The Royal Arrangement: Prequel to The Rebel Queen

by Jeana E. Mann

  “Oh, you’ll enjoy it.” His lips press against the left corner of my mouth; soft and teasing. “I won’t have it any other way.” A second kiss lands on the opposite corner. Shivers of delight skitter along my spine. The tip of his tongue flits over the center of my lips. My nipples tighten until they sting. “I guarantee it.”

  “You’re very sure of yourself.” I close my eyes to savor the tug of his teeth on my earlobe, the tickle of his breath in my ear.

  “Bedding you will be the best part of this arrangement—for both of us.”

  Unable to resist any longer, I turn my head, seeking his lips. Our mouths meet in a hot, wet kiss. I groan at the glide of his tongue over mine. His fingers tighten in my hair. He uses his grip as leverage to angle my head, deepening the kiss, taking more than I want to give. My hands find the tops of his thighs and clutch the smooth fabric of his trousers. I planned to hold a part of myself back from him, but his eager lips and tongue make it impossible. Too soon, he pulls away, leaving me panting. The color of his eyes deepens, hinting at dangerous darkness in their depths. It’s our first and only kiss.

  “You taste even sweeter than I imagined,” he says, staring at my mouth. A blush heats my face. “I’ve thought about kissing you every day since I first saw you.” The confession startles both of us. He releases my hair and shoves back in his chair. Cool air drifts between us. “Sexual chemistry won’t be a problem for us.”

  My hands are still gripping his thighs. I unclench my fingers and drop them into my lap. While my heart continues to race, I struggle to regain a business-like air. I smooth hand over my hair. “And what is the downside to this situation? You make it sound like a true fairytale.”

  “Well—” His throaty chuckle gives him a boyish air. “You’ll have to deal with my mother. She can be quite the handful. And you’ll have to put up with me and my need for dominance. I’ve been told that I can be difficult and demanding.” His lips are red from our kiss. The dimples bracketing his mouth dance.

  “And if we hate each other?” One of his eyebrows lifts at the directness of my question. “A good kiss doesn’t make a successful marriage. We’ll need more than sexual attraction. Believe me, I know. I have a divorce decree and a handsome ex-husband to prove it.”

  “I’m offering you respect and affection without the entanglement of love. There won’t be any messy emotions to impede our relationship. I can’t give you more than that.”

  A note of sadness sparks in the depths of my soul. If we marry, I’ll be giving up my fantasies of romance and love. Is this really what I want? A loveless union with a stranger? Sure, he’s a future king, but is that enough?

  The practical side of my mind rejoices. No more hurt feelings. No more misunderstandings. The idea of a drama-free partnership sounds idyllic. “And what if I change my mind?”

  “Is there an escape clause, you mean?” A smile dances on his lips.

  “Yes.”

  The amusement slips from his expression. “I ask for a one-year commitment. We can discuss dissolution after that time, if you desire.”

  One year isn’t a long time. How bad could it be? I’ll have my new foundation to keep me busy, and he's easy on the eyes, that's for sure. A year would give me plenty of time to deal with my father and the fallout from his murderous tendencies. "If things turn out badly, I'll need some sort of compensation to fall back on."

  “Of course.” He strokes his chin, keeping his gaze locked with mine. “Keep your apartment. You can have whatever possessions you acquire during our marriage. And I’ll make sure you have a generous sum to pad your bank account.”

  “Can I get this in writing?”

  “There you go—doubting my word again.” The tension between us thickens the air, making it hard to breathe. He chuckles. “I’ll have the documents drawn up.”

  My head whirls with the details of an arranged marriage. My demands might sound superficial to some people, but no matter what happens, I don’t want to be left penniless. “This is all so sudden. I need time to think.”

  “You have tonight.” He stands, towering over me. With his left hand, he tilts my chin up to look at him. The dominating maleness in his stance reminds me of the undeniable pull of attraction between us. “I’d give you more time, but we leave tomorrow. I need to be married when my feet hit Androvian soil.”

  The urgency in his words sets butterflies to twitter in my stomach. Whether I have an hour or a month, my answer will be the same. I’m going to accept, but I don’t want him to know how desperate I feel. “Thank you. I appreciate it.”

