The Rebel Queen

by Jeana E. Mann

  My clothes arrive in the afternoon, their delivery expedited from Manhattan by my dear husband. The six maids assigned to my service begin unpacking the boxes while I dress for dinner. Tradition requires all members of the royal family to wear formal attire for dinner. Thank goodness, I have a wardrobe to choose from now.

  By the end of the day, I’m exhausted. When I arrive at the dining room for dinner, Henry is nowhere to be seen. I pause at the entrance, feeling like the new kid at a strange school. There are more guests. No one speaks throughout the entire meal. Afterward, the princess retires upstairs, claiming a headache. I’m left alone in the drawing room with Lady Clayton and a dozen strangers.

  “If you’re worried about Henry, don’t be. When I left him, he was knee-deep in royal proclamations.” Lady Clayton’s dark eyes cut sideways to check my reaction. “He probably won’t stop until midnight.”

  “You’ve spoken with him?” I haven’t seen or heard from him all day. Jealousy flares in my chest.

  “Yes. We had a nice chat in his office over lunch.” Her smile is too wide. My fingers curl into fists at the thought of her sitting on his desk, flashing her long legs, and flirting with my husband when he didn’t have time for me. She pats my hand. “Cheer up. At least you aren’t locked in your room this evening.”

  True, but I’ve been in the constant presence of administrative staff, bodyguards, and two soldiers. Someone even stood by the restroom while I used the toilet. The guards are waiting outside the drawing room at this moment to escort me back to my room and lock me inside. I won’t give her the satisfaction of showing my irritation. “Yes, there’s that.”

  “I’m sure he’ll show up for bedtime. Henry always had a voracious sexual appetite.” She leans forward, lowering her voice, still wearing her sickening smile. “Tell me, did he handcuff you to his headboard?” I flinch, remembering the fur-lined cuffs and the lingering ache in my shoulders from being restrained while he fucked me. “I never got into that, but I endured it for him. Is that how it is for you? Do you endure it?”

  “If you’re trying to get under my skin, you have a long way to go.” The hum of polite conversation buzzes throughout the room, echoing the anger buzzing through my veins. I smooth my hair back from my face during the difficult struggle to maintain my temper.

  The flash of my new wedding ring catches her gaze. She blinks in shock. “Where did you get that?”

  “Henry gave it to me this morning.” I’d be lying if I said her pique didn’t please me. “Isn’t it beautiful?”

  “It’s Queen Tatiana’s. No one has worn it since her death.” Her mouth turns downward. “Does Princess Marie know?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “She’s not going to like it.” The glossy locks of her hair shimmer as she shakes her head.

  “Well, she can take that up with Henry,” I reply. With my head lifted high, I leave the suffocating falseness of the drawing room behind and enter the hall. The guards are waiting outside, expressions blank, hands clasped in front of them. I turn to the nearest man. “Take me to my husband, please.”

  “Yes, madam.” He bows and sweeps a hand to his left. Because I’m now royalty, they can never walk in front of me. The formality seems ridiculous when I think about the constant push and shove of bodies on the chaotic sidewalks of New York City.

  The king’s office is in the newest wing where the rooms have been converted to offices and conference rooms. He’s sitting in an enormous red velvet chair, chewing on the end of a pen, staring thoughtfully into space. The royal coat of arms is carved into the front of the heavy wood desk, a dragon and dove entwined by a vining rose.

  “Am I interrupting?” I wait in the doorway, heart pounding against my ribs at the sight of him. Which is crazy. He means nothing to me except an escape from my past and a meal ticket. Or is it more than that? I brush aside the question for later. I’m afraid of the answer.

  “No. Of course not.” The spiky blond strands of his hair stand up in disarray, like he’s been plunging his fingers through it. A shadow of stubble darkens his jaw. He smiles and extends a hand. “Come in. Please.”

  “I was worried when you didn’t show for dinner. Is everything okay?” The air of estrangement between us is ridiculous, considering all the ways we’ve been intimate.

  “Everything is fine. There’s just a lot to be done.” He pats his knee for me to take a seat.

