by Katee Robert
“Yes, Consort.”
He removed his headset and climbed out of the helicopter. Lord Huxley tried to speak over the rotating helicopter blades, but Galen shook his head. “Inside.” If they stood screaming at each other on the lawn, it would draw out this conversation. He didn’t wait for Huxley to agree. He just walked past the red-faced man and up the stairs leading to the front door.
Inside wasn’t much better. When Huxley had taken over as Head of the Family, he’d renovated the place, tearing down anything that reminded him of his parents. Though Galen could appreciate the sentiment, the result was a gaudy display of wealth that set his teeth on edge. Galen was technically a lord in his own right, with a substantial income that Theo’s wizardry with the stock market had turned into truly outstanding. Beyond that, he’d been raised in the palace alongside Theo since he was sixteen. Displays of wealth didn’t intimidate him.
It wasn’t intimidation that made him compare Huxley to a stray dog who needed to piss on everything to prove he had the biggest dick in the room. From the over-the-top veins of gold in the marble beneath his feet to the massive painted—fucking painted—portrait of Huxley himself situated over the entrance, it was enough to give Galen heartburn.
I’m only here to deliver a message.
He turned to Huxley, but the man was already moving deeper into the house. “Coffee?” He didn’t give Galen much choice, disappearing down the hall and leaving a pair of nervous-looking women in honest-to-God maid uniforms fluttering behind him like discarded trash. They glanced at each other, at the hall, and at Galen, as if not sure where they were supposed to go.
He decided for them. Galen stalked after Huxley. The man knew why he was here. The Families’ information network was nearly as good as his own. The only reason he’d surprised Lady Vann was because Theo hadn’t given anyone notice—even the pilots—before he’d sent Galen on this little trip.
Huxley led him into a sitting room that was just as ostentatious as the parlor had been, from the gold leafed frames around all the paintings to the priceless antique table Huxley used to prop his feet on after he sat on one of the chairs. “What can I do for you, Consort?”
Galen didn’t bother to sit. He wouldn’t be here that long. There were Families he had to cater to and kiss ass with. Not this one. Huxley had all but announced his determination to see Theo’s downfall at the coronation. No reason to pussyfoot around as a result. “His Majesty requests your presence at the palace in two days. He’s very grateful for the support of the Families in this time of transition and would like to honor you in thanks.” The words rolled off his tongue without the least bit of irony. It was the fucking Families fault that Theo taking over the throne had been rife with challenges and stupid, petty bullshit. Theo thought it was his exile causing the problems, but Galen knew the truth—he hadn’t played their game and married a suitable noblewoman with the right bloodlines. Instead, Theo had named Galen and Meg as Consorts. A man who was half-foreigner and son of two traitors, and a woman who was all foreigner.
Yeah, the Families had a collective fit as a result.
But calling them on that bullshit was strictly forbidden, so here Galen was, smiling tightly and delivering lies with an ease he’d never been able to accomplish before now.
Huxley sat back and pulled on the edge of his mustache. “This wouldn’t have anything to do with your Meg’s accident, would it?”
Keep her name out of your fucking mouth.
Galen fought to maintain his calm expression. “How could it, when it was an accident?”
“Hmmm.” Huxley twisted his mustache, a nervous gesture that would have lost him a fortune in poker. “Would you indulge an old man in a question that’s not particularly politically correct?”
Here we go. Galen motioned for him to continue, but he braced himself against giving away any reaction.
“Why her? She’s pretty enough, I’ll grant you that, but she’s a bit of a bitch, and she doesn’t know how to play the game.” Something must have slipped past his control because the older man rushed on. “If you needed a woman who could handle both of you, my Noemi is more than capable, and she brings a bloodline that will please the Families in the process. Naming her as Consort instead of the foreigner would all but assure that the roadblocks the king has been dealing with disappear.”
So that was their game.
Replace Meg with someone more suitable to their interests.
