by Ella Goode
“Or else?” Thom says finally.
“Yes. Or else. I own you and your country. You can diddle your servants, watch your perverted lesbian shows on your own time, but when I’m around, you pay attention to me or I’ll burn this whole fucking country to the ground. You, girl, get down on your knees before your future queen.”
I barely register her command. My mind’s fixated on her earlier threat. Your country. It’s not just about me and Thom and our pretend children. It’s about all the children. It’s about Matlavia.
“You’re not queen yet,” Thom says with suppressed fury. He rises to his feet and takes a step toward Callista. There’s a glint in his eye that signals he’s done with all this bullshit.
I slide between the two before anything irreversibly bad occurs. Choking all my pride down, I bow deeply toward Callista. “I’m sorry, Lady Callista. I lost my way but I’m leaving now.”
“Pen—” Thom starts to say.
Callista cuts him off. “You’re lucky I don’t make her crawl. Don’t make it worse for her.”
I keep my head down as I exit the room. I understand why Stephen left. When you are responsible for an entire country, you can’t make decisions based on your own feelings any longer. You have to look at the big picture always. This is bigger than our simple love.
I close the door behind me and walk away—something I should have done years ago.
Chapter Eight
Thom
“Time for you to leave, slut,” Callista sneers.
“All right. That’s enough.” I can’t believe that Stephen stuck his dick in this woman. I don’t care that it was a hate fuck. You don’t have sex with terrible people. That should be everyone’s motto. “You can leave,” I inform her.
“I’m not allowing my future husband to be closeted in some room during our engagement party,” she huffs with outrage.
“Your dad didn’t spank you enough as a kid,” Nicole mutters. She leans over and gives me a kiss on the cheek. “I’m going, but only because I can’t stand the air in here anymore. Callista, lay off on the kale. You stink.”
I let the door shut behind Nicole before facing off with Callista again. “This isn’t an engagement party and I’m not your future husband. The marriage contract is between you and Stephen, not you and me.”
“I read the contract and it’s an agreement between the House of Sutton and the House of Silverford-Watts so, yes, it is between you and me if that’s how I want it,” she retorts.
I read the contract, too. “Your father signed it and he’s the one who gets to enforce it, not you.” There has to be something that Frederick wants more than an alliance with the crown. I haven’t figured out what that is yet, but by the end of the night I will because there is no way in hell I’m marrying this viper.
I spend the rest of the night with Frederick. I learn that he likes bourbon from a state called Kentucky. He shares that he’s schtupping some Ukrainian model on the side but that it’s okay because he gave his wife a two-million-dollar necklace, but he can’t wait to get his hands on some of the crown jewels. That will make her real happy.
He brags about closing four sweet deals for some real estate development projects that will all be called the Royal M. I make note of all four project leads. I might have to make a few phone calls to let them know that the Royal House of Matlavia will not be participating in any way. I can just see Frederick slapping our crest up on some tacky resort on the basis of this tenuous connection.
By the end of the night, I’m in a foul mood, but I’ve decided on one thing. The people of Matlavia would not be better off with Callista on the throne. Her family would rob the treasury and turn us into a low-rent title for hire.
“Draw up a severance agreement,” I order Johan as I rip off the tie that has been choking me all night.
“But sir, what about the loans? Frederick vowed he would call them in.”
“He can’t call them in until we default and we’re not going to default.” I toe off my shoes and kick them into the corner.
“We’re not?”
“No.” I don’t know how yet, but I’ll figure it out.” I unbutton my shirt and throw that on the floor, too. Johan makes a move to pick it up, but I stop him. “I’m tired. Everyone needs to leave.”
“Everyone?” Johan questions. “B-but what about the favored guests?”
There are actually people sitting outside the bed chamber having drinks like it’s some goddamned VIP lounge. No wonder Stephen ran away.
