by Vivien Vale
This morning, she was sleepy and slow in bed. Languishing in waking up slowly together, kissing, taking time to actually look each other deep into the eyes, and then slipping into her.
Gently, slowly, passionately. And more and more gently as the months pass.
She’s still sleepy and blissful over breakfast. Hazy-eyed as she looks over letters requesting help, advice, royal visits. I have letters I have to answer too, but I prefer to just soak her up.
The presentness of her…the fullness of her.
The way she has come into herself since the wedding. She sees me looking, watching the way she absentmindedly stirs honey into her tea; the way her brow furrows when she gets to a difficult question, adoring the way she takes time for every single letter.
Every single request. Wanting to answer slowly, properly, carefully.
She smiles when her eyes meet mine.
“Don’t you have work to do?”
I put my hand behind her neck and kiss her there, making my way slowly up to her mouth. “We work so hard. I think I deserve to bask in this a little, don’t you?”
“Oh, completely.”
Our kiss is long and slow and deep and contented. It only ends when the servants come in to clear the table, and then hurry out embarrassed. That happens more and more often around here.
She’s right. There’s certainly a lot to do today.
With spring in the air, we have to start planting. And I will personally oversee the planting on this island myself. We have to start moving seeds and moving earth and moving people.
Today alone, I have around ten meetings to make plans and to ask others to make plans, and Ash has just as many, although, as I keep telling her, now is a time for her to rest. Others can make plans.
And just for today, maybe we can put off the day a little longer. I watch as she finishes eating. You can certainly tell she’s a princess when she eats; everything is just so neat. There isn’t a crumb in sight.
Then, she tries to go back to her letters, but I take them out of her hand. Fold them up. Put the pen on the blotter and the cap on the ink-bottle.
“These can wait,” I tell her.
“People need us,” Ash says.
“They need us to be happy first, then we can do all the other things they need of us.”
I take her hand and help her from her chair, wrapping my arm around her as she stands.
“We’re going to the beach. The day can begin after that.”
She smiles that smile that I fell in love with: polite but clever and mischievous. She happily lets me lead her outside into the glorious morning.
The whole world knows it’s spring. The birds are going mad with the joy of it all. I feel a little mad with the joy of it all too.
There are blossoms on all the trees, and the air is thick and heavy with the smell of flowers. There are deer wandering through the orchard. At the bottom of the path, the sea is azure and twinkling.
Because it’s only spring, it’s still a bit chilly, which is the perfect excuse for me to wrap my arm tighter around her, and we take the leisurely walk downhill, discussing plans.
Dignitaries. The education system we’re putting in place. Our latest visit to her father. More crops. More livestock.
I can’t keep my eyes off her.
Her happy, open face. Her rounded breasts. Her belly.
And then we’re on the beach. Watching the waves lap at the beach and the crabs scuttle across the sand. I bend down to take off my shoes and to unbuckle hers.
We step out onto the sand together, and bask in it—looking out over it all.
“Do you know why I love this place?” she asks, looking up at me.
“I think I can imagine,” I smile mischievously, “but tell me.”
“It’s because it’s where you were first mine.”
“And you mine.”
The sea is beautiful, but not as beautiful as the sight of Queen Aisling looking up at me. Eyes big and round and full of love. I run my gaze over her.
Then I can’t help but run my hands over her too. Under her royal velvet, her belly is swollen and beautiful.
“What are we going to call him?” I whisper.
Author’s Note
Why hello there…I hope you enjoyed my newest book. Since you’ve reached the last page, I can only assume that you did!
I was feeling wistful and full of wanderlust when writing Secret Bride—it made me desperately want to visit Scotland or Ireland and find a rugged, log-throwing, bearded man with a killer accent all my own.
I really enjoyed developing the characters for Secret Bride, and though of course I love love love Drew and Ash, Fergus was actually my favorite to create. He’s such a snob. I tried to write him in a way that he emulates the kind of unpleasant people you actually meet in offices and such every day. You know, someone who’s polite to your face even as they stab you in the back.
Andrew’s stallion, Ness, didn’t originally have a name, but once I had fleshed out how gentle and loving Drew’s soul was I realized that it would be odd if he never referred to his favorite horse by name. Have you ever seen a Lipizzaner horse? They’re fucking gorgeous. Go look them up. Of course King Andrew had to have the most beautiful horse in the world. I’d like to think Ness takes to Ash so well that Drew ends up having to choose another horse to replace his regular riding partner, because Ash keeps riding Ness!
I really liked writing in a foreign setting, so maybe in the future I’ll explore the world of these characters further.
Until then, I hope you’ll look out for my next release and pick it up when it’s out!
In the meantime, I’ve included a few extras for after this as a special thank you for reading this book! First check out The King's Virgin Bride by my fellow Vixen, Natalie. Then keeping right on with the wedding theme, there’s Spring Break Bride. And of course, you know I love a good baby contract, as you’ll see in Baby Bargain and The Good Twin’s Baby. And finally, in Wanted: Big Bad Brother, you get a little peek into how fun forbidden relationships can be! Hope you enjoy!
