Royal Order

by Leslie North

  The photographer gave up with a loud sigh. “Okay, guys, sit tight. I’m going to go find my crew—I think they were scouting backgrounds in the garden for the last round of pictures. When I get back, you two are going to look like you can’t wait to get each other alone, okay?” He marched out the door without waiting for an answer—and ironically, they now were alone, and had no idea what to do about it.

  Pen gave him another forced smile, looked away, and started twisting at her rings. The engagement ring was due to be resized soon but for now it was still way too big, and with her constantly fidgeting he was worried she was going to drop and lose it again. The ring had been in his family for generations, and his mother would kill him if his bride didn’t take good care of it.

  He started to open his mouth to gently ask her to be careful, but before he could, a guard popped his head in the door. “Castle security has found something suspicious on the grounds,” he said, his tone brisk. “We’re going into lockdown. Please stay where you are.” He stepped back outside and shut the door behind him, a soft click telling Simon the lockdown was literal.

  Pen leapt off the loveseat, eyes wide. She strode across the room and tugged at the door, rattling the locked doorknob to no effect. “Oh my God,” she said, spinning around. “Are we trapped in here? What’s happening?”

  Having served with the King and Prince in Danovar, Simon was used to this kind of thing, but of course she would be taken aback. “Don’t worry,” he reassured her, “these are usually nothing. It’ll just take twenty minutes or so for them to double-check, and then we’ll be released.” He smiled, trying to lighten the mood, but she started pacing. With her short, petite build and the tense energy in her soft steps, she made him think of a little fox trying to escape a trap.

  “Right, of course,” she said, but the way she spun her bracelets around her wrists told him she was on the verge of panic.

  Maybe taking her mind off the problem would help. “We could chat if you want, to pass the time. Getting to know each other might help us when that photographer tells us to look in love again.”

  “Of course.” She reached the far end of the room and pivoted, turning to pace back past him. She was so tiny—standing up, she was only a little taller than he was when seated. He was tempted to just pick her up and tuck her under his arm to soothe her, but he didn’t think she would appreciate that.

  “Your toy store,” he said, remembering how happy she’d looked when she talked to him about that topic after they’d first met. “Tell me about it. What’s your favorite part of your job?”

  Her steps slowed and her jaw unclenched just a little. “The kids,” she said without hesitation. “I love seeing them play with the toys I’ve designed, love seeing that look of joy on their faces and knowing I put it there.” Her expression went wistful for a moment, then she frowned. “Though I guess I won’t have much time for that sort of thing now.” Her steps picked back up and her jaw went tight again.

  Okay. Small talk wasn’t working. Simon reached out as she passed him and caught her hand, forcing her to stop. Her fingers felt so small and delicate in his, and he held them gently, as if they were made of something fragile and precious. “Look,” he said. “I know you’re worried about the whole lockdown thing—why don’t we both just say what exactly we’re afraid of? I’ve found that sometimes naming your fears can help you look at them more logically.”

  “I’m afraid I’ll be a bad queen,” she blurted out, dropping heavily onto the loveseat next to him. “I’m afraid I’m not cut out to rule my people, and I’m afraid I’ll do more bad than good by being in a position of authority when I have no idea what I’m doing.”

  Simon blinked at her, shocked at the turn her answer had taken. He’d just meant for them to discuss her fears about the lockdown. But this, he wasn’t sure he was quite prepared for. Still, she looked so lost and small that he couldn’t help but reach out and touch her shoulder. “Hey,” he said softly. “It’s only natural to feel uncertain in the face of such a big change. And yes, there will have to be some adjustment. But caring as much as you do—that’s a huge first step. That’s the best foundation for ensuring you do great things as queen.”

  “Yeah,” she said, but the frown slashed across her face and the way her gaze was fixed on the floor told him she was still doubtful.

