by Kati Wilde
“You’ve had barely a moment to rest this week.”
True. I haven’t yet cancelled any of my own appointments. Instead I added dress fittings and wedding consultations to my already full schedule.
My free moments have dwindled to nothing. I spend almost no time alone during the days and fall into bed exhausted each night. But it’s better this way. I don’t spend too much time in my head, thinking about Maximilian pretending to love me and wallowing in the hurt. If I did that, I would probably break down screaming.
Then the photographers could add that meltdown to my greatest hits.
“We can rest during the honeymoon,” I tell him.
Predatory hunger sharpens his expression. “You think we’ll be resting?”
I have to laugh. “No.” And I look forward to it. A month of losing myself in his touch, and forgetting that it’s all pretend.
“Tell your assistant to clear more time in your schedule so you can sleep,” he commands softly, raising my fingers to his lips.
Then we’re no longer alone, as Frederich Groener approaches us. The Minister of Foreign Affairs gives Maximilian and me a hearty grin. “My congratulations to you both.”
“Thank you,” I tell him with a smile. Perhaps he would rather see Adele von Schuster standing where I am now, but his congratulations sound sincere—and after coming into contact with some of Maximilian’s staff and advisors over the course of the past week, I suspect that to most of them, the king’s happiness trumps every other concern regarding his bride.
After Frederich, we are besieged by more individuals offering their congratulations, and the focus of the gathering slowly shifts away from Maximilian and me, transforming into a giant cocktail party. Lively conversations spring up around tables of food and drink, small groups forming and breaking apart. After receiving a line of well-wishers, Maximilian and I separate to begin mingling—which is both relief and pain.
I hate being apart from him. I hate knowing that he’s only pretending to love me. I hate knowing that it was all at my suggestion.
I hate having everything that I ever wanted…and complaining.
Determined to enjoy the party and to acquaint myself with more of the palace staff, I refill my champagne and turn towards a small group near the patio doors—and find myself facing Jeannette von Hintze, Maximilian’s social secretary.
She stands about my height, with fierce red hair and cat-eye glasses. Her sharp gaze cuts through the lenses like green lasers.
“Victoria.” A pleasant smile accompanies the greeting. “How are you getting along with Ursula?”
My new assistant, who came from Jeannette’s department. “Very well. Thank you for giving her up.”
She waves that thanks away. “She’s friends with Geoffrey, and he filled her head with harrowing tales of narrowly avoided scheduling disasters and heroic efficiency. So becoming the queen’s personal assistant will be a dream come true. Did she tell you about the interview we’ve scheduled for next Sunday?”
“She did.” With a writer from a major publication, and who has already conducted a series of interviews with Maximilian. After news of the engagement broke, he requested the opportunity to speak with us together. “I’ve opened up the morning to accommodate it.”
Jeannette nods sharply, her gaze leaving mine to scour the lively room. “I must say that presenting this as a love match was a stroke of genius. I would have suggested it to His Majesty myself if I’d had any inkling that he could act.”
Smiling, I point out, “He’s always in the public eye. Doesn’t that cultivate an ability to perform?”
It has for me. I can smile even while my heart feels torn in two.
“He’s good at hiding what he feels. Not at faking what he doesn’t.” She glances back at me. “Karl thinks that I am the leak.”
I don’t manage to conceal my surprise—and then have to laugh. “I would, too. A scandal would have generated more press than Wilhelm Dietrich’s staid daughter would.”
At least until Maximilian began pretending to love her.
She tilts her head as if considering, but amusement lurks behind those lenses now. “That’s true.”
“But your job is to protect Maximilian’s image,” I continue. “Which also means protecting me now. No matter how horrible and boring you think I am.”
Unfazed by my candor, she nods. Then surprises me again with, “I misjudged you. I’ve made inquiries, spoken to your friends.”
“My friends…such as Felicity? Adele? Elsa? Or anyone else that I’ve brought into Kapria, so they can raise awareness for various causes that I discovered they’re interested in?”
She acknowledges my response with a wry look. “I suspect you know this publicity game as well as I do.”
Better, perhaps. Because I don’t understand how she could not know what I’ve done. “Didn’t you keep a file on me?”
“Of course. Though it was obviously not as comprehensive as it should have been.”
How could that be true, if I was thoroughly vetted? Unless Maximilian didn’t need a file. “Did he keep a close eye on me, then?”
Jeannette shakes her head. “His only focus was on Kapria. We were to update him if anything of importance occurred in your life. But much of what you did was under our radar. Probably because it wasn’t your occupation. You simply seemed to have a wide social circle and a do-gooder reputation.”
As I listen to her, I smile and smile and smile—though my cheeks feel numb. Though my fingers feel numb. I wish my heart was numb. But this pain is even deeper than the ache of watching him pretend. Because the only event of importance that he ever acknowledged was my graduation.
In twelve years, Maximilian only thought of me once? And only because Jeannette reminded him that I exist.
She lifts her chin, as if nodding to someone across the room. “You should go to him now. For two people in love, you’ve been apart too long.”
So we have been. On deadened limbs, I make my way to his side. His loving smile when he sees me cuts so deep, I almost can’t bear it.
