by Katie Knight
“Yes, I understand. Thank you so much for calling,” she said, before ending the call. All those years of etiquette training paid off because Z couldn’t read anything from her placid expression. Es looked up at him. “My iron levels are normal.”
“That’s good.” He waited, impatient for news that could change everything, good or bad. “What else?”
Her smile started small and grew wider and brighter by the second. “We’re having a boy!”
Chapter Twenty-Two
The next morning, Z woke up feeling restless and wary. Despite being bone-tired the night before, he’d ended up tossing and turning to the point where he’d gotten up and gone to sit at the computer for a while, checking emails and futzing around on various research sites. There wasn’t any one thing he could point to that bothered him, there was just an underlying, insidious fear bubbling through his system ever since they’d landed in Prylea. Of course, the abrupt announcement last night that he and Es were having a boy didn’t help. It was the answer to her prayers, obviously, and would hopefully solve the ascension problem, but Z also couldn’t shake the fact he’d lost his own father so young, and his plans to return to his SEAL team meant he’d put his own boy in that same situation.
At least Es had gotten some much-needed rest. She was currently buzzing around their suite as she dressed, chattering nonstop about her plans.
“I’m ready,” she said. Z turned to find her wearing form-fitting pants on the bottom and nothing but a bra on top. It was a look he loved, sure, but not exactly proper attire for a future queen mother. He raised a brow at her in response. “No, no,” she said, giving him a dismissive wave before turning back to her closet again. “I mean, now that we know for certain we’re having a boy, I’m ready to go on the attack. There’s no way Silvester can get his hands on my father’s throne now.”
“I hate to say this, princess, but that’s not true.” Z scrubbed a hand over his face and winced at the stubble there. He hadn’t had a chance to shower and shave yet. Hell, technically he hadn’t even gotten out of bed yet this morning, seeing as how he was sitting with his back against the headboard, propped up on a couple pillows, the sheet across his lap to preserve his modesty. “Listen, I had trouble falling asleep last night, so I was up doing some research on the Internet. You’re a few weeks away from the twenty-week mark. I hate to say it, but until then, miscarriage is still a risk. And we haven’t gotten a full ultrasound yet either. God forbid, our child might have some issue that could put his survival at risk. I’m just saying it’s probably not a good idea to go off half-cocked yet.”
Es turned and stared pointedly at his crotch area before grinning at him. “You, sir, aren’t half anything in that department.”
Z couldn’t stop the rush of heat that raced up from his chest to his cheeks. Never shy about his body or his sexuality, he still was both shocked and satisfied that she approved of him, in all areas. Then she pulled out a crisp white button-down shirt from her closet and turned to slip into it. Her profile was to him and that’s the first time Z noticed her baby bump. Yes, they’d known she was pregnant for a while now, but until today, she’d never really shown any physical signs—unless you counted the morning sickness and the slight, perpetual flush to her cheeks. Today, he suddenly saw Es in a new light. She looked every bit the mother-to-be, and damn if his body didn’t respond to that.
He’d never really thought about women being pregnant as hot before, but Es was changing his perspective there, too. Z adjusted the sheet on his lap to hide his growing erection and hiked his chin at Es. “You look beautiful.”
“Really?” She smiled at him as she stared to do up the buttons on her shirt. Her gaze flicked to his lap then back to his eyes, her pupils dilating with arousal. “You look pretty sexy yourself.”
Es slowly walked over to the bed, her shirt gaping open to reveal her lacy bra and the slightly bigger curves of her breasts as she climbed up onto the mattress, tigress-style, then knelt beside him. The heat of her surrounded him, along with the floral scent of her perfume, and he clenched his fists in the sheets to keep from reaching for her. He wanted to draw out this sweet torture as long as possible.