  “It’s my pleasure.” The way his voice draws out the final word makes my nipples tighten. His thumb caresses my cheek as he withdraws his hand from my chin. “Regardless of your decision, you’ll still have my protection from your father.”

  "I don't understand why you're so generous. It scares me a little."

  “Don’t mistake my actions for kindness. I’m not a nice person. I take what I want. You should know that about me. The sooner you realize what kind of man I am, the better for both of us.”

  His words haunt me long into the night. I lie awake, staring at the ceiling, weighing my options. If I pass up this opportunity, will I regret it? I've certainly come to regret many things in the past year: a failed marriage, humiliation by Nicky, devastation from my father. Marrying a prince seems trivial compared to those fiascos. The more I consider the prospect, the more confident I become. God has given me a chance to start over with a new home, new husband, and new life. What kind of fool turns her back on an offer like this?

  The clock on the nightstand says it’s past two in the morning. Now that I’ve made my decision, my stomach growls. I’ve barely eaten in two days, and I’m starving. The hotel slippers cuddle my feet as I sneak down the hall toward the kitchen. If I’m lucky, the leftovers of our dinner are in the fridge. Henry’s door is cracked, but the room is dark. His deep voice rumbles through the silence, too low to understand.

  As I pass his door, he calls out to me. “Everly? Are you okay?”

  I flinch. “Yes. I’m hungry.”

  “Come here.” His voice is rusty, like he’s been sleeping.

  “Did I wake you?” Why, why, why didn’t I stay in my room? Conversations with His Royal Highness have proven to be emotionally exhausting.

  “Just do it, Everly.”

  After a heavy sigh, I push the door open. He’s lying shirtless on the bed, propped up against a mountain of pillows, phone to his ear. Blue moonlight spills through the open window, highlighting the dips and swells of his bare, rippled abdomen. Drawstring pajamas hang low on his hips, low enough to show the definition of muscle below his hipbones and a dark trail of hair leading from his navel into his pants.

  “I’ll call you back.” He ends his call and tosses the phone onto the bed. My gaze finally reaches his. The sight of his messy hair and hooded eyes creates chaos between my thighs. He’s golden, glorious, and godly, the total package. “Can I have something brought up for you?”

  “What?” No matter how hard I try, I can’t stop staring at him.

  “Food? I can call the kitchen.” One corner of his mouth twitches. The bastard knows how the sight of him is affecting me. “Or did you need something else?”

  “No. I’m fine. I’ll just grab some cheese and crackers.” My toe snags on the threshold. I stumble backward. An awkward grab at the doorframe keeps me from tumbling into the hall.

  “Suit yourself.” The heat of his gaze slides down my body, through the open front of the robe, admiring my negligee. The silk clings to my braless breasts and panty-free hips. I freeze. Silence roars in my ears, broken by the erratic thudding of my heart. His smile broadens, wicked and taunting. “Did you have something else to say?”

  “No. I mean, yes.” I grip the doorframe until my fingers ache. “My answer—it’s yes. I’ll marry you.”

  This is the end of The Royal Arrangement and the beginning of Everly and Henry’s story. Thank you for reading. Keep
going to experience the first chapters of The Rebel Queen.

  EVERLY

  "I do." The wedding vow tumbles off my tongue, barely more than a whisper, sealing my role in a new and dangerous game, while my mind screams, I don't. A glance around the judge's chamber reveals a handful of strangers; various royal aides, assistants, and my bridegroom. I shift from one foot to the other, wanting to run, knowing I can't. The judge lifts an eyebrow. The lump in my throat threatens to choke me. No doubt, the honorable woman thinks I'm a gold-digging, traitorous slut, out to bag a wealthy husband. Nothing could be farther from the truth. I'm trapped in a terrible situation and chose the best option available: marriage to a gorgeous royal rogue, one who happens to be filthy rich.

  "By the power vested in me by the state of Connecticut, I pronounce you husband and wife." The tension around the judge's mouth eases as she looks at Prince Heinrich Gustav Wilhelm Von Stratton. This fantastic specimen of virility will soon be the King of Androvia. Everything about him is sharp and hard from the cut of his expensive navy suit to the width of his broad shoulders. Short blond hair glitters beneath the courthouse lights. And his lips? Don't get me started. They're made for sin and stolen midnight kisses. The judge's tone softens, almost affectionate, as she completes the impromptu ceremony. "Prince Heinrich, you may kiss your bride."

