Angol
Some fairy tales start after midnight.
The crown prince and I have nothing in common.
Kostya's quiet, serious, and straight-laced, the heir to a centuries-old throne.
I'm the ambassador's daughter, backpacking Europe after dropping out of med school.
He's a rugged, battle-hardened soldier who spent four years in the Royal Guard and might not know how to smile.
I accidentally got drunk at my own welcome banquet.
Sure, he's crazy hot in a 'fairy tale royalty come to life' kind of way, but Kostya is way out of my league -- and most importantly, he isn't even interested. Formal, aloof politeness is all I'll ever get from him, and that's fine with me.
He's a prince, for Pete's sake, and I'm just some American girl.
But then there's the night I can't sleep, so I sneak onto the castle ramparts - only to discover that I'm not the only one with an insomnia problem. On the roof, far away from the demands of the state, Kostya is completely different.
He's relaxed. He's charming. He's pleasant.
He's flirty.
And most of all, Kostya's definitely not the uptight, rule-abiding prince I thought he was.
I know better than to get hot and heavy with a foreign head of state, but what's a commoner to do? He gives me smoldering, panty-fire-lighting looks from across every room. He has a secret smile that means I want you. He talks dirty to me in his mother tongue.
There can't be an us. Kostya's destined to marry someone politically expedient, and whatever I'm destined for, it's not becoming royalty.
After all, aren't fairy tales just stories?
