He still wouldn’t release her hand and she gave to him the slightest resistance, gracefully urging him, and he complied, releasing her.
Amiably, he asked, “So where are you heading?”
“To my rooms,” she replied and began moving for them, thinking it best to retreat to their safety.
“Your rooms!” he exclaimed. “That sounds rather dull. We’ve plenty to do around here. I’ve got nothing to do today, and I was thinking about taking in a show in the Palace Theater. Care to join me?”
Skye paled, knowing that she was about to be played by yet another formidable royal. She couldn’t even handle the one! “No, thank you, Sir,” she replied. “I’m—”
“It’s Royce,” he interrupted.
She nodded and said, “No, thank you, Royce. I’m to see Prince Nicholas when he returns.”
She made it clear to him that she wasn’t available for the taking, but he—like his brother—didn’t handle rejection well.
“Ah, Nicholas,” he said, waving the concept of him off with his hand. “He’ll be gone all day, on a dedication. I’m sure he won’t mind if I keep you entertained.”
Skye had the feeling that he would mind very much.
He pressed, “Who knows when he’ll return. He finds his entertainment in the strangest of places and sometimes doesn’t return for days ...”
She knew that he was making a hint that she should still be available, as Nicholas was still available to others. Even though this was true, she didn’t like the thought of being with another, as that would betray him and her own heart. But, she couldn’t think of a way to tactfully decline ...
He pounced on her hesitation. “Is there anything else you’d like to do? Go for a stroll? Shopping? A ride?”
She shook her head. “I will wait for Nicholas.”
Royce sighed. “Well, you can’t fault me for trying. He has all the luck. He sure knows what he’s doing, in holding on to you. So, how long will you be staying?”
He was hinting that her time with Nicholas wouldn’t be permanent. She looked up at his bright green eyes and saw his determination there—that he wasn’t about to give up on her.
“I don’t know,” she replied. “That all depends.”
He was encouraged by her doubt—of which she hadn’t intended for him to be. They had reached her door, and he took her hand and drew her palm to his lips, with a meaningful expression in his eyes.
“Are you sure you don’t want to come with me, today?” he asked quietly, his lips never leaving her hand.
Skye was saved from his advances when she saw Marion heading her way. The woman was witnessing the exchange and her surprise was clear on her lined face. Royce noticed her approaching, also. Reluctantly, he released her hand and took a step back.
“Marion!” he said warmly. “How are you?”
The woman nodded at him. “Royce ...”
Skye was about to follow Marion into the suite, but Royce stopped her with a gentle grasp of her shoulder.
“You can call on me anytime, Skye,” he said with a wink, and he turned and headed down the hall.
When she was alone with the woman in her suite, she saw the question in her expression and felt a twinge of guilt. She wondered what she had to feel guilty about and lifted her chin defiantly. “I just met him in the hall,” she murmured.
The woman nodded. “It’s none of my business, Skye, but you’ve got to watch these boys. They’re incorrigible.”
Skye exhaled in her relief, glad that the woman was on her side in these battles.
Now she had a second prince after her, while she couldn’t even survive the first.
Marion dismissed the matter and got down to business. “The queen has invited you to a picnic today,” she informed. “I will take you there.” She paused, considering her. “Your wardrobe should be arriving—today or tomorrow—but I think that you’d be best to change into your cooler yellow dress. It is an informal affair, out in the sun.”
Skye did as she was told, doffing her long-sleeved blue dress and donning the sleeveless yellow. She brushed her long red-gold hair into smooth streams, watching her large violet-blue eyes and seeing her anxiety there. A picnic with the queen ... She wished that her Nicholas would return, to give her his support.
When she couldn’t gracefully stall any longer, she followed the servant down the halls. It was a fair walk to the terrace where the monarch held her private affairs. When they strode up the tall staircase and out into the open sky, Skye heard the bright laughter of children playing and the mingling of other merry voices. Marion escorted her out onto the terrace, across the gray stone deck.
