“Madame Chantelle asked me to pull all unapproved items from your wardrobe. I put them over here to donate.” She gestures toward a box on the floor.
Bubbles of irritation begin to pop beneath my skin. “Excuse me? Who does she think she is? These are my things.” I drag the box into the center of the room. Silk and linen fly through the air, landing in colorful heaps on the floor as I search for the dress. The trespass into my personal belongings leaves me feeling raw and violated.
The color drains from Olga’s face. “I’m so sorry, Your Highness. I was only following orders.”
“It’s okay. I shouldn’t have yelled at you.” To demonstrate my contrition, I squeeze her hand. “From now on, you only take orders from me. Understand?”
“Yes, madam. Of course.” She dips in a hasty curtsy but avoids looking at me. I hate when my quick temper flares, especially when it’s directed at an innocent bystander.
“And please stop with the curtsies. When we’re alone, you don’t have to do that.”
“Yes. Okay.” Her customary pleasant expression returns. “What shall I do?”
“For starters, you can have someone unbox all these clothes. I want final approval on anything entering this closet. And you can tell Madame Chantelle—no, I’ll tell her myself.” After a frenzied search of the box, I find the dress I’m looking for and hand it to Olga. “Here. Have it steamed. And find my black pumps. The ones with the patent leather toe caps and low heels? Thank you so much.”
Olga scurries off to complete her tasks. I take breakfast on the terrace outside our apartment. By the time she returns, I’m sitting in front of my vanity applying the final touches of makeup. When it’s time to leave, I find Henry and the others waiting in the entry hall. He wears his military uniform. The gold medals on his chest wink in the sunlight streaming through the tall windows. My breath catches when he turns to watch me descend the staircase.
The weight of his scrutiny lingers on my legs before finding my face. Amusement glitters in his eyes, along with something new, something akin to approval. My pulse skitters.
Princess Marie steps away from the credenza to rain displeasure down upon me. “This won’t do at all. It’s too short—I can see your knees.” Using gloved fingers, she adjusts the veil hanging from the enormous black hat on her head. “Who approved your dress?”
“I did.” I smooth my hands down the button-front of the dress. The ebony material hugs my curves, making my waist seem tiny. The modest V-neckline reveals just enough skin to be fashionable without showing cleavage. At the challenge in my voice, Marie scowls.
“You look sensational.” Henry takes my hand in his, brushing a thumb over the back, sending goosebumps up my arm. His lips press to my fingertips. “The king heartily approves.”
“Thank you, Your Majesty.” The warmth of a blush spreads beneath my skin.
“I demand that you go upstairs and change immediately.” Princess Marie’s blue eyes chill. “And if we’re late, you can blame yourself.”
“She’ll do nothing of the kind.” Henry offers his elbow to me. I wrap my fingers around his strong arm. We head toward the door.
“It’s going to rain and spoil the ceremony,” his mother says from the top of the steps.
“Well, Mother, if it does, we’ll take shelter under your hat. There should be room for all of us under there,” Henry replies without a hint of amusement.
Outside, a parade of limousines waits for us. He guides me to the first car and offers his hand to help me inside. Once I’m settled in the back, I drink in the surroundings. The weather is warm. The sky is the color of Henry’s eyes. The trees, the fountain spray, and the riotous flowers seem brighter than I remembered. Even the air smells fresh.
“Are you okay?” Henry asks, cocking his head to one side.
“This is the first time I’ve been outside the palace.” Wistfulness seeps into my tone. I’ve missed the feel of the breeze on my face and the warmth of the sunshine. It takes all of my self-control to resist pressing my nose against the glass. When I settle back into the seat, Henry’s scowl greets me. A bit of the joy at seeing the landscape dissipates under his glare. “What? Are you mad at me now, too? Am I breaking some rule that no one told me about?”
“No.” His curt reply thickens the air with tension. I want to be sensitive to his situation, but I’m tired of being criticized at every turn.
“Then why are you giving me the evil eye?”
