The Rebel Queen

by Jeana E. Mann

  “I said I’m busy.” I’ve been awake at nights with the burden of my new responsibilities. There aren’t enough hours in the day to complete the escalating number of problems requiring my attention.

  She ignores my glare. “You rarely sleep. You skip meals. You’re always angry.” When she bends over to place a filet on my plate, I get an eyeful of her cleavage. A bonus of having a hot wife. “Really, Henry, you’ve got to take better care of yourself.”

  “When you talk like that, I want to bend you over the sofa and fuck you there.” I smooth a palm over the curve of her bottom, thinking about the heaven between her thighs. She needs to know that I love her back, but I haven’t been able to find the words to tell her.

  “We’re a team. And a team is only as strong as its weakest member.” Her warm smile replaces the evening chill. With the fireplace crackling in the background and the servants in other rooms, it’s easy to pretend we’re a normal married couple. She’s so close I can see the tiny freckles on her forearms as she arranges the food. “My motives are completely selfish.”

  “You don’t have a selfish bone in your body.” On a whim, I jerk her onto my lap. She lands on my thighs with a startled laugh. I like her here, under my control, with her round ass nestled against my cock and her perky tits at eye-level.

  “That’s not true.”

  “It is. Don’t think I haven’t noticed.” The palace has been atwitter at her genuine interest in their welfare, her thoughtful gifts on their birthdays, and efforts to learn their names. She’s the antithesis of my parents’ self-indulgent tyranny. “The staff adore you.” And so do I. The confession hovers unspoken on my lips.

  An adorable blush brightens her cheeks. To hide her embarrassment, she cuts a piece of trout and lifts the fork to my mouth. The fish is my favorite for a reason. It’s caught fresh in the river by the palace gamekeeper. The unsullied flavor makes me hum in approval. Using the corner of the napkin, she dabs at my lips. Her lingering attention on my mouth stirs the monster in my pants.

  “Being considerate isn’t selfless. We’re all the same under our skin, whether we wear a crown or work boots. Kindness is free.” The fork in her hand hovers in front of my mouth again, this time loaded with potatoes. I open. Her eyes lock onto my lips again, hovering there longer than necessary. I shift her weight on my legs to ease the pressure behind my zipper. “Our employees sacrifice their personal lives to support this lifestyle. They deserve a pleasant work environment and reasonable benefits. A position for His Majesty should be a coveted career move instead of a dead-end job and condemnation to a life of poverty.”

  “I agree.” The sincerity in her hand gestures releases new emotions, things I’ve never felt for a woman. Respect, admiration, and the need to know her better rearrange my short-term goals. “I’d like to hear more.”

  For the next hour, she continues to feed me. I listen while she talks about the palace employees, their backstories, and their concerns. Her blue eyes brighten with enthusiasm. She’s learned more in the short time she’s been here than I’ve learned in a lifetime. My respect for her grows. Her ideas are clear, concise, and full of wisdom.

  “I’m talking too much.” The edges of her white teeth bite into her plump lower lip.

  “I like it.” If I had my way, we’d spend every day together, so I could listen to more of her low, smooth voice. My partnership with her is rapidly changing into a complicated tangle of conflicting emotions. I have no idea how to wiggle free of the web she’s cast over me. All I know is that being anything but real with her isn’t an option. “Put down the fork.”

  She blinks at the abrupt command. I take her face in my hand, turning her mouth to mine for a kiss. A hint of wine lingers on her tongue. I’m undone by her small sighs and panting breaths, the clutch of her fingers in my shirt. Thoughts of parliamentary procedures, villainous politicians, and a country in decline fade from my head. All I can think about is how much I need her.

  “I love you, Everly.” I speak the words against her lips. Then I seal my mouth over hers and take what’s mine.

  26

  Everly

  Tears of joy burn my eyes at the sound of those three unexpected words. I love you. His gaze searches mine. I press a hand to my racing heart. Henry’s lips are red from our kiss. The warmth in his eyes fulfills all of my wildest fantasies. He loves me. Nothing could be more perfect. “Are you sure?” My voice is a breathy whisper.

