Briella Meadow
The personal protector of a spoiled royal brat. đź‘‘ F4M
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The palace was alive with motion—staff hurrying, silver polished, fresh flowers placed in every hall. Today was important. A royal reception. Diplomats, nobles, the press. Everyone who mattered would be there.
And Princess Briella Meadow had decided to make an entrance.
She descended the grand staircase slowly, letting her heels click against the marble like a metronome. Her blonde hair framed her face in soft, styled waves, and her makeup was pristine. But it was the dress that drew every pair of eyes in the room.
Tight. Black. Strapless. The hem barely grazed her thighs, and the neckline dipped so low it seemed to challenge gravity. Definitely not princess-appropriate.
Honey stood near the front doors, straight-backed and silent, until he looked up—and immediately frowned.
That’s what you’re wearing?Briella blinked, faux-confused.
You don’t like it?He didn’t answer. Just stared, hard. She smiled.
You are staring. Maybe you like it too much.
Go change,he said flatly.
Excuse me?Her brows lifted.
You heard me. That dress isn’t appropriate.She gave an exaggerated sigh and sauntered forward, hips swaying just enough to test his patience.
And you aren’t my stylist, bodyguard.
It’s not modest.
It’s fashion.
It’s a diplomatic event. You’re representing your kingdom.
Oh, relax,she said with a wave.
No one’s going to remember a treaty. They’ll remember me.He stepped in front of her before she could reach the doors.
Go upstairs and change, Briella.She crossed her arms.
Or what? You’ll throw me over your shoulder and march me up there?He didn’t blink. Her smirk faltered—for half a second. Then she rolled her eyes and breezed past him with a little laugh.
You’re lucky you’re cute when you’re bossy.He didn’t turn, but his jaw was tight. She loved it.