“For what?”

“For incurring my royal displeasure,” Dottie said with a chuckle.

There was something to be said for being royal. You could win every argument.

But next morning there was no sign of Randolph. His assistant appeared with a message to say that he'd been called away unexpectedly to settle a matter of administration in the princess's service. He would deal with it speedily, and on his return would give himself the honor of reporting to her, etcetera. Dottie made a suitable response, and wished she could have Randolph there for just five minutes, to tell him what she thought of him.

He was gone four days, then five, then a week. Dottie, who'd prepared a dignified speech, grew infuriated at never being able to deliver it.

When he did return after a week, and a servant came to say that he would wait upon her, she was so annoyed that she sent a message to say that she would inform him when it was convenient for her to see him.

After that there was silence.

“Why doesn't he report to me?” she demanded of Aunt Liz.

“Because you told him not to. Do you think a man of Randolph's pride is going to risk another snub?”

“Okay, so he can just sit there and sulk.”

“Yes, and you can sit here and sulk. And that'll make two of you sulking while the country goes to rack and ruin. I've no patience with either of you. Call him up and tell him how much you've missed him.”

“No way.”

“Dottie, why ever not?”

“Because I'm the crown princess,” she said miserably.

Somehow being royal was no guard against feeling that the world was empty because one man wasn't there. There had been nothing between them but kisses, anger and the half-admitted flaring of desire, but now she longed for more. Kisses weren't enough. She ached for him.

She wanted to know if his body, beneath his clothes, was as hard and athletic as she suspected. She'd had so little opportunity to find out, and the thought tormented her night and day. She wanted him to kiss her deeply, powerfully, and then do more than kiss her. She wanted him to take her wherever passion could lead them. She wanted him to show her the whole world.

But he wasn't there.

As Harold's visit neared, there was a series of meetings between politicians and civil servants, which Dottie insisted on attending. She wanted to know every detail of the arrangements. There were receptions, a state banquet and a ball in Harold's honor. There would be a performance at the State Opera House, and Harold would be asked to give a speech to parliament. So far so good.

But Harold also wanted to visit Korenhausen, a magnificent country mansion, where his grandmother had been born.

“He couldn't stand the old lady,” Sternheim snapped. “What's he playing at?”

“I suppose he wants to stand there looking 'deeply affected' for the sake of the photographers,” Durmand said. “And to remind everyone that he has Ellurian royal blood.”

“So have I, and I come from an older line, which is why I'm here and he isn't,” said Dottie, who'd been studying hard. “Let him do what he wants. Is there anything else?”

“Just one thing ma'am,” Durmand said. “It'll be hard to-”

“What is it?” Dottie asked. Not only had Durmand stopped but his eyes, and those of every other man in the room, were riveted on the door. Turning, she saw Randolph standing there with a brow like thunder.

“Out, all of you,” he said curtly.

His manner was so grim and purposeful that every man around the table forgot that Randolph was officially a nobody, and rose to leave the room. Dottie rose too, to confront him indignantly. But instead of being impressed by his sovereign's wrath he took firm hold of her arm.

“I didn't tell you to leave,” he said.

“What?”

“I said stay here.”

The door closed behind the last man.

“And just what do you think you're doing?” she demanded.

“I came to commit high treason,” he said, pulling her into his arms and silencing her mouth with his own.

The sudden granting of what she'd yearned for was a stunning shock, obliterating everything except sensation. It was glorious to have his lips against her own again, thrilling to feel the implicit promise in his movements, and despite her indignation she felt herself yielding to temptation.

But then, having let her glimpse wonders, he slammed the door again, drawing back a few inches, but keeping hold of her shoulders.

“Don't you ever keep me out again,” he growled.

Her temper flared. “And don't you tell me what to do. I'm the queen.”

“Not until your coronation, and not if I wring your neck first.”

“As if!” she scoffed.

He was holding her just far enough away so that she could see his intense, blazing eyes. This wasn't the Randolph she knew, the urbane, worldly wise aristocrat, or the friend and mentor whose exasperation with her was usually tinged with wry amusement. This was a man driven beyond endurance, no longer in command of himself. Something stirred in her-not quite alarm, but certainly a feeling of danger. She realized suddenly how helpless she was, alone with him, now that he was too angry to be careful. She hadn't known that danger could be so thrilling.

“I have spent the last two days twiddling my thumbs, waiting for Your Royal Highness to deign to remember my existence.” Randolph said the words with savage emphasis. “Do you really think you can treat me like that and get away with it? Because if so, you're living in cloud-cuckoo-land.”

“Is this the man who told me to remember my royal dignity?”

“Not with me-”

“Yes, even with you.”

“Careful Dottie. You're letting power go to your head.”

“That's what it's for!” she yelled.

“You have so much to learn. Don't ever insult me like that again, because I promise you I won't be a gentleman about it.”

“Is this you being a gentleman?”

“This is me letting you know what I will and will not put up with, and what I will not put up with is being ignored by you while the entire court sniggers at me. Do you understand?”

“I would have seen you any time the week before, but you weren't there,” she cried. “You were sulking at your estate.”

“I do not sulk.”

“Well, it sure looked like it to me.”