  Could she really think she could be anything but a wonderful queen? He’d seen it the second he met her, and he’d be willing to bet everyone else would see it soon too if they hadn’t already. She might lack confidence, but she was willing to serve her country as much as he’d always been willing to serve his. For Escona’s sake, she’d taken on a royal role she felt unprepared for, along with a marriage to a man she’d never met before.

  She looked up again. “Can I ask you something?” she asked, and when he nodded, she went on, “Why are you here? What made you come all this way to marry someone you’ve never met, a woman who was never supposed to be Queen in the first place?”

  He looked at his hands. She’d been honest with him; it was only fair he do the same with her. “Lately I’ve started feeling a bit adrift,” he admitted. “I’ve trained my whole life to serve royalty. To serve as a royal. I was starting to worry it was all for nothing, that I’d never be able to accomplish the goals I wanted to. I’m over thirty now, and I’ve never truly felt like I had a real home, a place to call my own, somewhere where I felt secure.” He shrugged. “But really, since we’re talking about fears—my biggest worry was that this would be just another royal assignment. That it wouldn’t get me any closer to what I’ve always wanted: a purpose.”

  She put her hand on his arm, and he covered it with his own hand.

  They were both quiet for a moment before he went on. “But Penelope, today, you showed me my purpose. I’m here to help you be the best queen you can be. I swear to you that I’ll support you, that I won’t leave you, that I’ll help you in every way I know how. You don’t have to be afraid.”

  She blinked back tears. “I can’t tell you how much that means to me,” she said softly. “That’s the best wedding present you could give me.”

  A strand of that gorgeous hair was hanging over her face. Without thinking, he reached out and tucked it behind her ear, lingering a moment longer than was strictly necessary. “I’m glad,” he told her.

  She swallowed, her eyes lingering on his hand for a moment before meeting his gaze again. “And just so you know, you don’t have to be afraid either. You’ll have a home here for as long as you want it,” she told him.

  The words sank in and lingered, like a welcome rain in the desert. He hadn’t known how badly he’d needed her to say that. The moment deepened between them, and he caught his gaze slipping to her lips. Right now would be the perfect moment to kiss her. It would be sweet, lovely, just the right end to this beautiful conversation. And her lips were so full and red and plump and perfect. He glanced back at her eyes and saw she was looking at his lips too, which sealed the deal and also made his cock twitch in unexpected anticipation.

  He leaned forward. So did she. Just a few more inches, and he would be able to taste her.

  A bulb flashed, nearly blinding him. “Much better!” crowed a too-cheerful voice. “Just keep that look up, and we’ll be finished with the session lickety-split.”

  The door was wide open and the preening photographer stood on the threshold, peering at his digital camera’s readout in satisfaction.

  “What happened to the lockdown?” Simon asked, leaning back toward his side of the loveseat, now imagining stuffing that camera into an even less pleasant place than he had thought about earlier. At least the arm of the chair had been between the camera and the hard-on Simon had been starting to get. Which was now quickly dissipating, thanks to the interruption.

  “All clear,” called the guard from beyond the door belatedly.

  Simon and Penelope stared at each other in consternation—but a hint of playfulness crinkled the corners of her eyes, and sh
e looked much more relaxed than she had before. “Shall we finish our… conversation later?” she asked graciously.

  Hell yes, they would. “Indeed,” he answered gravely, feeling like a weight had been lifted from his own shoulders too.

  What an unexpected treasure this woman was. He’d come searching for a purpose, but he was starting to think he might have found much more than that.

  5

  It was Penelope’s wedding day, and by the time she got to the doors of the abbey, she honestly had no idea how it would end. Either she was going to walk down that aisle and marry Simon Stuart, or she was going to trip over her train yet again—Danovian clogs were neither funky nor chic, but a hazard in shoe form—face-plant in front of an entire church full of nobility, and then run until her legs couldn’t carry her any further.

