EASILY had to choose a bride-to-be of convenience, my initial choice wouldn’t normally be Peach Maloney.

My fiftieth choice would not be Peach. Best i’m all over this my set of occupational dangers? Yes. Royal discomfort in the crumpets? Yes. A bride-to-be of convenience? No.

But I’ve unexpectedly gone from royal bodyguard to monarch, having inherited a crown that was stolen from my children a long time before my birth. The kicker of this unexpected royal gift? In order to take the throne I have to look for a wife.

Have I mentioned Peach would not have been my hundredth choice? But I’ve no other available choices, and she needs a favor that my new position can accomplish quite nicely. So we’ve agreed to play the doting newlyweds out in public areas.

In personal, though, our rules are basic: No touching. No talking. And no sex.

I should have known much better than to marry a rule-breaker.

Contains mature themes.