“I— Really?” Maari sipped from her glass again, and this time the whiskey went down more smoothly. “And that will give me some measure of control over him?”
Cecily’s smile deepened, and she sat back in her chair. “Child, have you ever met an addict?”
The princess frowned. “No, not that I know of.”
“Picture a man with a particular need for, say, whiskey.” Cecily held up her own glass. “Picture him staring at the liquor cabinet, his feverish gaze focused on that full bottle of amber oblivion. He can’t look away. He keeps reaching for it, then snatching his hand back, because he knows that no good can come of giving in to the temptation. He may even try to walk away. But he will turn back, inevitably, before he’s taken half a dozen steps, because he can’t bear to leave without a taste. Without one little sip.
“Though he may fight it, that man will eventually reach for the bottle and poor himself a drink. He will sip from that glass, convinced that one taste will be enough this time. But one sip is never enough. Rather than sating him, that one little taste will only feed his hunger, sending it raging out of control until he needs more and more. Until he will do anything to get his next fix.”
The thought sent a thrill through her, part fear, part…possibility. “You’re saying I could be Jude’s addiction?”
Cecily nodded slowly. “His addiction. His obsession. The very reason his heart beats while his blood boils in his veins for want of you.” Her bright green eyes flashed as she leaned closer, over the corner of the table. “If you play the game right, child, the king of Stead Camden will do anything to maintain the high he feels when he’s with you. He will mortgage his fucking soul for that feeling, child. For you.”
“And you know this because it was like that between you and King Cedric?”
“Princess, in the entire thirty years I served our late king, the only thing he ever denied me was a second child.”
10
Jude
Jude set his com device on the table next to his plate and dismissed the alert that had just come through, confirming his guests’ anticipated arrival time.
“Daddy, let me play with your com!” Rosa cried, sliding down from her chair at the dining table. “Mine doesn't do anything fun.”
“Is that the way we ask for things?" Jude gave his daughter a stern look, and the novelty of his criticism stopped the four-year-old in her tracks. She stood straight and clasped her hands in front of her purple polka dot skirt, rocking onto her heels as she looked up at her father. “Please may I play with your com device? Mine only has baby games."
“That's much better." Jude dropped into a squat in front of her and pressed a kiss onto her forehead. “But no. My com device is not a toy.” He stood and patted his left pocket to make sure the clever little thief hadn't already stolen it. “And you didn't finish your asparagus."
She pouted up at her father. “I don't like asparagus."
“And I don't like it when little girls don't clean their plates, as they're asked."
“But I wasn't asked," Rosa pointed out with a wide-eyed smirk, obviously pleased to have found the loophole.
Frowning, Jude turned back to the table, where his wife stared at her plate, slowly pushing her untouched food around with a fork. "Very well then," Jude said. “I suppose you've gotten away with it this time. Why don't you take your sister into the playroom for a few minutes, so I can speak your mother?” He started to unbuckle his younger daughter from her highchair but stopped short of touching her when he noticed a sticky red substance spread across her face and drying on her hands.
Jelly. Why was it always jelly with the little one?
“Geneva,” Jude said, and his wife looked up, eyes wide as if she were just that moment awakening from slumber. “Is there a rag or something?" he asked with a vague gesture at the sticky toddler.
“Of course.” Geneva dipped her cloth napkin into a water glass and began to scrub the sticky red mess from her younger daughter's face and hands.
“Why does she need jelly with shrimp pesto pasta, anyway?"
“Because she isn't even two years old yet, and at this point, she will eat anything without a battle, so long as it’s slathered in strawberry jelly. If that offends you, feel free to take your meals with other company.”
“Your tone is unacceptable,” Jude growled at her. “I will not be denied my daughters’ company just because my wife does not enjoy mine."
“I enjoy your company very much." Geneva lifted the toddler from her highchair and set her on the floor, where she toddled off after her sister into the playroom. “But the reverse, obviously, is no longer true."
Jude sighed. "Nothing has changed between us, Geneva."
“No, I suppose not," she admitted. “I guess what's changed is my understanding of what is between us. And what is not.”
“I made my expectations for this marriage—for my wife—clear from the beginning.”
“Indeed, you did. I suppose it was foolish of me to ever hope that this could be something more than that. That we could have, one day, what my parents have.”
“No two marriages are the same."
“I know." Geneva flinched as she sank into her chair again and sipped from her glass of water. “What was it you wanted to speak to me about?"
“How are you feeling? The doctor says the baby is doing well, but that you've been experiencing some fatigue."
“I'm fine. Though I would like to leave this suite, occasionally. I would like to take the girls to the garden myself, instead of handing them over to the day nurse.”
“Well, I have good news on that front. I've decided to temporarily lift your house arrest.”
Geneva's brows rose, and for moment, Jude thought she might actually smile. But then her gaze narrowed on him in suspicion. “At what price? I cannot take back my threat. I've told you. My loyalty lies with our children, and your whore is a threat to them.”
