The Princess of the Wild (The Royals of Adriel Book 2)

by Lorelei Orion

  “Terra,” he echoed, testing the word on his tongue. He was pleased. “Terra, it is.”

  Even in the shadows, she could see his eyes taking on a new light while he appreciated her. Softly, he asked, “How does it feel to name a world?”

  Skye wasn’t sure how she felt. Exalted ...

  “Imagine that,” he uttered, and his lips came down to hers ...

  She welcomed his ardor, wrapping her hands across his broad back, her fingers in his silken hair. The kiss ended in a fervid emotion, and a romp of lovemaking was inevitable. He led her over to the console and he sat, reaching down for the lever that locked the chair at its base, keeping it stable. He grasped her hips, lifting her upon him. There were no armrests to hinder her thighs and she straddled him easily, breathless in her anticipation. He struggled with unstrapping his leggings and she reached down to help him, gliding her hand across his bulging firmness.

  She had to say it. “So this is my very big surprise?” she teased.

  “No,” he uttered, with a chuckle. “This is no surprise. You just wait ...”

  He freed himself from the cloth and he found her, cupping her bottom in his hands, and she fell against him limply as he drove himself within. Impatiently, he gathered her skirts and slipped his hands beneath, clutching her bareness while she moved on him, finding her rhythm and becoming wanton within it. She straightened, wanting his attention on her breast, and with his bristly chin he pushed aside her shirred bodice and his lips found a swelling peak. She arched her back to assist him, and he slid his hands up to her ribs, steadying her while he pleasured her. When overcome by his ravishment, she fell against him again, laying her head on his shoulder, moving slowly on him, calculating her motions for their intensity. He freed one hand from her dress, reaching up to capture her breast, gently twisting the raw tip between his thumb and forefinger, prompting her husky sighs. She drew back, wanting to savor the moment, the warm breeze and the dark canopy of the heavens above, remembering how she had lain in her bed at night in her innocence, gazing at the stars and wanting to know her blond-haired, blue-eyed man. He was here with her now, in substance and in spirit, and she could recall her naiveté, forgetting about his true ways and hers, and simply feel him ...

  He grasped her at her waist, unable to withstand her much longer. She abandoned herself to his desire, losing herself in the stars that he had made to glow above, their incandescence jolting upon her eyelids, flooding her with his brilliance ...

  Nicholas basked in his satiation, caressing her back while she regained her calm, more sure now of his intent than ever before. He had made up his mind upon awakening this morning; he may as well do it. She was so intent on leaving him, and he wanted her to stay. She wasn’t one that he could keep simply as his mistress, and she would slip from his grasp if he didn’t do what was right. He would make her his wife, and he would deal with all the petty consequences of that later. All he knew was that he didn’t want to be without this—her touch, her sensuality. He would take her hand in marriage—what the hell.

  In an impulse, he had found a suitable crystal ring in the Palace Treasury. He wouldn’t tell his parents, or anyone else, about this for a while, but it would keep her with him, until they set a date. This would be their secret. He guessed that he really should have had some grand event planned for this moment, but, after all, he was the prince, and all that he had to do was bend on a knee ...

  She rested all soft and contented on his shoulder, and he grasped her arms, urging her to rise. She sighed as she did so, a bit unsteady on her feet, adjusting her skirts around her. He rose and composed himself, buckling his leggings. He reached out and brushed her satiny red-gold hair off of her brow—although it was in disarray all around her, just how he liked it. He wanted to see all of her face, to see her reaction to this monumental moment. He had feared the saying of these words so much in the past, and he had best just get down to business and speak them.

  He took the black ring case out from his breast pocket. He opened it, and he bent down on a knee, and he looked up at her with an earnest smile. “Skye ... Will you marry me?”

  Skye’s eyes widened. She couldn’t believe what she was seeing. Nicholas was down before her, asking for her hand. Her shock was soon overcome by her fear—this couldn’t be real!

