Dirty Lovely Broken

by Emmy Chandler

  “We’re not negotiating. You’re staying here until she’s pregnant, but I’ll send an interim representative, rather than a replacement, to Valemont tomorrow. You have until tonight to give me a list of your top five choices.”

  “Fine,” Orlann growled. “But I expect a daily briefing from whoever you send.”

  “Agreed. And he won’t be authorized to vote or to sign anything on our stead’s behalf without consulting you.” Jude tapped out a quick reply to the Chancellor’s request, promising to have a name for him that evening.

  “How long does it take to knock a woman up, anyway?”

  Jude huffed. “Brother, if I had an answer for that, I’d be king of the universe, not just of Stead Camden.”

  “But you’ve gotten Geneva pregnant twice.”

  “Working on number three as we speak,” Jude confirmed. “Which is how I happened to be in the family suite for a breakfast featuring more strawberry jelly than any toddler could possibly need on a single piece of toast she isn’t going to eat anyway.”

  “Didn’t your wife just pop one out for you?”

  “Violet’s walking, Orlann. Geneva’s ready for another one, and I could hardly tell her to wait.”

  “You can tell her whatever you want. You’re her king and her husband.”

  “You are clueless, in the art of marriage.”

  “And proud of it,” Orlann confirmed. “Though you and I have the same example to go by, and I don’t recall our father ever consulting our mother on the timing of her pregnancies. When he wanted to breed her, he bred her. End of story.”

  “It’s a little more complicated than that, now that Maari’s here.”

  “Bullshit. Father had Cecily. Hell, we still have Cecily, thanks to—”

  “I’m not going to kick Malac’s mother out of the palace.”

  “That’s your call, though I can’t say I understand the sentimentality of it. But my point is that having Maari here doesn’t mean you have to indulge Geneva’s every whim. You don’t owe her anything.”

  “It isn’t about what I owe her.” Though Jude did not agree with his brother on that point. A man owed his wife a certain level of respect, so long as she gave him his due. At the very least, he owed her the things he’d promised her. And Jude had sworn to Geneva that her son would one day sit on the throne. Not that Orlann could comprehend the sentimental nature of such a promise. “This is about what I owe the kingdom.”

  “Ah.” Understanding washed over Orlann. “You need a son. A legitimate one.” He clucked his head in a mockery of sympathy. “Heavy hangs the head that wears the crown. Or is it more like heavy hangs the cock of the man that wears the crown?”

  “These days, that’s certainly what it feels like.” Jude leaned back in his chair, his hands laced behind his head. “I’m considering dipping into the embryo bank for this one. That’s what I went to talk to Geneva about.”

  “Whoa, really? Isn’t there some archaic law that says the king’s children have to be naturally conceived?”

  “If there were such a law, we wouldn’t have banked embryos in the first place.” Which was always done in modern times, when a king married, in case he died before he’d produced a legitimate heir. To preserve the bloodline of the First Families. “It’s just an archaic religious tradition that a king conceives naturally, if at all possible. And until now, I wasn’t in any hurry. Geneva’s young and healthy. So what if it takes us a while to get a boy? But now, with Maari…” Jude shrugged, looking more miserable than he ever would have admitted to.

  “You need to have a son with your wife before your concubine gives birth to one.”

  “Exactly.” Because if Maari gave birth to a son first, that son could demand a paternity test after Jude’s death, laying the grounds to a potential claim to the throne. “Ideally, Geneva should have two sons before Maari births a boy—”

  “An heir and a spare.” Orlann gave him a bitter nod. “As the ‘spare apparent,’ I’m obviously familiar with the concept.”

  “—but there won’t be time for that, if Maari’s first pregnancy is a boy.”

  “When did this all get so complicated?”

  “It’s always been complicated,” Jude assured him.

  “Not for me. My job is just to play games with our little princess-slash-whore.”

  “You will come inside her at least twice a week until she conceives,” Jude ordered. “Is that understood?”

  Orlann held both hands up, palms out. “Far be it from me to shirk my duty to fuck beautiful women.”

  “I’m just saying…play with her all you want. But make sure your fucking seed makes it into her cunt on occasion.”

  “Got it.” Orlann said. “So, what are you going to do about Geneva’s unfortunate tendency to give you daughters?”

  “I think I’m going to call the doctor and have him make the arrangements. From what I understand it takes about a week to set up the implantation procedure, even with banked embryos.” He shrugged. “The chances of Maari getting pregnant her first week here are pretty slim, right?”

  Orlann snorted. “The chances get better with every night Malac spends in her room. I watched him take her three times last night before I got bored and turned off the feed. That fucker’s determined that the first brat will be his.”

  A growl caught in Jude’s throat. “That’s not how this is supposed to work.”

  Orlann rolled his eyes. “How, exactly, did you think he’d react? The council just told a bastard he could fuck a princess. There was exactly no chance in hell he wasn’t going to fall dick-first into infatuation from the moment he sank his teeth into her in Saintton. The part that surprises me isn’t how he looks at her.” Orlann’s pause was a well-rehearsed oratory manipulation he’d been using on the floor of the council chamber for years, and on his brothers for two decades before that. “It’s how she looks at him. You should take a peek at the—”

  But Jude was already pulling up the feed on his com screen. He tapped through bookmarks in the footage—they were created automatically every time her door opened—until he saw Malac enter her suite.