I’m only glad we’re not alone. With him is a familiar figure in uniform, who interrupts Maximilian when he begins to make the introductions.
“No need to tell me who this one is.” Colonel Bist takes my hand. “Lovely to see you again, Victoria.”
I smile wryly. “I wonder if that’s true, Colonel.”
He chuckles and looks to Maximilian. “Victoria served in my search and rescue unit… How many years ago was it?”
“Five,” I remind him. “It was the winter that the unit received no rescue calls…except one.” For a goat that got stuck in a crevasse—and after we rescued him, he remained at the lodge with us for the remainder of the winter, despite the colonel’s repeated threats to throw him into a stew pot.
“That’s right.” His eyes twinkle. “The winter I went hungry.”
Maximilian follows the exchange, then regards me with a puzzled frown. “You served in the militia?”
His question spears straight through my heart. How could he not know that?
And I fear that I can’t completely conceal my hurt behind my smile this time. My lips feel tightly stretched over my teeth as I tell him, “I had just left the university, and wanted to be of service to Kapria. I inquired at the palace first but received no response. So I volunteered for a year.”
The warmth of his gaze caresses my face. “You are full of surprises, Victoria.”
But I’m not. I’ve never hidden anything. Everything I am, everything I’ve done, has always been out there in the open if anyone cared to look. But he didn’t.
Yet I knew everything he had done. Because I’d been preparing for this role since I was sixteen. So I bare my teeth in a sharp smile and tell him, “You inspired me, Your Majesty. You fought for this kingdom’s future and I wanted to do the same. So I wore the uniform. And after leaving the militia, I used my family’s connections to bring in celebrities or aristocrats whose interests an
d donations might help lift Kapria up.”
“So you were never in the background at all, but were the driving force.” Admiration fills his eyes. “I truly could not have chosen a better queen.”
Except he didn’t choose me. My father did. And I can’t bear this anymore—not knowing if that warmth and admiration is genuine, or if he’s pretending even now.
I have to get away from him.
Wearing my smile, I turn to the colonel. “Please excuse me,” I tell him, then bob a quick curtsy to Maximilian. “Your Majesty.”
Then I walk away, as fast as I can—all the while pretending that my heart isn’t bleeding in my chest.
Maximilian
When I gave her the ring, I shouldn’t have said the wedding would be at the end of next month. I should have only given Victoria a week.
If it had been a week, then we’d have been married for three days already. I would have already spent three days in her arms, without a single event or obligation coming between us.
When she claimed her calendar wasn’t clear until next October, she hadn’t been completely joking. Add in my schedule, and I’ve barely had a moment alone with her—and those only in the car as we travel to and from events. Each night she returns home, and I return to the palace, because every move we make is captured by the fucking paparazzi, and Karl still hasn’t discovered the leak. And although I’m desperate to have her in my arms, to have her writhing under me while I pump my cock deep inside her, I don’t want to risk her being shamed by some bullshit tabloid for staying the night in my bed before we’re married.
There’d be no shame in it. And it would be no one’s goddamn business. But I don’t want her hurt again. I just want to hold her close and protect her. Every day, however, Victoria seems to move farther away from me—emotionally, physically.
Except for when I’m kissing her. Then she melts against me. Until I stop. And then she runs away as quickly as possible.
Just like she did about ten minutes ago. We’re attending yet another reception, this one at the botanical gardens to commemorate… Shit, I don’t know what this event is for. This is one of Victoria’s functions. I invited myself along because the gardens are in the village of Vesca, which is a forty-minute journey from the palace.
Forty minutes alone with Victoria on the way here was longer than we’ve ever had, and she came against my hand for the first time. I licked her pussy juices from my fingers for the first time. I’ll have another forty minutes on the way back, and the only reason she’ll still be a virgin at the end is because I promised her a bed.
But what I crave more than anything else is another forty minutes of her softening against me, instead of stiffening and rushing away. As if she’s trying to escape me.
I always know where she is, though. This time she went out into the gardens.
Slowly I make my way through the crowded reception hall and follow her. Outside, the night is clear and cool. Lush floral scents fill the air. Karl’s waiting for me at the head of a garden path.
“How far?”
“Three hundred feet, cross over the bridge, then turn left at the hedgerow. Josef’s watching her. He’ll point the rest of the way.”
Because her security team follows her everywhere she goes. “I don’t want to be disturbed.”
Karl nods. “We’ll clear that section.”
Good. I didn’t expect to have an opportunity to be alone with her here, but I’ll take it.
I find Josef, who directs me to a stone folly situated atop a grassy knoll. The structure resembles an ancient Greek temple, and an ache fills my heart when I spot Victoria standing against one of the columns, her arms wrapped around her waist, her shoulders slumped.
She always looks small. But right now she looks fragile.
Her shoulders straighten when the scrape of my shoe over a loose stone warns her of my approach—then her posture stiffens when she turns her head and sees me.
A blade slips through my chest, but I shunt aside the agony of her reaction. I strip off my tuxedo jacket to place around her bare shoulders. She looks stunning in her strapless gown, but I’d rather see her warm.
