Shy Queen in the Royal Spotlight

by Natalie Anderson

  She’d forgotten she’d admitted that first. She swallowed. ‘With words.’

  It wasn’t a lie—it was very true. But it wasn’t all of the truth.

  ‘They’ve all accepted the invitation. They’re here,’ he said after a while. ‘I’ve put them up at the hotel, rather than the palace. I’ve already issued a personal request that they don’t speak to the media but I can’t muzzle anyone completely. If they get seduced by the offer of an exclusive with a news agency—’

  ‘I know.’ She licked her lips nervously. ‘I know you can’t control everything.’

  Of course they’d accepted the invitations. Who could turn down a flight in a private jet to attend something so high profile in the incredible country of Triscari? Even she hadn’t been able to turn down his offer.

  ‘I’m sorry I can’t,’ he murmured. ‘I’m sorry they hurt you.’

  She stiffened, holding back that yearning opening within with every step he took closer towards her. She didn’t want his sympathy. She didn’t want to think about any of that.

  ‘But I’m not going to do that,’ he added. ‘I’m not saying anything I don’t mean to you. When I talk about our inevitability, Hester, I’m not trying to flatter you. I’m just being honest.’

  The trouble was his honesty was so naturally charming, so instinctively seductive. And while he was arrogant and confident, she didn’t think even he really realised his potency. He was used to it, wasn’t he? Flirting and having affairs. She just wasn’t. She didn’t think she could handle him.

  ‘There are still only two kisses in our contract,’ she breathed, clinging to that flimsy fact.

  She had to keep him at that wafer-thin distance. He couldn’t change the agreement before they’d even signed the marriage certificate.

  ‘Trust me, I know.’ He remained close for the merest moment more. ‘And for what it’s worth, I think you’re going to slay them all tomorrow.’

  Truthfully all she wanted was to slay him.

  Fairy tales indeed.

  CHAPTER SIX

  HESTER SWAYED GENTLY as the glass carriage carried her along the castle route with its cobblestones and beautiful flower-strewn path to her waiting prince. The fine lace veil covering her face softened her focus so the vast crowds waving and watching blurred, but they were all there hoping to catch a glimpse of her—Prince Alek’s mysterious bride.

  She’d slept surprisingly well in the large wooden castle. Fiorella had arrived there too late in the evening for them to catch up and then Billie and her team had arrived first thing, along with an army of dressmakers. So she’d had no chance to talk to Fiorella—they were both too busy being beautified for the wedding. This was good because when she’d first spotted her soon-to-be sister-in-law, she’d veered dangerously close to hugging her. And Hester didn’t hug anyone.

  Before getting ready this morning she’d read only a few of the news stories about her that had been printed over the last few days. They’d not had that much time to dig up too much drama, but there was enough to make her shiver. But, worse, the real truth was there—some whispered of Alek’s requirement to marry. That he’d picked someone biddable and shy and inoffensive. ‘The bland bride’, some bitchy bloggers had labelled her.

  The romantics on the other side, however, wanted to believe the fairy tale and drowned out that truth with the fantasy. Their outing to the hospital had silenced many doubters and the body-language experts had had a field day. Apparently their light touch and laughing smiles showed ‘intimacy and genuine love’ between them.

  And her moment with that distressed boy had somehow been leaked—still images taken by a long-range lens through a window while one of the teachers had spoken on condition of anonymity and talked of her natural affinity with the children...while Alek was apparently smitten and protective. Hester had put the tablet down, unwilling to read any more.

  ‘We’re almost there. Deep breath, Hester.’ Fiorella smiled. ‘This is going to be amazing.’

  Contrarily Fiorella’s soft reassurance sharpened Hester’s nerves. Too late she realised the princess had been abnormally quiet all morning. Was she worried—or pre-occupied? ‘Are you okay Fiorella?’

  ‘Okay?’ The princess’s deep brown eyes widened and curiously a rush of colour swept into her cheeks. ‘You mean about the wedding?’