  “How’s it going?” I perch gingerly on his thighs. The tips of his fingers glide up the inside of my leg. I squeeze my knees together to halt the sudden pang of need in my core.

  “Not well. Things are a bit disorderly.” He rolls his lips together, his blue-green eyes searching my face. “How was dinner? Were the vultures showing their talons tonight?”

  “Yes. Nothing I couldn’t handle.” On his lap, I feel vulnerable and defenseless. He’s so big and masculine. The scent of his cologne soothes my nerves. Soft classical music plays from an invisible sound system. I place a hand on his chest to keep him away. His heart beats against my palm, steady and reassuring. “Lady Clayton is a sore loser.”

  He chuckles. “Serves her right for fucking Nicky. She still thinks she deserves a second chance.”

  My heart skips a beat at Nicky’s name. Any warmth I’d been feeling shrinks and fizzles into nothingness. I haven’t thought about Nicky in days, but the humiliation of our breakup rushes back. I drop my hand from Henry’s chest. No man will ever hurt me like that again.

  “Hey.” He replaces my palm over his heart. “Don’t do that. I know we haven’t talked about Nicky, but maybe we should.”

  “There’s nothing to discuss. We went out. He cheated on me with a famous actress. It trended on Twitter. End of story.” To avoid his scrutiny, I look out the window into the yawning blackness of the night. I don’t want to relive the pain of Nicky’s betrayal. “I came here to get away from all that. A new beginning, right? Your words. Not mine.”

  “I’ve never understood his attraction—why women fall all over him when he’s obviously a narcissist.” The muscles beneath my palm tense. “But I suppose women think they can change him, that he just needs the right woman to show him the light.”

  “Something like that.” Henry’s theory hits a tender spot. Is that what I’m doing here? Projecting my needs onto him?

  “Don’t lie, Everly. You had feelings for him the same way I had feelings for Lady Clayton.” Although his voice is silky smooth, his cheek twitches.

  “It was a crush. Nothing more.” The second lie grates over my tongue. After the way Nicky treated me, I’ll never give him the satisfaction of meaning more to me than a brief distraction.

  “But you liked fucking him, didn’t you? You liked the way he restrained you at the Devil’s Playground. The same way I liked demeaning Lady Clayton in my bed. You and I are the same that way, Everly.”

  “Can’t we talk about something more pleasant?” I don’t enjoy hearing about my new husband’s attachment to the venomous viper in the drawing room or my sexual experimentation at a voyeuristic club.

  “Fine.” He pushes his chair farther from the desk and swivels us to face the window. Light rain patters against the glass. “Let’s talk about you. As of today, you are officially Princess Everly, Duchess of Geneva.” He lifts my hand to his lips and kisses the back. A lightning bolt of desire ripples through me. “If you behave, I’ll make you a queen.”

  “If I behave?” I lift an eyebrow at the implications. “What does that mean?”

  “It means you follow my orders, you adhere to protocol, and you keep me entertained in bed.” The kiss turns into a light nip, his teeth grazing my skin in a pleasant but punishing bite.

  “And what if I don’t?” I shiver, enjoying the rush of blood into my breasts and thighs.

  “You’ll be punished accordingly.” His words thrill and chill me.

  Maybe I’m an idiot, or maybe I just like the thought of his attention. Another part of me wants to rebel against his demands. No man is
going to order me around. Not my father. Not Nicky. Not the sovereign of Androvia. I struggle out of his lap and stand. “You aren’t the only person in this marriage. What about me? What about my needs? My demands? So far, this relationship has been one-sided.”

  His eyebrows shoot toward his hairline. He spreads his knees wider and smirks. “You’re walking on dangerous ground, Princess Everly.”

  “I want a phone.” I haven’t spoken to Rourke since arriving. My lifelong friend can give me perspective where I have none, and I need to know that she and Roman are okay. “And I want the ability to leave the castle whenever I like.” My hands are shaking at the boldness of my requests. “No more locks.”

  “Are we negotiating?” His eyes flash with interest. “Really, Everly? You don’t get to negotiate. I hold all the power in this relationship.”

