by Susan Stoker
He spun to face the two men who appeared in his bedroom doorway.
Chapter Four
Cora peeked out at the strange men, wondering what the hell was happening. She was also embarrassed to be caught in the act. The men were well-dressed, wearing dark uniforms with unfamiliar golden crests over their hearts. The crests didn’t look the same as those worn by full blood princes though, and she soon realized they were members of the Royal Guard.
“Forgive us for interrupting, Royal Advisor Akeen, but we’ve just received important intelligence from the Americans.”
An annoyed looking Akeen quickly pulled the condom off, stepped out of bed, and put his pants on, followed by his shirt. “Critical level?” he asked, eyeing the men.
“Yes, sir. It’s extremely urgent, otherwise we wouldn’t have let ourselves in,” the tallest of the men said, gazing at Cora. “Apologies, miss.”
Akeen finished donning his suit, minus the tie, and walked to Cora. He reached for her hand and squeezed. He bent to speak in her ear. “Stay here until my return. Make yourself at home. If you need anything, ring for a servant.”
“I don’t know, Akeen. Perhaps I should return to my room. Perhaps…”
“You will stay here and that’s final.”
The absolute authority in his tone made her pussy clench, but then she felt guilty because he had important business he needed to attend to.
What if something terrible had happened or was about to happen?
It was well-known that foreign enemies often conspired against King Brenul, as his older brother, the supposed rightful heir to the kingdom, was exiled in Russia and often made claims at the throne. But the older brother had been run out of Ismallia for ordering a rogue group of soldiers to execute all the men in a small village near the sea, for reasons that, to this day, hadn’t been entirely explained.
The officers who’d entered Akeen’s quarters wore grave expressions, and a chill ran down her spine as she worried about the intelligence they’d received from the Americans.
“Promise you will stay here, Cora.”
“I promise,” she breathed.
He nodded in approval, grabbed her face in his hands and kissed her forehead, then swiftly departed the room, trailed by the two men. She heard their footsteps fading, and then the door of Akeen’s quarters slammed shut.
She wished she had her phone so she could check the news quickly, in case any information had broken publicly, but she’d left her purse and phone in her room. For a moment, she considered dressing fast and running across the palace to fetch her things, but she supposed Akeen wouldn’t be too happy if he returned to find her missing from his quarters. For a reason she couldn’t fathom, she wanted to please him, and she wanted him to like her.
She rolled her eyes and heaved a sigh.
So much for keeping this experience to one night only.
Most of the men she’d dated typically seemed intimidated by her, and often became angry when she made a sarcastic remark or didn’t take them as seriously as they took themselves. But Akeen felt like her match in every way. He hadn’t backed away and gone searching for an easier to handle, more obedient woman after she’d deliberately given him a difficult time and initially turned him down. His sense of humor certainly meshed with hers. Even though he came across as cocky, she couldn’t deny that the bold determination with which he’d pursued her had made her feel all warm and tingly inside.
Despite her worry over the danger he was helping to combat, her pussy still ached with the longing to be filled up. He’d been a moment away from slamming his huge cock into her before they’d been interrupted. She rubbed her bottom in an attempt to reinvigorate the sting of the quick, playful spanking he’d given her, but the sting was already gone.
Heat gathered in her core at the memory of being held down while he swatted her ass. If he planned to spank her like that every time he caught her going commando, she might never wear panties again.
She glanced at the clock on the bedside table. It was one in the morning. The exhaustion of being jetlagged and staying up late combined to make her curl up in the bed and snuggle on the pillow. She pulled the covers up further and decided she would close her eyes, but only for a little while. She wanted to be awake when Akeen returned, and she hoped he came back soon.
Hopefully, an hour or two of sleep would allow her to reconsider the situation.
Would it really be awful to see Akeen again or spend more than one night together? Would it absolutely lead to heartache if she kept in touch with him after she flew home?
These questions and more swirled in her head as she succumbed to sleep.
***
“Cora. Cora Meyers.”
A deep voice entered her dreams, and she turned on her pillow, floating in that warm but uncertain place between sleep and wakefulness. As she started to drift off again, back to her dream of swimming in the ocean with Akeen, the voice penetrated her blissful reverie once more.
“Cora Meyers, you are under arrest.”
Blinking, she shifted and sat up against the pillows. Akeen was here, but so were a dozen other men, dressed in the same uniforms as the two men who’d interrupted them earlier. Why were so many members of the Royal Guard here in this room and looking right at her?
Had she been dreaming, or had Akeen really said she was under arrest? He looked furious, and when her gaze dropped to his hands, she gasped at the sight of the restraints he was holding.
“What’s going on?” she demanded.
“Cora Meyers of America, you are under arrest for conspiring to assassinate King Brenul of Ismallia. Stand up and put your hands behind your back.” Akeen’s cold tone washed through her, chilling her to the bone.
“There has to be some mistake. I would never do such a thing.”
“Stand up and put your hands behind your back immediately. Don’t make this harder than it already is, Cora.” A flash of hurt in his eyes made her stomach flip.
