Reign: A Royal Military Romance

by Roxie Noir

  There’s no way I should be in here. There’s no way that the movements of the entire Svelorian military isn’t the highest level of classified information, and yet, here I am. Not even a citizen, just some girl who doesn’t even speak the language.

  My earpiece fuzzes to life, and I turn it down a little, making a face. I feel official as hell wearing it, but it’s weird, like there’s constantly someone standing just behind me who I can hear and not see.

  “Sung,” says a man’s voice I don’t recognize.

  “Yes,” I say.

  “We’ve got two teams, eastern quadrant, Velchek and Orsiny. Outside a sealed factory. Anything?”

  I pause for a long time, trying to find what he’s talking about. The aides are whispering to each other and not fucking helping at all.

  “Sung?” the man asks.

  “I’m here,” I say, and finally find what he’s talking about on the infrared map. “Looks like... one large heat signature inside. Maybe one smaller. Neither movi—no, one’s moving, a little. I don’t know what it is.”

  Shit, I’m bad at this, I think.

  “Thank you,” he says.

  I do that for an hour. The questions back up sometimes, and the aides get more helpful, but it becomes quickly apparent that they don’t know what they’re doing either.

  We all turn when the door opens, and a woman pokes her head in. I recognize her as one of the palace kitchen workers.

  “Yelena Pavlovna is here,” she says softly, her voice thickly accented.

  “Thank you,” I say.

  “She wants to know if she can help.”

  I look at the screens, all of them festooned with Cyrillic characters. As much effort as I’ve been putting into learning Russian lately, I’m still sounding out words like a three-year-old learning to read.

  “Yes,” I say. “Send her here, please.”

  Ten minutes later Yelena comes in. She’s wearing clean clothes, and she’s washed her face and pulled her hair back, but I don’t think she’s showered. Her eyes are bloodshot and red-rimmed, but she looks pissed.

  I’ve never seen her look anything but sweet, happy, or slightly confused before, and I force myself not to smile.

  “Are you okay?” I ask.

  She holds out her hands. Her wrists and forearms are bruised and purpled, and I suck a breath in through my teeth.

  “They tied me, but that’s all,” she says, her voice soft. “The volki didn’t have me long before they traded me like a bargaining chip.”

  She looks at me, and for the first time, there’s something fierce in her eyes.

  “One tires of being used to bargain with,” she says.

  Her voice has a bitter edge to it that I’ve never heard before. Both the aides are looking at us. I shoot them a glare and they turn around, acting like it was their own idea.

  I hand Yelena a headset.

  “We’re tracking the remnants of the volki through the gray quarter,” I say, and quickly explain what everything is. She slides her headset on over her head and tells me what everything says, and we quickly slide back into the rhythm that we developed together in the palace.

  It’s slow, methodical, almost tedious work as the military works its way through the gray district, following up on all the leads. They arrest people one by one, and though I keep thinking that soon they’ll find the headquarters, the big hideout, they never do.

  The volki are hiding in holes simply and by pairs. The end isn’t glamorous or exciting, it’s mundane, as angry-looking men and a few women are driven off in military police cars.

  Yelena and I sit in the room and tell people what’s around the next corner. We tell one unit where another unit is, where the helicopters are, whether backup is coming. She knows the language and the city and I’m good at taking in three maps at once and describing the composite to someone on the other end of the line.

  At some point, the aides leave. The room doesn’t have any windows, so I’m surprised when I look at the clock and it’s almost nine. Most of the motion on the maps has stopped. Not all the volki have been rounded up, and there are problems besides them, but it’s not a bad day’s work.

  We sit in silence and watch. I feel wrung out from the day, from the heart-stopping terror that started it to its long, slow descent into tedium. Not with a bang but with a whimper, that kind of thing.

  But Kostya’s okay, I think. Everything could have gone so much worse.

  All day, in the back of my mind, I’ve been replaying the morning. The meeting, the vodka, Kostya running. The explosion, horrifyingly silent on the screen, flames expanding and then blackening into a column of greasy smoke.

  A few blips on the monitors move, but nothing noteworthy.

  I think of Kostya saying I just wanted to tell you.

  I swallow hard and fight tears.

  He knew he might die, I think. The thought makes me nauseous, even though right now he’s at the hospital, visiting Pavel. It looks like Pavel’s going to pull through, so that’s good.

  “What’s that?” Yelena asks, pointing at the screen.

  There’s one blue dot, an official car, making its way along the seaside road and toward the palace.

  “Sung here,” I say into my headset. “Who’s driving toward the palace in a government vehicle?”

  There’s a second of silence, then Kostya’s voice.

  “Niko and I,” he says.

  My toes tingle. Yelena looks over at me. I try not to smile and fail miserably.

  “You mind if we come in?” he asks.

  “You’ve got some explaining to do,” I say.

  “How many more times do I get to use because I’m the King?” he asks.

  “Zero, and it was a bullshit reason in the first place,” I say, but I’m smiling.

  Yelena’s looking at me. I clear my throat.

  “Drive safe,” I say to Kostya, and my headset goes quiet.

  Yelena looks forward and bites her lip.