“And your backside will continue to pay for that deliberate mischaracterization and your continued disobedience.” Yet his indomitable good spirit felt invulnerable even to Geneva's whining this morning, because while he was both irritated with and pleased by the goodwill Malac had earned with their princess, by introducing her to his mother, Jude was confident that his brilliant maneuver would be even more successful. That when Maari saw what he had done for her, she would want not just children, but Jude's children. And, even more importantly, she would want him. “But for now, you are needed in your role as my queen and the royal hostess of this palace. We will be receiving guests this afternoon, and I will require you at my side to great them.”
“Today?" Geneva stood, one hand combing into her hair self-consciously. “Why are you just now telling me? I have to call my stylist, and—”
“It's all been arranged," Jude assured her. “The day nurse will be here in half an hour to watch the girls, and your stylist is already waiting for you in the salon, with a wardrobe selection she assures me will be perfect for the evening I have planned. You will not be required at dinner, however, this afternoon you will be at my side, the epitome of grace and propriety.”
Geneva frowned. Her hand fell from her hair to hang at her side. "Why would I not need to come to dinner? Who are the guests, Jude?” She frowned, as understanding dawned. “Gods take me.” Geneva sank onto her chair again. “This is for her, isn't it? You're throwing a party for her?”
“Not a party—”
“You said she wouldn't be a part of my life. That we wouldn't be required to socialize."
“None of that has changed. You are not required at dinner, and Maari will not be there when our guests arrive—”
“Neither will I."
“Yes, you will," Jude insisted, biting back a much sharper reply. “It's your duty as hostess to formally greet our guests.”
“You mean her guests.” She flinched as she shifted on her sore backside, and Jude indulged a satisfied smile. “I won't do it.”
“Don't be
a child, Geneva. You're still the queen. You're still my wife. You still have duties to perform.”
“Let her greet your guests.”
“It is not a concubine’s place to play hostess. I'm beyond weary of your pointless protest. You understood the nature of this marriage when you accepted my proposal. You understood Loborough tradition. And we are not alone in that tradition. Fully half of the steads on the planet allow their kings both a wife and an officially recognized concubine.”
“That doesn't make it right. In Stead Highland —”
“It no longer matters to you how things are done in Stead Highland, because you are Queen of Stead Camden and Royal Hostess of Loborough Palace. And as such, you have a duty to me, and to this entire stead.”
Geneva drew herself taller in her chair and stared up at her husband with wide eyes. “I’m ill. Fatigued, just like you said. Please make apologies for me, husband. I will be unable to socialize this evening, due to the strain of a stressful pregnancy. I'm sure you want to put your son’s health above all else.”
Rage churned in Jude’s gut. His hands clenched at his sides as he stared down at his insolent wife. “Fine. If you want to pout all alone in the family suite, so be it. I will send for the doctor and cancel the stylist,” the king announced as he stood. “However, you and I have unfinished business, and fatigue will not spare you the consequence of bad behavior. Get up.”
“Please, Jude—”
“Now,” the king snapped, and when his wife finally stood, he took her by the arm and escorted her somewhat forcefully into her bedroom, where he closed and locked the door. “If you scare our daughters, I will see to it that they are removed from your presence until you have calmed down.” It was the same warning he gave her every day before her ongoing punishment, and today Geneva gave him the same teary-eyed nod, though he hadn’t yet laid a single hand on her.
“Get into position,” he ordered, and the queen sniffled as she put a pillow on the end of the neatly made bed, then arranged herself over it, so that it fit into the hollow of her hips, lifting her ass and padding the space beneath her stomach.
“The baby—” she began, and Jude cut her off with a fierce growl.
“You know I have consulted with the doctor. Your red ass does not put our son in any danger.” In fact, the doctor had said he could swat her quite a bit harder than he had.
“Please,” she pleaded softly as he lifted her skirt and lowered his wife’s modest underwear to expose her round ass, still beautifully reddened from yesterday’s spanking. The king was fairly certain that the undignified position—the intimate exposure and humiliation—was as much punishment for her as the sting of the imminent blows.
“Not one sound,” he warned as he rounded the bed to take a paddle from her nightstand drawer, where he now required that she keep it ready. Geneva nodded, her lips pressed together.
She flinched when he ran one hand over her backside, delighted by the warmth still evident there. “Will you relent and apologize to Maari? Will you relieve yourself of this pain and free yourself from this suite?”
“No,” she said through clenched teeth.
So he began.
The flexible silicone paddle delivered a sharp, immediate sting, resulting in inflamed flesh but little bruising. Which meant that it delivered pain but would not actually hurt her. And for a woman unaccustomed to such treatment, the pain was not insignificant.
She flinched with each strike, and Jude watched with a hungry fascination as the blow reverberated through her tender flesh. Within half a dozen swats, silent tears rolled down the queen’s face, though she kept her lips pressed together, choking off cries before they could leak free and scare her children. She was stoic, his queen. But she did not, on any level, enjoy the pain, and he would not insult her further by trying to make her. By offering her arousal, to mitigate the punishment.
Though, for a woman like Geneva, such an offer might actually be more of a consequence.
