Sordid Empire

by Julie Johnson

“We make regular sweeps of all royal properties. Plus, there’s a unit of guards posted at the perimeter. I assure you, we are quite safe.”

  “Still, I’m surprised you let Chloe talk you into bringing me here.”

  Galizia’s lips twist. “She made a good case.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You’ll see.”

  I narrow my eyes at her, but she doesn’t offer any further explanation. And once we step through the doors into the foyer, all my curiosity is quickly overridden by awe.

  “Wow,” I murmur, spinning in a slow circle, head canted upward to the lofty ceiling. In another life, had Linus claimed me as his daughter, this might’ve been my home. It’s practically palatial — quite a far cry from the dilapidated house in Hawthorne where I spent my youth.

  I walk through the first floor, popping my head inside different rooms, running my fingers across the antique furnishings. The estate is far smaller than Waterford Palace, but its interior decor is equally beautiful. Perhaps more so. The artwork on the walls could put the Louvre to shame.

  It’s odd to envision Carter and Chloe running through these gilded halls as kids, sliding down the thick bannisters of the staircase, slamming their palms down on the keys of the grand piano in the parlor. This is not the kind of house where children are encouraged to be children. I wonder whether Octavia allowed them any space for joy.

  Probably not.

  That hag doesn’t know the meaning of the word.

  I wander deeper into the house, so absorbed by the oil paintings on the walls, I don’t even notice when Galizia falls behind. Nor do I notice that Chloe doesn’t catch up to me, as she promised — something that might normally set off alarm bells inside my head.

  I’m too enraptured to be suspicious.

  Eventually, I find myself in a gorgeous library. I actually gasp when I step inside, overtaken by its beauty. With wraparound balconies, floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, rolling ladders, and reading nooks aplenty, it reminds me of the one The Beast gifted Belle in my favorite childhood Disney movie.

  The day outside has turned cloudy, blocking any sunbeams from penetrating the thick window panes. The sconces are dimmed to their lowest setting, doing little to illuminate the many rows of books. Despite the dark, my eyes pick up the faint flickering light of a fireplace coming from somewhere deeper inside the library.

  Intrigued, I head for the source, drawn in like a moth to flame. Cutting between two tall shelves, I drag my fingertips along dozens of dusty spines. My high heels are muted by the plush carpet as I make my way ever-closer to the fire. My heart, for no reason at all, begins to pound — a drumbeat of inexplicable tension.

  Thump-thump.

  Thump-thump.

  Thump-thump.

  When I reach the end of the row, the fireplace comes into view… and I come to an abrupt stop. My hands fall away from the books, dead weight at my sides. My heart gives a great stutter inside my chest, then resumes beating at twice its former speed.

  It makes sense now — why Chloe waited in the car. Why Galizia fell behind. It was no accident, but rather… a careful orchestration.

  Because there’s a man standing at the fireplace, a metal poker in his hand. His back is to me, every broad muscle in his shoulders on full display beneath the fabric of his dark grey shirt as he leans forward to rearrange the burning logs. His hair is longer than I’ve seen before, falling into his eyes when he bends.

  I blink hard, to make sure this isn’t some vision. Some figment of my imagination, born from my most secret desires. But when my eyes open, he is still standing there.

  He’s real.

  I must make some small sound — a gasp, a sigh, a plaintive note of longing — because the man goes stiff and straightens to full height. In slow motion, he turns to face me, every muscle in his body rigid with tension.

  When he sees me standing there in my mini skirt and oversized sweater, the poker slips from his grip, clattering to the marble floor. All the blood drains from his face as though he’s seen a ghost.

  “You.”

  Carter sways back like he’s been sucker-punched. Our eyes lock — cerulean blue clashing with emerald green, a lightning strike of disbelief and longing as two storm fronts collide without warning. A series of emotions flicker across his face so fast, it’s hard to keep track of them all.

  Shock.

  Resentment.

  Rage.

  Despair.