  This was an illusion—all around her there was illusion—from the starry sky above to the simulated atmosphere. Right now she could walk out into the harsh light of day and see the real sun, the reality of her life. She was but a simple commoner and he was the prince royal—the monarchy and the subjects would never allow this! She would be humiliated ... scorned ... and Nicholas would grow to despise her. She stared at the huge sparkling ring that awaited her hand, a costly, ostentatious jewel that would be out of place on her finger. Her panic consumed her—

  “No!” she gasped.

  Nicholas sputtered in his surprise. The thought hadn’t even occurred to him that he could be declined. “No?” he echoed.

  “No!”

  He sprang up to his feet, the ring falling away, and he caught her shoulders, stopping her flight. He was genuinely confused—at a loss for words—but he clearly wanted an explanation.

  She cried out, “You don’t want to marry!”

  Anger was the emotion—one of many—that he centered upon. “If I didn’t want to, I wouldn’t have asked you!”

  “What would your parents say?”

  “What do they have to do with this?” he asked, exasperated. “I don’t need their approval for everything!”

  “Their approval?”

  “I mean ... Is that what you’re afraid of? But, they would approve—I am my own man!”

  “I can’t marry you!”

  “Skye!” he growled. “You are ... you’re the most infuriating ...”

  She wrenched herself out of his grasp and fled for the door. She ran from the source of her fears, off to wherever her spirit would take her.

  Chapter 17

  Nicholas regained his wits, snapping out of the shock of his rejection, realizing that he had more pressing problems at hand. Skye may be an odd, infuriating woman but he wanted her, and she would surely leave him now. He sprinted from the planetarium and glanced both directions down the hall, seeing no sight of her. She was quick on her feet when she wanted to be, but his instincts were in tune. She would head back in the direction she had come, and he started off that way, catching the fragrance of her lavender-rose scent.

  He had his suspicions that she would retreat to her quarters and he hurried toward there, bestowing a rash greeting on a few surprised servants that he passed along the way, his determination to stop her growing stronger with every step he took. The little vagrant wouldn’t get away with refusing him outright and then running like a sissy schoolgirl—she must pay for her crimes! When he reached the hall that led to the guest rooms, he quickened his pace even more so, and when he turned the corner, he was vindicated to catch a glimpse of her, her red-gold tresses flying out behind her as she made it into the safety of her rooms.

  He stopped his sprint before the closed door, trying his entrance and finding it—of course it was—locked. He worked to catch his breath, plotting his revenge.

  He rang the door only once; he knew that she wouldn’t answer. He strode with purpose to his room next door and went to the message board, and called her room to give her a very telling message.

  “Skye,” he began, keeping his voice level. “I know you’re in there—I saw you. Now, you listen to me. You really know how to make a person mad—you know that? If you don’t want to marry me now, that’s fine—I take it back. I see now that you’re just a scared little girl! I thought that you were braver than that—you poor child, afraid of your own feelings! Poor, confused little girl—so scared of the big bad wolf! Most women would kill for the chance to be my princess, but you ... You’re an odd, odd woman. Well, not to worry, Skye. I’ll leave you be. I’ll see what I can do about fixing your accounts.”

 
; Nicholas nodded to himself in his satisfaction. He stalked around the room, slamming his fist into his palm. He should just leave her be—he really should just let her go ...

  He looked down on his red, abused palm and recalled what treasures it had held not even a half an hour ago. Panic gripped him and he moved back to the message board. He thought of what he could say to persuade her to stay, and he caught himself, refusing to plead in his defeat.

  “Just don’t leave, Skye,” he said. “I’ll give you all the time you need. I want you to do what you want. I’ll back off.”

  He hung his head. “Damn,” he uttered.

  He straightened with purpose and switched off her room. He called security and he placed a covert guard on her, to inform him immediately if she should try to leave. He wasn’t going to let her slip away.

  “Dammit!” he swore vehemently. Who in the hell did she think she was, anyway? He had offered her the world and she had thrown it back into his face. She had cut his ego in two at nigh every turn, and yet he still wanted her, a want that—maddeningly so—had become his need. What was he to do? Why did she still insist on leaving him? Any union between a man and a woman was fraught with danger, but what was it that made her fears so deep and consuming, to make her reject even the solid security of his name? ‘Freedom’, she had said last night. Did she truly want to be free of him?