It was a large and long terrace, sporting a rectangular swimming pool filled with blue-green water, and a game area where several dark-skinned children were playing. A high stone railing encompassed the place for safety, as the danger of the sea crashed on the rocks far below. The sun was bright and warm, the white clouds few, and she felt the mood of merry-making that seemed to echo out in the balmy air.
Less than twenty people were attending this impromptu gathering, and the adults were lounging about in their long and comfortable chairs, enjoying the bounty from their plates on the tables at their sides and lazily taking in the sun. She saw Nicholas’ father, him dressed in casual white half-leggings and a sleeveless black shirt, talking with a rather portly Arab who sat next to him. Alongside him was the queen, her long golden hair sparkling in the sun, her legs tanned and slender and stretched out on her chair while she took a moment away from her duties to enjoy the day. Beside her sat an Arab woman, another famous face, who was Cronala Menes, a close personal friend of the sovereign and a masterful clothing designer in her own right. Across from them sat Alma Tantuer, the queen’s aunt and mentor, an old woman in her ninth decade but still agile in body and spirit.
The women’s attention was on the queen’s daughter, the Princess Royal Selina, who stood before them, seeming to be in a bit of a temper. She was similar in appearance to her mother—though dressed in scant red frills—but her hair was shorter, not quite to the waist and of an ivory hue, her eyes being a brilliant green. Even from her distance, Skye could see them flashing in her anger, seeming as though she was about to have a child’s temper tantrum that could embarrass the dignity of her seventeen years.
“But I want to go!” Selina shrieked, stamping her bare foot in her ire and drawing everyone’s attention.
Skye couldn’t hear what the girl’s mother said, but whatever it was, it sent her storming from the terrace. She wisely got out of her way while the girl approached.
Selina noticed her, and with an angry voice she spat, “Hello!” and she stalked on by.
“Hello?” Skye replied, but the girl was already stomping down the steps.
Marion wagged her head as she led her toward the queen. As they neared, Skye heard their conversation.
“I’m sorry,” the queen said to her Aunt Alma.
“Sorry?” her aunt asked, her voice rough. “For what?”
“Now I know what I put you through when I was her age.”
Alma smiled, wisely. “Justice comes to us all.” Then she sighed deeply and rose from her chair. “I’ll go see to her.”
“Thank you,” the relieved mother replied.
Skye winced as the queen’s dark-blue eyes turned her way. They brightened while she rose to her feet, coming to take her hand.
“Skye,” she greeted. “I’m glad that you could make it. How are you feeling?”
“Fine, thank you,” she replied, her voice small.
The woman touched her back, guiding her before Mrs. Menes.
“Cronala,” she said. “This is Skye, the girl that I was telling you about. And Skye, that’s her husband, Darius.”
Darius smiled and lifted his hand at her, and she returned the greeting.
Cronala rose to her feet and took her hand into a firm handshake. Her dark eyes weighed her, as if liking what she saw.
“So you’re the one who stole little
Nick’s heart,” she teased. “That’s quite an accomplishment.”
The blush rose hotly to Skye’s high cheeks.
The queen chuckled. “Cronala, stop—you’re embarrassing her! Skye—come here. Let’s get you a plate ...”
Skye felt that all of this wasn’t quite real while the queen of the world helped her fix a plate from the long buffet table. The friendly woman urged her to take more of the smoked shrimp—the lemon fish was excellent, today. Skye moved down the hot side of the buffet, pressing the buttons on the clear lids of her selections, the lids sliding back and revealing the steaming entrées. She lifted the large spoons on the sides of the trays and took her want, saving room on her plate for the cold side of the spread. When her dish was brimming, she was guided over to the chair next to the queen where she sat to partake, setting her plate and glass on the table beside her. She nibbled on the spread, thinking about how remarkable it was that she was attending an intimate royal picnic.
Sarra suddenly cried out. “Cronala—you’re not!”
Skye was perplexed, wondering what it was that had startled the queen. Cronala had risen from her chair and had bent over to retrieve her fork that had fallen from her plate. Her stylish floral-patterned smock had given way, revealing the rounding of her waist.
