The Rebel Queen

by Jeana E. Mann

  The Rebel Queen

  Jeana E. Mann

  Ishkadiddle Publishing, LLC

  Contents

  1. Everly

  2. Henry

  3. Everly

  4. Henry

  5. Henry

  6. Everly

  7. Everly

  8. Everly

  9. Everly

  10. Everly

  11. Henry

  12. Everly

  13. Everly

  14. Everly

  15. Henry

  16. Everly

  17. Henry

  18. Everly

  19. Everly

  20. Everly

  21. Henry

  22. Everly

  23. Everly

  24. Henry

  25. Henry

  26. Everly

  27. Everly

  28. Henry

  29. Everly

  30. Henry

  31. Henry

  32. Everly

  33. Everly

  34. Everly

  35. Henry

  36. Henry

  Also by Jeana E. Mann

  Before You Go

  About the Author

  1

  Everly

  "I do." The wedding vow tumbles off my tongue, barely more than a whisper, sealing my role in a new and dangerous game, while my mind screams, I don't. A glance around the judge's chamber reveals a handful of strangers—various royal aides, assistants, and my bridegroom.

  I shift from one foot to the other, wanting to run, knowing I can't. The judge lifts an eyebrow. The lump in my throat threatens to choke me. No doubt, the honorable woman thinks I'm a gold-digging, traitorous slut, out to bag a wealthy husband. Nothing could be further from the truth. I'm trapped in a terrible situation and chose the best option available: marriage to a gorgeous royal rogue, one who happens to be filthy rich.

  "By the power vested in me by the state of Connecticut, I pronounce you husband and wife." The tension around the judge's mouth eases as she looks at Prince Heinrich Gustav Wilhelm Von Stratton. With my help, this fantastic specimen of virility will soon be the King of Androvia. Everything about him is sharp and hard from the cut of his expensive navy suit to the width of his broad shoulders. Short blond hair glitters beneath the courthouse lights. And his lips? Don't get me started. They're made for sin and stolen midnight kisses. The judge's tone softens, almost affectionately, as she completes the impromptu ceremony. "Prince Heinrich, you may kiss your bride."

  His grip tightens on my hands. I'd run, but there's nowhere to go. No one who'll have me. No one but him. God knows why he chose to marry me when he could have any woman he wants. He leans forward and drops his attention to my mouth. My breath catches. I expect a brief peck. What do I get? Warm, soft lips part mine and a gentle tongue slips between my teeth. I don't want to like it, but I do. I lean into him, slide my hands up his firm chest, and curl my fingers into his lapels to bring him closer. My breasts flatten against the luxurious linen jacket. He tastes like cherries, smells like springtime, and feels like a man should, firm and unyielding. His palms drop to my waist, hovering in the small of my back, claiming me. Heat builds between my legs. The thoughts whirling behind my closed eyelids melt into sparkling colors. This is more than a kiss. It's a declaration of ownership. He owns me—in more ways than one—and he knows it.

  "Ahem." From far away, someone clears their throat.

  I don't want to let go. With my eyes shut and his arms around me, I can pretend that we're an average couple, that my life isn't a bucket of shit, and this isn't a huge mistake. The prince ignores the interruption. He tightens his hold, deepens the kiss, and bends me backward. I hang onto his lapels to keep from losing my balance. A moan tickles my throat. Blood rushes into my breasts and thighs. My body knows him, wants him. I strain for more of his heat, eager to get nearer. He withdraws his mouth and steps back. My nipples sting. Their tight points jut through the filmy white silk of my borrowed wedding dress. A camera flashes. I blink away the spots. Henry keeps his hands on my waist until I've regained my balance then retreats altogether, leaving me alone and bewildered in front of the judge.

  "Are we done here?" A hint of Swedish inflection lurks beneath Henry's haughty British accent.

  "Yes. Congratulations." The judge's voice floats outside the realm of my befuddled mind. Congratulations for what? For marrying a man I've encountered only a handful of times? For bagging the future king of a country the size of New Jersey? If she knew the desperation behind my decision, she'd retract her words.