  Say something. Just say something.

  I take off my headset, then reach over and switch hers off. She looks at me.

  “I’m sorry about Kostya,” I say.

  I’m not exactly sure what I’m sorry for. All they did was attend official events together. They weren’t dating. Kostya never even asked her out himself, it was always his father.

  All I did was start sleeping with someone who had been in the company of another woman. I don’t think he and Yelena ever kissed.

  But I still feel like I’ve done something cruel, because I think Yelena might have had higher hopes for her and Kostya.

  She looks down.

  “Thank you,” she says. She taps her finger on the console. “In hindsight, I don’t think it was going to work even if you hadn’t come along.”

  No, I think.

  “It was my father’s idea to begin with, and Kostya can be very stubborn,” she says. “He was nice to me, and I confused that with liking me.”

  “I’ve made that mistake before,” I say. “God, have I made that mistake.”

  “It’s an easy mistake,” she says, and I just nod. She looks at the screen, where Kostya’s car is getting close.

  “I’ll stay here in case something happens,” she says. “Go say hello.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Go,” Yelena says.

  I don’t ask again.

  40

  Kostya

  I hit the button on the SUV’s console and the gate slides open, my headlights shining through to the dark shrubbery behind. Niko and I are silent. I think we’ve said everything we have to say to each other, and now we’re just out of words.

  The palace is up ahead, and in front of it, a roundabout with a fountain in the middle. There’s a person sitting on the edge of the fountain, and as we approach, she stands, squinting into the headlights, her arms folded across her chest.

  I smile like a moron. Niko glances at me and then almost smiles.

  “She’s good for you, yo
u know,” he says.

  “I know,” I say.

  I stop the car in front of Hazel. She shades her eyes against the headlights so I cut them and we both get out.

  “I’ll walk,” Niko calls.

  He nods at Hazel.

  “Good work today,” he says.

  “You too,” she says, nodding back.

  He disappears behind the fountain and then it’s just me and Hazel, standing in the driveway. She takes a deep breath.

  “Are you fucking crazy?” she whispers.

  “Maybe,” I say.

  Then she’s in my arms, squeezing me as hard as she can. I’m holding her against me, her head right under my chin. I kiss her hair. She squeezes harder.

  “What the hell,” she says.

  I smile into her hair and don’t answer. It’s not a real question, anyway.

  “And you wouldn’t even tell me,” she mutters.

  “You would have tried to stop me,” I say into her hair.

  “Well, yeah,” she says. “I was afraid someone would try to kill you. Which they fucking did.”

  “I’m harder to kill than that,” I say. I stroke her hair, and she snuggles into me harder. “Even Pavel is harder to kill than that.”

  I don’t say you’re safe and sound so it was worth it, because I know I’m not supposed to base huge decisions like this on one person who’s not even a citizen.

  But I finally feel like I did something right, maybe for the first time since my father was killed. The volki are mostly rounded up. I’m in talks with the other side, and they’re reasonable people.

  We’ll make progress. We’ll move forward.

  Best of all, Hazel’s still here, in my arms, totally unhurt. For that, I’d face down ten more car bombs. Hell, twenty.

  I don’t tell her that either.

  We stay there for a long time, holding each other. Every so often I kiss her head or stroke her hair, but mostly I like being here, with her, even if we’re just standing still.

  “I should go park the car,” I finally say, letting her hair slide between my fingers.

  Hazel swallows.

  “I love you,” she says.

  I smile into her hair, even though she can’t see me.

  “I know,” I murmur.

  “I thought you were gonna die and I wasn’t going to get to tell you,” she whispers. “And I was so mad at you.”

  “Are you still mad?”

  “No,” she says. “Just don’t do that again.”

  I pull back slightly and take her chin in my hand, tilting her face up.

  “Zloyushka, that wasn’t the first dumb thing I did to protect you and it probably won’t be the last,” I say.

  “Kostya, you don’t—”

  “I didn’t do it because you’re fragile, or because you’re helpless, or because I think you can’t take care of yourself,” I say. “I did it because I love you, and I want to protect you, and you can’t say anything to change that.”

  I kiss her before she speak again.

  I pull into the garage and park in an open spot next to the old Soviet troop transport, the one we made out in the night we took the motorcycle to the gray district. It feels like it was a month ago, even though I think it was maybe two weeks.

  I cut the engine with my left hand, because Hazel’s still holding my right.

  I know the second I’m inside the palace, I’m going to be hit with a barrage of people wanting to talk, shout, chastise me, ask me what to do next, but the truth is that right now I don’t care. I’ll care tomorrow, and the day after that and for the rest of my life, but for the next eight hours, I just want to sleep.

  Hazel unbuckles her seatbelt.

  Well, first I want Hazel again. Then sleep.

  I run my thumb over the back of her hand.

  “So pie-eating contests and beer pong are real,” I say.

  “Yes,” she says, lifting her eyebrows in a question.

  “Do American teenagers really take their cars to scenic overlooks to have sex?” I ask.

  She laughs.

  “There’s not usually a scenic overlook, but yes,” she says, and lifts my hand to her lips, kissing it as her eyes light up. “European teenagers don’t fuck in cars?”