Love,
Viv
Take a Sneak Peek of the First Three Chapters of…
The King's Virgin Bride
A Royal Wedding Novella
By Natalie Knight
Copyright 2018 by Crimson Vixens
All rights reserved
This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or persons is entirely coincidental. This work intended for adults only.
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Chapter 1
Edward
The best fucking thing about being King of Amore?
I can have any goddamn woman in this room that I want.
The only problem?
I’m supposed to announce my engagement to the boring, prissy, title-grabbing cow otherwise known as Ignora Bingsley-Doopenhorf tonight. I’m meant to wrap my big, strong hand around her bony, clammy talons and pronounce her my fiancée, future wife—and future queen.
But I don’t want Ignora Bingsley-Doopenhorf, no matter how much fucking money her father is willing to pour into the royal charities in order to make his daughter a queen.
Nah, fuck that.
The second that she walks into the room, it’s all over.
Ignora Bingsley-Who-The-Fuck-Cares might as well not have even been invited the second I lay eyes on her.
“May I present my sister,” Prince James, my best friend and heir to the throne of Amore’s greatest ally, says as a fucking goddess in golden silk steps into the ballroom.
Well. More like stumbles.
She’s wearing heels so high, they’ve got her ass pushed up to the point where I could balance a glass of wine on it. Her tits are pushed up, too, hugged tight against her chest
by the corset of her gown.
Her hair falls around her sweet, little heart-shaped face in golden waves, and her lips—her gorgeous, perfectly shaped lips—are so soft and so plump that they’re just begging to take a dick between them.
My cock goes rock hard in an instant.
“That’s not your sister,” I say in disbelief. “No fucking way.”
“The Princess Gwen,” James assures me with a chuckle. “In the flesh.”
The last time I saw Princess Gwen, she was all knees and elbows, trying her damnedest to just be one of the boys.
But that was years ago. Now, Gwen’s all grown up—and there’s no denying it.
She’s all woman now.
“She’s drunk,” I point out—because as soon as I’m done cataloging everything that I need to do to pretty little Gwen before my damned forced engagement becomes official, that’s the next thing that I notice.
She’s teetering on those heels pretty heavily, even with Princess Aisling at her side, holding her up.
“You would be, too,” James counters. “Meet her fiancé.”
The second that I lay eyes on the man, I want to fucking spit.
Slimy, beady-eyed, and licking his lips like a dog waiting to take a bite out of a big, juicy steak.
Gwen might have grown up since the last time I saw her, but the Marquis de Roach hasn’t changed one fucking bit.
“Him? Really, James?” I raise an eyebrow at my friend and shake my head. “I didn’t take your parents for sadists.”
“Highest bidder, Ed.” James claps me on the shoulder and raises an eyebrow of his own. “Sounds like you know that story well enough, if the things I’ve heard about you and Ignora Bingsley-Doopenhorf are true.”
“Highest bidder my ass. Why wasn’t I invited to the Princess Gwen auction?”
“With your reputation?” James scoffs. “There’s a reason my father has held all of the diplomatic meetings between our countries on Amore soil, my friend. Gwen wouldn’t be within twenty feet of you tonight if it wasn’t for him.”
The way that James looks at de Roach, he doesn’t seem any happier about Gwen’s engagement than I am.
But while James can plea brotherly love, I know that my own unhappiness surrounding the situation is of a less wholesome sort.
Dressed like that—looking like that—there’s only one bed the Princess Gwen should be warming: mine.
“She’s wasted on him,” I growl, lower and fiercer than I mean to.
“With her wits and talents? I’d tend to agree.” James gives me a judgmental look. “But somehow, I don’t think that’s what you mean.”
He’s not completely right—I remember Gwen’s cleverness from when we were children. I remember her boldness, her bravery—the way she never backed down from a challenge and never believed in a fight that she couldn’t win.
For that reason alone, it fucking kills me to see a woman like her end up with a man like him. The Marquis de Roach is notoriously cold—perverted, conniving, temperamental, and even violent, if the rumors are true.
If Gwen’s with him, then de Roach has Gwen’s family over a barrel somehow—and the fact that she’s drowning her sorrows in alcohol instead of fighting back means that it’s bad enough that she’s given up.
That’s what breaks my fucking heart.
The Gwen I knew wouldn’t have ever given up.
But James isn’t completely wrong, either. It’s not just Gwen’s spirit that I’m admiring right now.
In fact, I’m admiring everything about her, starting at the crown of her golden head and ending with what I think she might look like beneath those golden skirts.
Since my father died, I’ve been long past Prince Charming. James is right about another thing—I have a reputation, and not the good kind.
Running a country takes a lot out of a man, and I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t buried my sorrows—and my mouth and my cock—in a royal mistress or two in my time.
But the second I see Gwen like that—flanked by the man who bought her but doesn’t fucking deserve her—smiling through what’s either got to be a whole lot of awkwardness or a whole lot of pain…
Even Kings can’t help but want to rescue the damsel in distress sometimes.
