Stealing the Promised Princess

by Millie Adams

  He stared at her, his dark eyes unreadable. “You did not ask me that. About my brother.”

  “Because I wasn’t going to marry him.”

  She let the implied truth in those words sit there between them. Expand. Let him bring his own meaning to them.

  “There will be less responsibility as my wife. I do not have the public face that he does.”

  “And if I should wish to?”

  “Whatever you wish,” he said. “It can be accommodated.”

  “What about charities?”

  “You know that we would actively seek to establish them. We must improve the view of our country with the rest of the world.”

  “My charity in particular,” she said.

  “Supported. However much you would like.”

  “The control of my money?”

  He shrugged. “Remains with you.”

  “And if I refuse...”

  “Everything you have will belong to my brother. And you will be bound to us either way.”

  “Then I suppose there is no choice.”

  There was. They both knew it. It was just a choice with a consequence she wasn’t willing to take on.

  And there was a still, small voice inside of her that asked if she still thought she was lost in the fairy tale.

  If she was still convinced that she was the maiden sent to tame a beast.

  Whatever the reason, she found herself nodding in agreement. Whatever the reason, she knew what her course would be.

  “All right. I’ll marry you. I will be a princess.”

  * * *

  The announcement happened the very next day. Media splashed it all over the world. And she was compelled to put up a post with a photograph of the view outside of her bedchamber and an assortment of vague gushing comments.

  “Will I be expected to give up all forms of social media?”

  “No,” Javier said. “Your visibility is appreciated. An asset.”

  “Indeed,” she mused, looking at the glorious meal spread out before her.

  “I will need a ring,” she said. “It will have to be spectacular. Don’t mistake me. It’s not because I have any great need of a massive diamond. Simply that you want me to make some kind of a spectacle. Getting engaged to a prince will require that I have a very strong jewelry game.”

  “I will bring the Crown Jewels out of the vault for your examination, My Princess.”

  “Are you teasing me or not?”

  “I am not.”

  The problem was, she couldn’t really tell. And the other problem was, in the days since the engagement announcement, there had been no further intimacy between them.

  The sense that she had known him had dissipated with their thwarted afterglow, and now she simply felt... Numb.

  “Well. I guess... I guess that would be acceptable.”

  It was more than acceptable to him, apparently, because as soon as they were finished with the meal, he ushered her into the library, which felt pointed, and told her that the jewels would appear.

  And appear they did. Members of his staff came in with box after box and laid them all out on the various pieces of furniture throughout the room. On the settee, the different end tables, a coffee table.

  She blushed furiously when her eyes fell on the place by the fire, where she had given herself to Javier and cemented her fate.

  “This is maybe a little bit much...”

  “You said you wanted spectacular. And so I have determined that I won’t disappoint you.” His dark eyes seemed to glow with black fire. She wondered how she had ever thought them cold. Now she felt the heat in them like a living flame inside her chest.

  He moved to one of the end tables and opened the first box. Inside was a ring, ornate, laden with jewels that glittered in the firelight. And she would never be able to see firelight without thinking of his skin. Without thinking of his strong body searching inside of her. It was impossible.

  She blushed, focusing on the jewel. Then, those large, capable hands moved to the next box. He opened it, revealing a ring filled with emeralds. The next, champagne diamonds. Citrine, rubies, every gem in every cut and color was revealed.

  “There are the rings,” he said.

  “I...”

  “Would you like me to choose for you?”

  At first, she bucked against the idea. But what did it matter? Their marriage wasn’t going to be a real one anyway. So what did it matter what she wore.

  The idea made her eyes feel dry, made her throat feel raw. Because something about this felt real to her. More real than the diamonds that were laid before her. More real than the stones around them. This entire palace was made of gems; why she should be surprised and awed at the splendor laid before her she didn’t know. But they were not real. Not in the way that the conviction and need that burned in her heart was.

  This man was.

  A man. Not a mountain. Not a beast. No matter how much he might want to believe that he was either of the latter.

  The ring didn’t matter, on that level. But it would matter what he chose for her. In the same way that it mattered the first night they had been together that she had known that he would be in the library. Known that he would be holding that book. Known that whatever he said, he was seeking a connection between the two of them. To deepen it. Because it was real. It was there.

  She had spent her life seeking connections. Using connections. She had spent her life trying to show her father that she was worthy. That she was just as good as her brother, Maximus. Just as charming and delightful as her sister, Minerva.

  But with Javier it was just there.

  Whether they wanted it to be or not. And she had to cling to the fact that something in that was real.

  “You can choose,” she said.

  “Very well.”

  It was the ruby that he picked up between his thumb and forefinger. He didn’t even have to pause to think. With his dark eyes glowing with a black flame, he took her hand in his and he slipped that ring onto her finger.

  “Mine,” he said.