“We’re not having that anymore. You can’t buy access to the throne. That’s not how it’s going to work for me. Everyone gets the same right to see me, regardless of how thick your wallet is.” If I’m truly going to be king, then I’m making changes. Should Stephen come back in the meantime, he’ll appreciate that he doesn’t have to play bar host to a bunch of European and US social climbers who just want to fill their Instagram feeds with shots of them making pretty faces next to someone who was lucky enough to be born with the right last name.
Johan’s face shifts from surprise to something akin to respect. He probably didn’t expect this from me—the playboy prince. Well, hang on to your boxers, Johan, because I’ve got other surprises up my sleeve.
“Yes, Your Majesty,” he says and bows as he backs out of the room.
Once the door is closed, I pluck a driver out of Stephen’s abandoned golf bag.
Bam!
I step back out of the way of falling glass and drop the club to my side. “Three. Two—“
The door bursts open before I can reach one.
“Your Highness!” shouts Johan.
“I bashed the security camera with the golf club.” I heft the wood and metal contraption in my hand. “One stroke only. Not bad, huh?”
Johan gapes at me like a fish. “But…security…” He’s at a loss for words.
“I know. You and Commander Brande provide top-notch security to the Royal House of Matlavia. I appreciate it immensely. No one has died in this bedchamber or even on the grounds in the past hundred years, so these are unnecessary.” I walk over to the second camera. “Besides, I plan to be making love to the future Queen of Matlavia in here and no one gets to see her naked body but me.”
I take great pleasure in whipping the wooden head of the club against the second security device and then the third. I’d rather be dead than another man look at Pen when she’s nude, flushed and riding me with complete abandon. Or when she’s on her knees taking me deep in her throat.
I toss the club aside before I smash something else. Conjuring up a smile, I turn to Johan, whose expression has shifted back to disappointment.
“I don’t think this is a wise idea,” he says stiffly.
“If you can’t keep people out of my bedchambers, the security in this place isn’t worth shit,” I reply bluntly.
I gently shove Johan out the door and close the ten-foot oak behemoth in his disapproving face. I fish my mobile out of my pocket and call Louis.
“Where are you?”
“In your chambers, Your Highness. I mean, Your Majesty. I’m in your old chambers!” Louis stumbles over his explanation.
Strangely, his breach of protocol makes me feel better. I’m not the only one finding this transition awkward and challenging.
“I need you to get up to my new digs and clean house. There are a bunch of people sitting in the antechamber and I want them gone.”
“Yes, Your Majesty. Will there be anything else?”
“Yeah, I want two scoops of vanilla ice cream and some honey and whipped cream delivered in”—I check my watch—“thirty minutes.” It’s going to take me fifteen minutes to convince Pen to come up here. I think she believes she’s going to turn to ash or something like that if she crosses the king’s threshold. Apparently having a royal dick in her for the past seven years hasn’t made her realize that we all bleed red when we cut, no matter our last name or station in life.
She shows up at my door without my ev
en picking up the phone carrying a tray with three silver-domed containers. Bless Louis. He’s definitely getting a raise.
“I was supposed to be fired ten hours ago.” She drops the dessert on the side table with a bang.
A knock on the door follows. “Your Majesty? Is everything all right in there?”
I roll my eyes. “Yes, Johan. Everything’s peachy. Pen delivered my after-dinner snack. You can go now.”
“But, Your Majesty—” There’s an actual fucking jiggling of the doorknob.
It’s a wonder that Stephen didn’t flee years ago if this was what he was subjected to.
“Now, Johan,” I say with steely intent. “Or are you above the king to gainsay his orders?”
There’s a moment of silence as Stephen’s personal assistant finally realizes how far over the line he’s trodden. I hear shuffling of feet and then a softly uttered, “I apologize, Your Majesty. We will be outside the antechamber should you need anything.”
I quell the urge to say I’m sorry in return. It’s not in me to make people feel bad, but I’ve caught on quick that if I don’t exert myself, I’m going to be walked all over. Stephen was too young when he came to the throne. He relied on these men heavily, and I suspect when it came time for him to wield power on behalf of Matlavia, these well-intentioned advisors were an anvil around his neck.