  She tried to take a deep breath but could only manage a shallow gasp. It was partly due to her panic, but also to the way-too-tight corset that was smothering her beneath her wedding gown. The dress itself was far too revealing, with a slit that reached nearly her mid-thigh and lacy fabric that hugged her curves. She might as well be naked. The palace’s PR department hadn’t even let her wear her favorite red lipstick, saying it was too much for a queen, and had limited the number of bangles she could wear because they thought she played with them too much. The only thing that felt just right was the ring from Simon’s family. It had finally been resized, and now sat snugly on her finger like it was meant to be there.

  Simon himself felt like he fit, too. They’d done more research together over the last few weeks in preparation for the wedding today and the coronation in a few months, and it had brought back fond memories of her years of studying for her college degree. She was surprised to remember she actually loved research, especially the parts where they could brainstorm how they might change things once Pen was on the throne.

  “Okay, let’s get a few more quick mother-daughter pictures in front of the doors,” called the photographer, snapping Pen out of her reverie. She kicked her train out of the way and pivoted, her mother swooping in to hover over her for some action shots.

  “Mom, the dress is fine,” Pen said through her forced smile as the woman checked that her sleeves were staying straight and smooth for the hundredth time. Her mother murmured assent but merely moved on to fiddle with Pen’s earrings.

  “Make sure you don’t stick your chest out, dear, you want to look regal and not like a slut.” Several more bits of rapid-fire Mom advice—aka passive-aggressive criticism—followed, each one undermining Pen’s confidence a bit more. Her mother had made no secret of her ambitions while Pen was growing up, and now that her only child was actually inheriting the throne she’d reached some scary new level of overinvolved. She finished today’s quiet rant with: “Just don’t make the same mistakes you made in middle school, and you’ll be fine.”

  Middle school. Why did she have to bring that up? When Pen was twelve she’d decided to run for Prime Minister. The election had been the work of a well-meaning teacher, but it set off a cut-throat political battle amongst the well-to-do and upwardly mobile parents in the private Country Day School. Penelope’s mother badly wanted to win, but her obsessive coaching had the opposite effect on Debate Day when Pen froze and blurted out the first answers that came to her mind. She lost the election to her mother’s eternal dismay, but gained a reputation for being a quirky and endearing lightweight that had served her well through the years.

  But all the quirk in the world wouldn’t help her today. She stood before the massive, intricately decorated doors of Eastman Abbey as just another citizen of Escona, but by the end of the day, she’d be married and Queen.

  She tried not to hyperventilate.

  The wedding planner approached. “Okay, thirty seconds til the walk down the aisle!” the woman chirped.

  Pen clutched her bouquet, a mixture of Esconian roses and Danovian dahlias, and squared her shoulders. Time to buck up, buttercup. She’d decided this was what she wanted and she was going through with it. And an added bonus would be that after her coronation, she could gift her mother with a nice holding in the country, far, far away from Penelope. But even with that tantalizing thought, Pen’s knees were still shaking as the vast doors opened in front of her. She scanned the sea of nobility—all of whom were staring at her, measuring her up against their expectations—along with the cameras that were broadcasting to millions of viewers via the Royal Livestream, and found Simon. He stood at the front of the church, next to the priest, clothed in the dress uniform he’d proposed in. His expression was serious but his eyes crinkled the tiniest bit when her gaze found his, and that familiar almost-smile gave her strength. Today, she was marrying Simon. She would focus only on that.

  She marched down the aisle by herself, handed off her bouquet, and took Simon’s hands. He squeezed her fingers lightly. His eyes shone and his almost-smile grew into a real one, small but undeniably there. He was excited about today. The thought eased the butterflies in her stomach a bit more, and she squeezed his hands back, surprised to find that beneath the nerves she was actually a little excited too.

  She kept focusing on Simon while the priest rattled on about duty and love and God. When they finally got to read their vows, they felt right—strong and personal. Simon vowed to never stop supporting her in all she chose to do, and Penelope promised to build a home with him.

