Royal Arrangement

by Ember Casey

  “I want you to take off your underwear.”

  For a moment, I’m not sure I’ve heard her correctly. Maybe she’s not afraid of being forward after all.

  “My underwear,” I say, to clarify.

  She nods. “Yes.”

  I hook my fingers beneath the waistband, then pause. “Wait. You’ve forgotten our game.”

  She cocks her head. “Have I?”

  “Yes. If you’re going to order me around, then you need to answer my questions.” For a moment there, I had forgotten our game, too, but I won’t let that happen again. It’s the only leverage I have over her—if I’m not careful, she’ll have me eating out of her hand, and I’m not about to give up that much power, not tonight. You may think you’re in charge right now, Princess, but don’t underestimate me.

  She’s watching my face. “How do I know you’ll continue to play fair, Your Highness?”

  “You have my word.”

  She laughs. “My word wasn’t enough when I told you my favorite color was yellow.”

  “Answer my question, and I’ll do whatever you ask,” I tell her. “If you don’t want to answer, then you can refuse, but then I don’t have to do as you say.” I smile. “But trust me, I’m inclined to go easy on you at the moment.”

  “Are you?”

  “I should think that would be quite obvious.”

  She smiles. “Fine, I’ll continue to play along. Ask your question.”

  “We’ll start with a simple one, then—do you want me to kiss you?”

  She gives another light, musical laugh. “Right to the point there, Your Highness.” She purses her lips. “Actually, no, I don’t want you to kiss me yet. What I want is for you to take off your underwear.”

  Another rush of blood heads straight for my groin.

  “As you wish, Princess. For your honesty, I’ll do ask you ask.” Before I can talk myself out of it, I grab my boxer briefs and yank them down my legs. My cock springs free, ready and eager for whatever comes next.

  So much for taking it slow.

  Justine’s eyes take me in. She doesn’t stare for long, though—she ducks her head slightly, and I see that her neck has gone red, too. I didn’t expect her to be this embarrassed by our first time together, but honestly, it only makes me want her more.

  “What next?” I ask her. “Want another question?”

  She looks up into my face. “If I answer, do you promise you’ll do as I say?”

  “I promise.”

  Her hand rises, her fingers brushing against the length of my cock. “You promise promise?”

  Instantly, I’m rock hard. Even her lightest touch is enough to drive me mad—right now, I’d murder someone if she asked it of me.

  You’ve lost it, the voice in my head says. Grab a hold of yourself!

  But I’d much rather she grab a hold of me. I thought I held the power in this situation, but I was wrong. Completely, utterly, wrong. And frankly? I don’t give a fuck.

  Justine’s hand curls around my length, squeezing lightly. “You promise, Your Highness?”

  “Yes,” I say breathlessly. “Fuck, Justine. I promise.”

  Her eyes shine as she meets my gaze. “Then ask your question.”

  Fuck, it’s almost impossible to think of a question with her holding me like this. I’m tempted to ignore her request, to pounce on her and forget this stupid game, but if she wants to keep playing, then I won’t deny her.

  My mind scrambles for something to say. “Do you… Do you want me to kiss you now?”

  Her smile widens—it’s a temptress’s smile, designed to drive me mad.

  “No,” she murmurs, rising from the bed. Her fingers are still wrapped around me, still squeezing lightly. “No, not yet. But you know what I want instead?”

  Her voice promises so many, many things—things that drive me mad just to imagine.

  “What do you want?” I press.

  The tip of her tongue slides across her upper lip, and I know she feels the resulting throb in my cock because her grip tightens.

  “This way,” she murmurs.

  Without releasing me, she pulls me across the room, leading me by my cock. I don’t look to see where we’re going—honestly, I don’t care. I’ll do whatever she asks of me. Maybe she wants me to fuck her in front of the washroom mirror—it’s not exactly how I imagined our first time, but I’m not complaining.

  We’ve reached a door, and Justine reaches over and throws it open.

  “Are you going to tell me what you want, now?” I ask, grinning down at her.

  “Yes,” she says, nudging me through the door first. Her fingers tighten around me, and I groan.

  “You like your little game, don’t you?” she says.

  My smile widens. “Yes, I’d say I like it very much at the moment.”

  “Good,” she says. “I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself.”

  “I hope you are enjoying yourself, too.”

  “Oh, I am.” She bats her eyes at me. “And you’re going to keep your word, right? You’ll do whatever I say?”

  “Of course.”

  “Good.” She releases her grip on me, so suddenly that I stumble back a step in surprise. “Then here’s my order—you’re going to sleep on the couch tonight.”

  And before I can respond—before I can even fully register what she’s said—she leaps back into the bedroom and slams the door shut, locking it behind her.

  Justine

  I’ve had it with these Montovian princes trying to humiliate me. It’s not exactly that I want to humiliate anyone in return, but perhaps now William will understand how I feel.

  Still, that was one of the most difficult things I’ve ever done, particularly as I felt a certain desire I haven’t felt for some time.