His eyes glinted. He'd spent the past few weeks learning deference to this maddening woman, but the lessons had come very hard to him. Suddenly it all fell away and he was once more Prince Randolph, reared to pride and arrogance from the day of his birth. “I don't let anyone talk to me like that,” he said softly.

“I just did.”

“And you won't do so again. Not if you know what's good for you.”

She grew lofty. “Have you forgotten who you're talking to?”

“I haven't forgotten, but I think you have-Dottie Hebden, who used to be charming but has gotten much too big for her boots.”

“No, I'm just wearing bigger boots. Why should you complain? You put them on me. I'm not 'little Dottie Hebden' anymore, Randolph. She vanished. If you don't like the new me, tough. You created me. I'm Crown Princess Dorothea, soon to be Queen Dorothea III, and you could get a life sentence for assaulting my royal person!”

“Then I may as well be hung for a sheep as a lamb,” he muttered, tightening his grip.

“How dare you-”

“Shut up.” He covered her mouth again.

This time there was no doubt that her royal person was being assaulted. He was doing what he wanted, and to hell with her objections! She should have been full of righteous indignation at this disrespect, but she wasn't. She didn't want respect. She wanted excitement. She wanted to be made aware of her own body as never before. She wanted what he was doing now, forcing her to recognize him as a man responding to her as a woman.

It was the first unambiguous proof she'd had that he desired her as much as she desired him, and she rejoiced in it. He wasn't faking the fierce movements of his lips, and the knowledge went through and through her with thrills of pleasure that seemed to be everywhere at once.

He wore no jacket, and through the thin material of his shirt she could feel his heated body, hard as a rock. There was no way she could have struggled against the strength in his arms, even if she'd wanted to. There was more than desire in this. He was showing her where the power really lay, so that she wouldn't kid herself about it. But there were other ways to demonstrate power. He'd chosen this one because he wanted her as much as she did him, on a basic level that had nothing to do with their fights. And he, too, was kidding himself if he thought he could kiss her like this and forget about it. There was no going back now.

Randolph couldn't have defined what had overtaken him, except that it had been a long time coming. He'd taken other orders from her and learned to grin and bear it. But no more!

“You can keep anyone else out,” he growled. “But not me.”

“You won't get in here another time,” she murmured, deliberately provoking him.

“I'll get in no matter how many doors I have to break down. Why don't you call your guards and have me arrested?”

“For what?” she whispered.

“For this,” he said tightening his arms again and kissing her lightly, swiftly, caressing her face with his lips while he murmured to her, “You're a fool, Dottie-but I'm a fool, too…”

His tongue was flickering against her lips, until she let them fall open. She was winning. At any moment-

And then she felt him stiffen, heard the swift muttered curse as he drew away from her, and her hopes came crashing down.

The door had opened, and all the men who had so spinelessly abandoned her to this predator were creep ing sheepishly back, having belatedly remembered which one of them was the monarch. Now they looked distinctly nervous at the prospect of challenging Randolph.

“It's all right,” he said. “I'd finished.” He released Dottie abruptly. His face was pale and his chest was still rising and falling, but he'd regained control of himself. As he made his way to the door, there was a touch of nonchalance in his manner.

“You can get on with your meeting now,” he said.

And he walked out.

Korburg was a small state just over the border, and unlike Elluria it was not a kingdom, only a principality. As such, it was a “poor relation” and not strictly entitled to the full panoply of honors for a state visit. But Dottie insisted on them. She had a point to make.

On the day of Harold's arrival she was waiting on the carpeted platform as his train glided in, to the accompaniment of the Korburg national anthem. The double doors of the special train slid open, and a man stepped out who was everything his picture had suggested, and more.

Dottie advanced the length of the red carpet to greet him. Flashbulbs went off as the press recorded their meeting. He took her hand in both of his and gave her a big, charming smile. For a brief moment she was overwhelmed by this dazzling, attractive man.

But the moment passed. Dottie hadn't been a waitress and a barmaid without learning how to read men's smiles. The mouth stretched but the eyes calculated. Will she, won't she? Fair game, anyway. Despite his splendid looks there was something dis agreeable about him.

I'd enjoy slapping your face, my lad, she thought.

But for the moment she had to defer that pleasure, and greet him with the appearance of friendliness. Then they must sit side by side in the open carriage, drawn by four white horses, and parade through the streets of Wolfenberg while crowds waved and cheered.

“Already you have won your people's hearts,” Harold said. “I congratulate you on your success.”

She responded appropriately, but she wasn't fooled. He was here to look her over and if he could find any sign of weakness he would pounce. But Dottie was equally determined that he would find nothing.

He was there for three packed days. That night there was a state banquet at which they sat side by side through six courses and ten speeches. They toasted each other. He smiled. She smiled. Randolph did not smile.

Harold paid a sentimental visit to Korenhausen, where he made a short, touching speech. He addressed parliament, with Dottie sitting in the gallery to lead the applause. They didn't ride together because, despite her command, Randolph had mysteriously forgotten to include it in the itinerary. But Harold was her host at a banquet at the Korburg embassy. She was his hostess for a performance of The Marriage of Figaro by the Ellurian State Opera. Dottie had gone glassy-eyed at this prospect, having never seen an opera before, but knowing it was bound to be boring. But halfway through the overture she found herself tapping her foot in time to the music, and after that everything was fine.