Johan may never love me as he loved Stephen, but he’s going to damn well respect me.
I turn to Pen, who is leaning against a side table, watching me with an indecipherable expression in her eyes.
“Should I feel bad?” I ask as she’s the only one whose opinion matters.
“Nope. This is a new side of you, though.”
I walk over and pull her off the side table and into my arms. “A good side?”
“A hot side,” she concedes, plump lips curving up at the corner. “But then, when aren’t you hot? That’s never been one of your problems.”
“What are my problems then?”
“So many,” she sighs dramatically. She runs a finger down the button placket of my black shirt. “Too many to list. It would take a lifetime.”
“Good thing we’re going to be together that long.” I lift her into my arms. “You can tell me one each day.”
She laughs and winds her arms around my neck. “Like a tattletale Scheherazade? That’s a bad fantasy, Thom.”
“Hey, I thought our bedroom was a no judgment zone.” I toss her onto the bed. I don’t know why she’s being so amiable. I figured I’d have to fight tooth and nail to get her to come to my room, yet here she is, beaming like a ray of sunshine in my very dark world.
I’m not one to question my good fortune. There’s no point. Just enjoy the world as it comes at you.
Chapter Nine
Pen
“You’re still fired,” Mrs. Holloway stiffly reminds me when I hand in my apron.
“I didn’t presume to believe otherwise,” I reply. “I planned to leave in the morning after the guests depart.” I give her a brief bow and turn to leave.
“Ms. Lloyd,” she calls out.
I stop. “Yes, ma’am?”
“The lady you served wearing the ice-blue gown and the sapphire necklace. Do you remember her?”
An image of an older woman with golden dyed hair caught up in a tight chignon at the back of her head pops into my mind. “Yes.”
“What country was she from?”
I rub my lips together and think. She was blonde and fairly tall. Her skin was pale and she reminded me a bit of the Disney ice princess. “Norway?”
“America, but she has an Italian husband. What was her title?”
An American with an Italian husband? Do Americans even have titles? I don’t think so. This must be a trick question. “Americans don’t have titles,” I answer, a bit confused at why Mrs. Holloway is asking me these questions and even more baffled that I’m standing here answering them.
“Her husband is an Italian count. She’s Contessa Franco. How about the gentleman with the loud green tie and the hideous, ill-fitting suit?”
That man was hard to forget. Tall and thin with spidery fingers, many of the staff shied away from him. He was nice, though, thanking me each time I brought a tray of food his way. Most of the guests don’t even acknowledge the staff. But I didn’t know his name.
“What’s the point of this?” I ask.
“To show how ill-suited you are for King Thomas. We all know you’ve been schtupping him for years, but you’ll always be a palace maid. There are no godmothers who will turn the mice into footmen. There’s no secret lineage that will transform you into marriageable material. You’re the bastard daughter of a maid. Even if King Thomas doesn’t marry Lady Callista, you’ll still be a girl with no lineage and no money who earns a living cleaning toilets.”
“That’s enough, Mrs. Holloway.” Zoya shoulders the older woman aside. “Come on. I’ll walk you to your room,” my friend says.
I order each one of my feet to move, and while they are slow to respond with the blood so cold in my veins, I eventually make it to the hallway leading from the kitchen to the staff quarters. Louis pops up, startling both Zoya and me.
He gives us an apologetic smile. “Miss Penelope, I’m sorry for delaying you, but you’ll need to do one more task before you go retire for the evening.”
“She’s really tir—” Zoya starts to say.
I shrug her helpful arm aside and straighten. Holloway’s words struck directly to my heart, but it wasn’t the tone that killed me, it was that the words she’d said were true. I’m not marriageable material—not for Prince Thomas or King Thomas. Leaving the palace is painful, but necessary, so I’m going to depart with dignity.
