Royal Escape: The Complete Series

by Peak, Renna

  I tighten my grip around her waist, lifting her up and backing her against the wall before I press my lips to hers again.

  “Oh,” she says against my lips as her hands move around my neck.

  Her legs wrap around me, and I deepen the kiss, pressing my body fully against hers. My heart is still pounding in my ears, and for the first time in I’m not sure how long, I don’t listen to the voice of reason whispering in my head. Instead, I brace Clara with one arm against the wall as I reach for my belt buckle with my other hand.

  She gives a small moan of approval against my lips, seeming to read my mind as she wriggles against me, hiking the hem of her dress up to give me access.

  I don’t think about anything but how much I want to be inside her right now. It doesn’t matter that we’re in a common hall where anyone could see us—anyone at all.

  Her thigh is smooth as silk as my hand glides up to her folds. I barely touch her through the thin slip of her panties before she moans against my lips. Her body arches against me as my fingers push beneath the fabric, my thumb finding her sensitive mound.

  She’s slick and warm—warmer than I’ve ever felt her, and it only takes a few moments for her body to quiver beneath my hand.

  She grabs hard at the waist of my pants, pulling me firmly toward her, our lips never parting. I’m finally able to unbutton my pants, barely pulling them down so that my aching cock is able to spring free.

  I push her panties aside just enough to slide into her slick heat. And it’s heavenly, feeling her body coil tightly around me. I thrust into her—once, twice, three times—and she’s arching against me again, moaning beneath my lips.

  My mouth presses against hers—hard—to cover the sounds of her pleasure, but also so that she might cover mine. I rock against her until I feel her body tighten and release again, and I finally allow myself to finish.

  I’m out of breath, and my knees feel as though they’ve turned to jelly, but I help her to straighten her clothing as I cover myself, buckling my belt again.

  Her eyes are still dark, almost glassy, and she holds herself upright against the wall for a long moment as I finish smoothing my clothing and trying to regain my composure.

  “Nick…” My name comes from her lips on a sigh. “That was…”

  “Inappropriate.” That small voice—that truly is not so small at all—returns to my head. “I apologize.” I turn to look over my shoulder, but it doesn’t appear as though anyone is anywhere nearby.

  “No…” She shakes her head. Her face is flushed a color pink I haven’t seen on her before, and I must admit, it’s quite becoming on her. “No, it was—”

  “Hello, Cousin.” Caspar seems to arrive out of nowhere, clapping me on the shoulder. “Are you lost?”

  I clear my throat, trying to rid myself of whatever insidious thing has taken over that would allow me to fornicate in a common hallway. Did I really just do that? Even I should admit that it was completely out of character—not to mention inappropriate—and I have no idea what’s come over me.

  “Did you hear me, Cousin?” Caspar’s brows draw together, and he turns to Clara. “Is Nicholas quite all right?”

  She nods, a bit too quickly. “Yes. He’s fine. We’re fine.” She smiles, though I can see it is forced. “He was just giving me a tour of this wing—”

  “I daresay my cousin doesn’t know this wing too well.” Caspar turns to look at me again. “What are you up to?”

  “Nothing.” My voice still doesn’t sound quite right. “Nothing at all. As the lady said, we were just having a tour.”

  He looks at me for a beat too long, and it almost seems he knows what we were up to. “I’m sure you’re aware that it is in poor taste to show yourself around the home of another.” His gaze narrows the slightest bit. “Though, I’m sure your retort would be to tell me that this is your home. Isn’t that right, Cousin?”

  Clara forces a small laugh before she loops her arm through mine. “I’m sure that’s not what Nick was thinking at all.” She looks up at me, and I could swear I see something new shining in her eyes. “Was it Nick?”

  “No.” I give my cousin a small shake of my head. “No, it wasn’t what I was thinking at all.” I clear my throat again—I’m not very good at trying to lie on the spot, and coming up with something to say to cover our transgressions is proving more difficult that I’d ever imagined.