  What else would she have meant? Fiorella’s gaze dipped but before Hester could ask more, the carriage slowed and then stopped.

  ‘You’re the best person in the world for Alek,’ Fiorella whispered quickly before a footman appeared at the door.

  Hester was glad of the veil—it gave her soft focus too. She could literally hide behind it.

  She climbed the stone steps slowly as instructed, though mainly it was because the silk train of her dress was heavy. Then she saw Alek waiting at the end of the long aisle and was unable to tear her gaze from him. Every step drew her closer to him and revealed more detail of his appearance. He wore full royal regalia—gleaming gold trim, military medals and that scarlet sash of power across his chest and, yes, even one feather. He stood straight and strong and so serious, but as she finally drew alongside him she saw the smile in his eyes and a teasing twitch of his lips.

  The ceremony was full of pomp just as he’d promised. There were trumpets, choirs, a cellist...but she barely noticed them. Nor did she really see the beautiful floral arrangements and the stunningly attired guests. He sucked all her attention.

  It seemed to take for ever, yet passed in a flash. She was vitally aware of him breathing beside her, so close yet distant, and every moment watched by millions. She grew stupidly nervous after reciting her vows. Her mouth dried and she swallowed back her anxiety. Why had she shot down the idea of a practice kiss? They’d probably bump noses, or clash teeth or something even more awkward in front of the world. It was mortifying. And it would be replayed over and over, immortalised in memes on the Internet for ever. The ‘world’s worst kiss’.

  Terrified, she looked at Alek. That knowing glint of good humour in his eyes grew and his lips curved enough to set the dimples free. She couldn’t hold back her own impish smile in response. This whole thing? It was ridiculous. And suddenly it was fun, this secret contract between them.

  He bent nearer, so very slowly. Utterly still, she expected only a brief peck.

  It was a gossamer brush of his lips over hers, so gentle that she wouldn’t have been sure it had happened if she hadn’t seen him. But he lingered and her eyes drifted shut as intimacy was unleashed in that lightest, purest of touches. She yearned to capture it—to stop time and bask in the warmth and connection from such slight pressure.

  He pulled back and smiled again right into her eyes as she blinked and returned to the world. The roaring cheers of the crowd seeped through the stone walls and a ripple of audible pleasure ran through the guests present in the magnificent palace chapel. He drew her hand through his arm and escorted her down the long aisle. The noise of the applause boomed tenfold as the church door was opened for them to exit. They stood for a long moment on the top step, smiling at the scores and scores of people—the crowd stretched as far as she could see.

  ‘Hester.’

  She heard his soft command and faced him. The wicked laughter in his eyes was for her alone.

  ‘Steel yourself, sweetheart,’ he muttered.

  She was ready and more willing than she wanted to admit. But he knew, didn’t he? She saw the triumph in his eyes as he bent towards her.

  This kiss lingered. This kiss lit something else—there was more than a gossamer caress, there was a hint of intent and she couldn’t stop her own response—the parting gasp of delight that allowed him in.

  But instead he pulled back. She saw his face only briefly but the smile was gone from his eyes—replaced by blazing intensity and an arrogant tilt to his jaw and suddenly he was back. Stealing a third. This last kiss
was not chaste. He crushed her lips with his in a too-brief stamp of passion that promised so much more than it ought to—the sweep of his tongue commanding a response that she couldn’t withhold. Heat and power surged through her as his hands tightened—holding her firm while promising even more. Still dignified, but so, so dangerous. It was only a moment, but one that changed her irrevocably. Because she’d been the one to moan in regret when it ended. She’d never wanted it to end.

  ‘That was three, not two,’ she breathed, trying to whip up some fury but failing. She was too floored, too unstable in containing her feelings.

  ‘So sue me,’ he breathed back before laughing delightedly. ‘What are you going to do about it standing here in front of the world?’

  ‘Stop it, all the lip-readers will interpret what you’re saying and they’ll know this is—’

  ‘You stop talking. I’m not even moving my lips. Ventriloquising is a talent of mine. Learned it from a very early age. You do when you’re filmed and photographed at every possible opportunity.’