“What is it, Louis?”
“You need to deliver a dessert tray to the king’s chambers. Two scoops of vanilla ice cream, a pot of honey and a bowl of whipped cream.” He pins a steely glare on Zoya. “I trust you can have that ready in a minute. Mrs. Holloway, I need to see you to discuss tomorrow’s menus. There are a few changes.”
Zoya practically skips back to the kitchen, not bothering to hide her smile when Mrs. Holloway passes by on her way to meet with Louis.
“Ice cream. Honey. Whipped cream?” My friend laughs under her breath. “I can’t imagine what he wants this for.”
I try to keep the pink off my cheeks. “He has a sweet tooth,” I reply.
“He’s sweet for something all right,” she snickers.
I spoon the homemade whipped cream into a bowl and grab a honey pot so I don’t have to endure more of Zoya’s innuendos. She slaps me on the butt and reminds me to shower after we have our dessert.
The door to Louis’s study is open, and as I walk by, Mrs. Holloway makes a disapproving sound in the back of her throat. This time her barb doesn’t bother me. Who cares what she thinks. After tonight, I’ll be gone.
But for now, I’m going to love him with everything I’ve got in me. I have a lifetime of memories to create.
“Hey, I thought our bedroom was a no judgment zone,” he teases.
My back hits the mattress.
“I’m judging you very harshly right now,” I inform my love. “You haven’t kissed me yet.”
His eyes spark. “And you haven’t kissed me.”
“Why don’t we kiss each other then?”
He pretends to consider it for a second before saying enthusiastically, “Great idea!” His lips find mine and it’s heaven. I love kissing him, love the slip and slide of our lips and tongues together, the wetness and the heat and even teeth as we nibble and suck, and I force back the thought that this is one of the last times we’ll kiss.
“The ice cream’s melting,” I manage to murmur between deep, drugging kisses.
“Is it?” he says absently, lips blazing a path down my neck. “What a shame to let it go to waste then.”
He had managed to get my uniform unbuttoned while we were kissing and now my lace-clad breasts are exposed, my nipples nearly poki
ng through the lace. He pushes down the thin cups and growls at the sight of my hard, elongated nipples demanding his attention. Instead of immediately latching on, however, he reaches over to the dessert bowls on the side table. My pussy creams as I realize his intent.
“Hmmm, since I missed out on dessert, I think I’m in the mood for a sundae.” He flashes me a naughty grin and I squirm, need thrumming through my body directly to my pussy.
Thom scoops some ice cream on a spoon and carefully drops a dollop on the tip of my breast. I gasp at the icy sensation, which only gets me hotter and wetter. Using his finger he then smears some whipped cream on top of the melting ice cream and then drizzles honey on my nipple, which has flushed a deep pink from the cold.
“Oh how pretty,” he croons, “and with a big red cherry on top, too. I can’t wait to taste it.”
He bends and latches on my nipple and sucks forcefully, drawing as much of my breast into his mouth as he can. I arch and nearly scream with the pleasure, my hands clawing at his sheets. I push my breast into his face even more, and the pendant between my breasts sways lightly against his face. His tongue swirls around the flesh in his mouth, lapping away the cream and honey and I am so ready to come already.
“Thom!” I cry, nearly sobbing. He pulls and pulls with his mouth, taking long drags and scraping the tip lightly with his teeth before letting my nipple pop out and then sucking it back in. He’s driving me absolutely crazy with lust. I’m barely aware of him unbuttoning my pants until he thrusts one hand down my panties, rubbing through my slick folds, grazing my clit. One rough rub and I’m coming hard, pleasure exploding through my body.
My thighs clamp tight on his hand, trapping him, but that doesn’t stop him. His fingers slide down until he finds my drenched slit and he thrusts two fingers up high, curling them slightly before he pumps them, extending my pleasure. I whine as aftershocks roll through me. He continues to suck hard at my breast as I ride his hand, my pussy clenching his fingers with every rocking motion.