The Princess in His Bed

by Lila DiPasqua

  “A reward, Your Majesty?”

  “Yes, an honor bestowed upon you, by me.”

  “No reward is necessary, Sire.”

  “I disagree,” the King announced with finality.

  Clearly, there would be no debate over it. He was going to keep quiet, take his “reward,” and leave. Soon, he hoped.

  “I’ve decided to give you the hand of the very daughter you’ve impressed so much.”

  Mathias froze, as did his breathing. There was no way he had heard that correctly.

  “You . . . wish me to marry your daughter, Your Majesty?” Praying there was some sort of misunderstanding.

  “Yes, you’re not married and it is an honor,” the King stressed again, sounding irked that Mathias was not ecstatic over this madness. Merde.

  He felt as though he’d stepped into some sort of bad dream. He was being strong-armed into a marriage.

  Sard placed a hand on Mathias’s shoulder again. “Of course, the Marquis de Montfort knows that, Sire. He’s simply overwhelmed by your generosity, aren’t you?” Sard squeezed his shoulder.

  Mathias cleared his throat. “Yes, this is definitely a surprise, Sire.”

  King Louis gave a nod. “It is understandable that you are astounded. It isn’t every day a man is offered a princess as a bride. I feel your marriage to my daughter would further demonstrate my disdain and intolerance for Basset. I have awarded the man who helped in enforcing the ban one of my own daughters.”

  Merde.

  “I’m sure you’re eager to meet your future bride, Montfort.” The King glanced about.

  About as eager as he would be to sever a limb. He’d been a devoted bachelor. He’d only ever met one woman whom he’d wanted to marry, and she had disappeared.

  “Where is Princess Gabrielle?” the King snapped at those around him. Perfect. The man wasn’t in one of his more genial moods today.

  Mathias simply had to get out of this ludicrous situation. Under no circumstances was he marrying “Princess Gabrielle.”

  “Here I am, Sire.” A too-familiar voice snagged his attention.

  There was Silvie, elegantly curtsying before the King. Holding her gown, she ascended the steps, and stopped beside him.

  Mathias stood there, mouth agape, barely breathing. Mother of God, she’s a princess.

  Sard slapped his arm. He shot him a look. It was then he noticed Sard and the entire throng in the Hall of Mirrors were in a deep curtsy or bow.

  Quickly, Mathias bowed before the King’s daughter. Merde. He’d deflowered the King’s daughter. A princess. Princess Gabrielle. He’d deflowered a princess. The King’s own daughter. He’d had her numerous times in various ways. He’d thoroughly debauched her.

  And seeing her again, his eyes drinking in her beauty, he felt his cock stir.

  Excellent, Mathias. If the King finds out what you did with his daughter, you are a dead man.

  “You may rise, sir,” she said to him.

  He straightened. Her expression schooled, she was standing two steps above him, her hands folded in front of her.

  She’d put him through two weeks of hell, thinking she’d not had any affection for him. Clearly, she’d been behind this “reward” of his.

  He couldn’t be more overjoyed.

  Just being this close to her made his heart ache. He wanted nothing more than to touch her, pull her into his arms, but the King and his entire court were watching.

  “It is a pleasure to meet you, sir.” She held out her hand.

  Eager, he took it and pressed a kiss to her knuckle. “The pleasure is all mine, Princess.” Mathias turned to the King. “Your daughter is beautiful, Sire. I am delighted to have her hand in marriage.”

  He gave a nod then descended the steps. “It’s too warm in here,” he complained and headed to the gardens, the court following behind.

  When the crowd had moved away, his princess spoke again. Her eyes softened, the love he’d seen on oh so many days and nights reflected in their depths. “I know you are angry with me, Mathias. Please understand, I couldn’t leave you a note telling you how much I love you. How much I wanted to accept your marriage proposal—until I made certain I was able to convince the King that he should reward you with me. It is something my father often does—gives his daughters away in marriage as gifts or rewards. I swear that from now on, there will be no more secrets between us.”

  Mischief twinkled in her dark eyes. “You know, I’ve been told I should be honest with my future husband. That I shouldn’t try to trick him on our wedding night. I think it’s only right that I inform you, I’m not a virgin.”

  His lips twitched as he fought back a smile. “We have something in common. Neither am I.”

  “I also want you to know I have a difficult time sleeping at night. Especially if there is something hard in my bed.”

  Mathias couldn’t hold back his smile. “That’s understandable. I’ve heard that beautiful princesses are very sensitive that way. I fear I may exacerbate the problem, Princess.”

  “Princess of snow?” she gently teased.

  “Princess of my heart. Princess that I love. The only Princess for me.”

  “And will you ride off with her, taking her from this palace, and bring her to your castle?”

  “Indeed.” He took her hand and placed it over his heart. “I will bring her to my kingdom, the one we create with our very own magic, where I shall cherish and love her—ever after.”

  A promise Mathias sealed with a searing kiss.

  Glossary

  Antechamber—The sitting room in a lord’s or lady’s private apartments (chambers).

  Basset—A card game banned by the King and played by the wealthy. It brought about the ruin of many people of quality.

  Caleçons—Drawers/underwear.

  Chambers—Another word for private apartments. A lord or lady’s chambers consisted of a bedroom, a sitting room, a bathroom, and a cabinet (office). Some chambers were bigger and more elaborate than others. Some cabinets were so large, they were used for private meetings.

  Chère—Dear one. A term of endearment for a woman (cher for a man).

  Chérie—Darling or cherished one. A term of endearment for a woman (chéri for a man).

  Couch—A term in the card game Basset. It’s the first bet placed on any given card. Once a player wins his or her couch, they can either accept payment or let their money lie and go for a greater stakes, like a sept-et-le-va—seven times the original bet.

  Dieu—God.

  Justacorps—A man’s fitted knee-length coat, worn over his vest and breeches.

  Hôtel—A mansion located in the city. Members of the upper class and the wealthy bourgeois (middle class) often had a hôtel in Paris in addition to a palatial country estate (château).

  Lettre de Cachet—Orders/letters of confinement—without trial—signed by the King with the royal seal (cachet).

  Ma belle—My beauty. Endearment for a woman.

  Merde—Shit.

  Salle—Room.

  Salle de Bain—Bathroom. A small room located in one’s private apartments in either a château or hôtel. The room usually had a fireplace, a tub, and a toilet (that looked like a chair with a chamber pot). The room was small on purpose so that the fire from the fireplace would keep the space warm while one bathed.

  Seigneur Dieu—Lord God.