  "Let's go." Henry pivots on his heel and strides toward the exit.

  In a daze, I follow His Royal Highness down the aisle and out the courthouse doors. My high heels click on the sidewalk. Everything seems too bright and surreal. I lift a hand to shield my eyes from the brilliant sun. Once the spots clear from my eyes, the dancing colors of daffodils spill over the edges of giant terracotta pots near the street. Spring, my favorite season, has arrived in full force. I love the sight of budding trees and blooming flowers, and the hopefulness they bring for a lovely summer. But not now. Not today. Today, I feel like a part of me has died, a piece I'll never get back.

  "Everly?" Christian, my only guest for the ceremony, grabs my hand.

  "I'll have the dress sent back to you." The colors of the day whirl around me. It reminds me of riding a merry-go-round, spinning out of control, moving too fast for my equilibrium.

  "Fuck the dress." He spits out the declaration in a deep and uncharacteristic growl. "You're pale as a ghost. Are you sure about this? It's not too late. Say the word, and we'll leave. Right now. No questions asked."

  With only a few hours of notice, Christian had found a wedding dress and had flown with us from Manhattan to Connecticut on Henry's helicopter. That's the kind of friend he is. Warm, caring, practical. Concern eddies in his eyes. His hands sandwich mine, squeezing until I exhale the breath I'd been holding.

  "I'm okay." The words are as much for my sake as his. "Thank you for coming. You're the best." Tears sting behind my eyelids. Do not cry. I blink, gathering the last remaining shreds of internal fortitude.

  "You know I'm here for you, right? If you need anything—anything at all, call me. I'll be on the next plane to Androvia." His mouth straightens into a fierce line. We both know it's a lie. Not because he's dishonest, but because I'll be on the other side of the world in a war-torn country with a fearsome husband while Christian's in Manhattan.

  I cling to his hand, the last remnant of my old life, feeling like a child about to leave for the first day of school, uncertain and tremulous. We've been friends forever. He's organized my wardrobe, given me advice, and celebrated life's ups and downs with me. I'll miss him.

  "Everly, let's go." Henry's hand lands on my back, herding me toward the waiting car. "Say goodbye to your friend."

  "I love you so much. Thank you for everything." I give Christian's hand one final squeeze.

  "I love you, too. Stay strong. Be fierce. Remember who you are." Our fingers slip apart as the distance between us widens. He blows a kiss, forcing a smile I'm sure he doesn't mean. "And if that hunky prince doesn't treat you right, he'll have to answer to me," he shouts down the sidewalk, oblivious to the disapproving frown of Henry's bodyguard. "I'll go Brooklyn on his ass. I mean it."

  Through a watery haze, I smile back at him. Emptiness spreads through my chest, eroding the tattered shreds of my heart, leaving an empty cavern in its place. This is it. It's done and over and I'm lost.

  "Is the jet ready?" Henry speaks over his shoulder to Shasta, his assistant. Black sunglasses shield his eyes. Power and confidence ooze from every inch of his body. A passing woman gives him a double take through the screen of his bodyguards, but he doesn't notice.

 
Too late, lady. He's mine. Despite my misgivings, I can't help a burst of pride. The most eligible bachelor in the world just left the market for me. Me. Everly McElroy. Feeling better, I wave at Christian before he disappears into a separate car. In a few minutes, he'll be on his way back to New York City, my hometown, to resume a life I no longer belong to.

  "Yes." Shasta is breathless from keeping pace at Henry's side. "Ready and waiting, Your Royal Highness."

  "Great. We've wasted enough bloody time today." Without a backward glance, he disappears through the open limousine door. I follow him into the cool darkness and settle onto the seat across from him, confused by the abrupt shift in his mood. Yesterday, he'd been kind and concerned, a rock amid chaos. Today, I don't recognize him. It's like someone flipped a switch and left me with a cold, heartless man. Is this what I have to look forward to?