  His grip tightens on my hands. I'd run, but there's nowhere to go. No one who'll have me. No one but him. God knows why he chose to marry me when he could have any woman he wants. My breath catches. He leans forward and drops his gaze to my mouth. I expect a brief peck. What do I get? Two warm, soft lips part mine and a gentle tongue slips between my teeth. I don't want to like it, but I do. I lean into him, slide my hands up his firm chest, and curl my fingers into his lapels to bring him closer. My breasts flatten against the luxurious linen jacket. He tastes like cherries, smells like springtime, and feels like a man should, firm and unyielding. His palms drop to my waist, hovering in the small of my back, claiming me. Heat builds between my legs. The thoughts whirling behind my closed eyelids melt into sparkling colors. This is more than a kiss. It's a declaration of ownership. He owns me—in more ways than one—and he knows it.

  "Ahem." From far away, someone clears their throat.

  I don't want to let go. With my eyes shut and his arms around me, I can pretend that we're an average couple, that my life isn't a bucket of shit, and this isn't a huge mistake. The prince ignores the interruption. He tightens his hold, deepens the kiss, and bends me backward. I hang onto his lapels to keep from losing my balance. A moan tickles my throat. Blood rushes into my breasts and thighs. My body knows him, wants him. I strain for more of his heat, eager to get nearer. He withdraws his mouth and steps back. Fresh air fills the gap between us. My nipples sting. Their tight points jut through the filmy white silk of my borrowed wedding dress. A camera flashes. I blink away the spots. Henry keeps his hands on my waist until I've regained my balance then retreats altogether, leaving me alone and bewildered in front of the judge.

  "Are we done here?" A hint of Swedish inflection lurks beneath Henry's haughty British accent.

  "Yes. Congratulations." The judge's voice floats outside the realm of my befuddled mind. Congratulations for what? For marrying a man I've encountered only a handful of times? For bagging the future King of a country the size of New Jersey? If she knew the desperation behind my decision, she'd retract her words.

  "Let's go." Henry pivots on his heel and strides toward the exit.

  In a daze, I follow His Royal Highness down the aisle and out the courthouse doors. My high heels click on the sidewalk. Everything seems too bright and surreal. I lift a hand to shield my eyes from the brilliant sun. Once the spots clear from my eyes, the dancing colors of daffodils spill over the edges of giant terra cotta pots near the street. Spring, my favorite season, has arrived in full force. I love the sight of budding trees and blooming flowers, and the hopefulness they bring for a lovely summer. But not now. Not today. Today, I feel like a part of me has died, a piece I'll never get back.

  "Everly?" Christian, my only guest for the ceremony, grabs my hand.

  "I'll have the dress sent back to you." The colors of the day whirl around me. It reminds me of riding a merry-go-round, spinning out of control, moving too fast for my equilibrium.

  "Fuck the dress." He spits out the declaration in a deep and uncharacteristic growl. "You're pale as a ghost. Are you sure about this? It's not too late. Say the word, and we'll leave. Right now. No questions asked."

  With only a few hours of notice, Christian had found a wedding dress and flew with us from Manhattan to Connecticut on Henry's helicopter. That's the kind of friend he is. Warm, caring, practical. Concern eddies in his eyes. His hands sandwich mine, squeezing until I exhale the breath I'd been holding.

  "I'm okay." The words are as much for my sake as his. "Thank you for coming. You're the best." Tears sting behind my eyelids. Do not cry. I blink, gathering the last remaining shreds of internal fortitude.

  "You know, I'm here for you, right? If you need anything—anything at all, call me. I'll be on the next plane to Androvia." His mouth straightens into a fierce line. We both know it's a lie. Not because he's dishonest, but because I'll be on the other side of the world in a war-torn country with a fearsome husband while he's in Manhattan.

  I cling to his hand, the last remnant of my old life, feeling like a child about to leave for the first day of school, uncertain and tremulous. We've been friends forever. He's organized my wardrobe, given me advice, and celebrated life's ups and downs with me. I'll miss him.