She licked her lips and leaned in to kiss his chest, slowly making her way up to his neck, then his earlobe. Z closed his eyes and let his head fall back, giving her better access, but still not touching her in any way. His palms itched to cup her breasts, her butt, the back of her head as he pulled her in for a deep, wet, hot kiss.
Then her hand slid over his thigh, creeping higher toward his aching cock, and Z nearly moaned in frustration. He wanted her so badly…
Knock, knock, knock.
“Good morning, your highness. Mr. Raybourn. Your cousin has requested your presence in the main dining room downstairs for breakfast,” a servant said, their upper-crust, snooty accent like nails on the chalkboard of Z’s desire.
Head hanging, Es moved off the bed and called through the door. “Please tell him we’ll be down shortly. Thank you.”
So much for their erotic interlude. Z took several deep breaths to get his breathing and body back under control before tossing aside the sheets and heading for the bathroom to get himself ready. “Give me five minutes.”
Half an hour later, clean and dressed and frustrated beyond all measure, Z stood beside Es at the sideboard in the huge dining hall downstairs. Seemed ridiculous to him that they’d make all this food and serve it in such an enormous space for just three people. Still, as he filled his plate to brimming with bacon and eggs and potatoes and toast, he couldn’t complain about the fare.
They joined Silvester at the table, Z and Es sitting on one side of the long, carved mahogany table while Silvester sat alone across from them. He wore a self-satisfied smirk as he sipped his tea, and Z couldn’t help imagining what a pleasure it would be to punch that condescending look right off the prick’s face. One day, maybe he’d get the chance.
“Still looking a bit tired, my dear,” Silvester said, narrowing his gaze on Es. “I do hope the pregnancy isn’t too taxing for you. Such a burden with everything that’s happening with the king.” Silvester glanced at Z with a disapproving stare. “That’s what you get, fucking the riffraff though. It’s fun in the moment, but they have no control over their baser desires.”
Z nearly choked on a mouthful of bacon at the unexpected slur, but Es merely smiled peacefully at her cousin as she nibbled on a triangle of toast.
“Yes,” she said. “Z is very fun. And kind and thoughtful and smart and hardworking, which is more than I can say for the other male in this room.” She set her toast down then dusted the crumbs from her hands. “Oh, I suppose I should clarify, since there’s actually three of you in here now.”
Silvester halted mid-sip and looked around the cavernous dining room. “The servants are gone, my dear cousin. You must be seeing things now, in addition to all your other problems. Oh no. I do hope insanity doesn’t run in your side of the family as well.”
Es laughed, the joyous sound tinkling through the space like chimes. “Not at all, cousin. I’m referring to our precious unborn child.” She reached over and took Z’s hand while he was still trying to calm down after that shitty remark about his heritage. “You see, we received a call last night from our physician in the States. It’s now official. We’re having a boy.”
Z had doubted that pasty-white Silvester could’ve gotten any paler, but damn if the guy didn’t go positively corpse-like at Es’s announcement. He almost felt sorry for the man.
Almost.
Then an unattractive shade of purple mottled up under the sharp features of his face as he cursed under his breath and tossed down his napkin. He leaned across the table toward Es and Z was on his feet in a second, his SEAL-honed protective skills on overdrive. If this asshole laid one finger on Es or their baby, he’d murder him with his bare hands.
A muscle twitched in Silvester’s pallid cheek, his eyes glaring with hatred. “This is not over. I will not be usurped
by some bastard inferior child of a common solider. He’s no better than the fucking help around here. You’d better watch your back, cousin, because the next time you see me, I will be prepared. Bank on it.”
With that, he stormed out, leaving Es and Z to stare after him in stunned silence.
“Well,” Es said at last, pushing her plate away. “He took that better than I’d expected.”
“Seriously?” Z slumped back in his seat. He’d always known he was different from Es and her father and their rarified aristocracy, but having it thrown in his face like that stung quite a bit. Not that he really cared what Silvester thought of him. He was proud to be an American, proud to have worked for everything he had. Proud to be a self-made man and not some pretentious prick like Shithead Silvester.