  Once the car is in motion, he removes his sunglasses and focuses his blue-green eyes on me. Shasta and his other minions follow in separate vehicles, leaving us alone. Slickness gathers between my legs at the fire in his irises. The sexual tension between us, a combination of lust and animal attraction, never recedes. I don't know much about him. I'm not even sure I like him, but I can't stop thinking about how he's going to feel inside me on our wedding night.

  "Come here." With two fingers, he motions for me to join him on his side of the car. My heart pounds furiously against my ribs. He pats the supple leather upholstery beside his thigh. "Don't get shy on me now, Everly."

  "I'm not." No one has ever accused me of being shy. By nature, I'm outgoing, outspoken, and assertive. However, I'm not myself right now. Maybe it's because my father, the former Vice President of the United States, has ordered a hit on my life. Or perhaps it's because Prince Heinrich's tall frame overpowers the spacious interior of the limo. His knees are spread wide, claiming dominance over the backseat. He rests his hands, palms down, on the tops of his thighs and waits for me to obey his command. I slide to his side of the car, leaving a foot of space between us.

  "Closer." His baritone carries just enough grit to suggest he's not a man to be trifled with. I edge closer until my knee brushes his trousers. A shiver of need shimmies up my leg. Chemistry isn't going to be a problem for us.

  "Are you afraid of me, Everly?"

  "No." Despite my denial, my voice shakes.

  "Good." He captures my chin between his thumb and forefinger, tilting my head up, forcing me to look at him. The pad of his thumb brushes over my lower lip. I press my thighs together, squelching the sharp tug of desire. One corner of his mouth curls upward. "We're in this together."

  "I know." His reassurance helps loosen the tight knot of anxiety in my gut. If it weren't for this man, I'd be running for my life, always looking over my shoulder, waiting for a bullet or blade or worse. He's saved me from certain death, but have I traded one hell for another?

  "This isn't the time to lose your nerve." When his hand drops back to his lap, part of me is disappointed. He drums his fingers in a restless tattoo. "The hard part is over."

  "You don't have anything to worry about. I'm ready." Which is a total and complete lie. I'm on my way to a foreign country, with a husband I've known less than a collective week, to begin a new life as royalty. I've never been less prepared for anything.

  "Look at me." He reclaims my chin, directing my face upward. I blink away. His eyes are too bright, blinding in their intensity. "I'm committed to you and this marriage. We will make it work."

  Hollow promises mean nothing. Past experience has taught me to expect lies and betrayal, the same as every other man in my life. This marriage is nothing more than a business deal. I muster a smile. "I hope we can be friends."

  "Oh, we're going to be much more than that." His consideration drops to my mouth and holds there. The ache between my legs grows into a flutter. The setting sun highlights the details of his face—the small scar above his left eyebrow, another one on his upper lip, and the evening stubble sprouting on his jaw.

  At the airport, he threads his fingers between mine and leads me across the tarmac to the silver and purple private jet. The staff greets us with cheerful congratulations. Inside the plane, sumptuous white leather sofas stretch along walls lit by soft gold lamps. All the way at the back, a set of double doors opens into the bedroom and a stunning king-sized bed. We buckle into plush bucket seats facing each other. The engines whine as we taxi down the runway.

  His smirk follows my attention to the bedroom. A smirk twitches his lips as he reads my thoughts. "We'll get to that later."

  "Okay." Heat collects in my face. I brush my hair forward to hide my embarrassment.

  "Nervous?" Amusement lightens his customary scowl.

  "A little." The words stick in my dry throat. I press my sweaty palms together, trying to hide their trembling. Is he going to take me straight to bed, or will he seduce me first? Either way, I'm ready to get started.

  "Don't be worried." The nose of the jet tilts upward as the wheels leave the ground. He tugs on the knot of his tie and unbuttons his collar, revealing a triangle of tanned skin and curly hair. "As I promised, you never have to do anything you don't want to."

  But I want to. That's the problem. I want to feel the unbearable friction of his hard cock, bringing me to orgasm and forcing me to feel anything but the misery of the past few days. And if history is any indicator, he'll pound every single thought from my head.