She was not his princess. She was not the woman whose ass he would like to have under his hands. Under his paddle. She did not moan, as he’d often heard Maari moan under Orlann’s attentions. She was not wet. She did not beg for release, to accompany her pain.
This punishment could not be mistaken for anything more, for either party, and Jude was as happy to have it over with as his wife was, when he folded her skirt down again and dropped the paddle in front of her face on the comforter, then left her alone in her room, a teary, hiccupping bundle of obstinance.
“We will resume tomorrow, unless you relent,” he said as he closed the door. Then he turned toward the open playroom. “Girls! Daddy needs kisses!”
Squeals echoed from the playroom, and the thunder of tiny footsteps sounded more like a stampede of livestock than like two small children. Jude dropped onto his knees with his arms open wide, and both daughters tackled him, covering his face with sweet, sticky kisses. He tickled them and hugged them, then he promised to come see them again tomorrow.
The king spared one more look at his wife’s uneaten food, on his way through the suite. “Eat, Geneva,” Jude called toward her closed door. “The gods taking our son is one thing, but I won’t tolerate you starving him to death.” Then he left to continue preparing for his guests’ arrival on his own.
Jude found Maari in her private garden, for the first time in the week since she had moved into her suite. She didn't hear him enter the apartment or lock the door behind him. She didn't hear him cross the living area, nor did she hear her handmaid’s startled gasp.
He shushed the maid with one finger pressed against his lips. “You’re dismissed,” he whispered. “Report to the staff office immediately. Guests arrived an hour ago, and your services will be required in connection with them.”
The maid gave him a nod, and when he opened the door for her, she disappeared into the hallway.
Jude crossed the simple but opulent living area again and silently slid the shatterproof glass door open. He’d had it well-oiled before the princess moved into her new quarters for specifically this kind of opportunity—for the chance to observe her unawares—and the occasion did not disappoint.
Maari sat on a garden swing, slowly rocking back and forth with one foot folded beneath her and the other on the ground. Her hair was pulled up into a loose bun, beautiful in its elegant simplicity, as it showed off the graceful line of her neck. His hands ached to touch her. His arms to envelop her.
His foot crunched on gravel as he stepped onto the small patio, and Maari turned, startled. When she saw who had joined her, she turned her back on him, crossing her arms over her chest. “I wondered when you were going to show up again." It had been several days since he'd come to claim any of her time, though he'd been watching her through the network of cameras throughout his absence.
He'd made sure that Orlann and Malac had kept her company.
“I don't feel like fighting you today, Jude.”
“Good. I haven't come to fight.”
With a sigh, Maari stood, then she turned and marched past him into her suite. “I know why you've come. Why you always come.”
Jude trailed her inside and closed the door, and when he turned, he found her already halfway up the stairs. He followed her across the second-floor foyer and into her bedroom, where Maari turned to face him and boldly pulled her dress over her head, then dropped it on the floor. She wore nothing underneath.
“Well, that's a pleasant surprise."
“I don't know how to give you what you want," she said as he stalked toward her across the thick carpet. “I can’t promise not to waste your seed, because I don’t know how to force my body to make use of it. But I promise I'll try, if you make me a promise in return.”
Irritation tensed his frame. “You think you can bargain with me?"
“I hope I can,” she said as he reached for her, bending to kiss the lower curve of her neck—the side unmarred by his brother’s bite—as his hands found her hips. “I know you're used to t
aking whatever you want, but you can't force my pregnancy. I have to want it. I'm telling you that I'm willing to try to want it, if you will give me a promise in return.”
“No,” he growled, aggravated by how still she stood in his grip. By how stiff her bearing remained, as he ran his hands and his lips all over her. She should be wet for him. She should be glaring at him with ice in her eyes, even as her hot little hands reached for him.
He’d let his bite wear off intentionally, but he was starting to re-think that choice.
“You haven't even heard what I want yet.”
“Maari, I want to make you happy—as happy as you’re willing to be, under the circumstances you agreed to—but I don't bargain under coercion. I will give you gifts when it suits me, but not in exchange for ‘favors’ from you. You have no favor to give.” He took a firm grip on her hips, then slid his hand between her thighs and squeezed just hard enough to make her gasp. “You are mine, and your body will not be withheld or used as a bargaining chip. Do you understand? You either give me what I want, or you suffer the consequences.”
Tears filled her eyes, and he softened his grip on her cunt. Then he slowly slid two fingers inside of her. “This doesn’t have to be unpleasant, princess. I offer you endless pleasure. But I will not be denied or manipulated.”
“Fine.” She stepped out of his grip, leaving him with damp fingers, and bent over the high bed with her legs spread, toes barely touching the floor. “Take what you keep threatening. I certainly can’t stop you. But don’t offer what you can’t give. ‘Endless pleasure’ is beyond you, Jude, if you insist upon taking me like that.”
“You think I can’t make you come with my cock in your ass? Malac’s efforts argue otherwise.”
Maari twisted to aim a fiery gaze at him over her shoulder. “You are not Malac.”
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