It was that idea, that word, that had Brinley coming undone a second time, something that had never happened before, never even been close to happening. Now it felt like it was totally out of her control, her body responding to stimuli it had been trying for years to tell her it needed.
That should have been a scary thought but it wasn’t, need merely melded with the spasms in her body and made her writhe against the blankets, Finn’s pounding thrusts the source of everything. He fucked her through the orgasm, his muscles tense, jaw tight, and when she whispered, “Finn, come,” he did so at exactly that moment, like he was listening.
He groaned loud and long as his orgasm poured out, his hips jutting against hers a dozen more times. Eventually they stilled and collapsed together, skin slippery with sweat, hearts pounding in unison. There wasn’t much room to navigate on the chair, but Finn shifted slightly to the side, using the pile of blankets as a pillow and sighing his heartfelt satisfaction as he nestled in.
“Well,” he murmured, stroking his hand across Brinley’s stomach, thumb dipping into her belly button and tickling her. “I must say, if this had been included on the map, I would have come much sooner.”
7
THE NEXT WEEKS BROUGHT more happiness than Brinley had ever known inside the castle walls. It still felt odd to think of Finn as her husband, but it felt natural to think of him as her lover and her friend and her confidant, things with which she had so little experience that each secret look or private touch felt like a novelty. Of course, all good things came to an end, and the dismal ending to their unexpected honeymoon phase was a trip to Lenora to witness a special announcement from Prince Jedrek and Princess Ilona. Everyone knew they would be telling the world they were expecting their first child, and everyone would act pleasantly surprised by the news. Each moment of their lives to date had been carefully planned and moderated; the pregnancy was just the next thing on the schedule.
Brinley stared out the car window at the rapidly darkening horizon. Castle Lenora had been built at the top of a mountain and the country ranged around it at varying altitudes, the peaked wooden chalets and snow-capped backdrops reminiscent of scenic paintings of luxurious ski villages. They had arrived by private jet an hour earlier, and the motorcade had been winding up the side of the snowy mountain at such a slow pace ever since that Brinley suspected it was being done specifically to torment her. She hated coming to Lenora. She had hated it ever since she fell in love with Finn and their family came to visit and she had listened in horror at dinner as their parents planned her sister’s future wedding to the man of her dreams.
“You have been silent for nearly three hours,” Finn observed from the far side of the backseat. They were alone in the dark interior, the partition up, the tinted glass shielding them from any onlookers. It was the first time in the weeks since the trip to the dungeon that they had spent any time alone with their clothes on and their hands to themselves. “I cannot help but wonder what you are plotting.”
“A coup,” Brinley answered absently. “Always a coup.”
Finn turned off the tablet in his lap, and the fading screen cast morphing shadows across his handsome face. “You said you just didn’t like flying,” he remarked. “But we landed over an hour ago, and you are still quiet.”
“Well...” Brinley faltered. “I hate it here.”
He looked surprised. “All of Lenora or just the castle?”
“Both. Well, the castle, I suppose. I have only ever been given the most perfunctory tour of the country.” She had always wanted the freedom to explore the lands the way she could explore her home, finding the hidden secrets and not just the photogenic arrangements she was expected to ooh and ahh over. But mostly she hated being there because in Estau she was still their princess; here she was just a target for the pointed barbs they could not launch at their own royal family because they were so infuriatingly perfect.
“I hate it too,” Finn agreed.
Brinley twisted in her seat. “You do?”
“Yes. It’s...dull. It’s soulless. It doesn’t have you.”
Brinley felt some of the dread leave her. These past weeks she had shown Finn more of herself than she had ever shown anyone. And not just sexually, though they had done that, too. She had shown him the corner of the dining table where she had hit her head and required three stitches, had shown him the drape in the Antiquities Room where she had accidentally burned off the corner after a tutor told her real silk didn’t burn but failed to mention that the drapes were wool. She had even shown him two other secret passageways she had discovered, one leading from the library to the old servants’ quarters, and another from the kitchen to an empty guest room on the second level. There was a fourth passageway she knew about, but she had not mentioned it. She had only ever shown one other person that tunnel, and they had used it to flee the castle and elope with a lumberjack.
“It will be fine,” Finn said, when she didn’t say anything. “It’s just a cocktail party and the ‘surprise’ baby announcement. Then we’ll retire to our rooms, have brunch in the morning, and be back in Estau this time tomorrow.”
She sighed. “When Elle left...” She trailed off, trying to figure out how to say this without sounding like she was glad her sister had run away. “I was sad when I learned Elle was gone, but in a way, it was kind of a relief. She was the good princess, and standing next to her highlighted my faults. With her gone, my faults could stand on their own merit.”
Finn smiled politely.
“But everyone in Lenora is perfect,” Brinley continued. “You, Jedrek, Ilona... There are no burnt drapes or slices in the wallpaper, there is nothing to distract from...me.”
“People watch you because they are curious.”
“To see what wrong move I will make next.”
“Well,” he said thoughtfully, “just stand very, very still.”
She shot him a half-hearted glare.