  I take in a long breath. “Clara and I were merely strolling through the manor. You’ve nothing to concern yourself with. And I promise, there was nothing untoward about what we were doing—”

  “What Nick means to say, is that we were just walking. Didn’t you tell us we were welcome to roam around?” Clara gives him a far sweeter smile than he deserves.

  “Of course.” Caspar gives her a small nod. “But perhaps if you’d like to wander this particular area, you would ask a member of the family—”

  “I believe I am a member of the family.” I cock my head at my cousin’s words. “Am I not, Caspar?”

  “Of course, of course.” Something darkens in his eyes. “I only meant that this particular part of the manor—”

  “Are you hiding something here, Cousin?”

  “What?” He gives a quick shake of his head. “No. No, of course not. “I only meant… Well, the hallways here can become confusing quickly. I wouldn’t want you to get lost.”

  Clara looks up at me, her brows drawing together slightly, and I can see she’s thinking the same thing I am.

  “We’re sorry, Caspar.” She gives him another of her sweetest smiles as she tugs at my arm to pull me back in the other direction. “We’ll go back to the guest wing.”

  My cousin gives her a shallow bow. “And do let me know if you need anything, my lady.”

  “I…will.” She smiles at him again before pulling on my arm to get me to walk with her.

  “And I’ll see you soon on our tour of Wintervale Town,” he says, giving us both a smile before he turns and walks down the corridor.

  We walk in the opposite direction, and we’re around the corner before Clara looks up at me. “That was…weird.”

  Something pangs in my chest, and a wave of guilt washes over me. “I know. And I apologize again.”

  “Apologize for what?” She looks up at me, her brow furrowed. We stop walking, and she pulls me into a doorway, her voice hushed. “Nick… Do not ever apologize for that.”

  My mouth falls open for a moment before I’m able to regain my breath to speak. “It was highly inappropriate—”

  “It was.” She nods, frowning. “But it was also amazing.” She pulls my hands into hers, giving them a squeeze. “Amazing.”

  “But—”

  “But nothing.” She shakes her head. Her voice is still barely a hushed whisper, but her lips turn up into the loveliest of smiles. “I’m not joking, Nick. We need to get you to let go like that every…single…day.” She nods, her lips spreading into a glowing smile. “I’m not kidding.”

  My face burns. She actually liked that? Of course, I knew she enjoyed herself, but I had no idea that… I shake my head. “It was still entirely inappropriate. If Caspar had walked around the corner even a few seconds earlier—”

  “That’s the point, Nick.” She reaches up and touches my face. “Oh…you…” She lifts herself onto her tiptoes before planting a small kiss on my lips. “You’re amazing.” She squeezes the hand that is still in mine. “But your cousin…” She shakes her head. “Your cousin is definitely up to something.”

  Clara

  I wish we had time to snoop around this wing right now, but unfortunately, we only have a short while left before we we’re meeting everyone to head into Wintervale Town. So instead, we swing by our rooms and quickly freshen up. I enjoyed seeing Nick’s wild side, but for better or worse, it’s left me a little…sweaty.

  Ten minutes later, we’re arm in arm, heading down the steps in front of the manor house. Benedict, Xavier, and Caspar area already there, chatting casually w
ith each other.

  My eyes linger on Caspar. He’s got a secret, that’s for sure. And I’m making it my own personal challenge to figure out what he’s hiding. I can’t believe it’s anything malicious—even though I’ve only known him a short time, he doesn’t strike me as the type—but that still leaves a huge range of possibilities.

  Maybe he has his own prank planned, I tell myself, thinking of the snakes Nick and I hid in his cousin’s beds. Clearly, the men in this family get a kick out of messing with each other. But that doesn’t explain why he was so weird about finding us in that specific section of the manor. Maybe he’s got a secret wife in one of the bedrooms or something.

  Caspar turns his head, looking up at us. If he’s guarding a secret, he hides it well. The look he gives us isn’t particularly suspicious. More curious than anything else.

  Benedict, on the other hand, is flashing a charming grin in my direction. And Xavier looks mildly bored.

