Wicked Queen

by Geneva Lee

  My hand found his cock, stroking it through his slacks. “Are you sure?”

  “Fuck, Poppet. You’re making this hard.” Whiskers rasped my skin as he groaned, pushing his erection against my palm.

  “That’s the point, X.”

  He pushed away from me, his arms bracketing me. “Later, I’m going to fuck you until you forget your name, and since your cunt is so in need, you call the shots. My mouth. This”—he ground harder against my hand—“or these”—he reached over and brushed a finger over my breasts. “Wherever you want to be fucked, however you want to be fucked—as many times as you need to be fucked.”

  “Yes, please.”

  “But for now,” he said, pulling his body from mine and buttoning his jacket, “let’s pretend like my cock isn’t about to split open my pants and you’re not dripping thinking about it—and let me give you your present.”

  “Wait,” I said, blinking rapidly, “there’s an actual present? I thought that was a euphemism.”

  “You have a one track mind, my wicked queen.” He held out his arm and when I reluctantly peeled myself from the wall, he stepped behind me and covered my eyes.

  “This is a step in the right direction, but maybe a blindfold?”

  “I can’t imagine what you would have done if I’d blindfolded you.”

  “Torn off my clothes,” I answered truthfully.

  Alexander laughed as he brought his lips to my ear and whispered, “Save the dirty talk for later, Poppet, or we’re going to have another Royal scandal on our hands.”

  I was about to ask what he meant when he guided me a few more steps and took his hands from my eyes.

  “Surprise!”

  It took a second to process the presence of my friends and family. But even when it began to sink in, I felt out of sorts. We were standing in a room I’d never stepped foot in before.

  “Where are we?” I asked, turning around in the room.

  “Down the hall from our room,” Alexander told me.

  “In the baby’s room,” Belle squealed, running up to hug me. “You thought he forgot!”

  “And you knew!” I accused.

  “Well, between bringing family members back from the dead and discovering new ones, he’s had his hands a bit full. We all helped,” Edward said, quickly adding, “But it was all his idea.”

  Alexander’s hands settled on my shoulders as I stared around me in wonder. “What room was this?”

  “That closet you said we’d never use,” he said.

  “Which is a tragedy,” Belle said. “What girl willingly gives up closet space?”

  Edward patted her back in sympathy. “We tried.”

  “We probably won’t use it too much for a while, but we had the room,” Alexander said casually as though he hadn’t just given me the sweetest gift in the world.

  He led me on a tour of the room between hugs from my parents and sister, who’d been invited for the unveiling.

  “You keep insisting it’s a boy, so I wanted something neutral,” he said.

  “So you asked Edward,” I guessed.

  “Exactly.”

  They’d landed on a warm gray palette with flourishes of silver. I paused when my eyes landed on the gilded crib. “Is that Elizabeth’s?”

  Edward and Alexander exchanged a look. “We moved it in here this morning. She’s outgrown it.”

  “I know,” I said softly, but it still tugged at my heart.

  The walls had been repapered with a delicate silver damask that caught the afternoon light filtering through the billowing, white sheers beautifully. Rather than the dollhouse that Alexander had placed in Elizabeth’s room, he’d found an ornate castle and surrounded it with stuffed toys: alligators and teddies and tigers. In front of the hearth, two matching gliders upholstered in striped silk sat with a large ottoman.

  “Two?” I asked him.

  “It will make story time easier if we can both hold one of them,” he murmured in my ear.

  I swallowed against the tell-tale rawness creeping up my throat and turned to him. “I love it.”

  “And it’s neutral, so you can add whatever you want,” he continued, rolling his eyes as he obviously regurgitated something Belle or Edward had sold him on.

  “Stop hogging my best friend and let her open her presents,” Belle demanded, attempting unsuccessfully to extricate me from Alexander’s eyes.

  “Stop trying to steal my wife.” He shot her the side eye.

  “Fine, but I’m eating the cake.”

  “Cake?” I pulled free of him. “There’s cake?”

  “Don’t take it personally.” Edward put an arm around his brother’s shoulders. “No man can compete with cake. Not even you.”

  The cake was also shaped like a castle, complete with a small moat and drawstring bridge.

  “Fit for a little prince or princess,” my mother said, holding a cake knife, “but how do you cut it?”

  “Let me.” Lola plucked the knife from our mother’s fingers and stood back to analyze her best course of action.

  “Can you get me a minute with my sister?” I whispered to Belle.

  “Madeline,” Belle said, wrapping an arm around my mom’s shoulder, “I’ve been wanting your thoughts on my nursery.”

  “Well, there are so many options.” She fanned a hand over her chest, deeply flattered by the attention. Madeline Bishop was full of opinions, and I was going to owe Belle for sitting through all of them.

  “Hey, I need your help with something,” I said to Lola.

  “Me?” She paused, a slice of cake balancing on a server.

  “Do you know who Sofia King is?” I asked her.

  “The woman who just married Isaac Blue?” Lola rolled her eyes. “I don’t live under a rock. I wept that day along with every other woman alive. Belle went to their wedding. I don’t know how she controlled herself. I would have objected.”