  His declaration spurs my temper. I flee to the far side of the room where I’m safe from his roaming hands and delicious scent. “You want something from me. It’s only fair that I get something in return.”

  The chair squeaks as he rocks back, brow furrowed in contemplation. My pulse rate climbs with each passing second that he remains silent. I glance at the door, wondering if I should make a hasty retreat to my room. That, however, would be admitting defeat, and I’m not willing to surrender the tiny bit of confidence I’ve regained today.

  “There is nothing fair about this marriage, and the sooner you come to grips with the fact, the better off you’ll be.” The note of warning in his voice makes my nipples peak. He rises, stalks toward me, and backs me against the bookcase. “Lift your dress.”

  “No.” I jut out my chin and look him squarely in the eyes.

  “Do it.” His focus roves over my face, caressing my cheeks and lips. “You know you want to.”

  Oh god, how I want to. Whatever delicious, dirty punishment he has in store for me makes my nerve endings sing in anticipation. He cages me in with his strong arms, one on each side of my head. The tip of his nose lingers inches from mine. Denying him delays the pleasure. The end result will be all the sweeter for it. I moisten my lips, dreaming of his kiss, lean forward, and whisper against his mouth, “Make me.”

  In a lightning fast maneuver, he spins me to face the leather-bound collective works of Tennyson and Longfellow. One of his hands slides from my knee to my hip, lifting the hem of my dress in the process. The rigid length of his erection presses against the cleft of my bottom. His breath hisses at the sight of my sheer lace thong.

  “What’s this?” His voice is gruff. He tugs on the strap between my butt cheeks.

  “A thong.” I can’t admit that I wore it for him, hoping he might like it. “Surely, you’ve seen one before.”

  “Not on you.” The elastic stretches taut as he eases his palm between the thin lace and my skin. “I’m pretty sure these knickers aren’t part of the approved royal wardrobe.”

  “Those rules are ridiculous and need to be updated.” My chest heaves at his touch. Each breath is a struggle, like there isn’t enough oxygen in the room. It’s because of him, because of the way he affects me.

  “I agree.” The softness of his lips skates over the curve of my neck, just below my ear. I angle my head to savor the burn of his breath on the tender skin.

  “Now where were we before your panties distracted me?” The edges of his teeth nip my earlobe.

  “You were about to prove that you’re great and powerful and master of all.” Knowing my words will spur his irritation brings a smile to my lips.

  “I don’t need to prove it. Have I made you do anything against your will, Everly? Anything at all?” His mouth begins a leisurely exploration of my neck.

  “Yes.” Another lie. The ease of dishonesty is almost as shocking as the finger he unexpectedly shoves inside me. I gasp at the sudden clench of my walls, the delicious friction of his skin against mine, and the way he curls a fingertip to caress the bundle of nerves deep inside me.

  “You’re slick and wet and so fucking hot.” He eases the finger out then plunges two more up to the knuckles. I squirm against his touch, desperate to ease the building pressure. His chuckle reverberates through his chest and into my back. “Do you want me to take you here, like this?”

  “Please. Yes.” My voice breaks over each word. I push my bottom into him. His cock is a hard length of steel behind the soft fabric of his trousers.

  “Yes, what? I want to hear the words from your lips so there’s no mistaking your consent.” He digs his fingers into my hair and turns my head to the side so I can see his face. “Say it, Everly.”

  I squirm at the pleasurable tension snapping between us. “Yes. Please, Your Majesty. I want you to—to fuck me here—like this—right now.” My panting words coincide with the crescendo of Bizet’s Habanera from the opera Carmen. It’s a fitting soundtrack to the turmoil inside me. I want to rebel against him with all of my being, but submission brings so much pleasure. I’m weak, a slave to his whims, and I love every minute of it.

  His zipper growls. Material rustles as he takes out his cock. With one hand, he tugs down my panties. They whisper to the floor, tangling around my ankles. The tip of his erection eases between my legs until he finds the sweet spot then shoves all the way inside with one thrust. The sensation of fullness and friction is unbearable. A shudder rolls from the top of my head to my feet.

