King and Kingdom by Danielle Bourdon

the other man said.
    Even though Chey could only see a sliver of his profile, she would have known Sander anywhere. The shape of him, the way the top half of his sandy blonde hair had been pulled back into the familiar tail. His easy going rapport with the couple suggested he was just another man, coming or going from work.
    No Prince here, no Heir to the throne. He was the same as you and you and you.
    Although Chey had heard him talk about walking among the people, seeing it was another thing entirely. Even Mattias did not command the jocular charisma that Sander seemed to bleed from every pore. That couple knew exactly who he was, and he knew they knew, but he displayed no fear in their presence, no wariness that someone might pull a gun and end him. These were not his enemies.
    “Isn't he hot? Man, he can light my fire anytim--”
    “That's him,” Chey said, cutting Wynn off.
    “Him who? You mean that's Sander?” Shock laced Wynn's question. She snapped a look at Chey, mug hitting the table with a thud and a light splash of coffee.
    “Yes. I told you. He's just...” Chey had no good words. When Sander clapped the man on the back and stepped past the couple, it galvanized Chey into motion.
    It was now or never. If she missed this opportunity, she might not get another.
    “C'mon, hurry. We have to catch him before he leaves.” Bustling into the cream colored coat she'd stripped off when they sat down, Chey jerked the lapels together and stood up.
    Wynn was right on her heels.
    “I can't believe we found him,” Wynn said, following Chey to the door.
    “Honestly? I can't either. My stomach is in knots,” Chey admitted. She pushed outside. Sander was striding along the walk in front of the shops, raising a hand here or there to greet this person or another.
    “He doesn't act like any Prince I've ever seen. I wouldn't have recognized him as the man in the newspaper shot of you two at that fancy shindig.” Wynn, with her shorter legs, had to walk faster to keep up with Chey.
    “I know. I never guessed who he was either, when I first met him.” Chey stared at the center of Sander's back. What was she going to say? Should she tap him on the back? Call his name?
    He solved the problem of how to approach when he suddenly stopped walking and slanted his chin toward his shoulder, then finished the glance and looked behind him. His jaw was lined with a thin, golden layer of stubble, eyes as vivid blue as they'd ever been.
    Chey's heart flipped over. She stopped walking, too, arrested by the direct slice of his stare. Wynn pulled up short at her side.
    For a long second, Chey and Sander merely stared at each other. There was still enough distance between them to make a casual greeting awkward. Wynn nudged Chey's elbow with her own.
    It motivated Chey to close the gap with small, hesitant steps. Her breath plumed white past her lips, indicative of the falling temperature.
    “Sander,” she finally said, when the words untangled themselves from her throat. “I've come all this way to talk to you. I hope you'll give me a few minutes to explain.”
    His eyes never left her face. Chey thought he would turn back and continue on, leaving her standing in her own dust. She couldn't tell if he was happy to see her, or relieved—or annoyed. He hid his emotions well.
    Much to her amazement, he faced her with his whole body. There was still something wary in the set of his shoulders and the way he regarded her as she walked up within a few feet of his position.
    “I wasn't aware there was anything left to explain,” he said, accent deep and clipped, voice cool and indifferent.
    Wynn hustled up just then and stuck her gloved hand out. “Hi, I'm Chey's best friend, Wynn. I came with her all the way from Seattle. You must be Sander.”
    Chey could have killed Wynn. But Sander didn't disappoint. He turned his incisive gaze on her, clasped her outstretched hand in one of his own, and shook firmly.
    “Wynn, my pleasure to meet you.