  Jude watched, in fastplay, as his youngest brother coddled and bathed their concubine. As he tenderly rubbed cream into her sore ass, then ordered food and sat through an entire meal with her. Jude grew more uneasy with every passing second of footage, as Malac slowly pulled the princess out of the traumatized state Orlann had left her in.

  “See?” Orlann said as they watched Malac kiss Maari as if she were his date to the Royal Ball. “He thinks he’s her fucking boyfriend.”

  But though Jude would never have admitted it, what angered him wasn’t the way Malac pampered their captive—it was the way she responded to his attention.

  By the time he helped her up from the table, Maari had begun looking at the Camden bastard as if he’d hung both suns in the sky, just for her. Over a bath and a couple of kisses.

  Jude swallowed the anger—he refused to acknowledge it as jealousy—driving a growl up his throat. Malac was nothing, without Jude. Nothing. He was a bastard prince who’d grown up looking in from the outside. Grateful for every kind word thrown his way.

  Until he wasn’t.

  Until Jude had named Malac Defense Commander of the Stead Camden armed forces, elevating a bastard with no surname to one of the most respected positions in the kingdom.

  Yes, Malac had earned his own accolades, but he had his brother to thank for the opportunity. Jude was responsible for everything Malac had become, just as he was responsible for every breath Maari took, safe and secure in Loborough luxury, instead of being slaughtered in the street as armies marched over Bannon. She owed Jude her life. She should be worshiping his cock. She should be staring adoringly up at him, grateful for every small kindness that fell from his tongue. For every moment of pleasure she was allowed.

  “This is the only good part.” Orlann tapped the device to slow the footage as Maari went down on her knees and took Malac into her mouth. “Just
for a second, he seems to remember he’s the one in control.”

  And sure enough, on the screen, Malac had ahold of the back of Maari’s head and was shoving his cock into her throat, oblivious to the way she clawed at his thighs, tears pouring down her face.

  Jude chose not to question his relief, as Malac pulled his dripping cock from Maari’s mouth and she gasped for breath, looking up at him as if he’d betrayed her trust.

  What he’d actually done was show her who he really was and what he would expect of the royal concubine, entitled little princess or not. So what if her disillusionment with Malac sent a bolt of satisfaction through the king? He wouldn’t apologize for being pleased to see her put in her place—begging for breath as she choked on a Camden cock.

  “But then there he goes again.” Orlann shrugged and sank back onto the couch, openly disgusted with Malac as the footage continued to play. “This is where I got bored.”

  Anger surged within Jude as he watched his brother lift Maari from the floor and kiss away her tears. As Malac carried her to the bed, where he stroked and caressed her, whispering inaudible praise to quiet her wounded protests. Then he crawled between her legs and licked her until she stared straight up at the ceiling—at the very camera she had no idea was watching her—with a euphoria that mere words could never be expected to fully capture.

  Malac took her again, hauling her, screaming, over the precipice of another orgasm. Then he fed her ice cream—fucking ice cream—before the cuddly fuck-fest continued.

  Orlann was right. Malac was hoping to game the system—to ensure his sperm were victorious—by inundating her with a never-ending flood of his seed. Even if he would never be allowed to know, for sure, that his efforts had succeeded.

  “Where is he now?” Jude growled.

  Another shrug from Orlann, though his casual delivery was undermined by the careful way he watched the king’s reaction. “Hell, I think he’s still in there with her.”

  Jude’s growl became a snarl as he threw the com device against the wall, smashing it into a million shards of glittering tech.

  Orlann watched with a small smile as the king stormed out of the office.

  Jude threw the door open hard enough to make it crash into the wall. Maari sat up gasping, startled from sleep, her eyes wide and her hair mussed. Clutching the sheet to her naked chest.

  Malac launched himself from the bed, snarling, his fists curled, teeth bared. Until he saw who stood in the doorway. “Jude?” His brow furrowed as tension drained from his frame, though his cock still stood at half-mast, from whatever delights had populated his dreams while he slept next to the princess. Jude’s princess. “What’s wrong?”

  “Get out,” the king growled, stepping away from the door to give his brother an exit. Fighting a growing need to maim him on his way out. But that would be a rather telling overreaction.

  “What? Why?” Malac made no move to reach for his clothing. “What’s going on?”

  “Out!” Jude stormed across the room and snatched his brother’s pants, then shoved them at him as he hauled him toward the door. And finally, understanding surfaced on Malac’s features.

  Jude could see him come to the conclusion that this wasn’t a military matter. There’d been no invasion or defeat. There was no imminent danger. No reason for him to have been hauled from a warm bed—from his naked princess’s side—before the second sun had even breached the horizon.

  “You have a perfectly good suite of your own,” the king snarled as he shoved his still-naked brother into the hall. “There’s no fucking reason for you to sleep here.” Then he slammed the door in Malac’s stunned face.