  Then the priest said “You may now kiss the bride,” and every last one of the butterflies in Penelope’s stomach did a backflip. She’d forgotten about this part. Why hadn’t they practiced for it? Why did their first kiss ever have to be in front of millions of people? It was okay, it would be fine, it was just a kiss. It wasn’t like she hadn’t done it before with other guys.

  But not with Simon. Somehow, he was different. She wanted this kiss to mean more, and her wanting made the stakes feel higher, which made her more nervous than ever.

  She took a step forward to close the distance between them—and stumbled over her damn clogs yet again. Simon saved the day, his hands slipping around her waist to catch and lift her easily, his face tilting down to meet hers so it looked like a more-passionate-than-expected kiss rather than a stumble.

  And then his lips met hers and she was no longer thinking about anything except the fact that she was kissing her new husband, and she never wanted to stop kissing her new husband. Her lips parted in surprise and delight as his mouth angled a bit deeper, sweeping gently over her lips, passionate and thorough. His light stubble felt rough and perfect against her cheek and she lifted a hand to brush her fingers against it. Up close, he smelled like cedar and old books. She took a deep breath, filling her senses with him, and her eyes slipped closed as his lips lingered on hers.

  The audience erupted in applause—and, if she wasn’t hearing things, a wolf whistle or two. Pen pulled back, flushed and smiling stupidly. Simon blinked a few extra times himself, looking dazed for a second before setting her back on her feet.

  Time to walk back down the aisle. She took a step and nearly tripped over her train again and, in a fit of vastly satisfying pettiness, kicked off her clogs. She would be a barefoot bride after all. She marched down the aisle, arm in arm with Simon, head held high as the members of the nobility smiled at the new couple.

  She’d done it. She was officially married, and after the smaller ceremony later today, she’d be royalty too. And for the first time, with Simon at her side, everything about both those things felt completely right.

  6

  Simon had never been more grateful to sit down in his life than he was after his five-hour-long wedding. He’d long since had today’s schedule memorized, so he shouldn’t have been surprised, but there was a notable difference in reading about the hours they’d have to spend on Escona’s wedding traditions and actually living through them. This was the first time he and his new bride had been alone together all day, and also the first opportunity they’d had to sit for longer than a minute or two at a time.

&nbs
p; The kiss, though. That had made all the pomp and circumstance worth it. He’d been wondering all afternoon what exactly the etiquette was for wedding nights with arranged marriages, but if Pen felt the same way he had when their lips touched, it would be a night to remember. Just one last meeting—this one with the lawyer—and then they would be free to do as they wished. And the only thing Simon wished to do right now was Penelope.

  He remembered the way she’d looked at him and only him as she was coming down the aisle, ignoring the huge audience, the cameras, the noble guests. It had made him feel invincible, amazing. She was amazing. He couldn’t wait to show her how he was starting to feel about her, preferably with both of them as naked as possible. He’d kiss that spot on her shoulder blade—he’d noticed her shiver a little whenever he touched her there—and then slowly unzip that white dress, let her step out of it, press her against the door and worship her.

  She flopped down at his side with a groan, interrupting his delicious fantasies, then winced and rubbed at her ankle.

  “You okay?” he asked, clearing his throat, shifting to hide the beginnings of a hard-on and trying to think about anything other than her nude body with his cock buried deep inside. They still had one more meeting before that train of thought could go anywhere.

  “I put the clogs back on after the wedding ceremony, but I can see why they’re not worn on the regular anymore,” she said ruefully.

  Simon gave her a sympathetic smile. “Hey, the right pair of shoes can change your life. Look at Cinderella.”

  She shot him a look. “Those things are no glass slippers,” she muttered.

  He laughed. “True. Here, give me your feet, I’ll rub them for you.” Grateful, she scooted sideways and lifted her legs. He didn’t miss the little shiver of delight or the look that practically dripped with want when he wrapped his fingers around her arch and set her foot in his lap. When she dropped her head back and moaned as he started kneading, he had to hold himself back from tearing off her dress and taking her good and hard right there on the couch.