“Don’t move an inch,” he murmured, sliding across the leather seat so their arms touched. A muscle in her calf jumped when his hand slipped under the soft fabric of her dress, squeezing her knee as it traveled along the smooth skin to the junction of her thighs.
“And don’t make a sound,” he added, “even if you find it extremely difficult.”
His fingers started to play over her skin, first to tease, then to titillate. He had had plenty of practice at this over the past weeks, and he was as keen a student in the bedroom as he had been in school. It took no time at all for Brinley to find herself wet and wanting, but she played along with his little game, doing her utmost to hide the fact that she was feeling anything at all.
Finn, of course, could feel it. The fingers he slipped inside her panties and then between her slick folds knew exactly what they were looking for, and it took everything she had not to part her legs and give him access to all of it.
He used the heel of his hand to grind gently against her clit, enough to torment her but not enough to end the torment, and Brinley had to bite her lip to stop from pleading with him for release. She did not want to ruin the game; she also did not want to beg. But she wanted very much to come. The preoccupation with the feelings he built within her overrode all of her anxiety about today’s excursion, and before she could stop herself, her head fell back against the seat and she exhaled one single, plaintive word: “Please.”
Finn’s hand stopped moving, fingers lodged deeply inside her. “Brinley,” he said sternly.
She looked at him from the corner of her eye. “Please,” she said again. “I need it.”
His mouth twitched. “Need what, exactly?” He knew very well what she needed, but moved his other hand instead, lifting it to the scooped neckline of her dress and tugging the fabric down to reveal the lacy trim of her bra, the swells of her breasts. He tugged a little more, exposing her completely, and nudged aside the flimsy lace to bare her puckered nipple, flicking it idly with his thumb.
Brinley writhed in her seat, acutely aware of the weight o
f his fingers inside her, the reward that waited if she could just behave long enough. Her tutors had tried to teach her the virtues of patience so many times, then given up when their own patience expired.
“I need to come,” she said, her voice hitching. “Please move your hand again. Please touch me.”
He held her gaze, then slowly lowered his head so his mouth covered her nipple, lips fastening around the sensitive skin and sucking hard. Brinley’s back arched and her legs fell apart, and all pretense of not moving fell by the wayside. She felt herself sliding down the smooth leather until her back was on the seat and her husband loomed over her, his fingers thrusting hard inside, finding just the right spot to have her fumbling for her satin clutch, biting into the shiny fabric as she came. Finn drew out the orgasm as long as he could, until she had not even the strength to tremble anymore, her carefully styled hair tousled, stray curls springing loose to advertise her guilt. Even when Finn helped her to sit up and passed her a handful of tissues to tidy herself, she knew no amount of effort could hide who she really was.
Not that she particularly cared at the moment.
Finian of Lenora was her husband, and he was fantastic.
She darted a glance at his crotch, the sizable bulge confirming that he was not quite as removed from the experience as his calm demeanor would suggest. Finn was not the only one with practice making his spouse come; Brinley had spent hours exploring his body, learning what made him moan and clutch the sheets and curse like a sailor. She knew his touch and his taste, his hard parts and soft parts and all the places in between.
She shifted on her seat. “Do you want me to—”
He caught her hand before she could touch him. “No. We have arrived.” He cleared his throat and exhaled, the sound shaky. “And I have never been so disappointed to be home.”
THEY WERE GREETED BY a flurry of blinding flashbulbs, a thousand miniature explosions that had stars dancing behind Brinley’s eyes. The party brought out the who’s who of Lenora’s upper class, and they expected the red carpet treatment. She tried her best to look good and gracious as Finn held her hand and led her swiftly past the line, bodyguards flanking them on all sides. There would be palace photographers inside and they would be required to pose for pictures at the party, but they were not expected to linger here. Still, they had been forced to make their entrance this way, and Brinley knew she was not being paranoid when she guessed it was for the bored media’s benefit. Tomorrow’s predictable headline announcing the royal baby was already printed; what they were hoping for was a Brinley Cantrella scandal to spice things up.
They made it inside without incident, and Brinley shook her head to clear it, dragging her heels when Finn continued to propel them forward.
“Hang on,” she muttered, trying to gather herself. “You’re going too fast.”
Finn opened his mouth to argue, then closed it. He released her hand and smoothed the lapels of his jacket, unbuttoning then buttoning it again. The stern, unsmiling Prince Finn was back, looking as tense as the guards that surrounded them, and Brinley felt her recently assuaged nerves come flooding back. She didn’t belong here, and she hated that she had been obliged to come. She hated that she had been trotted out as entertainment fodder when she could have been home doing something—anything—else. Still, as she had done so many times before, she dragged in a deep breath and forced herself to nod. “I’m ready.”
Finn gave her an assessing look, ascertaining her readiness for himself, then nodded back. He took her elbow loosely in his fingers and they walked down the flower-lined hallway to the castle’s formal ballroom. This section of the palace was frequently used to host parties and various events, and it was well lit and perfectly staged for photo ops. The floor-to-ceiling windows showcased the stunning mountains, their white peaks contrasting starkly against the night sky. Carefully positioned harpists strummed bland pre-approved songs as two hundred partygoers picked at artfully prepared canapés and drank wine made from grapes grown on the palace’s own grounds.
