His Queen

by Sally Laces

  "Well," says Anya, bouncing forward in her silver heels with her hands behind her back. "I hope dinner was pleasant."

  "I enjoyed the meal," I reply, as the waiters clean the plates off the table. "The company was... survivable."

  My bride-to-be looks away for a moment, her long slender neck corded with a tension I haven't seen before. I know that discomfort, and suddenly I feel like a petulant fool of a boy for saying something so royally bitchy. She knows as well as I do how royal families can behave; she doesn't need a reminder.

  More importantly, I did more than I survive her.

  I enjoyed having her with me.

  "Anya -"

  "You never really took to the royal lifestyle, did you?"

  She says it with a smile, a knowing one I've seen on women before. A 'don't try to play me, playboy, because I know what you're like.' Perceptive eyes set into a perfect heart-shaped face dare me to try saying otherwise.

  "I suppose not," I reply. "That's the way my elocution tutor would have me say it."

  "And how would you say it?"

  "Definitely fucking not."

  She laughs with her head thrown back and a hand tugging a lock of her hair, as genuine a laugh as I've ever heard from someone worth billions.

  "Goodnight, Prince," she says, tip-toeing up just a tad to give me a kiss on my jawline. Then she lifts her dress to help guide herself toward the door.

  "Why does it have to be goodnight?" I ask, turning toward her. She's right when she says I've never fit the royal lifestyle.

  I wonder if she's ever had anything else.

  "Prince. You know it's past the hour." She doesn't need to point at the clock. We both know exactly what time it is. "A princess needs time to unwind."

  That much is true. Women have a bedtime routine that stretches longer than my ancestry.

  "I'm aware." I take a step toward her, enjoying the way her chin lifts to look into my eyes. "Some traditions are better left in the past." When I extend my hand toward her, she looks at it before placing her palm in mine.

  "You don't know a thing about this castle," she says with a cocky smile. "Where is it exactly that you think you'll take me?"

  She's right. I know little about this castle or its hidden rooms. The secret hallway to the servant's corners is likely only the surface of what this ancient, winding edifice might hold.

  I do know one place, however.

  And with a tug of her slender arm, we're moving down the main hall, leaving the servants, the plates, and the traditions behind.

  Chapter 13

  Anya

  I'd go anywhere with him.

  If he wants to keep me at Castle Dominar, I'll be the princess in a tower straight from a fairy tale.

  If he wants to travel the world like my brother, I'll rub his back down with sunscreen and keep his Instagram full of shirtless beach pics.

  If he wants to stay here, despite the protocols of service, I’ll fight for his privilege to become King of Femnos as well.

  I'm his bride. It's my duty.

  But this...

  This is a bit much.

  "The moat?!" I finally shout, minutes after we've left the castle proper for the wet ditch surrounding my home. "You're taking me to the moat?!"

  My heel thumps down into a spot of mud. Or what I hope is mud. No, it's mud. We don't have any animals roaming the premises.

  I think.

  Toras turns back toward me, his long legs giving him speed and height over the soppy terrain. He hasn't left me far behind and makes quick work of getting back, plucking me out of the muck with both hands on my hips.

  "It's just a bit of runback," he says, depositing me on solid earth nearby. "I'll talk to the groundskeeper."

  I chuckle at that one, then see he's serious. More serious still about lifting me up into his arms to carry me the rest of the way.

  "What the -"

  "You have to be back by curfew, princess."

  "I do not have a curfew! Put me down."

  "Say please."

  Well.

  Alright then.

  The word burbles up to my lips, however with me in his arms he certainly makes better time of getting us to the water. I've never been held like this before. He's got an arm underneath my knees and another around my back. I'm no one's idea of a formidable weight, even in this layered dress, yet I typically keep to my feet to get around.

  The change of pace, with the cool night air blowing across my neck and between my knees, contrasting with the warmth emanating from his chest, makes me glad I haven't asked to be put down yet. When we get closer to the water's edge I look up into his stormy eyes.

  "Are you going to throw me in?"