  “Since it’s such a beautiful day, we thought we might walk,” Benedict says. “It isn’t far.”

  “That sounds wonderful,” I tell him. He’s right—the lovely morning has evolved into a bright, cheery afternoon, and the breeze feels amazing on my skin as we stroll down the long, winding driveway.

  We’ve only been walking about ten minutes before we crest a hill and see Wintervale Town spread below us.

  I’m immediately in love. The buildings are bright and colorful—I swear I see every shade of the rainbow—many with sloped roofs and ornate white trim. The winding streets of the town curve around fountains, small parks, and tiny corner gardens, and I wonder how many magical little secrets a place like this holds. A large, bubbling creek curves around the eastern side of the town, and I spot at least three curved bridges spanning its banks, and even a couple of people fishing off the sides. In the town itself, the streets are bustling with activity—the people are mostly on foot or riding bicycles or scooters, but I also spot a few of those adorable little European cars.

  And the smells! The summer air is thick with the scent of flowers, but also food. My stomach rumbles when I recognize the smell of freshly baked bread.

  “Please say we’re stopping by the bakery,” I say as we start down the road toward the buildings.

  “Anything you like, Clara,” Benedict says.

  “Selina makes the best bread in Montovia,” Caspar adds. “You have to try her raisin loaf.”

  “I’m partial to her ciabatta,” Benedict says.

  Xavier shakes his head. “Neither holds a candle to her pretzels.”

  Okay, my mouth is seriously watering now.

  I glance at Nick. He doesn’t look nearly as excited as everyone else. Instead, he studies the town intently, almost as if seeing it for the first time.

  “Did you come into town often when you were a kid?” I ask him.

  It takes him a moment to come out of his thoughts. “Some. It’s changed more than I expected.”

  “There was a beautification initiative five years ago,” Caspar tells us. “The whole community banded together to plant little gardens and repair some of the older buildings. We’re a proud people here.”

  “Some local artists painted murals around the town center,” Benedict adds. “And we’ve also opened an art gallery featuring solely Montovian pieces.”

  It sounds wonderful. But Nick’s brow furrows, and his eyes cloud over as he falls into deep thought again.

  We’ve reached the edge of the town, and I spot the bakery immediately. It sits right on the corner, it’s broad window filled with golden loaves and shiny-topped buns. The smell is overwhelming, and my stomach audibly groans. Catching snakes and having hot sex up against a wall tend to work up an appetite.

  Caspar laughs. “Let’s get you something to eat, hm?”

  We crowd inside. It’s a small shop—there’s only enough room for two little tables, plus the long wooden counter—but it’s full of rustic charm. The entire kitchen is on full display, and the heat from the ovens makes the little bakery feel extra cozy. A round woman with apple cheeks breaks into a smile at the sight of Nick’s cousins.

  “I was wondering when you’d be back,” she says. “I told Ander, I said, ‘Those boys haven’t been around for their bread in a while. They must be getting thin.’ ” Her eyes slide to Nick. “Oh, Your Highness. It’s an honor to have you here.” She gives a little bow of her head. “Have whatever you like on the house.”

  Nick’s cousins each ask for their favorites, and after a moment’s hesitation, Nick requests a couple of brown, crusty loaves. I, on the other hand, am having an impossible time deciding what I want. Everything looks so amazing that I’m not sure I can choose.

  “Surprise me,” I tell the woman finally. “Give me one of your favorites.”

  “I like her,” the baker tells the cousins. “She’s adventurous.”

  A few minutes later, I find myself in possession of a small pumpernickel loaf and a thick slice of focaccia studded with olives and bits of rosemary. There isn’t enough room for all of us to sit in the shop, so Benedict suggests we go out and sit in one of the small parks instead. The closest park, in fact, is only a few storefronts away, and even though it’s only a twenty-by-twenty stretch of grass with a couple of benches and two little flowerbeds, it has just as much charm as everything else I’ve seen so far today.