  She giggled as she knew he’d intended. ‘Is it even a word?’

  ‘You bet. Formal study required.’ He turned his head so no cameras could get between either of them and gazed into her eyes; his own were dancing. ‘Now seriously, be silent, or I’ll have to employ emergency tactics and I don’t know that it would be wise for me to do that here and now.’

  His voice had an edge and she knew what he meant. He raised his free hand and waved to the crowds, who cheered again, then he helped her down the marble steps and into the glass carriage. He sat close, his arm tight around her while she rationalised that extra kiss. He was pleased with the afternoon’s events, that was all. That kiss had been a moment of pure male satisfaction—of pleasure and power.

  ‘Hester?’

  ‘No.’ She glinted at him. ‘You’ve had more than your lifetime allowance.’ She smiled and waved to the crowd.

  ‘But—’

  ‘You can’t ventriloquise your way out of this, Alek,’ she scolded. ‘You broke the deal.’

  ‘Why, Hester Moss, are you chastising me?’

  ‘I’m no longer Hester Moss.’ She flashed her teeth at him in a brilliant smile. ‘And I’m putting on a good show, aren’t I?’

  * * *

  The woman formerly known as Hester Moss was putting on far more than ‘a good show’. She was glittering. And almost flirting. And Alek discovered he could hardly cope. All he wanted was to pull her back into his arms and kiss her again. Again. And again. And ideally everywhere. Instead he had to smile and wave and grit his teeth because there were millions watching them.

  In the safe privacy of a palace antechamber, he studied the tablet for the few minutes they’d factored ahead of the formal reception, taking time to settle his own rioting emotions the way he knew Hester did—with distraction and avoidance. But he couldn’t deny her radiance—or his primal response to her.

  He realised now—far too late—that he hadn’t noticed any other woman in days and he always noticed women. Now he didn’t seem to give a damn. He hadn’t even seen them. And it wasn’t just about ensuring Hester’s comfort in a difficult situation. It was as if she were some giant magnet, while his eyeballs were iron filings. With no will of their own they just kept focusing on her. It was as if she’d obliterated anyone else out of existence. He laughed a little bitterly to himself. Served him right, didn’t it? That he hadn’t wanted a wife at all, but now he had one and he wanted his wife more than he’d wanted any other woman? And she was so off-limits—she was effectively an employee, she was a virgin, she was clearly vulnerable because she’d been hurt somehow and was isolated now...yes, the reasons why he shouldn’t lay a finger on her were probably insurmountable. But that didn’t stop his body from wanting her anyway.

  ‘Are you okay?’ she asked.

  ‘Oh, I’m dandy,’ he mocked himself. And he had to survive spending the night with her in his wing because there was no way they could sleep in separate apartments on their wedding night.

  Was it only because she was out of bounds? As if he truly were some spoilt child who was so used to getting everything that he wanted that he couldn’t cope the first time he’d heard the word no from a woman?

  No. He simply ached to seduce her. He’d been skimming closer to seducing her with every passing day, more deeply intrigued as she’d opened up so fractionally, so slowly. Those sparks of humour, of spirit, fascinated him. He wanted to break her open and bask in the warmth and wit he knew she kept locked inside. And he wanted to test the intensity of this chemistry that made mush of his synapses, made every muscle tense and turned his guts to water.

  Instead he had to endure a long celebratory feast in front of hundreds.

  He glanced up from the screen and saw her hips and the curve of her bottom and was hit by a rush of lust so severe he had to freeze. No. It wasn’t anything as superficial as simply being told he couldn’t have something and only then wanting it. He wasn’t a child any more. He’d outgrown the pursuit of challenges just for the sake of toppling them. This was all about her. He wanted to see her melt in pleasure. He wanted her to turn to him, to offer him her luscious mouth again. He wanted to coax more of the passion he’d discovered just beneath her still surface.

  Instead he glared back at the screen.