  I’d met Isaac and while he was certainly charming, he had nothing on my husband. I didn’t tell Lola that.

  “I had Belle reach out to her but she’s taking a permanent vacation,” I explained.

  “Wasn’t she some type of celebrity fixer?”

  “Uh-huh.” I nodded, wondering how much I needed to tell her. “She basically deals with crisis and reputation management.”

  “That’s how she landed Isaac,” Lola said, pushing a slice of cake a bit too forcefully off the server. It landed with a splat. She frowned at the mess and set it to the side. “I could have turned him around!”

  “Exactly!” She’d gotten there without me, but she didn’t see it that way.

  “While I appreciate your belief that I could land the hottest movie star on the planet with my phenomenal publicity skills that ship sailed—I heard to Fiji.”

  “They’re in Seychelles,” I corrected her.

  “What is your life?” Lola asked, staring at me like I’d grown a second head.

  “The point is that you could do that, right?” I scooped a bit of frosting onto my finger and licked it off.

  “Sure, but I don’t need a job. Bless has me plenty busy.”

  “I need you,” I stopped her, “and I’ve already spoken with Belle. It would only be for a few weeks. Sofia even agreed to walk you through the situation over the phone.”

  “What situation?” Lola’s eyes narrowed. “Who am I fixing?”

  “Anderson Stone.”

  Her mouth fell open like a hinge had broken. I waited but she seemed to have lost her capacity for speech.

  “We’re going public,” I said.

  “With what?” Lola finally found her voice.

  “It’s true. He’s Albert’s son,” I whispered.

  “I knew it!” Lola stamped her foot. “Seriously, Mom said that you would—”

  “Lola,” I cut her off. “Part of this is discretion. We need someone to help him navigate the next few weeks. Months at the most.”

  “Months?” she repeated, sounding unsure.

  “It
has to be someone we trust. There’s…there’s other things going on.”

  She pursed her lips as if digesting what I was asking.

  “You’ll be paid, of course.”

  “I don’t need money,” she reminded me. “I just don’t know anything about racing.”

  “I doubt you’ll be doing too much of that,” I said dryly. “Just meet him and see where it goes?”

  “Okay, but only because you’re my sister.” She slid the cake knife expertly through a turret.

  “He’s pretty cute, too.”

  “Not my type.” Lola shrugged.

  Well, at least, that wouldn’t complicate matters. I didn’t bother to tell her that Anders hadn’t totally agreed to this plan either. It was the best shot we had at getting ahead of this situation. With Alexander concerned about loyalty in light of Jacobson’s release, we needed someone close to us who could handle the situation. Anyone that kept our mother in line deserved to be awarded a medal. Lola was the perfect choice.

  I’d just picked up a plate for Alexander when I spotted Sarah at the door. Our eyes met and she vanished. Excusing myself, I followed after her.

  “Sarah,” I called when I caught up to her in the living room.

  She whirled around, crossing her arms over her chest. Her face was cosmetic-free, showing how truly stunning she was when she didn’t hide herself under layers of blush and lipstick. Then, I spotted the slight silver scar running from her forehead down to her cheekbone.

  “It’s from the accident,” she said, turning it away from me.

  “I brought you cake.” I held the plate out to her.

  “Pepper says I can’t eat carbs anymore.” But her gaze lingered on the cake.

  “You need new friends. Preferably ones looking out for you and not your ass.” I moved closer and shoved it at her.

  “Edward invited me,” she said, stabbing a bite with the fork. “I didn’t crash.”

  “Look, living here might not be the best fit for all of us, but you are a member of this family. You should come to parties. I would have invited you, but…”

  “It was a surprise.” She slid the bite into her mouth. “It must be nice.”

  “What?” I asked.

  “A party,” she said. “People who care enough for something like that.”

  “Sarah your family cares about you,” I began.

  “So you’re planning a surprise for my birthday next week?”

  I fumbled for the right response, which was definitely enough of an answer.

  “That’s what I thought.” She shrugged, but her eyes glistened as she shoved a bigger piece of cake in her mouth. “Why would anyone remember? I guess they weren’t all sitting around crying every year on my birthday.”

  She swiped at her nose with the back of her hand muttering “stupid” under her breath.

  “That’s not stupid,” I said gently, wishing I had a tissue.

  “The other day I had to do the math because I didn’t know how old I would be—and then I realized it didn’t matter. Because the year doesn’t matter. I’ll always be sixteen to all of them,” she confessed.

  “Sarah, I can’t imagine how you’re feeling, but they’re worried. You’re doing all the things you were doing before the accident. They don’t want to lose you again.”

  “They never lost me.” The words were so broken that I realized she didn’t believe it herself. It was merely a wish.

  She’d come back and we’d tried to wedge her into our lives and pretend like nothing had changed. We had focused on the publicity and on security and we’d failed to really ask ourselves what she needed. In return, she’d reverted to how she was before the accident, acting out for attention. We’d focused on public perception more than her feelings, just like Albert would have done, so she’d done exactly what she would have done to get him to notice her.

  But Alexander wasn’t his father and with time, we would figure out how to make all of this work.

  “You never lost them either,” I reminded her.

