The Rebel Queen

by Jeana E. Mann

  Don McElroy has a lot of resources at his disposal as well as connections to the dark underworld of crime. He’s been untouchable his entire life. I have no doubt he’ll weasel his way out of the murder charges. Our only hope is to get him under control. I abhor the thought of violence to prevent violence, but I don’t see any way out. How will Everly feel, knowing her husband is responsible for the death of her father? I can’t bear the idea of hurting her more or losing the fragile trust we’ve established.

  A tap at the door interrupts my thoughts. “Your Majesty, the Chief Minister, Prince Rupert is here to speak with you. Shall I send him in?” The footman waits patiently for my answer, white gloves clasped in front of him.

  “Send him in.” He needs to be dealt with before he gets out of hand. He hovers at the threshold. I motion for him to come inside. “Would you like a drink, Rupert? Sherry? Or scotch?” Before I drop the hammer on him, I want him to feel relaxed and unsuspecting.

  “Scotch, please. Or whatever you’re having.” He casts a glance at Nicky. “May I speak to you in private?”

  “No need.” Rupert frowns but doesn’t protest. I pour two fingers of liquor into short tumbler and pass the glass to him. “What can I do for you?” Beneath my calm, I’m seething at his treatment of my wife.

  “I had an encounter with your bride this morning. I think she might have misunderstood the point of my discussion.” When I don’t speak, he keeps going. “I was merely passing on a bit of advice to her. Becoming a part of the royal family must be difficult. I wanted her to know she can lean on me if she needs anything. Anything at all.”

  Since I was a child, Rupert has been playing both sides against the middle. He often pitted my father against my mother just to win his way. The results were sometimes disastrous. I learned long ago never to trust him. And I’ve often thought he was the driving force behind Lady Clayton’s actions.

  “She mentioned it. She said you told her to pack up and go home. Is that correct, Rupert? Did you tell my new bride to leave?”

  A scarlet tide rushes up his neck. “Absolutely not. I would never.”

  I lift a hand to interrupt him. “That’s right. You will never.” He glares in stunned silence. He needs to know how serious I am. “Threats to my wife are a threat to the country. Do you understand?”

  The protrusion of his Adam’s apple bobs in his neck as he swallows. “Yes. I understand.”

  “I want your resignation on my desk in the morning.” His removal from office was inevitable. I already have a few people in mind for the position.

  “You can’t mean that.” Fury transforms his complexion from fair to eggplant. His lips quiver. “You need me.”

  “No. I really don’t.” I open the door to the room and gesture for the guards in the hall to come forward. “We’re done here. Please escort Prince Rupert from the palace. He won’t be returning.”

  “Nicely done.” Nicky says, once Rupert is gone. “You’re going to make one hell of a king.”

  “Thank you.” I straighten my tie and take a seat. “Now, let’s talk strategy.”

  Once we’ve devised a plan, Nicky returns to his room and I head for my apartment. My pulse accelerates with each step closer to Everly. I’ve missed her more than I care to admit, and I can’t wait to feel her soft skin against mine. If she’ll have me. After my absence, I’m not sure where our relationship stands.

  The lights are out, and the rooms are silent. I crack open my bedroom door. She’s in the center of my bed. My chest swells with feelings of possessiveness and desire. I tiptoe to her side and gaze down at her sleeping form. After the events of the past week, I’m filled with tension. A good fuck will put me right to sleep. Except I can’t bring myself to wake her up. Her peaceful expression brings out the protector in me. She’s been through hell and deserves a good rest.

  Instead, I undress in the dark then crawl into the bed behind her and wrap my arms around her waist. With a sigh, she wiggles her bottom into my groin. I tuck the blanket around us and draw in a lungful of her scent. Spooning with my wife breaks all the rules designed to prevent intimacy, and I’m loving every minute of it.

  22

  Everly

  Another month passes, but this one is different than the others. Henry meets me each morning for breakfast on the east terrace. At night, we continue our lessons. Dirty, filthy, outrageous lessons. I hide the shackle marks on my wrists with bracelets and long sleeves. I treasure those marks because Henry put them there.

