by Scott, S. L.
“Queen,” he responds angrily.
She blows him off with a swish of her wrist. “I already had that in the bag.” Appearing amused by her comment, she follows with a soft laugh. “Let me get to the point, Arabelle. The prince is not your father.”
My mind spins, and my body reels back. All composure, gone in an instant. “What are you talking about?”
“You left too soon for me to stop you. I didn’t get word until you were gone.” Glancing at her husband, she scowls. “Somebody didn’t tell me. I know why, and I’m going against his wishes. You need to know the truth, and I need to release it, finally.” I can see the burden gone from her body as she uncrosses her ankles and sits back, looking more relaxed than I’ve ever seen her. “The prince married me knowing I was with child. I married him as long as he agreed to raise you as his own, and if you were a girl that you would become queen. He agreed.”
I’m not sure what to say, too stunned to ask the questions racing through my head. Hutton does instead. “Where is her father?”
“Before I say more, let me preface this by making it clear that I love Prince Werner. Werner had held up his end of the deal . . . until the other night. Unlike what you’ve been led to believe, he has no true say when it comes to you or your titles. So I don’t know why he felt he could take anything away.”
“I was protecting you, Aemilia. I was protecting our traditions and Brudenbourg, and now it’s being used against me.”
“Don’t be dramatic,” she replies, reminding me of when I say that to Marielle.
Marielle . . . their daughter together . . . who trumps my biological father, who I presume was a commoner.
Marielle is the true queen.
My shoulders fall, and my strength crumbles. I look up and repeat Hutton’s question with tears in my eyes, “Where’s my birth father?”
“He passed away when you were only one.” Her tone has shifted, sadness punctuating the words.
“How?”
She is visibly shaken, her voice matching. “I was told it was a hunting accident.” I was told . . .
“And you believe that to be true?” My hands are trembling, so Hutton wraps them in his warmth.
The prince has taken a seat in the far corner, seeming to give in to the implied accusation. When my mother turns to him, she seems surprised. “Werner?”
“It’s true. He died during a hunt.”
I ask what my mother and everyone else is too afraid to. “Was he the one hunted?”
“You’re out of line, Arabelle.”
The answer is obvious in the non-answer. I feel sick, my arms wrapping around my middle. “When I came back, I didn’t expect this. Everything I was so sure of has now fallen like sand through an hourglass.” I stand, my knees weak under the revelation that I have no claim to the throne much less my name.
My mother stands. “It’s a lot to take in. I should have told you sooner—”
“You shouldn’t have told her at all,” my fath—the man who treated me like a hurdle he had to overcome, says. “That man was a commoner. She’s been raised as a princess when I could have sent her away.”
“Sent away?” I repeat, quiet like a mouse. “That’s why nothing was truly expected of me. That’s why I could be exiled without a second thought.” My gaze darts to the man I once thought loved me. “He had different plans for me all along.”
My mother says, “You would have never been sent away. Sutcliffe runs in your veins. You’re a princess because you’re my daughter, not because of your father.”
“I’m not sure what to say. I . . . um.” Hutton stands, and Marielle and Margie follow suit. Hutton’s hand becomes something that helps me remain upright as my world implodes. I turn to him, craving the safety of his arms, and say, “I never once asked you if you wanted this life, if you wanted to sit by my side, but you came anyway. You came because you love me and you put your needs aside for mine. I don’t know how to thank you for that other than to love you the best I can.”
“That’s enough. That’s all I ever needed from you. As for my needs, you never had to ask. Whether we’re in New York or your country, I will follow you to the ends of the earth to sit by your side.”
The broken pieces of my spirit are collected in his embracing love, and my soul feels right again. Whole. The back of my head is stroked, but not by Hutton. My mother says, “Look at me, daughter.”
When I do, her gaze shifts to Marielle, and a slight but proud smile graces her lips. It’s the same pride she exudes when she sees me. Pinching my chin lightly, her light laughter reaches me. “Quiet is something you were never meant to be.” She takes my hand and leads me to the edge of the room. There she takes my other. “You will be the queen. As my daughter, the claim is yours, your birthright.”
“Really?”
“Yes. You’ve shown me that you’re more than capable. Your courage will lead our tiny nation into the future. Screw the bylaws. Love matters more.”
My father rushes forward. “No. It’s not hers—”
The guards standing at the entrance rush between him and us, then stamp their staffs in warning. He stops, shocked. “This is outrageous.”
“Weapons down. Werner deserves respect. He’s still the crowned prince of Brudenbourg.” Still holding my hand, she says to me, “I love him. I’ve loved him for many years. However, I wasn’t cut out for this job. I look forward to handing over the reins to you to reign.” Amused again, she chuckles. I love this lighter side to my mother. “How do you feel about becoming Queen Arabelle?”
34
Hutton
One week later . . .
I lean back in my chair, kick my feet up on my desk, and stare out the large windows with the incredible city view of my corner office. Balloons are floating around the ceiling and streamers are strewn across the floor.
The door opens, and Ethan comes in with Bennett. I note the click of the latch as the door closes while they sit across from me. “It was a good party,” Ethan says.
Putting my feet back down, I reply, “It was.”