  "Everly, let's go." Henry's hand lands on my back, herding me toward the waiting car. "Say goodbye to your friend."

  "I love you so much. Thank you for everything." I give Christian's hand one final squeeze.

  "I love you too. Stay strong. Be fierce. Remember who you are." Our fingers slip apart as the distance between us widens. He blows a kiss, forcing a smile I'm sure he doesn't mean. "And if that hunky prince doesn't treat you right, he'll have to answer to me." He shouts down the sidewalk, oblivious to the disapproving frown of Henry's bodyguard. "I'll go Brooklyn on his ass. I mean it."

  Through a watery haze, I smile back at him. Emptiness spreads through my chest, eroding the tattered shreds of my heart, leaving an empty cavern in its place. This is it. It's done and over and I'm lost.

  "Is the jet ready?" Henry speaks over his shoulder to Shasta, his assistant. Black sunglasses shield his eyes. Power and confidence ooze from every inch of his body. A passing woman gives him a double-take through the screen of his bodyguards, but he doesn't notice.

  Too late, lady. He's mine. Despite my misgivings and heartache, I can't help a burst of pride. The most eligible bachelor in the world just left the market for me. Me. Everly McElroy. Feeling better, I wave at Christian before he disappears into a separate car. In a few minutes, he'll be on his way back to New York City, my hometown, to resume a life I no longer belong to.

  "Yes." Shasta is breathless from keeping pace at Henry's side. "Ready and waiting, Your Royal Highness."

  "Great. We've wasted enough bloody time today." Without a backward glance, he disappears through the open limousine door. I follow him into the cool darkness and settle onto the seat across from him, confused by the abrupt shift in his mood. Yesterday, he'd been kind and concerned, a rock amid chaos. Today, I don't recognize him. It's like someone flipped a switch and left me with a cold, heartless man. Is this what I have to look forward to?

  Once the car is in motion, he removes his sunglasses and focuses his intense gaze on me. Shasta and his other minions follow in separate vehicles, leaving us alone. Slickness gathers between my legs at the fire in his gaze. The sexual tension between us, a combination of lust and animal attraction, never recedes. I don't know much about him. I'm not even sure I like him, but I can't stop thinking about how he's going to feel inside me on our wedding night.

  "Come here." With two fingers, he motions for me to join him on his side of the
car. My heart pounds furiously against my ribs. He pats the supple leather upholstery beside his thigh. "Don't get shy on me now, Everly."

  "I'm not." No one has ever accused me of being shy. By nature, I'm outgoing, outspoken, and assertive. However, I'm not myself right now. Maybe it's because my father, the former Vice President of the United States, has ordered a hit on my life. Or perhaps it's because Prince Heinrich's tall frame overpowers the spacious interior of the limo. His knees are spread wide, claiming dominance over the backseat. He rests his hands, palms down, on the tops of his thighs and waits for me to obey his command. I slide to his side of the car, leaving a foot of space between us.

  "Closer." His baritone carries just enough grit to suggest he's not a man to be trifled with. I edge closer until my knee brushes his trousers. A shiver of need shimmies up my leg. Chemistry isn't going to be a problem for us.

  "Are you afraid of me, Everly?"

  "No." Despite my denial, my voice shakes.

  "Good." He captures my chin between his thumb and forefinger, tilting my head to bring my gaze to his. The pad of his thumb brushes over my lower lip. I press my thighs together, squelching the sharp tug of desire. One corner of his mouth curls upward. "We're in this together."

  "I know." His reassurance helps loosen the tight knot of anxiety in my gut. If it weren't for this man, I'd be running for my life, always looking over my shoulder, waiting for a bullet or blade or worse. He's saved me from certain death, but have I traded one hell for another?

  "This isn't the time to lose your nerve." When his hand drops back to his lap, part of me is disappointed. He drums his fingers in a restless tattoo. "The hard part is over."

  "You don't have anything to worry about. I'm ready." Which is a total and complete lie. Mystery shrouds the future. I'm on my way to a foreign country, with a husband I've known less than a collective week, to begin a new life as royalty. I've never been less prepared for anything.