  On the day of his coronation, I’m more nervous than I’ve ever been. Hours of training have prepared me for the ceremony but not the anxiety of my first major public appearance. Hundreds of guests fill the church. Some have flown from around the world to attend. They stare at me with blatant curiosity. Afterward, I expect to be driven back to the palace. Instead, we’re taken along a narrow winding road to the shores of a lake. The smooth surface reflects the cloudless evening sky with its stripes of lavender, orange, and pink. I shift to the edge of my seat. “What is this? Why are we here?”

  “Did no one tell you?” A hint of excitement vibrates in Henry’s voice.

  “No one tells me anything.” The statement defines our entire relationship. “Which is nothing new. I suppose I should be used to it by now.”

  My remark hits his ego with uncanny accuracy. He flinches. “That’s my fault. I wanted it to be a surprise for you, but I can see now that it was a mistake.” He scrapes a hand over the side of his face. “I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”

  My jaw drops. It’s the first time he’s ever apologized. “A little communication goes a long way. Maybe you need a few lessons.” My ass still burns from the palm of his hand. Obedience doesn’t come easily to me, a fact he emphasized in last night’s classroom.

  “So, I’ve been told.” The brevity returns to his demeanor. “We’re only halfway through the coronation. Our customs are a blend of Viking, Celtic, and Druid. The ceremony at the Cathedral is for the Church and State. This, however—” He gestures toward the beach. A full-scale replica of a Viking ship bobs in the surf. “This is for us—the true Androvians.” He lifts my fingers to his lips and brushes a kiss over my knuckles. My heartbeats scatter at the caress of his lips—lips that have yet to touch mine. “Tonight is about new beginnings.”

  The promise in his voice escalates the butterflies in my stomach. He draws a finger along the curve of my jaw, focusing on my mouth. Will he kiss me today? Will this be it? Or am I dreaming of something that will never happen? I can’t bear the thought of another rejection, so I tuck the dream away where it will never be found. I need to concentrate on the positive aspects of our relationship instead of negatives.

  The limousine halts in front of a medieval stone tower. We follow a narrow pathway down to the beach. Barricades and a wall of armed guards separate us from the commoners. Something always exists between us and everyone else. We’re escorted to a crude wooden platform at the edge of the sand. At the steps to the dais, Princess Marie places a shaggy fur robe around Henry’s shoulders. He lowers to a knee in front of her and bows his head.

  “All hail King Heinrich. Long live the king.” Her voice rings with pride. When the plain gold crown in her hands touches his blond hair, a roar erupts from the onlookers. The sound echoes off the water before disappearing on the breeze. The primitiveness of the scene is a stark contrast to the formality of the church ceremony.

  “Come.” Henry extends a hand to me. The minute his fingers wrap around mine, I lose my common sense. A smile bows his lips. Primal energy whirls around him. It’s all too easy to picture him as a victorious Viking warrior, preparing to claim his kingdom. With my hand still in his, he leads me to the plain oak chairs in the center of the platform and helps me take a seat. A metal tankard of ale is pressed into my hands.

  “No, thank you.” I try to refuse.

  Henry shakes his head. “Drink. It’s meaningful to the people. Refusal is seen as an insult.”

  “Fine. But I won
’t like it.” The beer is strong and dark with a sweet aftertaste. The liquid buzzes through my empty stomach and spreads heat through my body. Within minutes, the tension dissipates from my muscles, leaving behind a pleasant numbness. I nudge Henry’s knee with mine. “Careful, Your Majesty. Your crown is crooked.”

  “Such a smart mouth.” The warmth of his hand captures my knee. He leans closer. Our shoulders touch. Despite the breach of royal protocol, he keeps his palm pressed to my leg. Princess Marie frowns, but I no longer care what she thinks. In a few days, she’ll be moving to a manor house a few miles away. The sun drops below the horizon. Dozens of bonfires light along the shore. The smell of burning wood combined with the primitive beat of drums stir butterflies of excitement in my belly. “Fire is cleansing and releases the soul from the body.” Henry’s fingers tighten on my thigh, sending a blast of need into my core equal to the blazing logs on the sand.