“I am,” Cronala admitted, almost guiltily. “I didn’t want to say, just yet.”
“You’re pregnant again?” Sarra asked incredulously. “What’s this now—thirteen?”
Cronala nodded and returned to her chair. “I know,” she agreed. “I’m a virtual baby factory. But they’re there to have, so ... I may as well have them while I’m still young enough to chase them.”
Her husband overheard the conversation. “She doesn’t know when to quit,” he said.
Cronala didn’t try to defend herself. “So I don’t. But this is the last one.”
Sarra smiled. “You said that last time, and the time before.”
Skye smiled, also. She knew the story of the Menes family, about how Darius Menes had turned respectable after seeing how his friend, the queen’s consort, was surviving marriage—quite well, in fact. He had quit his illicit business, which was the pandering of prostitutes, and had married Cronala Ptolemy, his long time lover. Cronala had been the mortal enemy of the queen—who had been the princess royal when they first had met—when her consort was the Revolutionary Commander, ‘Raine Nicks’, and he had abducted her. Through some strange twist of fate, Cronala and Sarra had become close friends. The Arab woman, now respectable, began a family.
Skye looked at the children playing on the terrace, seven in number and between the ages of perhaps fourteen and two. She guessed that Cronala’s five eldest children had been invited to the picnic, but had become bored and were off doing something else; she saw no sign of Royce, as well. Still, while she watched the seven—and mentally added five more—she thought it mind-numbing that all of that had come from one woman.
A loud, angry shout from one of the boys caught everyone’s attention. The boy was having a disagreement with his younger brother who suddenly pounced on him, making the argument a physical brawl.
Darius, exasperated, rose from his chair. “The more the merrier,” he uttered as he went off to settle the war.
The queen’s consort went with him. The two men soon had the battle under control, the two boys seeing the ominous look in formidable green eyes.
Skye noticed that Cronala’s children were curious about her. Two girls, about the ages of five and seven, finally became brave enough and came up to her, asking if she wanted to play. The women tried to shoo them off, but she really didn’t mind. She liked the challenge of the ‘Bouncing Butterflies’ game, and she let them drag her off to the play area. She took up a mesh net, to help them gather up the elusive holograms that were a vibrant green and blue and yellow, fluttering out of the tall holographic grasses like fleeting butterflies.
A resounding splash and strangled cry made Skye turn toward the pool. Nicholas senior had taken an unexpected dive, given to him by his wife. Perhaps this was in retaliation for some prior offence, for his wife was laughing at him in vengeful jest. He thought a moment and decided to enjoy the water, clothes on and all. When one of the children distracted the queen—wanting her to retrieve a ball—she turned her back on her husband, and he was out of the pool in a flash. He tossed her onto his broad shoulder and carried her off, leaving the terrace, her shrieking merrily.
Skye smiled, amazed. The royals truly were just people—very special and happy people.
It was but her and the Menes clan left on the terrace. Now that the children had found that she was a capable playmate, they wouldn’t leave her alone. Cronala noticed this, and came up to her.
“Are my brats bothering you?” she asked apologetically.
“No,” Skye assured with a smile. “That’s all right. I’ll watch them for you.”
“Thank you,” the woman murmured and returned to her chair, grateful for some time alone with her husband.
Skye kept the children under her control, the boys with a soft smile and the girls with her gaming prowess. The toddler, Dalila, was enamored with her, laughing while she helped catch the butterflies.
Later that afternoon, Skye felt a familiar hot gaze upon her. She turned and saw Nicholas, standing off near the entrance, smiling at her. The heat began to spark in her belly in her anticipation of his presence. He turned and spoke with a tall and thin Arab, who looked to be about his age. Skye collected her wits while they strode near.
Nicholas—almost reluctantly—gave the introductions. “Akins,” he said. “This is Skye. Skye, Akins.”