  I’m squished on a bench between Nick and Benedict, while Caspar and Xavier sit on the other one. There’s little talking as everyone digs into their bread, so I take the opportunity to look around a little more.

  The streets are livelier than I expected for a little town of this size. Three young women pushing strollers walk past, chatting with each other, and across the street a couple peers into a shop window, pointing at something inside. Teenagers zip by on bicycles, and a couple of men with dirt stains on their knees duck into a charming little tavern with bright red window boxes. I can hear the faint sounds of children laughing and playing nearby, and I suspect there’s either a school or playground not too far away.

  I finish my pumpernickel quickly and move on to the focaccia. It’s only then that I glance over at Nick and realize he’s hardly touched his loaves.

  “Is everything all right?” I ask him softly.

  “It’s fine,” he says. “I’m just tired.”

  “Hopefully not too tired,” Benedict cuts in. “We promised Old Abel that we’d swing by the Spotted Goat later.”

  “I can muster the energy for a couple of drinks,” Nick replies. But there are still worry lines around his eyes. Something is clearly on his mind. If I could get him alone, I’d press him to tell me, but I have a feeling opening up that can of worms in front of his cousins isn’t the best course of action.

  “Can we go by the town center next?” I ask them as we’re all finishing up our bread. “I’d like to see the murals.”

  “Of course,” Casper replies, rising and brushing breadcrumbs off his pants. “It isn’t far.”

  He’s right. Of course, in a town of this size, nothing is particular far from anything else, but there’s so much charm—and so many little hidden treasures to see—that I wouldn’t mind a longer walk, either. Before long, Caspar leads us into a wide square with a colorful flowerbed at the center. It’s lined on all sides by quaint, whimsical buildings with carved doors and bright window boxes, and every stretch of wall more than five feet wide has been painted with a mural.

  I spin slowly, trying to take it all in. The murals are done in all styles—some realistic, some fantastical; some colorful, some delicate and subdued; some bold and striking, others detailed and complex. They must have had at least a dozen artists working on them to get so many different tones and techniques. I’ve never seen anything like it.

  “It’s beautiful,” I murmur, squeezing Nick’s hand. This isn’t even my country, and these aren’t my people, but I’m nearly moved to tears. I can’t even imagine what Nick must be feeling.

  When I look up at him, though, his face has gone p
ale. He’s staring at one of the murals—a large, colorful explosion of flowers and birds painted in wild, feminine strokes. Bright swirls of color fill the background, and green, twining vines with thorns and pointed leaves encircle the entire piece. As I peer closer, I see that there are words on the painted vines, black letters done in an ornate hand, but I’m too far to read them.

  It’s an intriguing mural, yes, but I don’t understand why it’s eliciting such a reaction from Nick.

  I squeeze his hand. “What is it?”

  But my brain is already putting the pieces together. Benedict said the murals were all done by locals, and there’s only one person who could upset Nick like this.

  “It’s her, isn’t it?” I ask softly. “She painted that one.”

  And I don’t even need to hear his response to know I’ve stumbled upon the truth. I release his hand, striding forward to get a better look.

  Nicholas

  I should have known better than to come to Wintervale at all. Even setting foot here, there are too many memories—too many painful thoughts that come to mind everywhere I look.

  Having been abandoned by the woman I arrived with, I step over to admire a different part of the mural, this part painted with bold, geometric shapes. While it’s beautiful in its own right, it does little to distract me from the familiar floral painting nearby. I can’t seem to help looking over—and I’m not entirely certain if it’s because I need to see Clara’s reaction or if I’m drawn to the artwork itself.

  I was but a boy when I met Sara, and I can well admit that I was heartbroken when she chose another man. And while it hurt when she didn’t ultimately choose me, it makes no sense that I’m having such visceral reactions to everything I see in Wintervale that reminds me of her. I loved her, yes, but my feelings for Sara pale when compared to what I experience when I look at Clara. What I feel for Clara is…different. More real. Comes from a different place inside me.

  I can’t explain it, even to myself. I only know that different with Clara seems much truer than anything I ever might have felt for Sara.