Did he actually believe she was a threat against his father? It couldn’t be further from the truth. She had come to Ismallia to attend Malia’s wedding and nothing more. Well, other than sightseeing. How had he come to the conclusion that she was a criminal? What kind of information had the American government, a staunch supporter of King Brenul, provided?
She shook her head and shrunk back, keeping the covers draped over her body. “Please, Akeen. I’m not wearing any clothing.”
His eyes left hers for the first time since she’d awoken, and he inspected her body, realization appearing to dawn in his gaze. “Fetch her a robe!” he called.
Within moments, a black silk robe was tossed on the bed. Blinking back tears, Cora yanked the robe under the covers and donned it, tying it tight in the front, before finally crawling out of bed. “I demand to speak to the American Embassy in Ta-Kona.” The consulate of her home country was stationed only a few miles from the palace, in a tourist trap known as Ta-Kona which she had planned to visit before her return to America.
“You will not be making any demands of us. Now turn around and give me your hands, or I will have no choice but to force you.”
***
He fucking hated putting handcuffs on Cora. At least, for this reason. A cloud of disbelief hung heavily upon him. He couldn’t believe she had conspired to take the king’s life. He wondered if it was chance that he’d noticed her at the wedding reception, or if she had intentionally tried to catch his eye by walking across the ballroom and standing on the most secluded balcony, as if inviting him to follow.
No, that was just chance, he told himself. He’d been looking for a woman to spend the evening with when he’d first spotted her. Nevertheless, he wished he hadn’t met her and gotten to know her before he arrested her. If she were a stranger, this would be so much easier.
‘Royal Advisor’ was Akeen’s official title, and he did give advice to his father now and then. But most of the time, he tended to ‘unofficial’ duties with the Royal Guard.
; Like capturing and interrogating criminals who sought to harm the crown. He did all the dirty work no one else wanted to do. He’d fallen into helping the Royal Guard in his teens, not long after coming to live in the palace while still reeling from the untimely death of his mother. For a reason he’d never fully understood, this line of work came naturally to him.
He hoped Cora confessed to her crimes immediately. The thought of hurting her turned his stomach. He’d never been faced with a female criminal before, and while he could allow the Royal Guard to question her, the prospect of another man harming her during an interrogation made him rage inside.
Why did it have to be her? Why couldn’t it have been another American who’d conspired against his father?
But the evidence was there. Cora’s ex-boyfriend, Greg Keller, had multiple contacts with Akeen’s exiled uncle and with a criminal faction known as CKP (Citizens for King Partha) that operated underground in nearby Ermastistan, a small country on the southern border of Ismallia. Greg Keller had died last night in New York. Poison was suspected, but before he died, he had given a rambling confession to an assassination plot, claiming that his ex-girlfriend was the mastermind behind it all. He said she’d left him after he’d expressed doubts about killing King Brenul.
Akeen gripped Cora’s arm and led her to the private security elevator that would take them to the dungeon. Though they lived in modern times, the lowest level of the palace hadn’t been renovated as much as the rest of this grand structure. It was damp and dark, and the ancient instruments of torture remained, though to be honest, they were there mostly for a show of intimidation. If criminals thought Akeen was about to put them on a medieval stretching contraption, they usually spilled all their secrets at his feet and begged for mercy.
He eyed Cora, deciding he would interrogate her in private. The Royal Guard didn’t need to watch. He prayed the intel was incorrect. Hundreds of royal investigators were currently working to verify the information from the Americans. Until he received that verification, he wouldn’t harm a hair on Cora’s pretty head. But he would do his duty and try to get her to confess in other ways—like scaring her and threatening her.
Fucking hell, he hated this, but he didn’t have a choice.
“Where are we going?” she whispered, shaking in his hold as the elevator descended to the depths of the palace. Only five officers accompanied them in the elevator as it was small, and she huddled against him in the tiny space.
He turned her and placed his finger beneath her chin, forcing her to stare up at him. “The dungeon, Cora. I’m taking you to the dungeon, where you’ll be thoroughly questioned for your involvement in the plot against King Brenul.”
Fear flashed in her blue eyes, and he steeled himself to ignore her increased trembling. If she was guilty, getting to her confess quickly was important—the information she revealed could save lives.
“Please, Akeen, you have to believe me. I didn’t do anything, and I wasn’t planning to do anything. I’m completely innocent. This is a terrible mistake. Why-why do you think I’m a threat?”
The elevator shuddered to a stop and the doors hissed open.
“Your government told us you were a threat, so don’t bother asking for help from the American Embassy again. If you want to help yourself,” he said, guiding her out of the elevator, “then I suggest you cooperate and tell me everything you know. If you are uncooperative, things will soon get very unpleasant for you, I can assure you of that.”
At that moment, they moved past the entryway of the dungeon, where stone-faced officers holding machine guns stood guard. A few steps further, and they crossed through the area that contained most of the ancient torture devices. Water occasionally trickled on them from overhead. The dungeon was darker and damper than Akeen remembered. He hadn’t been down here to interrogate an enemy of the crown in several months.