For some reason, the situation suddenly caught him funny, and he started to laugh. Unable to stop, soon he was on a jag, and man, did it feel good to release all those weeks and weeks of built up stress and tension. Es joined him, too, giggling until she had tears rolling down her cheeks, one hand on their precious, tiny baby bump.
Finally, after a few minutes, they both quieted.
“We’ll have to keep a much closer eye on him now. Don’t take that threat he made idly,” Z said, pushing his empty plate aside. “And I’m afraid simply having a baby boy won’t stop him from trying to use those new alliances of his to take the throne. He’ll keep coming at you until he gets what he wants.”
“Hmm.” Es sighed then reached over to place her hand on his thigh again. “And what do you want?”
Z stared down at her fingers against the charcoal gray of his wool trousers, her skin creamy and her nails perfectly manicured as she began stroking her way up toward his crotch again. He gave a quick glance around before placing his hand over hers. “What are you doing? This is a public space.”
“I know.” She gave him a devilish smile. “That makes it even hotter.”
He gave her an incredulous stare. “Here?”
“This table looks plenty sturdy to me.” Es waggled her brows. “You go lock the door and then we’ll finish what we started upstairs, eh?”
“I…” Z opened his mouth, closed it, then opened it again. His traitorous cock twitched under her gentle touch and soon her stroking him through the soft material had him hard and ready and pulsing with desire again. Before he could rethink his actions, he pushed to his feet and pointed at the far end of the table where it was bare as he headed over to lock the door. “Get down there and assume the position, woman. You’re about to be subjected to all the baser instincts of this soldier.”
Es stood and walked backward to where he pointed, unbuttoning that shirt of hers as she went. “Yes, sir.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
The next day, Esme was determined to stay on schedule and away from Z. Not because she didn’t enjoy his company, but because she did. Too much. Their weeks together in the townhouse back in DC had forged strong bonds between them, despite the nature of their deal, and now she feared she was becoming far too dependent on his support. It was just so darned easy to lean on his strength while her reserves were depleted by pregnancy.
But she had to learn to stand on her own, to be her own protector—and her child’s, as well. After Silvester’s reaction to her news yesterday, satisfying as it had been to stick it to the guy, she had to remain vigilant. Her son might hold the future of the kingdom in his tiny little hands, but for him to keep it, she needed to take charge and focus on ruling in his stead, putting Z and all the delicious things he made her feel out of her mind for now.
To that end, she strode down the hall of the administrative wing toward Greaves’s office. She’d not spoken to her father’s top intelligence advisor since that day he’d appointed Z to head her security team in DC. This morning, she’d asked him for a private meeting to go over the state of things in Prylea following her absence.
She knocked on the thick oak door before entering. Greaves sat behind his massive desk, looking far too blob-like for her comfort. He rose and gave a slight bow, his jowls quivering with the effort. “Your highness. Always a pleasure to see you again, Princess Esme. I was over to see your father earlier today. Such a shame. Such a fine, fine man to be laid so low by that awful disease.”
“Yes, thank you.” Esme took a seat before his desk and crossed her legs at the ankle, glad she’d worn black pants and a sweater today to fend off the chilly air in his office. “I’d like an update on the state of affairs here in the country. With the holidays approaching, I’m sure the staff has been busy.”
Greaves sat back and clasped his hands atop his bulbous stomach. He was dressed, as always, in a tailor-made, three-piece gray suit. Tailor-made, she guessed, because it would be difficult to find clothing to fit his bulk in regular stores. Also, the man made more money in his yearly salary than the entire budget of some other small European countries, so Esme had a hard time picturing the guy shopping the racks at a department store, even a high-end one.
“I’m afraid, your highness, that the news isn’t good.” Greaves cleared his throat, frowning. “You see, we’ve received a number of threats regarding the Christmas Markets. So far, we’ve been able to keep the threats quiet and out of the hands of the media, but the reports have been alarming enough for parliament to seriously consider cancelling the markets this year.”