  “Everything’s changed. Alex is a grown-up. I mean, no one even calls him Alex! And he’s running the country and he’s married. Edward is married! He’s my little brother. And there’s Anderson, and oh my God, I was flirting with him!” The confessions were coming rapid-fire now and for the first time, I knew that she was feeling as lost as we were.

  “Come on.” I took her by the elbow. “Come back to the party.”

  “I don’t want to intrude,” she hedged.

  “You won’t. You’re family.” For the first time, that felt like the truth.

  Chapter 24

  Alexander

  The numerous legislative measures Parliament had introduced to stop secret meetings and backdoor deals turned out to be a load of rubbish. I knew this as soon as I received a summons to White’s, the exclusive gentleman’s club. Established in the seventeenth century for the most upper of the upper classes, not much had changed. My father had registered me at birth, but I’d never stepped foot inside—until today.

  That I was being called for a metaphorical spanking by the nine-member panel that had been called to examine my exercise of Royal Prerogative by a group of men keen to flaunt their own power had not escaped my attention.

  We were stopped by a porter at the entrance asking for our membership names.

  “Alexander, King of England, Most High and Noble,” I said flatly, unimpressed by the man’s dedication to appearances.

  “And?”

  “These are my men,” I said. Neither seemed ruffled by the pipsqueak, who didn’t seem to know when he was beat.

  “Are they official guests? We will need to register them on the ledger,” he said.

  “For fuck’s sake,” Smith grumbled next to me.

  “Mr. Smith Price, Esquire,” I added.

  “Norris, King’s advisor.” He tapped the book. “Two r’s, son.”

  “We’re meeting Lord May.”

  “You will want the Cigar Club. If you take the stairs, it will be on the left.” He pointed to the staircase occupying a good portion of the ground floor.

  “Your Majesty,” Norris prompted under his breath. “There is a time to be impressed by the presence of a member. That time is now.”

  “Y-y-your Majesty,” he tacked on weakly.

  “You’re going to give that boy a heart attack,” I muttered to Norris as we took the stairs.

  “It can’t be the first time someone has put him in his place, especially not here.” Smith took in his surroundings with the air of a man accustomed to both clandestine meetings and checking for the exits. Given the company he’d kept for most of his life, the behaviour was likely deeply engrained. It was yet another reason he was a valuable addition to my team.

  None of us were terribly impressed by the opulent, if garish furnishings. It smacked a bit too much of old money, and I lived in a palace. A number of priceless portraits most likely listed as being in private collections hung on the walls, plaques heralding the generous benefactor loaning the piece. Antiques from the last four hundred years of existence were crammed into every nook and landing.

  “It could use a woman’s touch,” Norris said under his breath, earning him a glare from a grumpy passerby.

  “I think the fairer species is lucky they don’t have to put up with this,” Smith said.

  White’s membership was notoriously men-only. Many other longstanding clubs in London had given in to the persuasions of the sexual revolution but here we were in the last bastion of sexism—and likely a number of other isms.

  The Cigar Room had a no smoking sign prominently displayed on entry. It seemed even the misogynists had to heel to public health orders. That was fine with me. I couldn’t imagine coming home reeking of cigar fumes without Clara sending my suit to be burned.

  The rest of the ensemble had already gathered, no doubt to discuss strategy and drink expensive Scotch: the two things most of them were particularly skilled at.

  “Gentlemen.” I u
sed the greeting loosely.

  “You’ve brought friends.” May didn’t bother with hellos. He’d been a member of the House of Lords long enough to resent having to deal with the third king of his lifetime—and I suspected his least favourite.

  “My council,” I explained.

  “This is a rather private matter, hence why we asked to speak to you where discretion could be guaranteed.”

  “You hold a higher opinion of your peers than I do.” I unbuttoned my jacket and took a seat. Both Smith and Norris followed suit, taking up places on either side of me.

  I doubted I was in danger of anything more than character assassination by meeting with these men, but Norris had prepped Smith on expectations before we left. Only after I’d explained my rationale for asking the man to be present.

  Unknown to both of them it was an audition of sorts. I wasn’t certain that I could persuade Smith Price to join my staff but I was willing to try.

  “And who is this?” Lord Byrd whacked a walking stick at Smith’s feet.

  Smith bared his teeth before he answered. “Smith Price, junior barrister.”

  “Junior?” Byrd sniffed as though this distinction was important.

  “He was being considered for King’s Council before he took a sabbatical.” I understood what clout meant to men like this.

  May peered at him from over his reading glasses, finally abandoning his newspaper. “He’s too young.”

  “Formidability will trump age it seems,” I said coolly.

  “Enough of this,” said Prime Minister Clark, who looked uncomfortable by both the proceedings and his surroundings.

  He didn’t seem the type to belong to this group. He’d risen through the House of Commons and although his upbringing was privileged, it had not reached the upper echelons of snobbery.

  A waiter appeared offering me a brandy menu but I waved it away. Smith followed my cue but didn’t look pleased about it.

  What he didn’t realize was the subtle shade I’d just thrown at the panel. This did not escape them, however. If old men could be counted on for one thing it would be the stubborn acceptance of nonsensical traditions.