  How is that even possible? William disgusts me. He’s humiliated me more in the past month than I’ve been humiliated in my life—and that’s saying something, considering how my family treats me most days. I should hate him. I should want to do much more than humiliate him in return for the things he’s done to me, which is why it makes no sense that my stomach twists with guilt at the thought of him naked and alone in my sitting room.

  This is only because he was well-endowed. It was a pleasant surprise, considering how my brother has told me what small cocks the Montovian princes all have. Not that it would make sense that my brother would know such things, but still. There was something almost…arousing about seeing the effect I had on him.

  But I cannot allow myself to even consider such things. There are only ninety-eight more days of this marriage to endure—soon to be ninety-seven. And if I allow myself to even think about how much fun it might be to enjoy myself for those last ninety-seven days… No. I must protect my heart at all costs. Even if it means making William hate me.

  Sleep must have found me at some point during the night. I waited for far too long for William to pound at my door in protest, but he never did. It isn’t until I remember that his clothes are all in the closet—and he is completely naked—that I unlock the bedroom door.

  But nothing happens. He doesn’t come barging into the room at the sound. I wait for several minutes, but I hear nothing on the other side of the door.

  I begin to worry—perhaps something has happened in the night. Or perhaps he went wandering down the hallways of the palace in the nude and has been taken into custody by the guards again. I really should give him some explanation for why he can’t go wandering around, but it isn’t as though I know all the reasons myself.

  I press my ear to the door and listen, but I still hear nothing. Finally, I pull open the door.

  I’m not sure what I was expecting, but it wasn’t this. William sits stark naked on the couch, a book on his lap that conveniently covers his mid-section.

  “Good morning, Princess.” His voice isn’t the same jovial one he usually has, but it isn’t angry either. “I hope you rested well.” He doesn’t look up at me—he continues reading the book in h
is lap.

  “I…did.” I watch him for a moment, certain he’s attempting to play some sort of prank on me. Or perhaps he merely wants me to apologize.

  “Wonderful. When is breakfast?” He still hasn’t made eye contact, still hasn’t looked up at all.

  “We can eat at our leisure. We—”

  “Wonderful.” He turns a page of the book in his lap and reads for a moment. He tosses the book to me. “I’m ready now.” He stands, and though he’s not aroused like he was last night, I still can’t seem to take my eyes from his mid-section for what I’m sure is an inappropriate long moment.

  “Shall we then?” He extends an elbow to me.

  I look up to meet his gaze. “You should get dressed—”

  “Why? I’m perfectly comfortable as I am. And you seemed perfectly comfortable with me as I am last night.” He shrugs. “If your family can’t accept me as I am—”

  “William, this isn’t funny.” It is taking every bit of my will not to look back down at his cock. “You know why it isn’t funny. Your family seems to have a tolerance for your jokes that mine never will, I can assure you.” I motion to the bedroom. “So if you’ll please at least put something on your lower half—”

  “Yet you seemed quite taken with my…lower half last night, Princess.” He grins. “Why not let your family see, too? I see nothing wrong with—”

  “What do you want from me? You want me to apologize, is that it?” I glare at him. “I’m sorry, William. I’m sorry you had to endure a bit of your own medicine—”

  “My own medicine? I would never do anything like that to you, Princess. Not ever.” He stares at me. “Now, if you’ll lead the way to the proper dining room—”

  “You’ve already done that and more, Your Highness. You force me into marriage without discussing it with me. Your brother ends our short betrothal in front of the world without discussing it with me. I open myself to you on our wedding night—”

  “You did nothing of the sort.” His gaze narrows. “I should think if you—”

  “I did, though. You’ve done nothing but humiliate me from the moment you met me. So no, I’ll not apologize for seeing an opportunity and taking it while I had the chance.”

  “Is this how things are to be, then? One or the other of us always trying to find the next way to make the other miserable?”

  “I don’t…” I glance down at the book in my hand. My book. Again. “Where did you—?”

  “I didn’t have much else to do last night, Princess.” He stares at me for a moment. The corners of his lips twitch, but there is no sign of his signature grin. “I found two others hidden as well. One was—”

  “You read my private journals?” My face burns—I should have hidden those books better, I know, but I never suspected he would be rifling through my things. “You have no right—”

  “Don’t I? Am I not legally your husband?”

  “I—”

  “Is this not my room? It is where you forced me to sleep last night.”

  I want to tell him that I didn’t force him to do anything, but I don’t like the direction this conversation is going. “We need to get dressed for breakfast.”

  He stares at me for a moment, his gaze lowering to my chest for a second too long. He lifts his gaze to meet mine again. “I’ve already told you, Princess, I’m perfectly fine as I am.”

  “I need you to get dressed, William. I’ll not be parading you around the palace without clothing—”

  “If you want me to do something, you know the rules.” The tiniest of smiles plays on his lips. “Which is why I’ll not complain about last night. While it certainly didn’t go the way I wanted it to, I’m a man of my word. A man of honor. Perhaps you’ll learn that eventually. And perhaps when you do, we can find a common ground where we trust each other—”

  “Ask your question, Your Highness. I’m sure you’ve been thinking of them—planning this—all night, considering.” I force myself not to look down at his cock again. “So go ahead and ask.”