“Not now, Everly.” He shifts to the window. The change in position offers a prime view of his chiseled profile, his features sharpened by his irritation.
“Whatever you wish, Your Majesty,” I snap back at him. The rapid shifting of his mood dampens my enthusiasm. I cross my arms over my chest and sigh.
We’re silent as the entourage negotiates the long driveway and begins the procession to the service. After we pass through the edges of the palace property, the adjoining city unfolds before us. People stop in the streets to let us pass, their faces somber. The men remove their hats. The women cross themselves. It reminds me this is a nation in mourning, putting my trivial problems into perspective. Some of them hold signs written in English. Welcome Princess Everly. The greetings touch my heart in an unexpected way. I’ve been so caught up in my own problems that I’ve forgotten my place. And I’m touched beyond words.
“Curious,” Henry murmurs.
“Stop the car,” I say to the driver and unbuckle my seatbelt.
* * *
HENRY
Before I can stop her, Everly opens the limousine door. The vehicles behind us screech to a halt. She makes a beeline toward the barricades holding back the crowd. I can hear my mother’s eyes rolling into the back of her head from the limo behind us. Our security team leaps from their automobiles and barrels toward my wife. I lift a hand in the air, signaling them to wait because I want to see what she’s doing.
A young girl of four or five clutches a bouquet of flowers to her chest. Everly crouches down so she’s at eye-level with the child. “Are these for me?”
“Yes, ma’am.” The high-pitched voice trembles as chubby fingers offer the daisies to Everly.
“What do you say?” Her mother prods her from behind. “Say it like we practiced.”
“I’m sorry for your loss, Your Highness.” The high-pitched, childish voice tugs at a forgotten place in my heart. One where smiles and laughter exist.
“Thank you so much. That’s so sweet of you.” Everly brushes a gloved hand over the tears misting the child’s cheek.
“My daddy died in the war. Do you think he’s in heaven?” She’s speaking about the border wars incited by Everly’s father. I’ve known about the casualties, but until now, they’ve been faceless names on a sheet of paper.
I join Everly, crouching to face the little girl. “What was your father’s name?”
“Mikhail Magnuson,” the little girl says. “Did you know him?”
“No, I didn’t. I wish I had. I’m sure he was a fine man and a brave soldier.” I make a mental note to investigate his death further. The soldiers and their families had given so much and been rewarded so little.
“It’s been a pleasure meeting you.” Everly gives the small girl a hug, then squeezes the hands of her mother. “Thank you so much.”
One of the bodyguards presses forward. “Your Majesty, we need to continue.”
“Let’s go.” I wrap my fingers around her elbow, nudging her back toward the car. “Before my mother has a coronary and we need a second funeral.”
Inside the car, I observe Everly with admiration. No royal family member has ever breached the invisible glass wall separating them from the commoners. She watches the scenery flash past the window, her expression soft and contemplative. A novel sensation of warmth spreads through my body. I open my mouth to speak, but she lifts a hand to stop me. “If you’re going to yell at me, don’t.”
“On the contrary, I was going to say that might have been the sweetest thing I’ve ever se
en.”
The beginning of a smile twitches the corners of her lips—lips I’m beginning to covet. “I’ve never seen such a touching display of loyalty. Despite everything this country has been through, they love your family. You should be humbled, King Heinrich.”
Her words drive into my inflated ego with uncanny accuracy. I was born into wealth and aristocracy. And I’m truly blessed to be in this position. The hope and trust in the child’s eyes haunt me for the rest of the day. I vow to make her, my subjects, and my new wife proud.
13
Everly
The funeral drags on for hours. By the time we return to the palace, my feet ache and my body yearns for rest. Henry hasn’t spoken to me since we arrived at the church. I don’t know if he’s angry at me, sad about his father, or a combination of both. We part ways at our apartment door. I head into my bedroom to change clothes. He disappears into his study. The servants hover in the shadows. Their constant presence annoys more than comforts.
