Protecting the Princess

By Zoe Waters

Princess Anastasia Devorack is living a luxurious yet mundane life filled with royal duties. But when her family is targeted for assassination and Ana must go on the run, her bodyguard, Ivan Block, is the only one who can keep her alive. While Ivan stays between her and the bullets, Ana struggles to survive her cravings for Ivan. Will they both outlive the threats against them? 18+ only.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Zoe Waters
• Release date: Jan 1, 2015
• ISBN: 9781310888823

Zoe Waters

Zoe Waters is a freelance writer by day and an erotic novel writer by night. She has been writing and publishing mainstream fiction for over a decade but prefers the titillation of erotic fiction. When not writing, Zoe is scuba diving, hiking with her dog, or trying out the stuff she writes about, if only in her mind. Zoe can be reached at zoewaters13 at hotmail.com. Follow her on Twitter @ZoeWaters13

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Protecting the Princess

By Zoe Waters

Copyright 2015 Zoe Waters

Smashwords Edition

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the result of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual events, persons, or locales is coincidental.

Cover art by Joe Mabel

Protecting the Princess

It’s a sad day - Boris was leaving. My bodyguard since I was thirteen, I’d grown accustomed to his presence every time I left my private quarters over the last twelve years.

The only daughter of Prince Andreas Joseph Devorack of Bastaronia, either Boris or my other bodyguard, Peter, shadowed me whenever I stepped beyond the walls that surround our home. Their nonstop company annoyed me as a belligerent teenager but now their presence was a given, just like the air I breathe or the paparazzi that jump out of dark corners and attack me with their cameras.

Saying good-bye to Boris was bittersweet. I would miss him and his wit, his humor funnier due to the infrequency of it. Peter was staying on and would be joined by a new guy, a man who was arriving the next day.

After my father finished a good-bye speech to Boris, I gave my own, lauding Boris’s dedication. I shared a story about the only time he’d slipped on my watch. He’d mistaken a Nerf gun for a real weapon and had pushed me roughly to the ground, saving me from a foam bullet.

As festivities wound down, I gave Boris a parting gift – a box of his favorite cigars with a small wad of cash stashed on the bottom – and retreated to my quarters; I had a long day of royal duties ahead of me the next day.

#####

Peter accompanied me the following day to my obligations. My private secretary, Georgina, had left my itinerary on my desk and the detailed list left no room for anything else. I’d long ago resigned myself to the life of duty and obligation that was my birthright but I couldn’t say I enjoyed it.

After high school, I’d gone to undergrad at Oxford before attending Harvard to earn an MBA. Those had been the best years of my life. Few people had known who I was and I’d loved the independence I had. Now I spend my days fulfilling royal obligations and doing zilch with my education. When I married, that would continue, only as the wife of a prince, not a daughter. It wasn’t what I wanted for my life but I knew my circumstances would never change.

After reading to a group of children at an orphanage, I joined my father at a business luncheon with the minister of economics. My father valued my opinion on financial matters and I liked sharing my thoughts; it was preferable to the events where I was only a figurehead.

The lunch ran late but the driver delivered Peter and I to a senior’s home on time. I spent the afternoon with the residents, listening to their concerns and offering words of encouragement. By the time I was home, dinner was being served. I joined my father and mother for all four courses.

My mother suffered from crippling MS and rarely left her quarters. The times she was able to join us in the dining room were few and they were moments I treasured. My brother, Alexander, was absent, a typical occurrence. He much preferred to spend time with his girlfriend than his mind-numbingly dull family as he called us. We weren’t an exciting lot, I’d give him that. As royals, there were expectations to uphold. I had moments where I wanted to let loose but thoughts of the pictures that would appear in newspapers and online within 24 hours always stopped me. But hell yeah, I dreamed of picking up a guy at a bar or having a night where I drank myself into a stupor. That would never happen now. Those events had occurred at Oxford and Harvard but they were a distant memory. I’d been back in Bastaronia for over a year and sex was also a distant memory. Until I married, it would stay that way as a scandal would ensue if the ‘proper princess’ – a nickname given to me by the media – was seen in the arms of a man. Good Lord, you’d think we were living in the middle ages. But that was my reality, for better or worse.

As I retreated to my quarters after bidding my mother and father good night, I thought of Kate Middleton and her decision to marry a prince. She was now relegated to a life like mine, one of duty and responsibility and scandal if she was photographed in any man’s arms other than Wills, regardless of whether anything was improper or not. She must really love her prince to voluntarily commit herself to such a life. Kudos to her.

#####

Georgina and I met at 7 a.m. in my office to go over a list of issues; it still amazed me that keeping my life organized was a full-time job for someone else. After deciding what invitations to accept and decline for the weeks in front of us, we went over the day ahead. I had a ribbon cutting at a new playground built by the foundation that my mother had established in her younger, healthier days. That was followed by another business luncheon with my father and a handful of council members. Then I was to go over the plans for a new library and chair a meeting with a half dozen architects.

When the clock hit nine, I needed to get going to the playground. I wished Georgina a glorious day and headed to my town car. Peter was outside talking to a handsome man with a scar on the left side of his face. I found scars and things that other people might consider ‘flaws’ to be attractive, especially on men as otherwise physically perfect as the one Peter was talking to. As I drew closer to the men, I made out a discreet bulge under the suit jacket of the stranger’s lower back, the outline of a gun. Was this Boris’s replacement?

Peter spoke first when I reached the car. Princess, may I introduce you to Ivan Petroleus, the newest member of your detail. Ivan, this is Princess Anastasia Elizabeth Christina Devorack.

Princess, the man said as he gave a slight nod. I debated extending my hand to him in greeting. Royalty was allowed to shake hands but only if they made the first move; Ivan couldn’t have offered his hand first. It wasn’t normal to touch people who worked for you, especially security personnel, but I was feeling especially nonconformist today so I stuck out my hand in Ivan’s direction. I ignored Peter’s barely perceptible intake of breath as Ivan slid his palm against mine, his