  That last thought filled Nicholas’ mien with pure dread. He decided not to dwell on it and came to a conclusion about what to do. Strangely, it was the same strategy he had had shortly after he had met her—he still hadn’t succeeded—but now he had deeper designs.

  He would win her. He would bestow such affections upon her that her lofty prudence wouldn’t stand a chance. He would break the walls of her fortitude and make her surrender—he’d even use the advantages of his prestige.

  The sassy vixen—she’d learn who she was dealing with, here.

  ***

  Skye tossed and turned in her bed that night, consumed by her misgivings. Her spirit had brought her back to her rooms, for she had—as of yet—nowhere else to go. She had heard Nicholas’ words and she had taken them to heart, understanding that she was an odd woman and that she was behaving like a scared little girl. But, he didn’t understand her reasons. He obviously wasn’t thinking clearly. It was like what the queen had said—he wasn’t thinking with his head.

  How could she, in all reality, become his princess? A princess was an exceptional woman, one worldly and confident, not an unsophisticated commoner such as she.

  Perhaps, she had turned him off to her completely with her childishness? She didn’t truly want that, but then again, she couldn’t stay ...

  The ringing at her door sent her pulse racing in her anticipation and her fear. She imagined it to be Nicholas beyond, waiting to lash into her in his vengeance. When the ringing became incessant, she concluded that she would have to face him, and she rose and slipped into her golden dressing gown, moving for the door. She took a deep breath, bracing herself for the inevitable.

  Her caller wasn’t Nicholas. The palace servants had a delivery for her.

  “Good morning, miss,” the bright-eyed deliveryman greeted, holding a vase brimming with dark-blue roses. “These are for you, from Prince Nicholas. He insisted that you have them this morning.”

  He moved into the room, followed by five other servants who worked their weighty carts that were filled with flowers. Skye stood back, surprised while they dutifully went about finding places in the drawing room for the delicate vases, and soon the sheer number of the blooms spilled out over into the bedchamber, even the bath. She was sure that there were cuttings of every breed and color—from the full spectrum of roses to the playful gaiety of the bluebells. The servants finally emptied their carts, and one middle-aged woman came near with a simple white envelope. She gave it to her, with a smile.

  “Good day, miss,” she said, and all of the attendants moved off with their accouterments, leaving her alone with her extravagant gift.

  Skye pulled the card out from the envelope. On the pretty ornate parchment were the handwritten words: ‘Dearest Skye. I’m sorry if I overstepped the boundaries, yesterday. Stop and smell the roses. You’ve nothing to fear with me. I am your devoted servant.’ He signed it, simply: ‘Nicholas’.

  She stared a moment at the words, the bold strokes that had come from his hand, stunned. He had a new strategy planned—he would kill her with kindness! She took in a deep, shaky breath and was inundated by the fragrance surrounding her. The sweet perfume intoxicated her senses, overwhelming her. She caressed a silken petal of a lavender rose. She truly was in trouble, now ...

  Skye spent her day hiding in her flower garden, lost in a daze. Nicholas didn’t come to her but she sensed that he wouldn’t, that he planned to battle her resistance from afar. She suffered another night restless and alone in her bed, sleeping only when exhaustion took her and awakening to yet another caller at her door. This time it was Marion, who didn’t seem so surprised by all the bouquets surrounding her.

  “Queen Sarra has invited you to Royce’s birthday celebration tomorrow evening,” she informed. “She apologizes for the short notice, but she didn’t realize that you weren’t here yet when the invitations were sent out. Don’t worry about bringing a gift, for gifts are allowed only from the Royal Family—it is a media affair, for the sake of the subjects.” She paused and then said, “Nicholas has told me that he has a package for you, and it will arrive today. He asked me to tell you that he will take care of everything.” A smile came into her dark eyes. “He knows how to do that, you know. You’re a brave girl.”

  With that and a wink, the woman left her alone to ponder about her fate.