  Jude turned and found Maari standing on the far side of the bed, shocked, clutching the lilac sheet to her chest. “Why did you do that?”

  “I don’t answer to you!” he roared as he jerked his shirt over his head and threw it at the floor, arms bulging, as if the action were more difficult than it had looked. Though truthfully, the difficult part had been not simply ripping the material from his chest.

  Jude stormed toward Maari, and she whined as she retreated, obviously unable to understand his anger. Her back hit the wall, the sheet trailing out in front of her, and she had nowhere else to go.

  He ripped the material from her grip, and his gaze raked over her small form, lingering on nipples already pebbled from the cool air. Jude shoved her against the wall, dipping to inhale the skin just beneath her ear, and when his cock hardened in his pants, he pressed it against her with a growl as he caged her in with his arms.

  “Why—?” she repeated, and he pressed his mouth to hers, swallowing the question before she could utter another syllable. Sucking on her lower lip for a moment before plunging his tongue into her mouth. Desperate for a taste of her.

  Maari grunted as she wedged her hands between them. Then she shoved him, and the way her breath huffed from the effort suggested that though she’d only managed to push him back a couple of feet, she’d used every bit of strength she had. “Why did you kick him out?” she demanded, golden-brown eyes flashing. Brows drawn low.

  Jude snarled again as he captured her hands and pulled them over her head, pinning them to the wall in one of his own. “Have you already forgotten your time in the darkcell?” His free hand cupped her face long enough for him to steal another kiss while his scent worked in his favor, leaving her panting against him. Then he let that hand wander over her breast and down her stomach, squeezing and caressing, seducing every nerve ending in her body, until his fingers brushed his own waistband. When he opened his pants and reached in to pull out his cock, she shook her head.

  “No!”

  He ignored her protest, his grip on her wrists tightening.

  “I said no!” Maari pulled at her arms, but couldn’t free them. “Don’t come near me with that thing. You can’t just barge in here and—”

  “That is not how this works,” Jude snarled. “Say no to me one more time and see what happens.” He shoved his pants down with one hand and his cock sprang free, poking her pale, taut stomach. Despite her objection, her pulse began to race. He could hear it, just like he could smell the intoxicating scent of the moisture building for him between her thighs. “You want me.”

  “My body may want you, but that’s all you’d be getting.”

  “That’s good enough.” He stepped out of the pants pooled at his feet and lifted her, tucking her legs around his waist.

  Maari beat at him with the tiny fists he’d just released, pounding on his chest with blows he hardly seemed to notice as he lined himself up at her entrance.

  “Let me go! Let me—”

  He pulled her hips down hard as he slid into her, impaling her in one brutal, efficient stroke, and Maari gasped. Her struggles ceased. She moaned as her inner muscles clenched around him, her hands clutching at him, trying to find something to hang onto. For a moment, he let her writhe on his cock, aroused by the incongruity between the ice in her gaze and the hot clutch of her cunt. Captivated by her attempt to assuage the sudden, cruel need driving her body to do things her heart didn’t want.

  When her novice efforts proved little more than a tease, obliterating his patience, he grunted and pinned her to the wall, slamming up into her as hard as he could, drawing another stunned gasp from her. He didn’t say a word as he took her, though he rewarded every desperate thrust of her hips with a grunt of inarticulate praise. With a grind against her clit, as his engorged length rubbed the sensitive spot inside her.

  His release built too quickly, and as his balls began to tighten, he looked down to find that Maari’s eyes were glazed with a devastating, consuming lust that had eradicated all protest. A need that drove her hips against his with mindless abandon.

  She was close. And he needed to feel her clench around him.

  Jude stepped closer to the wall and grabbed her hips, grinding her into him as he thrust, drawing desperate little pants from her with every motion. She grew wetter and wetter around him as he swelled, t
hen suddenly she threw her head back and spasmed around him, bucking her hips wildly.

  He groaned and released deep inside her, slamming her into the wall hard enough to bruise her soft skin. And for one precious moment, as her orgasm ebbed into the occasional aftershock, she collapsed against his chest, her arms thrown around his neck, her head on his shoulder.

  Jude went eerily still, his cock jerking inside her. He stepped away from the wall, and his arms wound around Maari, supporting her weight as he resisted an incomprehensible urge to crush her to him. To cage her in with his arms and…keep her.

  But that was ridiculous. Of course he would keep her. The council had said he could. Jude had been willing to let a million citizens of Bannon die if she’d failed to acquiesce, and there was no need to cage her with his body, when he had this room, with its locks and cameras.

  Maari wasn’t going anywhere.

  Yet he had no desire to let her go.

  But her lust cooled much faster than the sweat trapped between their damp bodies, and she sat up in his grip, shoving at him while her eyes flashed, her cheeks flushed with what appeared to be embarrassment over her body’s capitulation to his attention. “Let me down.”

  Jude took a firm grip on the back of her neck and pulled her head close enough that he could whisper into her ear, drinking in her scent as he spoke. “Just to be clear, I’m not in the habit of obeying orders. That privilege comes with the crown.”

  “I don’t give a shit about your crown.”