  The silence drags on for far too long. It’s obvious he is just as startled to find me here as I am to see him. Neither of us knows where to begin.

  What do you say to someone you thought you’d never see again?

  “What are you doing here?” Carter rasps finally, his spine ramrod straight with tension.

  “What am I doing here? What are you doing here? You’re supposed to be in Switzerland.”

  “I came back.”

  “Clearly.”

  I bite my tongue to contain the words clawing their way up my throat. I want to ask why he returned to Germania and didn’t bother to tell me. I want to ask why he’s hiding in his childhood home like a fugitive. I want to ask if he missed me, these long weeks we have been apart.

  “Did you know I was here?”

  I flinch at the question. “Of course not. You think I’d ambush you, after the way we left things?”

  “So this is just a random coincidence?”

  “No,” I mutter. “This is Chloe. She must’ve known you were here and…” I trail off.

  And decided to ‘Parent Trap’ us.

  His scowl intensifies. I wish it didn’t look so sexy on him. “I should’ve known better than to tell her I was back in Germania.”

  “Ah yes, god forbid anyone is aware the elusive Carter Thorne has returned to his homeland.” My eyes narrow. “Why did you come back, then? Clearly not to see your family.”

  Not to see me.

  He glances away, breaking eye contact with a swift jerk of his head. I study his face in profile — the sharpness of his jaw, the proud bridge of his nose, the supple slope of his lips. He’s so handsome in the flickering firelight, it’s hard to look at him directly without feeling my knees go weak.

  “Well?” I prompt, swallowing hard. “What are you doing here, Carter?”

  “Exercising my constitutional rights.”

  “What?”

  His eyes meet mine again. They’re guarded now; carefully blank of all emotion. So is his voice. Each word comes out like a bullet from the chamber of a gun.

  “I came back to cast my vote in your referendum.”

  My mouth opens. Shuts. Opens again. I search for words, but they’ve all vanished. Of all the things I expected him to say in this moment… voting didn’t even make the list.

  “I may not be able to stand publicly by your side, but this…” His hand clenches, a tight ball of tension. “This, I could do.”

  “Why?” I whisper haltingly.

  “Emilia.” The catch in his voice breaks my heart. “You know why.”

  He came back for me.

  To support me, the only way he could.

  “Carter—”

  He stiffens when I say his name. “You should leave. Find Chloe, get in your car, and go.”

  My eyes sting, wounded by the utter emptiness in his voice. “If that’s what you want.”

  He laughs bitterly. “When has what I want ever been a factor in our relationship?”

  My eyes press closed to contain the threat of tears. “I can’t have this fight. Not again. Not with you. I… I’ll go. I’m sorry I disturbed you. It wasn’t intentional, believe me.”

  I turn to leave, feeling the first tracks of tears begin to leak from my eyes.

  “Are you going to marry him?”

  The question stops me dead in my tracks. I can’t answer. I can’t even move. I am paralyzed, listening to the sound of Carter’s footsteps as he closes in on me. He stops at my back — not touching me, but almost. Close enough that I can feel
the warmth of his breath stirring the hair at the nape of my neck. Close enough that, if I leaned back, our bodies would brush together.

  “Emilia.”

  A shiver moves through my body — the first warning rumbles of an impending earthquake.

  “Are. You. Going. To. Marry. Him.” Carter’s voice is practically a growl. “Answer me.”

  “I don’t know,” I admit brokenly.

  “You don’t know?” He leans in, his mouth brushing the shell of my ear. “Is that the truth?”

  I lock my lips together, not sure whether I’m containing a sob or a moan. Where Carter is concerned, damage and desire are always engaged in a deadly dance, divided by a razor-thin line. I balance on its precipice, wondering which way we’ll fall this time around.

  “I think you do know,” he whispers viciously. “I think you’ve already decided. You just haven’t admit it to yourself yet.”

  I shiver again, more violently this time.

  “You’re going to marry Sterling. Solidify your position. Stabilize the kingdom. Isn’t that right, Emilia?”

  “Yes.”