  “Mine,” she returned, curling her fingers around his. “If I am yours, then you must be mine.”

  There was something stark and shocked on his face as she said those words. “I’m a modern woman,” she returned. “I believe in equality. If you expect that you will own my body, then I will own yours.”

  He inclined his head slowly. “As you wish.”

  “I like it,” she said, looking down at the gem.

  “Good. Because there is more.”

  He went to the coffee table, where wider, flatter jewelry boxes were set. He opened first one, then another. Necklaces. Spectacular and glittering with an intensity that mocked the fire.

  There was one made of rubies, one that matched the ring. He pulled it out, held it aloft. All of her words were stolen from her. Lost completely in the moment.

  And for her, it wasn’t about the value of the gems, but about the care of the selection. About the fact that he knew what he wanted to see her wear. That he had chosen them for her. The necklace settled heavily across her breastbone, and he clasped it gently behind her neck.

  The metal was cold against her skin and felt erotic somehow. She shivered. Of course, agreeing to be his wife meant more of this. This touching. This need.

  This need satisfied and sated when they needed it.

  He looked up at her, slid his thumb along her lower lip. And she shivered.

  “Last time I had you here you belonged to him.”

  She shook her head. “No. I never did.”

  The corner of his mouth curved upward, and she recognized it for what it was: triumph.

  “The tradition of what royal marriage means has been lost in my family,” he said, his voice rough. “Have you read any of the other books on these sh
elves?”

  She nodded. “A few.”

  “Did you happen to read about marriage customs?”

  “No.”

  “Then I will explain. Because service is to be given, first to the country. Those who are royal do not belong to themselves. They belong to Monte Blanco. The woman who marries into the family surrenders in the same way.”

  “What about a man who marries into the family?” she asked.

  “Women cannot sit on the throne here.”

  “That seems...unfair.”

  “I have seen how heavy the weight of the position is for my brother. I would call it a blessing.”

  “But it’s gender bias either way.”

  “You may lobby for a change when we are wed.”

  He didn’t even sound all that irritated with her.

  It made her want to smile.

  “A marriage into the royal family is a surrender of self,” he said. “Except...except between the husband and wife there is a bond considered sacred. Nearly supernatural.”

  He moved his hand behind her back, and on an indrawing of her breath he undid the zipper on her dress with one fluid motion. It fell down her body, pooling onto the floor. Leaving her in her shoes, her underwear, the necklace and that ring.

  Her nipples went tight in the cold air, her lack of a bra not a consideration before this moment, but now, with his hungry eyes on her...

  She shivered.

  “They have surrendered themselves to the greater good. To the nation. But in the walls of their bedchamber they surrender to each other. They belong only to each other. And it is ownership, querida. Not a partnership the way you think of it in your modern world.”

  “But they own each other,” she pressed.

  He nodded slowly, then he moved to the couch, and picked up another box. He opened it up and revealed two thick, heavy-looking bracelets. Gold and ruby, matching the rest of the jewels.

  He moved close to her body and she responded. Being bare as she was with him so near made it impossible for her to breathe. To think.

  He took the first bracelet out and clasped it tightly on her wrist. Then he took the second and put it around the other.

  She felt the weight of them, heavy in a way that went beyond the materials they were forged from.

  He moved again. “Surely there isn’t more,” she said breathlessly.

  “Surely there is,” he murmured.

  The next box contained cuffs that looked much like the ones on her wrists.

  “Do you know what these are?”

  “No,” she said, the word a whisper.

  “These are very ancient. They have been in my family for hundreds of years.”

  “Oh.”

  “Out of use for generations. They are deeply symbolic. And they are never worn in public.”

  “Where are they worn?”

  He looked at her with meaning.

  “Oh.”

  “They speak of this ownership that I feel. The ownership I told you about, in these royal marriages.”

  “Oh,” she said again, her throat dry, her heart fluttering in her chest like a trapped bird.

  “Permit me.”

  And she didn’t even consider refusing.

  He knelt before her. With great care, he removed her shoes and set them aside. Then he lifted his hands, hooked his fingers in the waistband of her underwear and drew them slowly down her legs. A pulse beat hard at the apex of her thighs, and she closed her eyes tight for a moment, trying to find her balance.

  She was embarrassed, to be naked with him kneeling down before her like this. And she didn’t want to look. But also... She couldn’t bear to not watch what he might do next.

  So she opened her eyes, looked at him, his dark head bent, his position one of seeming submission.

  But she knew better.

  He clasped the first cuff to her ankle. Then the second.

  Then, nestled in those jewelry boxes she spotted something she hadn’t seen before. Gold chains. Without taking his eyes from her, he clasped one end of the first chain to her ring on the left ankle cuff, then attached it to the one on the right.

  After that, he rose up, taking the other gold chain in his hand, sliding it between his fingers and looking at her with intent. Then he repeated the same motion he had completed on her ankles with her wrists.

