Chapter One Thrones are a pain in the ass. Shifting uneasily in the hard wooden chair, I tried not to let my discomfort show, but I’d been parked here for almost three hours and now my butt had fallen asleep. It didn’t help that I’d been asked to adhere to a strict dress code, and the high-waisted charcoal pencil skirt I was wearing was digging into my ribs. I moved again, and my brand-new, red, four-inch Jimmy Choo peep-toe pumps made a grinding noise against the platform. Sig pivoted his head slightly and gave me a disapproving look. Next to him Juan Carlos grumbled something in Spanish. At this rate I was going to have to learn the language if I had any hope of keeping up with him on the insult front. Maybe my live-in boyfriend, Desmond Alvarez, could teach me a few choice phrases. I stopped squirming, but Sig kept staring at me. “I understand it’s been a difficult adjustment, love, but you must try a little harder to radiate the appropriate authority.” “I’d be a lot more radiant if I had a cushion to sit on,” I replied. And why did I have to wear a silk blouse and skin-tight skirt when our fearless leader was wearing a pair of black trousers and nothing else? Compared to Sig, Juan Carlos and