He motioned for the officers who’d accompanied them in the elevator to return to the entryway. The men nodded, understanding that he sought privacy with his little captive.
When Akeen had been thinking of ways to get Cora to remain in Ismallia longer, this hadn’t been one of them. She continued trembling and whimpering as they moved through the narrow walkways between the cells. Electric torches lit the dungeon, and the lights were not only dim, but also placed far apart, leaving many corners completely darkened.
There was a sharp chill in the air, too, and Akeen felt a stab of guilt, knowing Cora was probably shivering from the cold as well, in addition to her visible fear. She also wasn’t wearing shoes, and the stone floors were undoubtedly icy. If she was indeed guilty, hopefully she would confess straight away. If she told the truth, he could justify making her more comfortable. But until she confessed to her crimes, or until the Royal Guard’s investigation exonerated her, he would have no choice but to be a complete bastard towards her.
He pushed open the door of a cell at the end of the hall and brought her inside, making a show of closing and locking the door. He always kept a key to the dungeon cells in his pocket. He tucked the key away and pushed Cora onto a wooden chair that rested in the center of the cell.
She sat awkwardly shifted forward on the chair, with her hands still cuffed behind her back, and her gaze down. A lone tear had trickled down her cheek, and his fingers itched with the urge to wipe it away.
Damn and blast, but he couldn’t.
He couldn’t fucking comfort her. She was the enemy. Or at least, intel said she was. Until an investigation proved otherwise, palace protocol dictated she be treated as a criminal. He glanced around at the cells beyond this one. How many times had he beat men to a pulp while trying to get them to confess? In the years since he’d started working for the crown, at least a hundred.
Akeen always got a confession.
Always.
He was brutal in his methods of persuasion too. But he couldn’t imagine inflicting the same tortures he normally used against a traitorous scum on Cora.
Fuck. The taste of her pussy still lingered on his tongue. Not even an hour had passed since he’d been ready to impale her and make her his. He turned fully around, staring down the narrow walkway from which they’d just come, to gather his thoughts. If he was going to do a sufficient job interrogating her, he had to put himself in the mindset that she wasn’t an innocent.
Finally, he spun around and glared down at Cora.
To get himself in the proper frame of mind, he told himself she was a criminal, a would-be murderer of the king, his own father, and, no matter what, he must extract the truth from her. Even if he must make her scream the confession.
He also told himself she wasn’t the same woman he’d been a second away from bedding. That woman didn’t exist. That woman was a fake, and her interest in him had probably been nothing more than an act. His approaching her might have been chance, but she had probably viewed him as an opportunity to get closer to the king once she realized his identity. Assassins were good, as well as difficult to track and defeat. Cora had probably known his true identity the moment he’d passed her the champagne, but had faked innocence for as long as it pleased her. She had probably memorized the faces of each member, legitimate and illegitimate, of the royal family.
He pushed down the sudden hurt that surged in his chest. He hated the feeling of betrayal that swarmed him in this moment.
Be firm. Acquire her secrets. Get her confession. Then wash your hands of her and allow the legal system to take care of her.
Lifetime in prison.
That was the typical sentence for plotting against the king.
At least she hadn’t actually made an attempt on his father’s life, as the sentence for such a crime was death.
“You will not leave this cell until you tell me every detail of your plot against the king. I don’t want to hurt you, Cora, but if you prove uncooperative, then I will not hesitate to use more unpleasant methods of interrogation.”
Chapter Five
“My name is Cora Meyers. I’m tw
enty-seven years old. I was born and raised in Lexington, Kentucky. I went to college in New York and made Manhattan my home after graduation. I work for the public relations firm The Harold-Finks Company. I usually work sixty hours a week. Outside of work, I have a few friends I’ll have drinks with now and then, colleagues from work or friends from college. None of my friends have a criminal record that I know of. I have no connections to anyone who might want to harm King Brenul, let alone any other world leaders. Does that answer all your questions so far?”
Cora had stopped shaking, but she still appeared fearful. Her eyes shone with unshed tears, and Akeen hoped she didn’t start crying. He hated his job in this moment, but he wouldn’t shirk his duties to the crown. Assassins and spies were typically good actors. Capable of telling lies as if they spoke the truth, and capable of blending in as real tourists or Ismallian citizens.
He couldn’t go soft on her. What if there were a continued threat to this father or other members of the royal family? What if she had an accomplice, even one from another country, waiting nearby?
“So far,” he finally said. “Now let’s get to point.”
Her eyes widened and she bit her bottom lip. She blinked rapidly then in an effort to keep her tears from falling. Fuck. One of them rolled down her cheek, on the opposite side as the first tear, and it left Akeen gutted. His arms ached to wrap around her. He longed to comfort her, tell her everything would be okay, and that he believed in her innocence.
But he couldn’t do any of that. He needed the truth, no matter how dark it might be.
“Tell me about your reason for breaking up with Greg.”
Confusion danced across her face and she straightened. “I caught him cheating on me. I was out of town and came back early, showed up at his apartment and found him in bed with another woman. So, I broke up with him. Why are you asking me about this?”