  "Why, are you hot?"

  "Am I?"

  I put on my brightest smile. When he sees it, I'm almost sure he's about to toss me into the moat. Then he slides me down his arms onto the hard-packed ground, looking across the water.

  "I heard you made quite the stir when you crossed through town today."

  "We may have. I couldn't see past the caravan surrounding the limo." He points across the water at the lights flickering. "It's certainly popular."

  I squint my eyes and step a bit closer to the edge of the water. Orange and white halos of light hang like fireflies across the span.

  "What are those?"

  "Tourists with their cameras out."

  "Oh." I fold my arms. Sure are a lot of them.

  "You've not seen them before?"

  I shake my head. "I can't, from my quarters. The window faces the forest. Besides, I've only been living here for a few months. I've spent most of my life in boarding schools."

  "Oxbridge, you mean."

  "Yes!" I reach out and grab his elbow. "You went too!"

  "Well before you."

  "How did you know?"

  He let's out a small chuckle. "All of us royals go there."

  I slowly let my hand fall to his forearm. "That's not true. My roommate was a duke."

  "Anya."

  "I know, I'm joking."

  The moment my hand drifts off his sleeve, he takes it back, fingers twined with mine.

  "Then why the frown?"

  I purse my lips slightly. "I thought you may have looked me up."

  His broad fingers tight around mine. "Did you research me?"

  "Of course," I say with a rapid nod. "Oxbridge for your education, Cambridge for university. Intern for Dominar Global, then Traveling Ambassador for Dominar Enterprises. It's quite the Curriculum Vitae."

  "Well, we're born into it."

  "Not all of us. Some prefer the castle life."

  "Like you?"

  The bulbs across the moat seem to have grown brighter. "I don't know," I admit. "I'm the only child besides my brother. He inherited the throne, I get married off for foreign relations. I've known it most of my life." The hem of my dress falls to the side when I shrug. I brush it back up and smooth down the fabric. "There never was a choice."

  "Awful," he says, voice tight. "For them to take away your life like that."

  He still doesn't understand. Now I see why he struggles - why he admits things to that man of his. I reach up and touch him on the jaw, feeling the stubble. The soft pads of my fingers scratch against his fine dark follicles. "It's our lot in life, Toras," I say, relishing his name on my tongue. "They give us all the wealth in the world - and in exchange..."

  "We hand over ourselves."

  When I shrug this time, he resets my strap for me.

  "There's more to it than just lounging on divans and attending long dinners," I explain, keeping my hand in his. "You have your philanthropy. That gives you purpose."

  "Of course."

  "And it's not like you could do that if you were entertaining all the time."

  His mouth forms into a glimmering white smile, his laugh deep and from his taut stomach. I beam up at him, delighted I could make him laugh.

  "Easier to keep up as well. I can't imagine myself at a night club
past 30."

  "I imagine it's not as much fun after a certain age."

  "You'd fit in perfectly."

  "Do you know how old I am?"

  I pause my breath while he looks down at me.

  "Twenty," he replies, putting on hand on his hip. "Come now Anya, I know that much."

  "Just checking," I admit with a nervous smirk.

  The quiet around the moat brings small wisps of conversation across the moat. I wonder if any of them can see us. I suppose a picture of us together would be worth something to the tabloids. A photo of us before the wedding would bring in millions.

  My spine goes a few degrees lower than the humid chill of the air. Remaining in the castle, it's easy to live carefree. Yet the public scrutiny a royal faces can change the course of history. I've so long been 'the spare,' the younger child born simply to ensure a lineage remained. Now I'll be a public figure.

  At least I'll look nice.

  "I'll go to the nightclubs with you."

  "I wouldn't ask you to."

  "But I will. If that's what you want." There's no point in resisting putting my arms around him - not anymore. There's no one else I can trust from now on. At least when they chose my husband they picked someone who knows what it's like to have all the hope of a Kingdom hanging above your head. The status, the expectations, the knowing ever move you make can be picked apart by people you've never met. Always fulfilling the whims of someone else, and losing sight of what you actually want.