  My affirmation is barely audible.

  His returning silence is deafening.

  An eternity seems to pass before he finally speaks again. His voice is laced with pain so potent, it feels tangible in the air around us.

  “I don’t know what I did in a past life, but it must’ve been truly terrible to earn this torment.”

  I whirl around to face him. He’s so near — scant inches away. I could drown in his eyes. There is an ocean of sadness swimming inside them.

  “Is that what I am to you?” I choke. “A torment?”

  “No.”

  “What then? A regret?”

  “A ghost.” The word bursts from his lips like a curse. “I can see you there, but I cannot touch you. Cannot feel your skin on mine. Cannot pull you into my arms. You’ve disappeared completely. And yet, you are here — haunting me.”

  “Do you think it’s intentional? Do you truly believe I’d purposely hurt you?”

  He doesn’t answer. A muscle ticks in his jaw.

  “Do you think this doesn’t hurt me, too? That I haven’t been dying without you, these past few weeks? That I don’t lie awake at night wishing I could talk to you?” My voice cracks, another fault line opening within me. “You are the keeper of my secrets and the owner of my soul. Not seeing you every day… not touching you or kissing you or holding you or just breathing your air… it is torture, Carter. Torture.”

  Pain ripples across his face.

  I lean in closer — our lips are nearly brushing, now. “You say I’m a ghost? I might as well be. You’ve taken all my vital parts with you, and left me empty.”

  Our eyes hold. Our breaths mingle. We are hovering on the edge of a kiss. Flirting with disaster. And we both know it.

  Carter breaks eye contact first — whirling away from me, he crosses the room with determined strides, putting some much-needed space between us. His hands land on the mantle, gripping the stone so hard his knuckles go white. I can’t see his face, but I know it bears a dark expression from his tone alone.

  “If I could give it back, I would.” He pauses. “Your heart. But it seems I’ve exchanged it for my own. Along with my soul.”

  A tear snakes down my cheek. I stare at his back, wishing I could cross to him, wrap my arms around his waist, rest my head against the strong planes of his shoulders. But that wouldn’t do either of us any good.

  “Chloe brought me here because I said I needed closure. To… to let you go.” The words are sour as poison.

  His grip tightens. “Is that so?”

  “I don’t want to. But I think we both know I don’t have a choice.”

  “And how exactly am I supposed to help with that, Emilia? Please, let me know how I can possibly be of service here.”

  “Just—” My voice breaks again. I do my damndest to get it under control, but it’s a struggle. “Tell me you’ll be happy. Tell me you won’t let this — us — make you bitter or jaded. Tell me you’ll move on. Tell me you won’t look back with regret. Tell me you’ll find someone—” A sob is clogging my throat, threatening to break free. I swallow uselessly against it. “—Someone who will love you endlessly. Because you deserve that, Carter. You deserve it so much.”

  His spine is now so rigid, he appears made of the same marble as the mantle. I don’t even think he’s breathing.

  “And what about you?” he rasps out, the words leaden.

  “What about me?”

  “You’ve told me everything you want for me. What do you want for yourself?”

  You, I think but do not say, for it is a useless wish.

  “Nothing,” I lie. “Knowing you’re happy will be enough for me.”

  He laughs so coldly, I shiver. “Let’s not dance around the truth here, Your Majesty. You don’t want closure. You want me to tell you pretty lies about the happy future sprawled out ahead of us. You want to be let off the fucking hook, wrapping yourself in a warm blanket of deceptions — that I’m out there living well without you, that this is for the best, that we aren’t both going to end up miserable when all is said and done.”

  “Don’t. Don’t say that.”

  “Why not?” He spins around to look at me, his face dark with wrath, his eyes narrowed with disdain. “Oh, I forgot. You don’t want the truth. You want lies.” I watch his Adam’s apple bob roughly. “Fine. I’ll lie to you, Emilia. What is it you want to hear?”

  I can’t manage a word; my throat is a block of grief. It’s so thick, it’s engulfing me.