She murmurs a thank you, then tilts her head back. “Did you come out to look at the stars, too?”
“No. I came to kiss my beautiful fiancée.”
I expect her to melt into my arms. Instead she closes her eyes, pain tightening her delicate features.
“Please don’t pretend to love me when we’re alone,” she says in a raw whisper. “I can’t stand it.”
The blade slashes my heart again. Becoming my queen places an enormous burden on her. Am I adding more with my physical demands—and by needing her so damn much? Stiffly I ask, “Are your new duties too much of a burden? Or are you having difficulty pretending to care for me?”
A pained laugh escapes her. “I am not pretending.”
That knocks the breath from my lungs. What does she mean by that? Does she love me?
I want that, I’m stunned to realize. I want her love more than anything in the entire fucking world.
“Except that’s a lie,” she suddenly confesses on a sigh, opening her eyes to stare blankly up at the sky. “I am acting. By pretending it doesn’t hurt so much.”
“What hurts you?” Instantly protective, I catch her hand and pull her closer. “I’ll make it stop.”
Another laugh escapes her, but this one is lighter, her voice slightly warmer—but also thick and full. “There is nothing Your Majesty can do to make it stop. Everything you are, everything you do…you are everything a woman could dream of. And more. You’re such a good man.”
Am I? I catch her chin and tip her face toward mine—and see what her voice told me that I’d find. “That’s why your eyes have filled with tears? Because I’m a good man? Tell me what hurt you.”
She doesn’t, but tucks her head against my chest and remains quiet. The spike that seems lodged in my throat prevents me from asking more. So I wrap her slight form up in my arms and hold her against me.
Minutes pass in silence. Then she stirs within my arms and asks, “Jeannette said that your mother will be attending the wedding.”
“Yes,” I say gruffly. And it will be the first time I see her in almost twenty-five years.
“Is she being invited because you want her here? Or is it just for show?”
“I don’t do anything for show. Why?”
She shrugs. “I didn’t know what your relationship with her is like. The only thing I’ve ever heard about it is from the tabloids. And they all claim that you’ll never forgive her for abandoning you when you were seven years old.”
“She didn’t abandon me. She ran away from my father.” Who belittled her and gaslighted her and flaunted his mistresses in front of her—and in front of me.
“And left you behind with him.”
“No. That is the part they all get wrong,” I tell her softly. “She stayed as long as she could. She stayed for me. Because she couldn’t take me with her. My father would have never let me go. So she was trapped here. Until I was old enough to understand what she was doing, and told her to go.”
“You told her to leave?” Her eyebrows drawn together in a frown, she looks up at me. “Then why haven’t you spoken with her since?”
“We’ve spoken. She just hasn’t visited Kapria. Too many traumatic memories remain here for her. Even for the wedding, I’m making arrangements for her and her family to stay in St. Moritz, because she’ll come to the chapel for the ceremony, but she won’t come to the palace.”
“Oh.” Suddenly she’s searching my face, her sapphire gaze filled with concern. “And are memories of your father…are they traumatic for you, too?” she asks hesitantly.
I press a kiss to her forehead, smoothing away the worry lines there. “Not like they are for her. He pretended to be a decent man when they met. So she trusted and loved him and he betrayed her. With me, he never pretended to be anything but what he was. His abuse just taught me to hate hi
m and everything he stood for—and inspired me to be everything he is not.”
“So that’s why you aren’t a narrow-minded, cruel, selfish son of a tyrant? Instead you’re just a little uptight.”
“You think I’m uptight?” Maybe when I’m around others. But I barely have any self-control around Victoria.
“I said a little uptight,” she teases softly. “What about ‘rigid’? Do you like that better?”
“I’d say that ‘rigid’ describes me all the time.” When she giggles, I cup her face in my hands. “And I came out here for a purpose.”
Arousal flushes her cheeks. “What purpose?”
“I told you my purpose. But you thought I was pretending.”
And I could never fake this. Not the hardness of my cock, not my desperate need to taste her, not the pleasure of every single kiss. I want to shout in triumph when her mouth softens beneath mine.
Whatever’s hurting her, whatever’s pushing her away from me…it all seems to vanish when I touch her, incinerated by the heat we generate.
I have no intention of letting it cool this time.
I kiss her, loving the sweetness of her mouth, loving the eagerness in her response. My tongue fucks past her lips until she’s clinging to me, her arms looped around my neck, her hands fisted in my hair. But her mouth isn’t all I want to taste.
Pressing her back against the column, I sink to my knees. She doesn’t let me go, fingers in my hair following me down. Her kiss-swollen lips are softly parted, her gaze unfocused and slightly confused as she looks down at me.
Then her breath catches, her eyes sharpen, and uncertainty shakes through her voice. “Here…?”
“Here,” I confirm on a growl. “You think that little bit of honey I got off my fingers was enough? I want your pussy dripping for me. Then I want to lick it all up.”
Need darkens her eyes, even as her gaze sweeps the empty gardens around us. “There might be photographers.”
Leaning forward, I find the slit in her long skirt and begin trailing my hands up the sleek lengths of her thighs. “Karl’s keeping them out.”