Portia’s brain was muddled. Maybe she had OD’d on sex endorphins during the night.

“My friends want to chat with you,” she said, surprising herself.

Tav scoffed as he pulled on his pants. “Your friends can get in line behind my mum and dad. You know I don’t like video, Freckles.”

Portia tried not to let her disappointment show. Why did she care? It would have been weird, and they didn’t need weirdness. They needed for him to leave and for both of them to act like the night before hadn’t happened.

“He doesn’t like video chatting, sorry guys. Your dreams of conversing with a semi-nude duke have been dashed.” Footsteps approached and then Tav’s jean-clad legs appeared onscreen beside her. She saw his hand heading for her shoulder before she felt the weight of it, before her brain remembered all the things that hand had done to her the night before.

“Hello friends of Portia,” he said much too loudly, as if he was trying to shout toward their plane wherever it was in the sky. “I have to go serve the youth of Bodotria right now, and I also don’t want to overwhelm you with my devilish good looks, but nice meeting you. Cute scarf, Princess. Sweet robe, Prince.”

He ruffled Portia’s hair—what the hell? A hair ruffle?—and turned and left.

“Oh, his voice is even dreamier all gravelly like that,” Ledi said. “And the way he rolled the r in princess . . .”

Ledi sighed.

“I have an accent, too,” Thabiso said petulantly.

“You have the sexiest accent,” Ledi said, leaning her head on his shoulder and looking up at him. She had once been super reserved, but was so open with her affection now. Portia assumed it was because of Thabiso, and then felt a flash of envy. She wouldn’t have that with Tav. She was helping him get a handle on his life, and then she’d be on her way. Mary Poppins, indeed.

“I’m still here, guys,” Portia said.

“Oh sorry,” Thabiso said, his mood much improved. “I was going to tell the Duke of Assman that my friend Johan is going to be in Edinburgh and he owes me a favor. He can stop by to give him some advice.”

“Prince Johan? The Liechtienbourg guy?” Portia asked. “I mean, speaking of asses, his was on the cover of every tabloid after he got caught playing strip poker. Is he the best person to be giving Tav advice?”

“He’s not technically a prince, though that situation is rather awkward. Best not to bring it up when you meet him,” Thabiso said. “But yes, that Prince Johan. He’s a good guy, really. Really . . . insightful, I’d call him. Don’t believe everything you read in the papers.”

“So that wasn’t his butt?” Portia asked.

“Oh, it definitely was, and you should have seen the photos that didn’t get published,” Thabiso said. “His family paid a pretty penny to keep those under wraps.”

“I’ve seen them,” Ledi said primly. “Thabiso is already mad at me, so I won’t comment any further. But Johan’s actually a cool guy . . . beneath all the other stuff.”

“I could use some help actually. This is above my pay grade. Thanks for your help, guys.”

“We would have come ourselves but there’s a new energy plant opening—the one with the waterfalls that Thabiso had prioritized—and we need to be there. Optics.” Ledi said the last word as if it was a horrible disease.

“I know all about optics,” Portia said, fighting a sudden pang of homesickness as the end of the call neared. It tightened around her chest and tugged, pulling her toward the familiar. The reliable. “I miss you. The past few weeks have been . . . a lot.”

Taking the night off to enjoy herself—and all that had come with that—had given her the space to realize just how hard she had been working. Now she was thinking and feeling. She should have never let Tavish take her tablet away.

“Do you need me there?” Ledi asked. It was a ridiculous idea—they were en route to Thesolo—but Ledi was completely serious. She would come if needed, and that was enough for Portia.

“No, I’m okay. Gonna go shower.”

They said their goodbyes and Portia padded into the bathroom and stepped beneath the hot spray, ignoring the sore muscles that urged her into flashbacks of the night before. She took longer than usual in the shower, washing her hair, exfoliating her skin—trying to rid herself of that scent that she knew still lingered in her sheets. Trying to wash away the feel of Tavish’s hands and mouth on her body. She would be scrubbed free of everything that had happened between them the night before, his trusty platonic squire once again. That was all that she wanted to be, and that was all she would allow herself anyway.

She threw on her pink dry-tech workout pants, a T-shirt with the armory’s new logo emblazoned on it, and her matching pink hoodie, then grabbed a coffee from the kitchen before heading to the gymnasium. She’d snap some pics of the kids’ morning program for social media and then do Jamie’s Extreme Defending the Castle workout, which she needed more than ever.

When she got into the gym, Tav was working with Syed and some of the other children on a demonstration for the next exhibition. They had broomsticks with papier-maché horse heads fixed on one end between their legs and were practicing jousting. She watched Tavish laugh and clap Syed on the back and felt a pang of longing.