  At Henry’s command, six burly men carry a wax effigy of King Gustav to the warship. The actual burial site is a crypt at the abbey. Henry lifts his ale into the air. “To King Gustav. May he reign in Valhalla for all eternity.”

  His words turn the crowd into a frenzy. Archers touch their arrows to the royal bonfire in front of us. The arrows streak through the air, setting the boat ablaze. Flames shoot into the sky. The fire licks up the mast then spreads over the deck. In seconds, the boat is engulfed. The drums beat louder. Henry throws back his head and roars. Mayhem erupts around us. People dance in circles around the bonfires. There are more toasts, more beer, and more fire.

  “Your Highness.” Henry urges me from my chair after my third tankard. “Will you join me?”

  “Yes, Your Majesty.” After a brief curtsy, I accept his hand. I have no idea what’s about to happen, but I’m too drunk to care. This hedonistic display is a welcome reprieve from the stuffiness of the palace. I love the shine in Henry’s eyes, his playful touch, the way his smile brightens every time he looks at me.

  At the bottom of the steps, he kneels in front of me. My nipples tighten at the glide of his fingertips on the back of my knee. He lifts my foot. I place a hand on his shoulder to keep my balance. One after the other, he slips my high-heeled shoes from my feet, letting his hands glide over my skin in a way that causes Princess Marie to gasp. When he’s done, he ditches the fur cape, his military jacket, and unbuttons the top two buttons of his shirt. His eyes never leave mine. Desire throbs between my thighs.

  “Is this real?” The question disappears from the wind, but Henry catches it.

  “Yes, my love. This is our life.” He taps the end of my nose with his index finger. I’m mesmerized by the reflection of the fire in his black pupils. In this instant, I know the truth about my situation. I’ll never be able to leave him. Not because I’m trapped, but because I belong here. With him.

  We dance around the royal bonfire. The sand is silky and soft between my toes. Shadows and firelight sharpen Henry’s features. He spins me around until the world tilts, always returning me to his hard chest. We sway to the music, my back to his front. The length of his rigid cock presses into my bottom.

  “You’re breathtaking.” His soft lips brush the shell of my ear. “You made me proud today.” Compliments from His Majesty have been scarce. The praise spreads through my chest. “You’ll make a great queen.”

  “Are you promoting me?” I turn to face him. With my palms spread over his pectorals, I can feel the steady thud of his heart. “Are you sure? Queen is a considerable upgrade from consort.”

  “Yes, it is, but you’re ready for the job.” He brushes my hair back from my face. The tenderness of his caress excites the butterflies in my stomach. “You’ve earned your place at my side.” I want to ask questions, but he whisks me back to the bonfire for more dancing.

  I’m going to be a queen, and Henry is my king. My insecurities fade away. He has faith in me. Together, we can make Androvia a better place. We’ll have children who will be kings and queens and princes and princesses. This is a fairytale. My fairytale.

  When it’s time to leave, too much ale has left me tipsy. “Something’s wrong with my shoes. They won’t go on my feet.” I reach out a hand to find something stable.

  Henry wraps an arm around my waist. “Easy, love. Let me help you.” In a sudden, graceful motion, he sweeps my feet off the ground.

  “What’re you doing?”

  “I’m carrying my bride to bed.”

  “I’m pretty sure this isn’t dignified royal behavior,” I say, suppressing a giggle. His biceps bulge beneath my weight. I let my head tip back over his arm. Billions of stars brighten the black velvet canvas overhead, and the lake breeze caresses my face. “But I’m down with it.”

  I expect to be carried back to the limo. Instead, he follows the path to the stone tower and kicks the door open with his foot. He passes through an interior passage before dropping me onto the center of an enormous bed. I sink into a pile of luxurious throws. Overhead, rough beams join, like the braces of an inverted ship’s hold. Aside from the bed, the furnishings are rustic and simple. Logs crackle inside a massive stone fireplace. I roll onto my stomach to watch as Henry’s fingers stumble over the buttons of his shirt. His movements are choppy and less certain than usual. The buckle of his belt clinks on the wood floor as he drops his pants.