Bennett says, “So this is it.” Not a question. An understanding.
“Seems so.”
Ethan stands and walks to the window, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Are you ready for the next step?”
“Definitely.”
“No fears?”
“None,” I reply, pushing up and grabbing my phone. “What do I have to be afraid of?”
That earns me a laugh. Bennett stands and holds out his hand, not in a handshake but a team huddle. Ethan and I put our hands in. Looking at my brothers, I say, “I wouldn’t be here without you.”
“That’s what we’re here for,” Ethan adds.
“This would never have been possible without you, Ben.”
He’s usually the jokester between us, but he struggles to take credit for the important stuff. Like today. Ethan says, “No matter what happens after today, we’re Everests. Always.”
“Everests,” Ben and I repeat. “Always.”
Six months later
This flight is too long.
I’m anxious to see Ally. Two weeks . . . I know that’s the real problem. Her responsibilities have her living thousands of miles away from me while plans are put in place. No more, though.
Living a night without her next to me is rough, but fourteen has been torture. Singer, Ethan, and Bennett look perfectly content chatting and reading magazines, working, and passing the time as if my whole world isn’t about to change.
I’m a fucking palms-sweating mess. It’s not every day you attend a coronation or play a part in one.
Our plane lands and parks in an airfield of private jets that have traveled from around the world for this grand event. It’s not every day a queen is crowned.
I carry my worries for Ally with me as we travel to the palace. Our conversations have been short and sweet when I’ve wanted long and on the sexual side. Even with the lonely nights, it’s her I miss—her light, her e
nthusiasm for this life she’s chosen, her love. My bed’s too big without her in it. Hell, I’d take a twin with her over a king-sized and being alone.
The door is opened, and my beauty, my Ally, comes running down the steps and straight into my arms. Legs wrap around my middle. Arms around my neck. My face—eyes, nose, lips, and cheeks—are smothered in her kisses. “I guess you missed me.”
“I did.” She leans back and looks me in the eyes. There’s a lightness inside those clear blues that was missing for a time. It’s good to see the clouds have gone away. “I’m so happy you’re here. Want to have sex?”
“Shameless and so fucking hot.”
She shrugs. “What can I say? I missed you.”
I carry her up the steps because I’m pretty shameless too when it comes to showing off my woman and staking my claim to her. I set her down in the entry hall.
Singer oohs, ahhs, and then says, “This place is spectacular. It easily rivals Versailles.”
With a little flash of bitterness, Ally says, “Well, they did steal a few of our architectural designs.”
Feisty.
It’s good to have her back.
Up ahead, I spy the library. “I’ll be right back.” I have to make it quick, but it’s time to make this wrong right. I round the corner and start pulling the classic tomes. Even if these aren’t of his time, the collection is old enough to not be shelved in modern prose. I mean, what the fuck is up with that? I carry five of Shakespeare’s books across the room and climb the ladder. Shuffling some of the other old editions of authors I’ve never heard of, I make room for the small but important collection.
“Feel better?”
Busted. A book flies from my hands and lands with a thud on the floor. Looking over my shoulder at Ally, I nod. “Yes, I do.”
She picks up the book and climbs the ladder beneath me to hand it up. I shelve it, and we climb down. She says, “I’ve wanted to do that my whole life.”
“Why didn’t you?”
Shrugging, she says, “I never thought I could.”
“I find that hard to believe.”
“Bad choice of words. I didn’t think I could without getting in trouble. Nothing here ever felt like mine, except my room.”
“And now?”
“Now it doesn’t matter.”
Good girl. I kiss her head, and then we return to the others.
As Bennett looks between Ethan, Singer, Ally and me, he says, “I feel like a fifth wheel.”
“Gear is here,” I offer.
“Yay . . . not. Any hot singles around here, Al?”
Ally replies, “Actually quite a few. And don’t forget, there’s always Sabine Rosalie.”
“She’s perfect for Gear.”
Ally laughs. “I can introduce them.”
“My girl’s got jokes,” I say. “And when you see him, tell him he owes me a round of drinks. I’m ready to collect on a bet he once made.” With a lot on the line business-wise, I should really be the responsible one for a minute. “Don’t fuck this up, Ben. This is a working trip for you.”
In protest, he says, “First, you get the party at work in your fucking office like I didn’t help make the deal happen.”
“You got credit, bro, and a lot of money you earned.”
“I didn’t get balloons or a cake. I want balloons, and I want some fucking cake. But now you get the girl and to kick back on this trip? This sucks.”
“Pretty much.” I pat his back. “But that five-hundred-million-dollar bonus doesn’t, so have fun running the show. And if anything goes wrong, call Ethan.” I wink at Ally. “I’ll be a little busy.”
Ethan adds, “Take the money. If we go public, you won’t be getting money like that. Now go earn it.”
Bennett and I squeaked into the billionaire’s club when we closed the Brudenbourg media deal. Twenty-five years for twenty billion dollars with first right of refusal after that. Needless to say, we’re sitting pretty for generations to come. Speaking of future generations . . . “Have you thought about my proposal yet?”
While the others are shown to their rooms, I’m dragged to hers on the third floor. “It’s all I’ve thought about.”