  “Of course.” Everything changes in this moment. He loves me. I love him. I might never understand the complicated thoughts in his head, but I understand and trust him. He would never say he loves me if he doesn’t. “Have you ever made love in a garden before?” He interrupts my thoughts with his deep, rich voice.

  “No. Have you? Don’t answer that.” I press a finger to his mouth. He bites the tip gently.

  “Trust me.” With my fingers entwined with his, he grabs a throw from the nearest loveseat, the wine bottle from the table, and leads me into the garden. The smell of fresh-cut grass permeates the soft air. He opens a creaking iron gate into a small sanctuary. Ivy hangs over the weathered stones of the walls. In one corner, a tiny fountain bubbles into a koi pond. “Come. Over here.”

  Henry spreads the afghan over a thick, green patch of grass. The sweet fragrance of roses reminds me of my grandmother’s garden. Blossoms tumble everywhere, over rocks and shrubs, insulating the oasis from the rest of the world.

  He stretches out on his back, arms beneath his head, to study the night sky. “No one ever comes here but me and the gardener.”

  “I like it. It’s beautiful.”

  Shadows hide his expression. The only part of his face that’s visible is his square jaw. He’s unapproachable yet vulnerable, adding to my conflicting emotions about him. Frogs and crickets celebrate the darkness in song. I lie at his side, letting the stillness seep into my soul. My fingers find his. We contemplate the sprinkling of stars in a moment of perfect silence.

  “Do you miss Manhattan?” It’s the first time he’s asked me about home.

  “Sometimes I miss the people and the chaos. But other times—like now—I can’t imagine going back.” The honesty in my answer is a revelation. I’ve actually been enjoying myself.

  “So, you’re going to stay?” A touch of vulnerability peeks through his question.

  “Like it or not, you’re stuck with me.” I shift onto my side. One of his hands finds my bottom and tugs me against his hip. “What about you? Do you miss Manhattan?”

  “I don’t have to miss it. I can go there whenever I want.” He rubs the tip of my nose with the tip of his. “As soon as our schedules clear, I’ll arrange a trip for us. Or better yet, you can set up the plans.”

  “Really?” A surge of gratitude transforms into something more intense. I kiss his throat, taking in the scent of his aftershave and the taste of salt on his skin. “Does that mean I’m safe from my father?”

  “You will be. Soon.”

  I don’t want to contemplate what this means for Dad, so I focus on Henry. Moonlight catches the gold strands in the stubble on his jaws. “Can I see Rourke?”

  “Whenever you want.” With a subtle shift of his weight, he moves me on top of him. He makes a comfortable mattress in the chilly night air. Every inch of his body is hard, warm, and muscular. His fingers dig into my scalp, guiding my mouth down to his. “As long as you give me what I want in return.”

  “And what do you want?” My lips tingle at the prospect of another kiss. In this moment, I’d give him anything he asked for.

  “I want you to take out my cock and ride it.” His filthy words send a pulse of need to my center, and I’m happy to comply.

  In the morning, I’m sore in all the best ways. I yawn and stretch before remembering where I am. Henry’s bed. In a palace. And I’m a princess. The rhythmic rise and fall of his chest says he’s still asleep beside me. I take a minute to admire his long bones and toned muscles. No sight is more beautiful than a naked Henry in the
morning.

  One of his eyelids flutters open. “What time is it?”

  “I don’t know. Six. Maybe six-thirty.” I sit up and hug my knees to my chest. “I’m surprised your valet didn’t wake us up.” The constant parade of employees through his bedroom has always been a bone of contention for me.

  “I informed the morning staff that no one is to enter our private chambers until we open the door.” His notice drops to the sheet covering my bare breasts. “We wouldn’t want them getting a shock if they walk in on His Majesty shagging his wife.” In the space of a breath, his demeanor snaps into business mode. He swings his feet to the floor. “I have breakfast with the Minister of Education in forty-five minutes.” His gaze cuts over to me. “Will join me in the shower?”

