy had been screaming in pain. At least he wasn’t screaming. He could cling to that for his battered pride’s sake.

  Alaric laughed. “It’s the Indian, not the arrow, my friend.”

  Stuart hated when Alaric said that. Basically, it was operator error and not the equipment—or in this case, the horse. He opened his eyes to stare up at Alaric and hoped the agony didn’t show in his face. He needed to stand up and be a man. Wes had left a few minutes ago to shower and get ready for dinner. Stuart rarely ate dinner with the royal family and guests like Wes did. If Wes was here, Stuart could let down his guard a bit, at least admit to his friend of twelve years that something was wrong.

  “Seriously, friend … I’m getting worried.” Alaric’s brow furrowed. “Your face doesn’t look right, all pale and waxy. Let me go get Grace.”

  “I’m fine. Help me get this stupid armor off.” Stuart tried to sit up. He let out a groan and instinctively grabbed his left shoulder with his right arm, swallowing down bile. This was bad. “Give me a minute,” he grunted. Luckily it was getting late in the day and only a few other men were still in the stadium. He’d had many witnesses to his humiliation as he failed to win the joust time and again, but it was nice to not have a crowd witness every failure.

  He’d get there. He’d win the joust. He just needed time. And a nap. And maybe Dr. Grace to look at his shoulder. And maybe some Tylenol.

  He’d had morphine when he’d taken a bullet to his thigh and a knife to the side of his abdomen. That sounded nice right now. Magna was behind in many technological and medical advances. Usually he didn’t care, but right now he was seriously concerned that they didn’t have morphine and the necessary equipment to fix his shoulder. He didn’t want to leave his new home like Alaric had been forced to do a few weeks ago to have a brain tumor removed.

  Alaric quickly loosened Stuart’s armor and slid it off.

  Stuart laid back. “Thanks,” he managed. Was he panting? Was he pale and waxy looking?

  “I’m going to get Grace. Just lie there and I’ll be right back.”

  Stuart didn’t answer. He closed his eyes, gritted his teeth, and started counting. Anything to distract himself from the pain. Despite the numbers in his head, he heard his father’s voice telling him what a pathetic wimp he was, telling him to stand up and fight like a man. Excruciating seconds ticked by as he tried to tell himself he was tougher than this.

  A fresh, clean scent washed over him. The scent of a woman. It was intoxicating and also strangely familiar, as if he’d smelled it recently. Was the pain making him delusional? He opened his eyes to see the face of an angel looming above him. She was exquisitely beautiful with smooth, brown skin, deep brown eyes, long lashes, full lips, and a sweetness that radiated from her. Princess Adelaide?

  No. It wasn’t the woman he’d been so impressed and intrigued by when he first arrived at the island. Princess Adelaide had shot him down hard. That was no surprise. He didn’t deserve an incredible woman anyway. It was mostly his competitiveness that made him pursue any woman he met who was too good for him. If an impressive woman returned his interest, he’d walk away quick. No reason to grow close to anyone and let them know how pathetic he was inside. Much better to be seen as the non-committal jerk.

  He focused on the woman’s flawless face. This dark-haired, exotic beauty was Addie’s sister, the youngest princess. He couldn’t recall her name at the moment. The woman who’d run into him yesterday coming out of the bakery and had upended his world by how incredible it felt to touch her. He’d ignored those feelings yesterday, turned away from her no matter how hard it had been, and he’d ignore the connection right now.

  He’d avoided the younger sister and her twin cousins since coming to the island, knowing they were too young for him. Even though he riled their older brothers at every turn, he would never intentionally cause a breach by pursuing an innocent, inexperienced princess. Nobody would believe that he cared, but he felt at home here and didn’t want to get run off the island into the ocean. It was a long swim to Spain and he’d never admit it, but maybe his SEAL buddies could best him at swimming.

  The appealing woman knelt beside him and lightly touched his arm. The warm press of her fingers somehow eased the pain and made him feel tingly and warm and all kinds of new feelings he’d only experienced when he touched her yesterday. It was such a strong contrast to the intensity of his pain that he couldn’t believe she was real and not some ministering angel.

  Maybe he was dreaming. Soft touches and tender feelings weren’t in his wheelhouse. His mom had tried to be soft with him when she doctored his wounds after his father beat him, but she’d had to be careful not to be too tender. If his father saw him getting soft
treatment, he’d thrash his mom, sister, and then Stuart again for fun.

  “Your shoulder is out of socket,” she said. “The quicker we get it back in, the less damage and recovery time you’ll have.”

  That made sense, but how was this wisp of a girl going to help him? He tried to struggle back up. He’d better get to Grace and see if she and Alaric could pop it back in with Alaric’s strength and Grace’s knowledge and skill set.

  “Stay lying down,” she murmured. “I can fix it.”

  He forgot about her warm touch and laughed incredulously. “You? Forgive me, princess, but I’ve seen what it takes to put a Ranger’s shoulder back in. You don’t look strong enough to pop my finger back into place, let alone my shoulder.”

  She stared at him. Fire lit in those dark eyes, replacing the sweetness that radiated from her. “Lie on your back,” she commanded him.

  Stuart’s eyes widened, and he shook his head. “I only take commands from military leaders,” he shot at her.

  She gave him the cutest, most impertinent look he’d ever seen. “Gerald, Mary, Johnathon,” she called. “Come hold him down so I can pop his shoulder back in.”

  They all three came running. He hadn’t even known Gerald and Mary were still here, but they appeared at her sweet command.

  “You want to fight all four of us?” she asked.

  “Hooah,” he snarled, the Army equivalent of Bring it on.

  Those incredible, long-lashed dark eyes got even more determined. She climbed over him, straddling his abdomen and gently pushing him onto his back. For some insane reason, Stuart didn’t resist. Her touch was the most healing balm he’d ever known. It also filled him with a heat he had to ignore unless he wanted a troop of angry brothers and cousins hunting him down. He didn’t mind fighting anyone, and had, but he’d enjoyed his past four weeks on this idyllic island and respected the men of the Magna family. He’d worked against his own nature and tried not to tick them off too badly. Often he failed, but they hadn’t tied him to the mast of a slow boat and shipped him off the island. Yet.