It shouldn’t have surprised him that the Families were more than happy to whore out their daughters to play third to Galen and Theo as long as they wedged their way up the political ladder. The knowledge still sickened his stomach. The only god these people worshiped was power, and the lengths they went to in order to claim the slice they considered their own…
Fucking unforgivable.
Galen walked to the side table and picked up a heavy crystal candlestick, examining it as he gave himself time to smother his reaction. Beating this piece of shit over the head might give him temporary pleasure, but it wouldn’t get to the heart of the problem. They had no way to tell if Huxley’s grand plans were linked with Dorian’s—or if the old man just saw an opportunity and refused to let it pass.
Either way, Galen wouldn’t forget.
“Have you talked to your daughter about this proposed arrangement?” His voice sounded distant and uninterested, completely unlinked to the maelstrom of fury rising with every inhale. He had to get out of here, and quickly, but he wanted what answers he could find first.
“Noemi is a good girl. She does what’s best for the Family.”
Which meant everything and nothing. Noemi could be a stone-cold bitch when it came to seeing the Huxley Family interests advanced, and that might even include taking a position as Consort. It would put her in a unique position to influence Theo to support policies that benefited the Huxleys. Whether that was part of her plan or not remained to be seen, but Galen wasn’t taking any chances. “I’ll convey your offer to Theo.” He turned to the door. “Be at the palace in two days, Lord Huxley.”
“Oh, I’ll be there. I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
With those words ringing in his ears, Galen strode out of the house and back to the waiting helicopter. The entire trip back to the palace, he ran Huxley’s words—and their implications—through his mind. Whether or not Noemi was part of Huxley’s plans didn’t matter. The fact that they couldn’t trust her did.
He barely waited for the helicopter to set down in Ranei to head for the palace. Kozlov met him at the door, and the big man held up a hand before he got a word out. “The King is in his office. The Consort is in Noemi Huxley’s suite.”
Christ, she moves fast. He’d known Noemi was circling Meg, but he’d chalked it up to the normal politicking. He couldn’t keep doing that with Huxley’s words ringing in his ears. If Noemi was in on this plot, she wouldn’t be so stupid as to harm Meg while they were alone together.
That didn’t stop Galen’s rage from rising with every beat of his heart.
“Not for long.” Galen picked up his pace, and his expression must have been as thunderous as he felt, because people scattered out of his way as he stalked the halls. Thank god it was late enough that there weren’t many or he’d be hearing from someone pissed about his breach in decorum tomorrow.
It took nearly ten minutes to reach the west wing. Ten minutes too long for his peace of mind.
Kozlov registered his intention the second he hit the door and charged through. “Goddamn it, Mikos!”
Galen wasn’t listening. He wouldn’t be listening until he set eyes on Meg and assured himself that she was okay. Safe. No one was in the sitting room just inside the door so he followed the sounds of the television deeper into the suites.
“This is a mistake, Mikos.” Kozlov grabbed his arm. “You’re fucking up.”
Galen twisted just enough to stare at the man’s hand touching him until Kozlov released him. “I didn’t ask for your opinion.”
Kozlov stepped back, his eyes going hard. “Fine. Your funeral.”
Galen walked into the living room to find Meg and Noemi sitting curled up in their respective fuzzy blankets, an array of packages in front of them of cookies, chips, and candy. Noemi saw him first and started to stand, but he pointed at her. “Sit.”
“Excuse me?”
He ignored her and turned his attention on Meg. She looked much the same she had ten days ago, though her bruise had faded significantly in the time apart. “We’re leaving.”
She gave him a long look, and then treated Kozlov with an identical one. “My movie isn’t finished.”
“Over my shoulder or on your feet, Meg. Your choice, but we are leaving right this fucking second.”
She seemed to consider his words—and whether she wanted to fight them—but finally sighed. “He’s going to be difficult.”
Noemi snorted. “Honey, I think we passed difficult months ago.”
Meg pushed to her feet and wobbled a little. She pointed at Galen. “Stand down. I’m not exactly happy with you right now, and if you push this, I’m going to make a scene.”