  “Henry, are you drunk?”

  “Absolutely.” He toes off his shoes, weaving from side to side, and grins with a self-deprecating smirk. “Aren’t you?”

  “Little bit.” To demonstrate, I raise my thumb and forefinger in an approximation of an inch.

  “You’re going to feel it tomorrow.” The muscles of his abdomen bunch and stretch with his movements as he falls onto the mattress beside me. He rubs his scruffy jaw along the length of my shoulder. I clamp my thighs together to ease the ache in my pussy.

  “Another thing you forgot to tell me.”

  “Am I really such a terrible husband?”

  “Yes.” I’m too drunk to censor my words. “You’re arrogant and controlling and I like you that way. Are we having a lesson tonight?” I ask, eager to feel his heavy weight on top of me.

  “No lessons.” His hands slide up my legs, bunching my dress around my hips. I like this version of my husband. With his short hair tousled and the lines of worry erased from his face, he’s almost relatable. He shoves a thigh between my knees, wraps an arm around my waist, and buries his face in my cleavage. “Go to sleep. As your king, I command you.”

  I ignore the directive and push up on an elbow. “I’m too wound up to sleep.”

  He groans and rolls to his side. “What’s on your mind?”

  I ruffle his hair with my fingers, enjoying the solid feel of his bones beneath my touch. “What’s the deal with all the barricades between you and your people? It makes the royal family appear unconcerned and distanced from the population.”

  His brows furrow. “I might be too drunk for this conversation.”

  * * *

  HENRY

  With Everly’s fingers trailing through my hair and her breasts pressed against my chest, the public image of the royal court is the last thing on my mind. I hold her closer, melding her to my body. She doesn’t resist. Even though I’m smashed, my dick is on full alert and thrilled by her compliance. She’s soft and warm and irresistible. “What do you suggest I do about this problem?”

  She tugs her lower lip between her teeth while she thinks. “If it were me, I’d arrange regular visits around the country. You never fraternize with your subjects and it appears snobbish. Let them know you care with actions as well as words. Get out. Mingle. You’d be surprised how well they’ll respond. Oh, and I wanted to speak with you about healthcare.”

  “We have the best medical care in the country at our fingertips.”

  “You mean, you have the best care. The rest of the palace employees are struggling to provide for their families.” The earnest concern in her eyes cracks the shell around my heart. “Olga was ill when I arrived but co
ntinued to work because she had no health insurance or sick days. How is that possible, Henry? Your staff deserves better treatment.” I open my mouth to respond. Everly lifts a hand to stop me. “I took her to see the Royal Surgeon during my checkup because she couldn’t afford a doctor of her own.”

  “I had no idea.” I’ve been so busy trying to secure the country’s borders and Everly’s safety that I’ve neglected my subjects. The truth saddens me. My father never cared what went on outside the palace. I’m determined not to follow in his footsteps. Yet, by Everly’s standards, I’m failing.

  “There are lots of things you don’t know. That’s why you need to get out there and talk to your subjects. You might be surprised what you can learn through a simple conversation.”

  Awe for her wisdom tempers the sting of her reprimand. “I’m still new to this job. There’s a lot left for me to learn.” Each passing day on the throne makes me more aware of how little I know. “But I promise to do better. If this is important to you, I’ll do my best to make it happen. Would you be willing to head the committee?”

  “Of course.” The gentle stroking of her fingers in my hair halts. She caresses the side of my face to cup my jaw. “I don’t mean to burden you with unnecessary problems. I just thought you might appreciate the insight from an insider.”

  I appreciate the information more than she knows. “You’re not an outsider. Not anymore. You’re an Androvian.”

  “Thank you.” She slips her hand into mine.

  “Do you think I’m a lost cause?” Her opinion matters more than anything to me.

  “Of course not.” Her touch carries empathy and kindness. She snuggles closer, nuzzling beneath my ear. Behind my closed eyelids, the room spins. Too much ale and dancing have left me groggy and exhausted. Her lips press against my temple. Tiny flicks of her tongue tease my ear. The combination of heat and wetness makes me groan.