“Any decision yet?”
We enter her room and close the door. She leans against it and then lunges toward me. I catch her again. “You have a lot of energy—”
“To burn. I want you. I want you so badly.”
“God, I want you too.” I’d tell her how much I burn for her, but she can feel it . . . just as she’s currently doing.
She pushes my chest, and commands, “On the bed.”
“So bossy,” I tease her.
“I thought you said I was your queen.”
Picking her up, I toss her on the mattress instead. “My queen. My heart. My lover.” Climbing onto the bed, I work my body between her legs. “My life.”
“Your soon-to-be wife.” She wraps her arms around my neck and smiles so sweetly that I almost feel guilty for doing what I’m about to do to her.
Almost.
“My soon-to-be wife.” I kiss her. “Why are you still wearing clothes?”
“My apologies to his grace. Maybe I should be punished.” An eyebrow quirks to match her smirk.
“You enjoy me punishing you too much for it to be an effective form of discipline.”
“Oh, is that what it was for?” she challenges and then laughs. “It feels too good to be bad.”
“You feel too good to be bad.”
She steals a kiss. “I tried to turn a new leaf, but you make being bad feel so good.”
“Don’t ever change, okay?”
“Why would I ever change when I have everything I could ever need right here?” Tightening her arms, she adds, “Now kiss me and show me how much you missed me.”
I kiss her mouth and then slide lower, taking her jeans with me. “So much.” When her pretty pussy is revealed, I cock an eyebrow. “No underwear, Ally?” I keep my voice firm, just how she likes it.
“Nope.”
All teasing is done when a growl erupts from my chest, one of need and desire. I strip her bare and then take what I want, savoring every wet morsel of her body until she’s tremoring beneath me.
As I lie there, my cock royally aches, and I wonder if there’s time to satisfy the hunger. She doesn’t let things like coronations hold her back from what she wants. I’m just fortunate I’m the thing she’s craving.
We roll so I’m on the bottom, and as she slides down my thick cock, I sit up, taking one nipple into my mouth and biting just enough to elicit a moan and a rush of desire through her. Her pace picks up as she rocks on top, and soon we’re both falling apart, my mouth kissing hers and her tongue making love to mine.
Lying in the beautiful aftermath, I hold her close, knowing we only have a short time left before she has to go. Duty calls.
Stealing a few moments, I appreciate every second I have with her because my life has forever changed, but I wouldn’t change it back for anything. Every day, this woman makes life worth living, so I guess it’s only fair if she’s also the death of me.
* * *
The pomp and circumstance of the coronation is mind-boggling. I listen to what I’m told and be where I’m supposed to be at the right time. It seems to be working so far.
The doors open wide, and I hold my elbow out. Princess Arabelle’s delicately gloved hand wraps around my arm, and as the refrain of the choir hits a high hum, we begin our journey down the long aisle of the church. Her white dress is covered in stones that sparkle like diamonds in the setting sun’s rays that peek in from the stained glass windows. Her tiara is anchored top and center, tempting me to crook it to the side. I like her a little messy, a little wild for the church crowd. For her ears alone, I say, “You look beautiful.”
With her eyes on the crowd, giving subtle nods of recognition as we pass by, she finally looks my way. “You look very dapper, Mr. Everest,” she replies with a sly smile. Tradition can only hold her
down for so long, after all.
Wanting to check on her one last time before it’s too late, I ask, “Are you okay? Are you sure this is what you want?”
“I am. I’m ready to start this new life.”
At the end of the aisle, we stop. “I love you,” I say not whispering, not hiding how I feel about her for anybody.
“I love you so much and am so thankful my future has you by my side. That means everything to me.”
The trumpets begin to play, and the crowd remains standing as the doors at the other end of the aisle open. We take our seats next to the queen mother and the crowned prince and watch as Marielle ascends to her throne, beginning her reign. With a quick glance at a man in a shadowed doorway nearby, she smiles, turns back, and then bows her head.
She’ll never be forgotten, or hidden from the world. Marielle Astrid Edwards Sutcliffe became queen that day.
35
Hutton
On the back lawn of Sutcliffe Palace, the sun is high, spring is in the air, and Ally and I exchange our wedding vows. It isn’t the huge ceremony of the coronation, but it’s intimate with our family, a few friends, and the new crowned Queen of Brudenbourg in attendance.
It’s cool to tell people that, but what’s just as cool is our old friends, The Crow Brothers. Not only had they hit record gold, but they were now one of the biggest bands in the world. They also made the time to attend.
Just like mine, their hearts are on lockdown. I can’t seem to get over how much has changed in a year, but I’ve never been happier.
Under an arch of pink roses, the blue eyes of my bride rival any above my head, and I slip a ring befitting a queen on her finger. No princess cut for her.
A three-carat Royal Asscher cut diamond that blinds me—almost as much as the price tag did—sparkles on her left hand. Almost. True love has no price though. She’s worth it and more to me. And I’m the proud new owner of a platinum band that I’ll wear with pride.
Ally looks up at me with all the love I’ll ever need, and says, “I wasn’t born to rule. I was born to love you.”