  “Easy, my love.” His voice is gentle and soothing, the way he might talk to a skittish horse. His fingers are still tangled in my hair, forcing me to stand in place. “This is going to be for my pleasure. Quick and hard. Do you understand?”

  I nod because I have no words. He’s robbed me of my senses. All I can do is whimper. The length of his erection glides in and out of me, noiselessly at first, then with loud, slapping sounds. Sex without a condom is an unexpected perk of our marriage. The lack of barrier symbolizes my new reality. I push aside the revelation, choosing to enjoy the moment. Small grunts gust out of Henry’s mouth. I meet each of his thrusts with equal enthusiasm. Within moments I’m on the edge of oblivion. He shoves into me, a growl ripping from his throat, and drags me over the precipice of release. I claw the bookcase, not caring who hears my cries, because this is the only thing good in my life right now.

  10

  Everly

  Henry remains in his office to finish business. I walk on unsteady legs back to the drawing room. The others have gone, leaving me no choice but to return to my chambers. My guards walk silently behind me. The lock clicks, and once again, I’m a prisoner. I sit on the edge of the bed, aware of the soreness between my legs. Life as a princess isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. I’m a captive in the high tower of an Androvian castle, consort to the king, and completely helpless.

  I press my fingers against my lips—lips he hasn’t kissed since our wedding ceremony. Even though kisses are forbidden, I can’t help wondering if I’m missing out on something. What would it feel like to have his tongue dance with mine during sex? I’ve become fascinated to the point of obsession. Why won’t he kiss me?

  A knock on the door interrupts my musings. Olga arrives with an armload of clean linens. “I’m here to draw your evening bath, Your Highness.” She dips into a curtsy and heads to the bathroom. I can hear her coughing above the tumble of water into the marble tub. “Would you like rose petals, madam? Or bath salts to soothe any aches?”

  I flush. Of course, as my personal maid, she knows of the intimacy between me and my husband. “Yes. Both would be great. Thank you.” She swirls an herbal concoction into the tub. Another cough shakes her body. “How are you feeling?”

  “About the same, ma’am. Thank you for asking.” Her demeanor is guarded but polite.

  “I’m going to arrange for you to see the palace doctor.”

  “Please don’t. I don’t want to be any trouble.”

  “It’s no bother. I need to make an appointment for myself.” The doctor won’t be able to refuse a royal request. Although I’ve never been one to abuse my status in life, I
’m willing to bend the rules for a good cause.

  “As you wish, madam.” She dips in a curtsy and backs out the door. After the last time, I’d been expecting more of a protest. The lack of objection worries me. Maybe she knows her condition isn’t improving. Her face is the first one I see in the morning and the last one I see at night, yet I know nothing about her, her ambitions, her home life. Working long days can’t help her situation.

  As she leaves the apartment, I sink into the water up to my chin. The scent of flowers and herbs reminds me that the simplest pleasures are often the most rewarding. I need to focus on moments like this instead of dwelling on the epic failures of my recent past. Like it or not, I’m going to be here a while, maybe forever.

  As I climb into my bed, Henry’s voice rumbles from the other side of our adjoining door. A few minutes later, he comes through without knocking. He’s carrying a tablet. Without a word, he turns the screen toward me.

  “Hey, girl.” A welcome face waves to me from an open video chat window.

  Tears sprint to my eyes at the sound of Rourke’s voice and the sight of her sunny smile. “Oh, my goodness! Hello!” I snatch the tablet from Henry’s hands, wanting to bring her closer. “How are you? I miss you.” Over the top of the screen, Henry winks at me and retreats to his bedroom, closing the door behind him. A rush of gratitude warms my chest.

  “I miss you, too.” She’s sitting cross-legged in the center of her bed, the way she did when we were kids. The end of her high ponytail swishes through the air as she adjusts her position. In her pig-print pajamas and T-shirt, she looks more like a teenager than a billionaire’s wife. “I’ve been worried sick about you. Are you okay?”