“My shoulder or your feet,” he repeated.
“Touch me and I’m going to kick your ass.” She turned and gave Noemi a little wave. “See you tomorrow?”
“I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
She’d be alone with Huxley’s daughter again over his dead goddamn body, but this wasn’t the time or place for that argument. Until they knew which side of her father’s ambition Noemi landed on, Meg wasn’t going anywhere near her. He marched Meg into the hallway and didn’t wait for Kozlov to join them before he pressed his hand to the small of her back and started for their rooms. They were on the opposite side of the palace, creating far too much opportunity for silence.
Naturally, Meg wasn’t having any of that shit.
“I don’t know what horse you rode in on, but that was bullshit. You have to know that was bullshit.”
He didn’t look at her, too busy scanning each cross-section of hallways for a potential threat. “You can’t trust Noemi Huxley.”
“No, really? I can’t trust anyone in this place. That’s been made more than clear these last couple months.”
“Anyone except us.”
Meg stared straight ahead. “I stand by my first statement.”
All the bottled-up emotions he’d been fighting the entirety of the day bubbled up in his chest. He couldn’t take it anymore. Galen didn’t do secrets any better than he did politics. Yeah, he wasn’t an open book for anyone who bothered to look, but he didn’t actively kept things from the people he cared about. He sure as fuck hadn’t wanted to start like this.
He looped an arm around Meg’s waist and towed her through the nearest door. It was one of the endless sitting rooms the palace hosted. The one’s decorations went back to one of Theo’s great-grandmothers, though Galen couldn’t begin to guess the name of the woman pictured atop a horse in the black and white photo dominating the one wall. She didn’t matter. Meg did.
He shut the door and locked it, and then turned to face her. “Get it out.”
“Excuse me.”
“You’re pissed. That’s fine. You can be fucking pissed and we can fight until we both get tired of it, and then we can fuck out the rest of your frustration. But you don’t get to pretend that you can’t trust me—or Theo. That’s a goddamn lie, and you goddamn well know it.”
Meg spun on him and got right up in his face, an impressive feat considering he had a good eight inches on her. “Fuck. You. And fuck Theo, too, for that matter. Ten days, Galen. You’ve been gone for ten fucking days and no one thought to tell me that your ‘little errand’ would run longer than a week. You and Theo and your goddamn plans—”
“It was necessary.”
“That’s what he said.” She cursed and cursed some more. “I get that I’m outmatched when it comes to literally everything connected to Thalania, but you two are acting like I’m a kid who can’t be told the scary thing because I can’t handle it. That’s not fair, Galen.” She took a step back, glaring. “And don’t you dare tell me that life isn’t fair. You were the one who promised open communication, and now you’ve both shut me out.”
“It’s not like that.”
“Really? Then tell me what it’s like.”
He should wait until all three of them were together. This was Theo’s grand plan, not Galen’s. Apparently he hesitated too long because Meg’s expression shut down. He could actually see the walls going up behind her hazel eyes. She took another step back. “Yeah, I didn’t think so.”
“Meg—”
“Shut up.” She recovered the three steps to him and kissed him. Surprise stilled him faster than if she’d sucker punched him. Meg drew back enough to say. “Just… stop talking unless you’re going to be growling filthy things in my ear. I’m mad at you, and I’m wound up, and I feel like I’m about to come out of my skin.”
He cupped her ass, drawing her flush against him. She immediately rolled her hips, grinding against his hardening cock. Fuck. He tightened his grip, trying to hold onto reason. “You’re hurt.”
“It’s been ten days, Galen. My shoulder is fine. My face looks worse than it feels now.” She rolled her hips again. “And let’s be honest. It wouldn’t be the first time you’ve fucked me while I’m hurt, and with the way things are going, it won’t be the last.” She nipped his bottom lip hard enough to send pain sparking through him. “Fuck me, Galen. We can keep fighting once we’re back in the rooms with Theo.”
