Private Royals

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He hated her.

He hated her high cheekbones. He hated her perfect smile. He hated the way her auburn hair cascaded over her shoulders like a Rocky Mountain waterfall. He hated her painted fingernails that had never known dirt. He hated her ill-deserved confidence, wealth and station. He hated her class and what it said about his country, but most of all, he hated her because she was throwing it all away.

It was enough hate to make him want to kill her.

But not yet. Maybe never, if the price was right. For now he would watch. He would weigh his decisions. He had to think, because the stuck-up bitch had given him one more reason to hate her.

She had changed her plans. Plans that he had studied. Plans that he’d assessed. Plans that he’d used as the blueprint for his own concept of operations.

No plan survived contact with the enemy, he knew that, and this pouting loudmouth was his enemy now. A lesser enemy than he had ever faced, but the stakes were higher. So much higher.

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