  The package from Nicholas arrived in the mid-afternoon. Skye’s curiosity was high, having waited most of the day for her surprise. She thanked the delivery woman and then tore into the decorative frilly bows, into the box, surprised and pleased by what was within.

  She lifted out the satiny lavender gown, marveling about its sleek elegance. There were coordinating undergarments and shoes, and everything that she would need to dress for a formal affair. A large rectangular and velvety black jeweler’s case waited at the bottom of the package, and she opened it, and gasped.

  Inside was a necklace with matching earrings—one set at each side—a splendid array of jewelry. The violet gems, akin to Earthian tanzanite, were the identical hue of the gown, set on fragile golden chains, a delicate meshwork made in the finest of taste. She had never worn anything like this, and anticipated the feminine feel.

  A white envelope was at the very bottom and she took it out, pulling out the card. Nicholas, in his own hand, had written: ‘Skye, sweetheart. I’d like the honors of escorting you to Royce’s birthday party, as my guest. I hope you like the gown. I know that it will look beautiful on you. I’ll come for you tomorrow, at five. See you, then.’ He had signed it: ‘Yours, Nicholas’.

  Skye smiled, her spirits warmed. Tomorrow, at five, she would be with him again!

  ***

  Skye could scarcely believe that it was she who gazed back at herself, reflected in the dressing room’s full-length mirror. This woman was poised and radiant, wearing the raiment fit for a princess. Tanna—the queen’s personal handmaiden—and Marion, had dressed her, readying her for the semi-formal event. When they were finished with her at nearly ten-to-five, they stood back, satisfied with their work.

  “Skye!” Marion praised. “You are a sight!”

  The gown was a creation, cut from luxurious lavender satin that gleamed richly in the light. Her slender shoulders and arms were bare, the bodice starting at the swell of her breasts, having a decorative triangle that came inward to a point at the low waist, the bodice ending low on the hip. The full skirt covered her well in the back, but in the front it exposed much of her left leg, having a subtle bow on the left hip where it began gradually slanting down across her to her right ankle, flowing down in tiered folds. Inlaid lavender threads mad
e delicate scrolls across the pretty triangle, the gown’s only embellishment aside from all the wide, pleated folds. Her matching mid-arm gloves and dainty slippers also added to the graceful effect.

  The lavender gems glittered upon her, the necklace cascading inward to her cleavage, the earrings dangling playfully from her lobes—there was even a fragile strand weaved into her hair. Tanna had wound her red-gold tresses up into a glossy, tiered coiffure, leaving a few sprightly curls to fall softly about her shoulders. The maid had brushed a touch of rosy color onto her high cheeks and her full lips, but it was her eyes—with their dark fringe of lashes—that amazed her the most. The violet-blue appeared different, sparkling with the same hue as the gown, the brilliant gems adding a radiant glow.

  Marion came to smile alongside her. “Nicholas will be here at any time,” she said. “One thing about that boy, he is punctual. Are you ready?”

  Skye summoned up her wherewithal and nodded bravely. Marion gave her the gown’s accessories, which were a velvety wrap and clutch, and she paced nervously, waiting ...

  At precisely five o’clock the ringing came at her door. The sparks flowed in her belly as Marion granted Nicholas’ entrance. He strode into the room, stopping short when seeing her.

  Skye was taken aback by the power of his appreciation in his blue-green eyes. She had much to admire also, him all dressed in his finery, a deep blue satin jacket and leggings. He was richly attired in high fashion, the jacket having a straight cut from broad shoulder to shoulder, with a decorative row of buttons down the front and center that flared off on both sides at the belt to reveal his narrow hips. The cuffs of his black shirt that he wore beneath extended over the jacket cuffs, giving accent to the decorative rows of buttons, and his black, mid-calf boots. He had left his golden shoulder-length hair unbound, as it suited his mood to be at ease. Prince Nicholas wasn’t one for convention, being one of the unique individuals who set the trends.

  He closed his gaping mouth and smiled. He shook his head a moment, to regain his wits. Slowly he came near and took her hand into his. “Skye,” he uttered.