He couldn’t resist her now any more than he’d been able to resist her the first time. “Bend over the back of that dainty couch and pull your dress up, baby. Let me see you.”
There was something wrong with Meg. There had to be. Maybe it was a wire crossed wrong or some chemical imbalance, because every time she got pissed at one of her men, she ended up kissing him, which resulted in truly outstanding fucking. Orgasms were good. They were great, even.
Orgasms just didn’t solve the thing they’d been arguing about to begin with.
She had a moment of wondering if she should bolt for the door… wondering if Galen would chase her through the halls.
He would. She knew it down to her very soul.
Just like she knew that someone would witness it, and the resulting scandal would make all three of their jobs harder.
Meg set the fantasy away. They were going to play out a different one right now, and maybe she’d get some answers at the end of it. If nothing else, she’d reclaim the distance Galen’s absence had put up between them. Banish the worry and sleepless nights with his side of the bed empty, wondering if he was safe and when he’d come home.
She knew what Galen wanted—her bent over with her dress up around her hips—but Meg wasn’t in the mood to obey. Instead, she pulled the shift dress over her head, and dropped it on the ground next to her feet. Her panties and bra followed, leaving her only in her heels. She cast a quick look around the room and decided on the low-backed chair instead of the couch. Meg walked to it, conscious of his gaze pinned to her ass, and leisurely leaned over to prop her elbows on the back of the chair. The position left her head lower than her ass, and she spread her legs a little to give him a show.
“You don’t follow instructions worth a damn.” His tone roughened to something resembling a growl.
Got you. Meg tilted her hips up a little. “I don’t hear you complaining.”
“How could I when the view is so damn pretty?” His voice was closer this time, though she hadn’t heard him move. For such a big man, Galen was as quiet as a cat when he wanted to be. “Spread your legs wider.”
She obeyed. Maybe she should have fought him harder, made him work for it more, but Meg was all about results. And she wanted Galen’s hands on her body, his cock deep inside her, his words rolling through her until all her stresses and fears disappeared. Until there was only him and the pleasure he dealt her.
He went to hi
s knees and then his hands were on her, running up her thighs to part her pussy with his thumbs. “There you are. It’s been days, baby, and I know you’re feeling neglected and pissy because of it, but I’m going to take care of you right here, right now. I won’t stop until your legs are shaking and you’re muffling your screams on that ugly ass chair you’re clutching.”
Meg bit back a laugh. “Talk is cheap.”
“Mmm.”
She loved it when he made that pleased sound. It never failed to roll down her body and curl her toes. Meg fought to keep her voice vaguely disinterested. “And are you talking to my pussy, or talking to me? Because—” He dragged his tongue over her, stealing the words from her lips. “Oh.”
“Yeah. Oh.” He urged her legs wider yet and shifted to roll the top of his tongue over her clit. “You taste good, baby. Eager. Like you’re going to fuck my mouth if I don’t get you there fast enough.” His breath over her clit sent a wave of goosebumps rising over her body in anticipation.
Focus, Meg. You give in now and he wins.
Considering Galen winning looked like his mouth all over her, it wasn’t the most convincing of arguments. “Maybe I will. Or maybe I’ll just reach down and finger myself because you’re taking too damn long.”
“Do it.” He nipped the curve of her ass hard enough to make her jump.
She released the chair with one hand and winced, the move pulling at her shoulder. Meg barely had a chance to curse her pain before Galen picked her up and tumbled her onto the couch. He took up position between her thighs and hooked one of her legs over the back of the couch, spreading her wide. “Better.”
It was, but she refused to admit as much. Meg coasted her hand down her stomach and stopped just short of her pussy. “Wait.”
“You’re trying my patience.”
Yes, she was. She really, really was. Meg gave him a cocky grin. “Show me yours and I’ll show you mine.”
“I’ve got you spread so wide, I can see every bit of you.” To demonstrate, he dragged a finger down her center.