Once I’ve pulled on a pair of comfortable pajama pants and a soft cotton tank top, I sit on the edge of my bed to contemplate the day. Princess Marie gave an Oscar-worthy performance of the grieving widow. Lady Clayton did her best to comfort her. Henry remained stoic and unreadable. I tried my best to remain awake and appear interested. Despite the difficulties since my arrival, I’ve done my best to fit in. Maybe Henry is rethinking his choice of wife. Maybe I’m not right for the job.
The silence in the apartment scrapes over my nerves. After a few minutes, I walk barefoot to his study and knock on the door. When he doesn’t answer, I push the door open. The room is dark. Henry stands in front of the giant window. The setting sun silhouettes his broad shoulders, making him appear larger than life. His jacket and tie drape haphazardly over a chair. The sleeves of his dress shirt are rolled up to his elbows. I pause to drink in the sight of him.
“You know, I can count the number of times I had a private conversation with my father on one hand.” He speaks without turning around, his voice low and rough.
“I’m sure he was very proud of you.”
“He didn’t give two shits about anyone but himself.” The ancient floorboards creak as he turns to face me. Shadows sharpen the planes and angles of his face. “At least, he taught me what not to do as a father.”
“We’re a sorry pair, aren’t we?” The silky threads of the Aubusson rug tickle the soles of my feet with each step closer to him. “Your father ignored you. My father wants to kill me.” I stop in front of him and place a hand on his chest. Heat and his heartbeat meet my palm. “We’re going to be an interesting set of parents.”
“My children will never feel unwanted or unloved. I’ll spend every minute of every day making sure of it.”
My heart squeezes at the pain in his voice. I slide my arms around his neck and draw him close. His hands splay across my back. He draws me into an embrace so tight I can barely breathe. There’s moisture on his cheeks, and it hits me hard. Tears sting my eyes. Not for myself, but for him. For a poor little boy who grew up feeling unloved and unwanted. The tip of his nose nuzzles into my neck.
“You’ll be a great father.” My voice cracks with the intensity of my emotions. He tightens his grip on me, molding my body to his. I can feel every ripple and swell of his torso and the bulge between his legs. “And I give you my word—our children will be happy and well-adjusted and loved beyond measure.”
“Everly.” My name is a broken growl torn from his throat. His mouth presses against my temple and trails hot kisses down to my chin. I close my eyes to savor the brush of soft lips to sensitive skin.
“I’m here for you, Henry.”
“I don’t deserve you.” He kneels on the floor in front of me with his head buried in my stomach. I dig my fingers into his hair, afraid to let him go, afraid this new intimacy between us will slip away and be lost forever.
“That’s not true.” The five o’clock shadow on his jaw brushes against my palms as I tilt his face up to mine. It’s a novel sensation to have him on his knees, broken and needy. “You’re strong and generous and good. You’ll be remembered as one of the most remarkable rulers of Androvia, and your children’s children will tell stories of your greatness.” I cradle his face. Those gorgeous blue-green eyes bore into mine, crashing through the barrier around my heart.
“When I said you’re dangerous, I was right. I just had no idea how dangerous you truly were.” I sweep his hair away from his face. The grip of his fingers tightens on my hips to the point of pain, but I don’t move. I don’t make a sound because I like it. I like the way he looks as if he wants to devour me and worship me in one fell swoop.
Time stops. The ticking of the grandfather clock in the hallway echoes in the silence. Tension charges the air. I try to breathe but my lungs seem inadequate for the task. Henry nuzzles my belly. My tank top rides up. The soft glide of his fingers over my bare skin sends a bolt of sexual awareness into my core.
“Henry.” I whisper his name to distract him. The butterfly kisses continue past my navel, along the drawstring waistband of my pajama pants, eliciting gooseflesh. The heat of his breath tickles.