  At leat he knows what it‘s like.

  “I‘ll be all yours,” I murmur against his chest, eyes shut, wondering if he even heard. Calloused fingers wrap around my chin and lift my face toward him. My jaw falls open with a silent gasp, and before I can lift my lids his lips are against mine. My first real kiss, out in the open, as far from the castle walls as one can come without leaving the grounds. Inside the building teems with servants and guests while out across the moat an entire nation-state heads toward midnight, yet out here with him I'm outside of time and place. His scent envelopes me. His tongue presses against mine and I press back eagerly, wanting him to show me what it feels like to be kissed by a man.

  And then he breaks away. Just a taste of the man I'm to wed.

  "We need to get you to bed," he whispers, lips an eyelash length away from my ear.

  "I told you," I reply, hands roving his broad back, "No one gave me a curfew."

  That's when he lifts me back up into his arms.

  "No," he says, turning to face the castle. "But I did."

  I let him carry me halfway up the hill before giving him the kiss on the cheek he deserves.

  Chapter 14

  Toras

  "Left here. Then straight. End of the hall, right at the floor vases."

  I wouldn't say my arms are quite strained yet, but we're getting there. I've been carrying her for the past 15 minutes, first back up the hill toward the castle, then into a hidden back entrance of her tower containing no less than three staircases. I'll have to let Isaac know I'll be skipping the gym tomorrow.

  "Missed the turn!" She says, giving me a slap on the chest. "Back!"

  "What am I, your show pony?"

  "More like a stallion."

  "Cheeky."

  Doubling back, we find another staircase, one I ascend just a tad slower than the others. She notices.

  "Tired?"

  "It is late."

  "Am I too heavy?"

  "I did not say that."

  "All ya have to do is ask me if you want me to hop down," she jests.

  I pull her up higher, firmer against my chest. Her slender body bounces in my arms, and her ass wriggles against my arms as she gets used to the new positioning.

  "Better?" She asks, clenching her little rear.

  "Better."

  Anya's secret route back into the castle bypasses any servants, which I suppose was her intention. We step through a hallway so narrow that I have to draw in my shoulders. She jiggles a loose brass handle at the end and before I know it we're in front of the final few steps up to her chambers.

  "Do you know all the secret spots, Anya?" I ask.

  She tilts her head up. "Well, I've heard a few things." She passes her arms across my chest. "Some men have sensitive nipples, I'm told." She pinches surprisingly thoroughly through my shirt. "But mainly guys just want to be touched on their -"

  "I meant in the castle, Anya. Secret spots in the castle."

  At that, her fingers fall off my chest. "Oh. Haha. Right. Me too."

  I'll give her the benefit of the doubt.

  But her blush is adorable.

  We move at the same time in front of the white door to her room, with me slipping her down toward the floor and her extending her lithe, smooth legs out to land on her heels.

  "I guess this is my stop."

  "It is."

  She reaches up to touch me on the cheek. I would have shaved today if I'd woke up on time. Now I'm glad I didn't. She really seems to enjoy my stubble the way I enjoy her touch.

  "I had fun tonight," she says. "Tomorrow will be busy. All the final preparations for the wedding.”

  And then our wedding night, still two days away.

  "Goodnight, Prince Toras," she says, slipping her hand around the door handle and slipping away inside.

  She waits for me to speak before closing it completely.

  "Goodnight. Princess Anya."

  Chapter 15

  Anya

  I dream of him, of course. How could I not? Even with my dress off, stripped down to nothing but my white panties, I still feel enveloped in his scent. My head swims with memories of his face, his stern smoldering eyes and the beauty of his genuine smile. I laid against his chest and felt his arms. He carried me like a bride. Like a lover.

  Like a wife.

  He and I are together in memory until the moment I wake, which isn't at the sound of an alarm or a servant's knock at my door. Today, my door flies open, and I burst up in my feather bed at the sound, nearly knocking my head against the headboard. My wig remains atop my head; for some reason, I just didn't feel like taking it off last night.