  He grins, motioning to the book in my hand. “I want to know about the inspiration for these poems.” He picks up a book from the side table near where he’d been sitting—it’s a small blue journal that I recognize immediately. One I never thought I would open or even think about again. It’s certainly not something I want to discuss with William.

  “What is it you want to know?” I’m stalling, of course, trying to think of a reasonable answer to his question. If he’s really going to force this upon me, he’ll have to understand why I might not be as…forthcoming as he might like. Surely he’s had lovers he’d rather forget. Lovers who hurt him, betrayed him in such a way he’d rather not think about them again.

  “I want to know what—who—inspired these poems.” He glances down at my chest again, and I can see he’s having the same difficulty I am keeping his eyes from wandering inappropriately.

  “It’s fictional, Your Highness.” By the way my cheeks burn at even the thought of what is in those journals, I’m sure he doesn’t believe me. “And it’s wholly inappropriate for you to be going through my personal effects.”

  He shrugs. “How was I to know they were personal?”

  “Perhaps the fact they were hidden behind the bookcase would have been your first clue.” I walk over and take the journal into my hand, along with the three others he’s pulled out of their hiding places. “Now, can you please dress for breakfast?”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  I spin to face him. “You don’t believe what? That these books were in my personal effects?”

  “No, I believe that. However, I do not believe for even one moment that those poems are fictional. I’m not an expert at poetry, Princess, but I know personal agony when I read it.” He takes a step closer to me, then another. “And if I’m not mistaken, Princess, you’ve experienced more than most.”

  William

  Her eyes narrow as she looks at me. She can glare at me all she wants—I know the truth. I read the truth, in her own words, in those poems she wrote.

  Whoever inspired those poems affected her deeply. She obviously loved him. And perhaps hated him, too… I’m fairly certain there’s only one man, even though her poetry about him seemed to fall all over the emotional spectrum—Justine doesn’t strike me as the sort to fall in love with a different man every week. In fact, she strikes me as the sort of woman who only truly falls in love once in her life.

  Something about that realization makes my stomach twist. It feels a lot like jealousy, but that’s absurd—it’s not like I ever expected Justine to love me. I want us to get along, yes, and find what pleasure and happiness we can with each other, but I wasn’t fool enough to expect love.

  She’s still staring at me, probably trying to figure out how to address my accusation without incriminating herself—and since there’s no way for her to convince me that these poems aren’t about a real person, I decide to put her out of her misery.

  “I’ll dress for breakfast,” I tell her. “But since you lied to me, the next time you want me to do something, you have to answer two of my questions.”

  Anger flashes in her eyes. “I’m not playing your stupid game anymore.”

  “You didn’t seem to find it so stupid last night, Princess,” I say with a wink. That makes her even angrier—at least judging by the dark spots on her cheeks.

  Honestly, it takes a lot of effort to continue pretending like I’m not upset about last night. If she could have seen me after she slammed that door in my face, with my cock still hard and my head so jumbled I couldn’t even fully understand what had happened… Well, if she’d been there when the weight of her actions hit me, she would know exactly how much she got to me. The memory of it still makes my entire body stiffen with a combination of anger, disappointment, and unspent sexual tension. I’m barely holding myself together right now, but the minute I let her see that, I lose the upper hand. At the moment, that’s all I have.

  Still…I have t
o give her credit. After the stunt I pulled on our wedding night, I probably deserved some retaliation—even if she took it a little further than I did. She’s more cunning than I originally took her for, and I’m going to have to step up my game. She’s a far more challenging opponent than I anticipated.

  “Think about it,” I tell her, turning back toward the bedroom. I stride over to the closet and grab some clothes that I hope are appropriate for breakfast with her family. After dinner last night, I don’t care what King Maximilian or his terrible family thinks of me, but I also have a feeling that they’ll only make my life—and Justine’s life—more miserable if I don’t at least pretend to put forth the effort.

  As I dress, my mind wanders back to Justine’s poetry. No matter what I do, I can’t stop thinking about the man described in those verses—or trying to piece together what happened between them. She called him “the man who first saw her” and “the one who opened her heart and her eyes” and other such things—he was her first love. The man she lost her virginity to. The first—and probably only—man to ever break her heart.

  I’ve learned more about her from that little book of poetry than I have from her own two lips. She can deny it all she wants, but the truth is in those words. And it only brings up a hell of a lot more questions. Who the hell is this man? What exactly happened between them? Is she still carrying a flame for him? Why the hell didn’t anyone say anything before I signed this bloody marriage contract?

  I’ve been unsuccessfully trying to button the same button for five minutes. I curse and run both my hands through my hair, trying to get my head on straight.

  Why do I care so much? It’s not like I have any emotional claim on her. Or even want one. I just want us to be civil to each other. And perhaps enjoy each other in bed every now and then. Is that too much to ask?

  Still muttering curses under my breath, I quickly finish dressing. My entire body aches—I didn’t exactly have a place or opportunity to relieve any physical tension last night, and I feel it throughout my body. My back and shoulders ache—though that might be an effect of sleeping on that stiff sofa last night. I stretch my arms, trying to relieve some of the tightness.