  “I…” He takes a single step. “Will not let this make me jaded.”

  I suck in a breath, trying not to sob.

  Good.

  This is good.

  This is what I asked for.

  This is what I needed to hear.

  “I…” He takes another step. “Will move on with someone new.”

  Tears begin leaking down my cheeks in earnest. I manage to nod this time, encouraging him to carry on. He’s halfway across the room now — six feet away. It feels like a mile.

  “What else, Your Majesty?”

  “You won’t—” I hiccup. “You won’t look back.”

  He takes one more step. “I won’t look back.”

  I nod, crying harder now. “You’ll be ha—ha—” I sniffle pathetically. “Happy without me.”

  “I will be happy without you.”

  “And successful.”

  “And successful,” he echoes.

  “Because none of this was meant to be.” He doesn’t repeat the words, but I’m crying too hard to notice. I press my eyes closed to quell the tears as broken words flood out. “Because we were never real. Because you never loved me. Because I never—”

  Abruptly, without any warning at all, my body is slammed backward against a bookshelf. At least three tomes rattle to the floor with the force of impact. Carter’s hard body collides into mine, pressing me savagely into the shelves.

  A large hand closes around my throat — not choking me with any sort of strength, but collaring me securely in place. I can’t move; I don’t want to.

  I have craved his touch for weeks.

  An unending hunger for contact.

  My wet eyes open to his and the mix of anger and despair I see in them shakes me down to my shattered soul. His mouth skims mine as he speaks, each word a growl against my lips.

  “Don’t ever ask me to say I don’t love you.”

  I feel my heart lurch inside my chest and I allow my body to lurch along with it — forward, pushing against the grip around my neck, until I’ve fused my mouth with his.

  Passion explodes the minute our lips brush. My moan of need is lost beneath Carter’s growl of desire as he takes full control of the kiss, his tongue spearing into my mouth, his hands moving down my body, igniting an inferno of passion that sets my nerve endings on fire.

  Yes.

  Yes.

  Yes.
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  This is what I need.

  What I live for.

  What I’d die for.

  My legs go around his waist as he lifts me easily against the shelves. My skirt rides up as my spine jolts against the books, a literary headboard, knocking a few more to the ground. I barely notice — I’m too lost in the kiss. In the feeling of Carter’s mouth devouring mine, of his muscular body pressing in so tightly I can barely breathe.

  “God, Emilia,” he mutters against my neck, shifting his hold on me. I gasp as it brings our bodies into new alignment, his length pressing against my core through the fabric of his pants. “I need you.”

  “I need you, too,” I breathe. “So badly it hurts.”

  Holding me securely against the shelves with his hips, he slides one hand inside my underwear, groaning against my mouth when he feels how turned on I am. How ready I am.

  Take me now.

  Hard.

  Fast.

  Make me yours.

  His strong fingers tear through the thin lace of my underwear in seconds, reducing them to ribbons. They flutter to the floor along with the fallen books.

  Carter begins to fuck me with his hand, deliciously slow strokes setting off fireworks in my synapses. My spine arches against the bookshelf as the first shockwaves of an orgasm begin to build inside me.

  I mewl out his name as he kisses me again — so forcefully I’m certain my lips will bruise. I don’t care. I kiss him back just as forcefully, hardly able to think straight with his fingers moving inside me. The orgasm he conjures is so powerful, I scream into his mouth as I shake in his arms, aftershocks moving through me for nearly a full minute. Still, I’m not satiated.

  I need more.

  I need him.

  Inside me.

  Right now.

  With impatient fingers, I work the buckle of his belt and slide down his zipper, delving my hand into his pants without delay. He’s hard enough to make my bones turn watery; without him there to hold me upright, I’d be a puddle of limbs on the library floor.

  Bolts of desire are shooting between my legs without reprieve, an erotic electrical storm raging through my entire body. When I feel Carter poised at my entrance, the head of his cock butting against my slick core, I think I might explode from the intensity of my need for him.

  “Carter,” I whisper, an unspoken plea.