Brinley accepted a glass of white wine and glanced around for some food. She had been too nervous to eat on the plane and had forgotten to eat in the car. She was famished. Spindly tables were stationed around the room, each topped with a tiny silver platter of hors d’oeuvres, and silent servers in long white aprons navigated the crowd with more options. Brinley was reaching for a napkin when she spotted a display at the front of the room that made her jaw drop.
“Are you seeing this?” she murmured, clutching Finn’s forearm. He had just begun a conversation with an older gentleman, and now he excused himself.
“Seeing what?”
She led them to the table in question. Like the others it was tall and narrow, but this one was topped with an enormous white chocolate egg flecked with gold. A bluebird made out of blown sugar sat atop an edible daffodil and pecked at the egg. The entire display was approximately two feet tall and looked ready to blow over at the slightest wrong breath.
“It’s very...large,” Finn said after a moment.
“Could they be any less subtle?” Brinley demanded. “The announcement is supposed to be a surprise. And subtlety aside, I’m starving and all this chocolate is making it worse.”
“Come, then,” Finn said, placing a hand at the small of her back. “We will find some food.”
He steered her past two servers with platters of snacks, and Brinley gazed after them with longing. “Where are we going?”
He dipped his head to speak into her ear. “It’s not quite as exciting as a secret tunnel, but this castle does have...a kitchen.”
A few heads turned as they left the party as quickly as they had arrived, but Brinley ignored them as she always did. Finn pointed out various points of moderate interest as they wound through the back hallways of the castle, stopping in the kitchen to load up a plate with hors d’oeuvres that were destined for the ballroom. Brinley expected to eat and be promptly ushered back, but Finn surprised her when he led her out the opposite side of the kitchen and through another series of halls to a much quieter, more secluded section of the castle, eating as they toured.
She was relatively familiar with the public areas of Castle Lenora. She had visited here many times as a child, staying with her family in the guest wing. But she had never seen the hidden parts of the castle, the private parts, the places where Finn grew up. She thought he might show her secrets like she had shown him: a hidden tunnel, the faded bloodstain tucked beneath a Persian carpet where someone nicked themselves playing with a sword, a library book with its pages hollowed out to hide a well-used copy of Playboy.
But Finn’s memories were much like the ones she had read about in the Estau Tattler. They were as stiff and sanitized as the man himself—the man she once thought him to be—and revealed little she did not already know.
In the music room he pointed to the baby grand piano he had been forced to play for hours each day, his fingers whacked with a ruler by an ancient instructor. In the library he indicated the books he had been made to arrange alphabetically when he was not as quick to learn to read as his brother. In the hallway he pointed to a spot he had had to stand on the rare occasions he misbehaved, letting everyone witness his shame.
“Finn,” Brinley interrupted, when he began to tell her a story about a Latin tutor who likely tortured him. “Do you have any nice memories?”
He blinked at her. “Nice?”
“Yes. Anything you...liked while you lived here?” The words grew more tentative as she spoke and his face remained blank.
After a moment’s thought, he gave a curt nod. “Yes. Right this way.”
Brinley trailed after him. “If we are visiting an actual dungeon where you were kept upon receiving a low score on a spelling test...”
Finn shot her a droll look over his shoulder. “You know I have never received a low score in anything.”
He took her hand and led her down a long corridor to a private elevator, its doors paneled to blend into the woo
den walls. They rode up three floors to a part of the castle Brinley had never seen: the family’s private suites.
Unlike a commoner, she was not terribly impressed by what she found. She did, after all, live in something quite similar. Like Castle Estau, this one had been updated, security cameras tracking their every move, expensive artwork lining the walls. Finn walked purposefully and Brinley prayed he was not taking her somewhere boring. When he unlocked a door a minute later, she discovered her prayer had been both answered and ignored.
They were in his bedroom, which she had often wondered about.
And it was boring.
The walls were painted a pale gray and the bed was also gray, with a splash of royal blue in the form of a neatly folded wool blanket at the foot. Gold and white pillows rounded out the castle colors and offered uninspiring focal points. There was a desk with absolutely nothing on it, a dresser that was also bare, and the lone portrait on the wall was a black and white photograph of the royal family of Lenora meeting another royal family.
“Er...” Brinley said, turning in a vaguely disappointed circle to take it all in. “This is...”
“My room,” Finn finished.
“Yes. Right.” Her own bedroom was not nearly as elegant as Elle’s had been, but at least it looked lived in. Even though Finn’s belongings had been transported to Estau, she still imagined this room feeling cold and impersonal, even with his clothing hung in the wardrobe and his watch and tablet resting on the nightstand.
“This is what I wanted to show you,” he added, striding across the room to one of the large windows on the far wall. They looked over the sprawling castle grounds, miles of snowy mountains glinting in the moonlight. Like this room—like the whole of Castle Lenora—the view was stark and cold and beautiful.
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