Vulnerability seeps through the cracks of his usual arrogant façade. He rests his chin on my stomach. The sight of this powerful man at my feet twists my heart. A bizarre combination of maternal responsibility and sexual desire tumbles around inside me. I run my fingers through his silky hair, petting and soothing him. At this moment, we’re so alike. How did I miss the similarities? We’re both fatherless, estranged from our remaining families, thrust into positions of authority that we never requested. And we both have a common goal. To serve and protect the citizens of Androvia.
A smile bows his lips, lips I want to kiss more than anything. As if reading my mind, he murmurs, “I want to trust you, Everly. I do. I just don’t know how.” He shakes his head. “Maybe
“We’ve only been married a week. Give it time.” I sink onto the velvet chaise behind me and draw him between my knees. He searches my eyes, brimming with sincerity, wrecking me. I wrap my arms around his shoulders and hold him close. “You’re putting too much pressure on us.”
“Maybe I’m not cut out for this.” The words are muffled against my neck. “I have no idea what I’m doing. I feel like I’m running a footrace that I’ll never win.” His doubts echo my own.
“You will win. We’ll come out on the other side of this mess with the wind at our backs and the sun in our faces. I won’t let you fail, Henry. That’s my promise to you.” My fingers trail over the planes of his high cheekbones and sharp jawline. He turns his face into my touch. The innocence in his gesture breaks down the last of my defenses. In the space of a few minutes, the outside world fades away, leaving us alone in the dying daylight.
There’s nowhere else I’d rather be. The realization knocks the wind out of my previous unrest. This man—this mercurial, arrogant, sexy man—is the partner of my dreams. If I can’t make a success of this marriage, I’ll never get over it. Our union is the most difficult challenge I’ve faced in my lifetime, and I cannot fail. I will not fail. Not again.
“The night I walked into the Devil’s Playground was the luckiest night of my life. You’re everything I never knew I needed in a wife.” While he speaks, his hands skim over my hips, gliding upward from my waist to my breasts. A lump of emotion catches in my throat. I swallow it down, fighting to maintain some semblance of control. He pushes up the hem of my tank top to capture a nipple in his mouth. The suction of his lips creates a tugging sensation in my core. He releases the pink point with a pop. “Your tits are lovely, Your Highness.”
“Thank you, Your Majesty.” I arch my back. My breasts jut toward him, begging for more attention. “Should we take this to the bedroom?” The idea of Henry in my bed increases the slickness between my legs.
“No.” His deft fingers pluck the drawstring of my pajama bottoms. Before I can protest, my pants are on the floor. He smooths his hands over my hips, my thighs, my calves.
Hot wet kisses cover every inch of bared flesh.
“The servants…they’ll see us.” I grip his shoulders as he tips me backward, pulling my knees into the air, opening me to him.
“The servants know better than to interrupt me in here.” The earthy growl vibrates against my leg. He kisses a trail from the inside of my knee up to my pussy. The smell of arousal fills the air. I tighten my hold on his shoulders as he slips a finger inside me. “Trust me, Everly.”
“It works both ways, Henry. You can’t—ahhhh.” Words escape me when a second finger joins the first. The sound of wetness and heavy breathing breaks the quiet.
The chaise creaks as he drags me farther onto the cushion and settles between my legs. His zipper growls, the buckle of his belt jingles, and his pants hit the floor. I spread my thighs wider in invitation. He nestles the tip of his cock into the notch of my sex then pushes in, so slowly that I’m undone by the friction.
This time is different. There’s no hurried slap of flesh against flesh. No frantic clawing. No punishing thrusts. His hips rise and fall in delicious, languorous circles. The length of his erection slips in and out of me, teasing and taunting and torturing in the best ways. But it’s his eyes that capture me. They’re blazing bright and laser focused on my own. He doesn’t look away while he continues the rhythmic, sensual roll of his pelvis.
I know he can see inside my soul, and I’m helpless to stop the breach of my defenses, because—God, help me—I want more. More of him. More of his worshiping hands. More of his enormous cock. More of his heart. And it scares the hell out of me.
* * *
HENRY
The Rebel Queen Page 11