  "Your grace," Ellory whines, dashing through the door in the servant uniform. By the diffuse light through my silk blinds I know the hour is early, earlier than even she would typically wake. Despite that her headband sits tight atop her raven hair and her stockings are pulled up as far as I can see beneath her modest dress.

  "Ellory. Shouldn't you knock first?"

  "I've been knocking," she says. "You sleep rather deeply."

  I sit up in bed and run my hand over my chest. The weight of my bra became almost natural last night. I wonder what Toras thought of the crumpled handkerchiefs we planted in them to give me the illusion of breasts. I suppose he didn't mind, given the way he treated me.

  I put two fingers on my dry lips. Ellory just watches and waits.

  "Well, what is this regarding?"

  From her own chest, the girl withdraws a sheet of parchment neatly folded into four quadrants. She opens the paper, which shows a bullet-pointed list written in a neat cursive hand.

  "You have an extremely packed day, your grace. I've taken the liberty to arrange your schedule. While I'm sure you are accustomed to a late rise, today, I feel, should be an early start."

  I can't help letting a look of amusement cross my face. She's really taken to the role of handmaiden, turning it from a simple lady-in-waiting duty into a full-time profession. I suppose that's the way you rise up in the world when you're not born with status. Hard work, capability, and a bit of luck. I may be a princess but I'm certainly not one to stand in her way.

  "Very well," I decide, pushing myself up with my back against the headboard. "Perhaps you're right. One should not allow servants and suppliers to dictate one's wedding. In most instances, the bride must take an active role."

  "I could not agree more, your grace!" The voice doesn't come from my reserved handmaiden, but from outside my door. Ellory has my leave to ex
it and enter the room at her will; no one else does, and the high-pitched newcomer with the haughty Femnosi accent is tailed by two guards on her way through the door.

  They're reticent to stop her physically and I can tell why. For one, she's in her mid-40s, clad in an elaborate royal purple hoop dress with a ruffled bodice. She’d look like a drunken parrot if they brought her to the ground. While I don't recognize her face, her chin-tilted posture and look of mild contempt speak volumes about her upbringing and status. When she turns to me, the guards awkwardly waiting just outside my door for orders, her face illuminates into a smile that at least seems straightforward. She has a leather-bound book clutched against her bosomy chest, and sees nothing improper about depositing it on my nightstand.

  "Oh, Princess!" She coos clapping her many-ringed hands before her powdered white face. "I'd heard you'd become a creature of beauty, but I had to see the results for myself! What a transformation!"

  "Thank...you?" With no clue as to who this woman is or what she's doing in my room, I give Ellory the slightest of looks. She clears her throat, every bit the proper handmaiden I knew she could be.

  "May I present the Lady Deanne Armitage, of the Family Armitage. She is -"

  "The premier seamstress in Femnos, your grace."

  I wait a moment, hoping Lady Armitage might regret interrupting my maid, who I certainly trust more than any stranger. The effect of my silence is minimal; Lady Armitage likes having her name and title hang in the air.

  "Is this true?" I ask, turning fully toward Ellory, the covers still bunched at my hips.

  "There are a great many seamstresses in Femnos, your grace."

  Lady Armitage huffs out a little snort that I enjoy a bit too much.

  "Yet the Armitage name is noted in castle marriage records stretching back some 100 years. Not a long-standing tradition, perhaps, but enough to establish some consistency."

  "So you're saying she knows how to dress royals."

  "Dress them!?" Lady Armitage throws her fleshy arms up in the air. "Your grace, My family made them who they are! The women, at least. I let that Olstead fellow handle the men."

  Reginald Olstead. If there's one thing I enjoy about cross-dressing (and there are many more than one), it's the fact that I'll not have to see him again, or at least rarely. The man's an expert on Femnosi men's fashion and suits, yet when it comes to women's clothes he doesn't know a bodice from a bootlace. He's welcome to all functions, as are all contracted professionals of the Castle. Lady Armitage isn't such a person. We don't have a writ of service with her.