And judging by Gwen’s current ability to keep her feet…
“Ed, don’t,” James warns me—but it’s too late.
This little princess is about to take a tumble.
And I’ll be damned if, when she falls, it’s into anything other than my strong, steady arms.
Chapter 2
Gwen
“Champagne, Madame?”
“Yes. Hell yes. Thanks!” I say, while letting go my fiancé’s arm and grabbing two crystal flutes filled to the brim with bubbly liquid.
With one in each hand, I chug them as lady-like as possible. Frankly, I don’t give a damn how classy I look right now; all I know is that I need every ounce of alcohol to get me through this night.
I’m sure I’ll need more of this, seeing as how I’m engaged to the fucking Marquis de Roach. A man who makes me want to vomit just by looking at him.
Happily-fucking-ever after to me!
And the worst part is that he’s not even close to my idea of Prince Charming. Christ, he’s not even a prince! He’s the complete opposite of what I wanted—or dreamt of—and no fairy godmother can convince me otherwise.
In fact, if I do have a fairy godmother, I’m pretty sure she’s in rehab right now—Cinderella never would have had to deal with this shit.
Ignoring the Marquis de Roach and the anger that radiates from his stance, I survey the ballroom, looking for more of the delicious nectar. I’m lucky, though; the champagne is doing a great job of easing my gag reflex while I’m with him.
I leave his side, and he glares daggers at me. But I don’t care.
I find the nearest waiter and place my flutes down on his empty tray.
“Where can I get a refill?” I ask, not hiding my eagerness.
“Just that way.” The polished penguin suit-wearing man points to the other side of the ballroom.
Ugh. I sigh and roll my eyes, annoyance replacing the temporary relief the champagne gave me.
“Really? Through all those damn people?” I don’t mean to be rude, but apparently, the bubbly has loosened my body, including my tongue.
It’s also one of the first times I’ve had alcohol, seeing as I’m new to it, so it’s very potent.
It’s a shame. I’m just now able to drink and to marry, and I have to marry the vilest Roach in the kingdom. My youth is being wasted, that’s a given.
I hope that the waiter would at least take some pity on me, given that fact, and fetch the champagne for me.
I usually don’t act this way. I’ve never been one to complain, and I’m always up for a challenge.
But after Daddy sold me to the man who offered the most money, regardless of the repercussions I’d have to deal with, then yes, I’m going to be a little pissed. It’s going to take all the champagne in the world to chase down that large, ugly pill that’s now my reality.
“Sorry, Madame. I suppose so.” The waiter distracts me from my self-wallowing pity party and walks away from me.
Ugh. What an ass!
I steady myself on my heels. Maybe wearing five-inch stilettos wasn’t a good idea today.
But without a passing word to the fiancé, I maneuver through the crowd of people with my eye on the prize—that liquid gold.
Christ, it’s like a can of sardines in here. Not only is the stench of excessively perfumed old people enough to choke me, but they packed themselves so tightly I feel like I’ve groped more than enough saggy breasts and dicks to last me a lifetime.
Looking through the crowd, I’m amazed at how many old people are here to celebrate Edward’s engagement. I thought there’d be at least some people my age—well, our age. But it just goes to show how little time we’ve had to enjoy ourselves outside of this elite bubble.
At least when we were kids, we were able to play. Those were the days when I could roll around in the mud and tackle boys, before my parents chastised me for not being lady-like.
It’s like I got my period and then immediately, I had to be primped and prodded. The boys could still play, but I had to be indoors, practicing my Latin or learning how to drink out of a fucking tea cup. I envied them.
Unfortunately for my parents, the etiquette classes didn’t completely cure me of my unsavory ways. But now, I at least know how to polish my rougher edges when I need to. Like for this event.
My father and mother would go completely mad if they saw me downing champagne like some lush. So, I guess there’s a positive to having all these people here, distracting them.
Speaking of distractions, I’ve only seen glimpses of King Edward while making my way through this bejeweled hellhole. I remember him as a cute boy but a scrawny one, someone I loved tackling to the ground while we played all sorts of sports. He was never able to defend himself against me.
But from what I’ve seen so far, he can dominate me now...easily. His broad shoulders and big arms prove that he’s done more than playing since I’ve seen him. The idea of that body pinning me down sends shivers down my spine and tingles my already wet pussy.
Damn, he’s impressive. And that’s just his side view that’s riling me up.
I watch as his handsome and chiseled jaw clenches every time he talks to someone. I laugh at the reaction, relating to that twinge of annoyance when dealing with a wet blanket.
Too bad he’s getting engaged. Fuck, too bad I’m engaged. I’d really like to reenact some of our memories.
And if that body is any indication of what the whole package looks like, then I’d be happy to lose a few games...for old time’s sake.
Rubbing up against the sea of tacky dresses, I come to terms with the fact that this will be my life—champagne, old stuffy people, and a permanent fake smile, all to appease the asshat who is now my fiancé.
How pathetic! One day, maybe, I’ll be able to find something to relieve myself of this atrocity.
