Masked (Royally Hot 2)

Quickly, I’d come to realize the lies people will believe in order to sooth their own doubts. To keep themselves and their own safe.

Millstone farm was still mine. I’d insisted on that. It was one of our many holdings, and my real father, who’d been buried with all honors, was apparently my favorite tutor.

The complications of being accepted by the kingdom ran deep.

“I do,” I said with a smile.

“And do you, King Randal…”

Promises gave way to vows, vows gave way to rings, and I watched—mesmerized—as his huge fingers wiggled my ring onto my finger, at the way the diamonds that encrusted the band pressed into his fingertips.

“…then you may kiss the bride.”

The organ music roared up into its most majestic octaves, making my whole body tremble, but as soon as his lips met mine, I hardly heard or felt the vibrations of the notes. Because the kiss, oh God, that kiss. He took my cheek in his huge hand, gripping the back of my neck with his thick, strong fingers.

I groaned into his mouth, watching him through slightly parted lashes. He was watching me, too, and I felt him smile as I smiled. This was no polite kiss, though; this was deep and long and the sort of thing I’d never done in public before. The crowd hooted their appreciation as he stepped into me and pulled me close, with one massive hand on the small of my back, lowering me down into a dizzying dip.

When the kiss finally ended, the crowd erupted in applause and delight.

Now was the part of the ceremony when we turned to walk back down to the aisle, but as I tugged on his arm to turn and go, he shook his head at me, smiling. All mischief. “I’ve got a surprise for you,” he said into my ear.

My maids of honor, including Bonny who had for so long helped me at the farm, stepped back, as did Randal’s men. Two priests joined the bishop that had married us. The organ music built up into one chest-shaking chord and then ceased as the cheers of the crowd died down.

There was a silence, the likes of which can only happen in a full cathedral—complete, sudden, and total. The priests bowed their heads; the squeak of the pews made me turn to look behind me. Coming down the aisle before us was the royal master of jewels. And on a green velvet cushion he carried a crown.

My crown.

I looked up at Randal, astonished.

“You mean…today? Now?”

“Yeah. Now, beautiful,” he said, with a very un-kingly grab of my ass, hidden from prying eyes by the voluminous folds of my wedding dress, and doubly shielded by their lowered heads and downcast eyes.

“You are my wife,” he growled softly into my ear, “and it’s about fucking time you become my queen as well.”

After a day of feasting and celebrating, we were finally alone in our own private quarters. He’d prepared for this. There were candles lit and fresh fruit on the bedside table, along with a bottle of wine and a glass pitcher of water. The things we did together, the way we were in private, was hard and hungry work.

As soon as he shut the door behind us, the ferocity in his eyes told me what I’d been hoping since the moment he placed my crown on me. I might be Queen out there in the world, but here, in private, with just the two of us, I was still his possession. To use and have as he desired. I pulled a grape from the bunch by the bed and slid it into my mouth, sucking on my finger as I watched him.

We were alone, utterly alone. That had been another thing I worried about—if this huge change in status would mean that we were surrounded by servants all the time. But apparently not. Thankfully not.

He locked the deadbolts on the door without breaking my gaze, and then took two long strides into me. He was dark now, serious. Intense. He undid his sword belt and I unfastened the row of clips that secured his chain mail. Through all of it, I didn’t say a word. Speak when spoken to.

With each movement, each glance from him, I felt myself getting wetter and wetter. My heart pounded with anticipation and need.

I took off his mail and hung it on a hook, then turned to him. I lowered my eyes and knelt before him.

He growled when I went to my knees. With one huge finger he tipped my chin up, so I was looking at him. He looked savagely hungry. Dangerously full of desire.

Thank you, Lord, for this danger.

Randal dragged the pad of my thumb down my lip and pressed his fingers into the angle of my jawbone. I loved when he did that—letting me feel all his power in one tiny gesture. He traced my face with his eyes, and I saw the bulge between his legs grow to the point of straining his pants.