  Henry watches me through hooded eyes. I’m captivated by the mysteries lying behind the veil of his thick, dark eyelashes. Once the plane levels off and the captain lifts the seatbelt restriction, my pulse races. This is it. I'm going to fuck this gorgeous prince, my husband, and I'm going to like it. A lot.

  Henry stands and extends his hand. "Ready?"

  My knees quake as he shuts the doors of the bedroom, separating us from the staff. We've hardly been alone at all since he proposed yesterday. His Manhattan hotel suite had been filled with assistants, advisors, and handlers. The reality of what I've done hits home with equal parts of terror and excitement. Heinrich Von Stratton, Crown Prince of Androvia, is about to take me into his bed and ravish me.

  He wastes no time stripping out of his shirt. The expanse of his chest is thick with muscle and covered with a sprinkling of hair. A dark trail dips down to his belly then below the waistband of his slacks. His nimble fingers unclasp his belt, slide the leather through the belt loops, then open his fly. I swallow at the massive bulge behind the silk of his boxer briefs. He's already turned on. By the time my eyes return to his face, he's wearing a cocky grin. His pants fall to the floor. He steps out of them and kicks them aside. "Your turn."

  Blood rushes through my ears, drowning out the chaotic thudding of my heart. I lift my hair and spin around, exposing the back of my dress to him. "Will you unzip me?"

  "With pleasure." The zipper growls and parts. Cool air rushes over my exposed skin. He leans forward, pressing his lips to the curve of my shoulder, sending tingles along my spine. His breath is hot against my back. "I've been waiting for this moment all day, and I'm going to enjoy every minute of it."

  I turn around to face him. He's so close, I can see the gold flecks in his blue eyes. The silk dress whispers over my shoulders and puddles at my feet. I lower the straps of the white satin bra, unhook the clasp and toss it onto the floor next to his pants. He steps back. The seconds drag by. He takes his time, inspecting every inch of my body, lingering on my stiff nipples, the small appendix scar above my hipbone, and stopping at the tiny triangle of white lace covering my sex. I resist the urge to cover myself and let him look. After all, this isn't our first time. We've had casual sex twice before. If you can call a mid-day hookup and some light bondage at a voyeuristic club casual. This time, however, this time is different. More meaningful. More intense. When his attention returns to my face, his eyes are almost black.

  "Take your panties off."

  Oh, dear lord. I'm ready to combust from the bite of his command. I hook my thumbs into the elastic
strings on my hips and lower them, taking my time, teasing him. He studies my bare pussy for a minute then runs his tongue over his bottom lip. I like being in control of his desire, having the upper hand after being a pawn in everyone else's game. The power is dizzying.

  He steps forward, bridging the gap between us. The scent of his cologne is spicy and sharp. "No more waxing this." The heat of his palm cups the space between my legs. "Is your hair red here, too?"

  "Yes." My throat aches at the gentle glide of his fingers over my inner thighs. The back of his knuckles brush my sex. I draw in a breath, waiting for the rush of blood to subside in my ears.

  "So beautiful." His hands skate along my hips and press against the small of my back. He pulls me against him, flattening my breasts against his hard chest, and drops his lips to my ear. His voice buzzes against my earlobe. "Relax."

  The circle of his arms releases the wariness in my muscles. I nuzzle my nose into the crook of his neck, inhaling the masculine fragrance of his skin. In his embrace, I feel protected and safe. And I need it badly—even if it's an illusion. My eyelids drift closed. The length of his cock presses against my belly. He's heat and hardness and strength, a refuge in the shitstorm of my life.

  "Don't let go." In a tempest of uncertainty, his large body anchors mine. I need to forget the mistakes I've made, the trusts I've broken. Just for one night.

  In direct opposition to my request, he backs up a few paces. My body sways, drawn toward him by an invisible magnetic force. He lifts a hand to prevent me from following him. "Do you have any idea what I'm going to do to you tonight?"