  The world was absolutely lapping it up—they were trending on all social media sites. Images of them spiralled throughout the web—one picture, just after the kiss, was being shared hundreds of thousands of times a second, it seemed.

  When she’d smiled at him, it was like a revelation—all sparkle and beauty. It helped that her dress fitted as if she’d been poured into it—cinched at her waist and flaring over her full hips. It was absolute femininity. She was no rail-thin princess but rather a slim bundle of curves that were almost too sexy for the circumstance. The heels gave her a little extra height but she still barely made it to his shoulder. Her hair had been left mostly loose—all lush, lightly curled beauty—while the fragile tiara with its droplet diamonds added to the overall picture of princess perfection. How had he ever thought she wasn’t beautiful?

  ‘What is it?’ She stepped over and he tilted the tablet so she could see them too.

  She assessed the pictures silently, critically, showing no obvious emotion, but he knew she was thinking and feeling. He craved to know what. His heart still beat horrifically fast. Those two kisses had been the most chaste of his life—yet somehow the most erotic and they’d forced him into stealing that third. That too-brief statement of what he really wanted—to get her alone, away from all the watching people.

  As alone as they were now.

  He gripped the tablet tightly, resisting the wave of desire ricocheting through him. And the fierce regret. He wanted to start again. To forget the whole damn marriage requirement and instead take the simple pleasure of seducing her slowly and completely. All he wanted was her absolute surrender—for her to be his in the most basic sense of the word. She was the most exquisite temptation—a mystery, as the press had rightly labelled her. But the contract between them imposed rules and boundaries. He wanted to break every one here and now. It was appalling—he’d never imagined that she’d fascinate him so.

  ‘It’s amazing what properly fitting clothes and expertly applied make-up can do,’ she muttered, oblivious to his turmoil as she swiftly scrolled through the photographs. ‘I look okay.’

  The dress and make-up merely accentuated the perfection beneath. ‘I thought you didn’t care what they think.’ He managed to push through his tension to half-smile at her.

  ‘Well, I don’t want to let you down.’

  ‘So you care what I think?’ he asked more harshly than he intended.

  She drew a slow breath and he knew she was settling her response to him, trying to keep her façade still. ‘I care about doing a good job.’

  ‘And that’s all
this still is to you? Just a job?’ He didn’t want to believe that. He refused to.

  He fought the urge to haul her close—to make her flush, to make that serenity flare in a burst of satisfaction. He ached to see her shudder, to hear her scream as ecstasy overcame her. He wanted her warm and soft and smiling, no more cool, fragile façade. That first kiss had given him the briefest hint of what pleasure they could find together and had seared his nerve endings. He wanted to crack her open and release the warmth he was now certain was at her core.

  They’d effectively laughed their way back down the aisle with an intimacy built on something other than physical. It had rendered him unable to resist the need to kiss her the way he’d ached to—stealing that third kiss to feel the heat of her response.

  Now she was attempting to rebuild her personal barriers, to hide the fiercely deep feelings she didn’t want to express. But she wasn’t going to be able to deny them for too much longer. He’d felt the ferocity of her fire.

  ‘I’m sorry about the article,’ she said quietly, sidestepping his question.

  ‘Your cousins.’ He knew the one she meant. ‘They said you ghosted them,’ he said. ‘That you emotionally shut them out.’ He watched her expression stiffen and strove to reassure her. ‘Hester, I of all people know not to believe everything I read in the media.’

  ‘But it’s true.’ She lifted her chin but didn’t meet his eyes. ‘I did.’

  Defensiveness radiated from every pore and his arms ached with the urge to hold her close.

  ‘I’m sure you had good reason to,’ he said carefully.

  Now liquid gleamed in her eyes and smote his heart.

  ‘It was silly, wasn’t it? To have expected them to care for me, just because of blood.’

  He took in what she’d said. They hadn’t cared for her—they hadn’t wanted her. And she’d been so unhappy she’d run away and locked herself in that ivory tower at the university. Quietly assisting students who lived fuller lives and cared less for their studies than she did.