The Arab took her hand into his, drawing it to his lips. His dark eyes had an impassioned look while he said, “I’m very pleased to meet you, Skye.”
She smiled at him and she caught how Nicholas scowled. With a quick poke on the Arab’s hand, he made him release her. Akins smiled at him, lifting his dark brow, as if now understanding a concept that he didn’t understand before.
Nicholas scowled again and uttered, “None of that, Akins.”
The Arab chuckled, seeming as though he wouldn’t bother taking his warning to heart.
A zhizzel ball suddenly bounced against Akins’ head. His face went blank in his surprise, and he glanced at the padded green ball that hovered nearby him, waiting to be caught. He grabbed the sphere and threw it, sending it zigzagging through the air, missing his taunting brother completely.
“Excuse me,” he said and went off to join the action. He grabbed a racket away from his nearest sibling and sent the oncoming ball sailing, this time making contact with his opponent. He raised his hands in victory of his score.
Skye felt the penetrating heat of Nicholas’ stare on her profile. He came near and whispered in her ear.
“Come.”
He grasped her hand and she followed him, across the stone deck, off the terrace, down the stairs and into the halls. She didn’t know where he was taking her but she had her suspicions, and her pulse quickened in her eagerness. His destination was her suite, and when there he guided her over to her bed and nudged her down upon it. He straddled her and drew her into a fiery, impatient kiss. He aimed to make her breathless and he did so, and as he drew away, he found that he had also done that to himself.
He loved the feel of her willingness and wanted her bare beneath him. He slid her yellow dress up and off her and then he rose and quickly discarded his own hindering clothes. The sunlight streamed harshly through the windows, revealing all of his splendor, his sparkling blue-green eyes, his rugged physique, the torment of his desire ... He appreciated the vivid sight of her as well, scrutinizing her rosy flush, his eyes taking on an intense, lusty gleam.
He straddled her again, the contact of their loins raw and natural, and his hot tongue and deliberate hands were rough on her breasts, his want of her brutal to him, so he would repay her in kind. She whimpered from the onslaught, caught in his domination, and she sensed his anger but didn�
��t know the cause. He spread her thighs and she cried out softly as he thrust himself within her ... and he moved unrestrained, possessing her, forcing her pleasure. She writhed in the potent moodiness, wrapping her arms and then her legs around him, aching for their zenith, but he was relentless. Suddenly, his lips took hers, his tongue fierce, him demanding that she know that she was his—sending them off in an unfathomed, savage rapture ...
They hadn’t yet caught their breath when he rolled off her, laying his arm on his brow. Her reality slowly came back to her, and she wondered what was causing his anger. His breathing came to an even depth, and he was silent a long while. When he spoke, he was guarded.
“I heard from Marion that my brother accosted you today,” he said stiffly. “Are you interested in him?”
She understood his mood now; he didn’t want to share her. She shook her head, but wasn’t about to tell him that she couldn’t be interested in another.
“He’s more your age ...” he prompted.
Strange, she felt like he was much younger. Nicholas was awaiting her response. She found a reply. “That doesn’t matter.”
He was somewhat relieved, but still uncertain. He sighed and said, “I had a talk with him, and he shouldn’t bother you again. But he is a stubborn little cuss. Tell me if he does.”
She mused about his jealousy, wondering about the warmth his emotion brought to her breast.
He dismissed the unpleasant matter, as he smiled impishly while he rose, prompting her to rise, to follow him to the bath. She did so, and when there he started the shower’s balmy streams and placed both him and her under them. He silently soaped her, running his large hands slowly across her curves, and she realized that he was preparing her for a night of ardent lovemaking.
After rinsing her off, he briefly glided a towel over her and guided her back to the bed, gently pushing her down on it. His damp hands opened her thighs and he kissed her softness, his long, contented groan telling of his satisfaction, that this was the moment he had dreamt about all day. She twisted her hands in his hair, sighing in her ecstasy, giving herself to his flame.
The Princess of the Wild (The Royals of Adriel Book 2) Page 17