“What? No. The Christmas Markets are a Prylean tradition.” Es leaned forward slightly. “They can’t be cancelled. Tourists love them. People travel from all over the world to shop the booths.” She shook her head. “No. We can’t cancel them. That will only let whoever’s making these threats feel more powerful. We need the Christmas Markets open, especially this year, with the king so ill. Pull extra security from the palace, but they must remain open and on schedule.”
“But your highness, I’m not sure that’s wise. We don’t want to compromise your safety either, with you carrying the royal child.”
“I’m fine.” She crossed her arms. “Seriously. Don’t worry about me. I always have Z to guard me, if need be.”
“Z?” Greaves raised an interested brow. “Yes, I suppose congratulations are in order on your upcoming nuptials. Though I must say, it was never my intention that things should go beyond the professional with you two when I assigned him as head of your security team in the States.”
“Yes, well.” Esme gave a dismissive wave. The last thing she wanted to discuss right now was her complicated relationship with her fiancé. “Like I said, don’t worry about protecting me. Worry about keeping this country’s infrastructure functioning. I’ll handle the rest. Our people have been through enough with the king’s sickness and the threat of Silvester taking over everything. We need to boost morale, and the Christmas Markets are the way to do it. Now, what else do I need to know about?”
Three hours later, Esme left with a head full of facts and figures and a stomach growling for lunch. She’d been so engrossed in talking to Greaves she’d missed her mid-morning snack and was now starving. She made her way past the empty formal dining room and down the hall to the kitchens. When she’d been little, she’d eaten lunch in here with the servants while her parents tended to their royal duties. It had been fun to spend time with the household staff who treated her more like a regular person and less like a princess.
She stood on the threshold of the large, stone kitchen, original to the palace though fully updated with all the modern amenities and a vast array of gleaming stainless-steel appliances. The cook, a portly woman in her mid-sixties named Annie, clapped when she saw Esme in the doorway.
“Esme!” Annie rushed over and pulled Es into a bear hug. “How are you, my girl? We missed you while you were gone. How’s your father? So sad what he’s going through. Lost my dear husband to cancer a year ago, so I know how hard it is to go through.” Annie pulled back and looked Es up and down. “And I saw on TV you’ve got a bun in the oven, too. Congratulations!”
“Thank you.” Esme greeted the other staff
milling about then took a seat at the sturdy butcher-block table to one side of the room. “I was hoping maybe to get a bite to eat?”
“Anything for you, my dear.” Annie smiled. “How about some nice soup and a couple slices of homemade bread?”
“Sounds divine.”
“Es?” A familiar deep voice said from across the room. Z. “I’ve been looking all over for you. You missed your mid-morning snack, and you went off without any crackers or ginger candy and I know how you get and—”
He stopped halfway across the kitchen as he realized all the staff were listening in. Z halted, a hint of color flushing his tanned cheeks. “Uh, sorry. Am I not supposed to be in here?”
Annie walked over to him, wiping her hands on a dish towel as she went, surveying him up and down. “So you’re the man who’s going to marry our princess, eh?”
Z’s gaze darted from Annie to Esme then back again, his expression wary. “Yes.”
“Do you love her?” Annie asked, forward as always.
“Uh…well.” The flush deepened in his handsome face and he seemed flustered for the first time that Esme could remember and darned if it didn’t make him even more adorable and endearing. He cleared his throat nervously, then nodded. “Of course. How could you not love Es?”
Annie narrowed her gaze on him, silent for a long moment, then broke into a wide grin. “How, indeed. Welcome to the palace, my boy. Have a seat. I was just getting our princess some lunch. Would you like soup and bread, too?”
Z seemed shocked by the offer for a moment, then smiled back at her. “I’d love some, thanks.”