  The combination of soapy bubbles and bare male skin makes me think I’m dreaming. Reality sets in when Henry pins me against the tile shower wall, hoists my left leg over his hip, and drives into me like a warrior charging into battle. He pounds into me, a merciless combination of animal lust and possessiveness. His fingers pluck at my nipples until they sting with arousal.

  I’ve lost my ever-loving mind over this man. The hot water cascades down the ripples of his abdomen. Our bodies slam together in a furious dance. I don’t care about the cellulite on my thighs, my morning breath, or the stubble sprouting on my shins. Neither does Henry. There’s desperation in his ragged breaths and erratic thrusts.

  “I love fucking you,” he growls in my ear. “I’m going to make this pussy mine. Do you understand?”

  “Yes.” Excitement twitters in my belly. What if this becomes our new normal? What if every day started off with a romp in the shower? The possibility fosters the hopes I’ve been suppressing. “My pussy belongs to you. Only you, Henry.”

  My answer pleases him. He doubles his efforts, his thrusts becoming sloppy. “Damn right, it does. Never forget it.”

  His territorial decree spurs a flash of exquisite pleasure throughout my sex. My walls contract around his erection, spurring his orgasm. We cling to each other, chests heaving, riding wave after wave of bliss. When our breathing steadies, he braces a hand against the wall beside my head. “I keep waiting to get tired of fucking you, but it never happens. I want you more now than I wanted you ten minutes ago. More than the day we met.” He shakes his head, flinging water droplets onto my bare breasts. “How is that possible?”

  “I feel that way, too.” We observe each other through the steam. Both bewildered. Both aroused. In the space of a shower, the world shifts. He washes my hair. I scrub his back. Afterward, he shaves in front of the mirror, watching my reflection as I apply lotion to my skin. It’s intimate and comfortable and almost makes me believe this royal arrangement is going to work.

  27

  Everly

  On the day of our three-month anniversary, I arrange a meeting between Henry and a few advisors to discuss the introduction of benefits for the palace employees and the possibility of subsidized health care programs for his subjects. Thirty minutes into the presentation, he hasn’t arrived. Shasta sends a text with Henry’s regrets. I make excuses to the advisors with an apologetic smile. Inside, I’m seething.

  After the meeting, I storm through the palace toward Henry’s office, dodging florists, musicians, and vendors who have arrived for tonight’s dinner. On the way, I stop at the kitchen to check with the chef about the final menu. The Swedish Royal Family is here. This is my first official event since the coronation. I’ve gone over the details with the staff a dozen times. Even though I hosted dozens of high-profile events before marrying Henry, I’m nervous about this one. He’s a stickler for excellence. I don’t want to let him down. His opinion matters more than I care to admit.

  “Is everything taken care of?” He corners me in the hall outside the dining room. It’s the first time I’ve seen him since breakfast. Lines of worry bracket his eyes and make me forget my anger for a minute. He’s working too hard and sleeping too little. Sometimes I hear him up in the middle of the night, pacing the floor.

  “Yes.” As usual, my heart skips a beat at the sight of him. He’s all business in his steel gray suit, crisp trousers, and snowy white shirt.

  “Are you sure?” One of his eyebrows lifts.

  “Of course.”

  “Tonight needs to be flawless. King Johan’s goodwill is important to me. Anything less than perfection is unacceptable.” His scowl dips to my lips, lighting my panties on fire.

  “Perfection is my middle name.” I give him a saucy smile. Nothing. Not even a flicker of amusement in his eyes. I wait to hear an excuse for the missed meeting.

  “We shall see.” He turns to continue down the corridor.

  I follow in his footsteps. “That’s it? No apology? Nothing?”

  “I’m busy, Everly. Later.” As he speaks, he glances at the steel and sapphire watch on his wrist. The callous disregard in the gesture rekindles my irritation.

  I grab his sleeve. “You missed our meeting. The least you could have done is let me know. They came here specifically to have an audience with you.”

  “I have other issues to tackle right now.” He continues walking.

  My mouth drops open at his abrupt dismissal. “Henry.”