  “Our cars are smaller,” I say.

  “So you never got it on in the back of your mom’s station wagon?” she says.

  “The Queen doesn’t drive a station wagon,” I tell her.

  Hazel rolls her eyes.

  “I know I told you I lost my virginity in the back of a Range Rover,” she says.

  “You did,” I say.

  A small, stupid twinge of jealousy twists in my stomach, and I try to ignore it. She’s mine now. It doesn’t matter who she slept with nine years ago.

  “All these cars and you never used one to impress a girl?” she asks. She slips her shoes off and tucks her legs under her, leaning over the center console.

  “I don’t need cars to impress girls,” I say. “I’m royalty.”

  “Yeah, you bring that up sometimes,” she says, grinning. “All those girls threw themselves at your feet and they never got to ride the royal Maserati?”

  I hesitate for a second. I really haven’t had sex in one of these cars, but I also don’t think we’re talking about cars any more.

  “Is the royal Maserati my dick?” I ask.

  Hazel laughs so hard that for a moment she can’t even talk. Then she kisses the back of my hand.

  “Yes,” she says.

  She climbs over the center console until she’s straddling me in the driver’s seat. I’m still wearing fatigues, and she grabs my collar and leans over me.

  “I was trying to be coy and flirtatious,” she says.

  I grab her ass with both hands and squeeze.

  “English isn’t my first language,” I tease. “You have to be very literal with me.”

  She kisses me hard and I pull her in until she’s right against my already-throbbing erection.

  “Okay,” she says, pulling away. “Let’s fuck in the car.”

  “That I understand,” I say, and slide my hands under her shirt, kissing her again. She’s warm and soft and even though it’s barely been a day since the last time, I think I craved her this whole time.

  “Is this my shirt?” I ask. It’s at least five sizes too big for her.

  “I got dressed in the dark,” she says, and starts unbuttoning my shirt. “Oh, and in a panic because you were gone.”

  She gets the buttons undone and slides her hands between my camo and my undershirt, looking at me with that heavy-lidded look she gets sometimes.

  “It looks good on you,” I say, then pull the shirt she’s wearing over her head. “But better off you.”

  I pull her forward again and kiss her, my tongue snaking into her mouth.

  “How was that for coy and flirtatious?” I ask.

  “Better,” she says, and bites my lip as she pushes my shirt over my shoulders and then yanks my undershirt off, too, running one hand down my torso and grabbing my cock through my pants.

  I groan and dig my fingers into the dimples in her back.

  “The Maserati’s up and running,” she says.

  “We’re not calling my dick that,” I say, and push one thumb under her bra.

  She laughs, then takes both my hands and puts them on her back, over the clasp. I sigh, fumbling.

  “I can’t even see,” I say, but her head’s on my shoulder and she’s laughing too hard to respond.

  A hook pops open.

  “Something happened,” I say.

  She puts her hands over mine, shooing me away, and one second later her bra’s off. I roll both her nipples between my fingers while I kiss her, and she makes a noise into my mouth that makes my cock twitch.

  I move my lips to her jaw and then her neck, her hand in my hair. I’m pushing her backward and she’s yielding, soft and warm and pliant beneath me, so I suck one pebbled nipple into my mouth and bite it gently.
/>   Hazel gasps and I undo her pants with my mouth still on her. I push my hand inside and run my fingers across her clit quickly, just to feel the way her body tenses when I do.

  She’s already wet as hell, and it’s not surprising but god I like it, and I slide two fingers into her and flatten my palm against—

  A horn sounds, incredibly loud in the quiet garage and Hazel yelps, then hits her head on the roof.

  “Shit,” she says, and then starts laughing.

  “Are you trying to tell everyone that we’re fucking in an official government vehicle?” I tease.

  “Sorry,” she whispers.

  “I can’t get your pants off in here anyway,” I say, and open the door. She pushes it and hops out, her pants already half off her and pulls them off herself before I’m even out of the car.

  Now she’s naked in the garage, between the car we were in and an ugly old Soviet truck. I can’t stop grinning, and especially not as she pushes me against the SUV, kisses me with her tongue in my mouth, undoes my pants and grabs my cock.

  She strokes it and hear myself growl at her and she laughs, biting my lip.

  “What?” I ask, my voice hoarse and rough.

  “You’re an animal,” she says.

  “You have no idea,” I say.

  She strokes my cock again. I growl louder, and she presses her lips to my neck then nips at me, and I sigh.

  “I’ll be gentle,” she says, her voice buzzing against my skin.

  I chuckle.

  “You already marked me once,” I tease. “I had to hear about it all day.”

  “Sorry,” she says.

  “I don’t mind,” I whisper. “I like being yours.”

  She kisses my collarbone, my chest, and then she’s on her knees, tugging my pants off. Then her tongue is on the underside of my cock and she’s looking up at me with a wicked look in her eyes.

  Fuck, it’s sexy.

  She closes her lips around me and I lean my head back against the SUV and groan as she moves her mouth down my shaft and then pulls back, her tongue flat against the underside. I put one hand on her head gently, forcing myself not to grab her hair even though I’ve got the urge.