  She blinked several times, trying to gather herself. She took a fortifying breath. “I don’t understand,” she whispered. “Surely these wouldn’t actually keep anyone captive. They’re far too fine.”

  “They’re not intended to keep anyone captive. Not really. This captivity is a choice,” he said, curling his forefinger around the chain that connected her hands. He tugged gently, and she responded to the pressure, taking two steps toward him. “It is a choice,” he said again.

  Understanding filled her.

  Because he was giving her a moment now. To make the choice. Or to run.

  It fully hit her now that it was a choice she had made. To stay here. To say yes to him.

  She stood, and she didn’t move.

  She tilted her face upward, the motion her clear and obvious consent. He wrapped his hand more tightly around the chain, bringing her yet closer, and he claimed her mouth with his.

  The gold was fine, delicate and such a soft metal. She could break free if she chose. But she didn’t. Instead, she let him hold her as a captive, kissing her deep and hard. His one hand remained around the chain, and his other came up to cup her face, guiding her as he took the kiss deep, his tongue sliding against hers, slick and wonderful.

  Hot.

  Possessive.

  He released his hold on her, taking a step back and beginning to unbutton his shirt, revealing hard-cut muscles that never failed to make her feel weak. To make her feel strong. Because wasn’t the woman who enticed such a man to pleasure, to a betrayal of all that he was, even more powerful than he in many ways?

  Maybe, maybe not. But she felt it.

  This, this thing between them, was something that was hers and hers alone.

  His.

  Theirs.

  Two people who belonged to a nation. But belonged to each other first.

  She understood it.

  He shrugged his shirt off his powerful shoulders and cast it onto the ground. Then, he wrapped his hand around the chain again and began to tug downward. “Kneel before royalty,” he said, his voice rough.

  And she did. Going down to her knees, the cuffs pressing against her ankles, the chain from her wrists pooling in her lap.

  She looked up at him and watched, her mouth going dry as he undid his belt, slid it through the loops on his pants. She was captivated as the leather slid over his palm before he unclasped his pants, lowered the zipper.

  And revealed himself, hot and hard and masculine. Hard for her.

  A choice.

  This was her choice. No matter the position of submission.

  Just as when he had knelt before her, fastening the cuffs, it had appeared that he was the one submitting, but he had been in power. It was the same for her.

  She reached up and circled her fingers around his length, stroked him up and down.

  It was amazing to her that she had never been overcome by desire for a man in her life before, but everything about him filled her with need. He was beautiful. Every masculine inch of him. She stretched up, still on her knees, and took him into her mouth. He growled, the beast coming forward, and she reveled in that.

  Because here was the power. Here was the mutual submission. That belonging that he had spoken of. She in chains, on her knees, but with the most vulnerable part of him to do with as she pleased. His pleasure at her command. His body at her mercy.

  She was lost in this. In the magic created between the two of them. Even more powerful tha
n it had been the first time.

  Because she had all these physical markers of who she belonged to. And everything about his surrender proved that he belonged to her.

  She kept on pleasuring him until he shook. Until his muscles, the very foundation of all that he was began to tremble. Until his hands went to her hair and tugged tightly, moving her away from his body.

  “That is not how we will finish,” he growled.

  He lifted her up from the ground, setting her on the edge of the settee. Then he kissed her, claiming her mouth with ferocity. He moved his hand to her thigh and lifted it to his shoulders, looping the chain so that it was around the back of his neck. Then he did the same with the other, so that he was between her legs, secured there.

  Holding her tightly, he lowered his head, placing his mouth between her legs and lapping at her with the flat of his tongue. Giving her everything she had given to him, and then some. He feasted on her until she was shivering. Until she was screaming with her desire for release. Begging.

  Until she no longer felt strong, but she didn’t need to. Because she felt safe. Because she felt like his, and that was every bit as good.

  When she found her release, she was undone by it. The walls inside of her crumbling, every resistance destroyed. Defeated. And then, the blunt head of his arousal was pressing against the entrance to her body, and she received him willingly.

  He thrust hard inside of her, her legs still draped over his shoulders, the angle making it impossibly deep. Taking her breath away.

  Their coming together was a storm. And she didn’t seek shelter from it. Instead, she flung her arms wide and let the rain pour down on her. Let it all overtake her. Consume her.

  She held on to his shoulders, dug her fingernails into his skin as her pleasure built inside of her again. Impossibly so.

  And when they broke, they broke together. But when they came back to earth, they were together as well.

  And she realized that he was circled by the chains as well. As bound to her as she was to him.

  And they lay there in the library, neither of them moving.

  Neither of them seeking escape.

  And whatever he had said about his brother mandating the marriage, whatever she had said about not being able to surrender to his country, she looked into his eyes then, and she saw it. Clearly for them both.