  “I said not now, Everly.” His jaw tightens, becoming sharper and squarer. Shasta redirects her attention to the oil painting on the wall. The rest of his entourage scurries into the shadows of the hallway, like they’re trying to disappear. I’ve never seen him lose his temper, but this might be a first. Whatever his feelings, I have no intention of giving up on this topic. One of the kitchen assistants is pregnant. The bills for an at-risk birth and neonatal care could bankrupt her family. It might be too late to help her, but we might be able to help others in the future.

  “That’s what you said last week and the week before. You’ve canceled my meetings twice already. This is important, Henry. I only needed fifteen minutes.” When he doesn’t stop walking, my temper flares. “Are you listening to me? Don’t you dare walk away.”

  He reverses direction so abruptly that I almost crash into his chest. His fingers wrap around my bicep. I catch a flash of flaring nostrils and the twitch of a muscle beneath his cheekbone. He bangs through the nearest door, dragging me with him. The door slams shut behind us. He bends down, so close that I can see the flecks of gold in his irises.

  “What goes on behind our closed apartment doors is one thing, but you will not speak to me with disrespect in front of the staff or my subjects. Is that understood?”

  “But it’s okay for you to disrespect me?” I yank my arm from his grasp. “I don’t think so.”

  “I’m your king. I can speak to you any way I like.”

  I have no idea what’s gotten into him in the hours since breakfast. Whatever it is has him on edge. A deep breath helps steady my nerves. “Don’t take your shitty mood out on me.”

  “You can’t defy me in public, Everly. I’m the king. How are people going to respect me when you’re constantly defiant?”

  “Do you hear yourself? I’m the king. I’m the king.” I mock his British accent. Henry glares. I place a hand on my stomach and try to steady myself. “Newsflash, Henry. The world doesn’t revolve around you.”

  “I’m not joking. Behind closed doors is one thing, but in front of my subjects is another. Don’t defy me again. You won’t like what happens.”

  His observation raises my temper another notch. “Are you threatening me?”

  His expression shifts into neutral. His jaw, impossibly square and so damn strong, tenses. Two steps shrink the gap between us. Instinctively, I retreat. He follows me until my backside hits the cool paneling. He braces one hand against the wood beside my head, trapping me. The scent of his aftershave brings back memories of our first night together at the Devil’s Playground. He wore the same scent when he strapped me to a bench and fucked me from behind like his life depended on it. We’d been strangers then, brought together for a single night of anonymous sex before
parting ways forever. Except that night had been the beginning for us, instead of the end. How different would my life be without him? No matter how hard I try, I can’t envision any future that doesn’t include him.

  “Don’t test me. I guarantee you won’t like the outcome.” The snap in his voice makes my stomach flip. This side of him has been absent for weeks. And I’ve missed it.

  “You’re treating me like I don’t matter.”

  One of his aides knocks on the door. “Your Majesty, you’re going to be late.”

  He pinches the bridge of his nose with thumb and forefinger, like he’s trying to keep his temper under control. When he speaks, his voice is soft and deadly. “Trust me when I say, this isn’t the time.” When his face turns to mine, I search for the man who woke me with kisses on my belly this morning. Instead, I find a stranger. An angry, arrogant stranger.

  “That’s it? You’re just going to walk away?” The sight of his broad shoulders in the doorway stings.

  With one hand on the door handle, he speaks without facing me. “We’ll discuss your punishment in my bedroom tonight. It looks like you need a new lesson. Believe me when I say you’re not going to like it.”

  For the next few hours, excitement and anxiety wreak havoc on my nerves. Henry’s abrupt change of mood knocks me off balance. I’ve done everything he’s asked. God knows it nearly killed me, but I did it. I wore the modest, frumpy wardrobe suggested by Madame Chantelle. I’ve spent hours in the palace library studying Androvian history, economic statistics, and the rules of their parliament. I’ve smiled for photoshoots, sat through boring speeches, and endured dozens of lectures from Princess Marie. Yet, he can’t spare fifteen minutes to talk about a subject near and dear to both our hearts—the welfare of the women and children in his country.