Royal Order (Royals of Danovar 3)

“But I got those under a pseudonym! How could they even find them?” she protested, and then flushed. She’d used an assumed name because it made her feel less vulnerable if the toy designs didn’t sell or had some flaw she hadn’t discovered, but when Parliament found out it must’ve made it seem like she was trying to go behind everyone’s backs to make secret profits.

Simon saw her thoughts play out across her expression and nodded. “They’re discussing now whether you broke any ethics codes, but to be honest, whether or not they find any grounds to accuse you of formal violations—which they probably won’t—it still casts more doubt on your loyalty to your position as Queen and your stance on education reform.”

Everything in her wilted. “But… we were going to make it so I didn’t profit from the sales anymore, so that everything would go to charity,” she whispered.

Simon put an arm around her shoulders. After days of minimal contact with him, the gesture made her feel a little warmer, but even that couldn’t calm the storm of sick anxiety in her stomach. “I started the process, but it takes time,” he said, “especially with everything else that’s been demanding my time this last week.” He finally spotted her hand, still fisted around his ring. “What do you have there?”

All the joy of the moment drained, she opened her hand and offered it to him. “I found your ring,” she told him, her tone lifeless. As soon as he took it, she turned and started toward the treehouse’s ladder. “I’m sorry, I don’t think I’m going to be good company this evening,” she told him. “I need some alone time to process all this. I’ll see you in the morning, okay?”

15

Simon stared up after Penelope, his signet ring clutched in his hand. She’d given him back a piece of himself while she was in her darkest hour. That smile on her face, the way she’d seemed to shine when he’d first approached her earlier—that had been because she’d found this, because she’d been excited for him despite the storm going on in her own personal life. And now she was climbing into their treehouse alone, to spend the night out in the freezing cold because she was worried she’d be “bad company.”

He put his ring back on, stepped to the ladder, and climbed up after her.

This was all his fault. Well, not all of it—he wasn’t the one responsible for a potential surprise heir, after all—but if he’d just realized what she was going through and supported her when she needed him instead of burying himself in his research the way he always did when things went wrong, she might not be so despondent. He’d been hoping to find some sort of loophole in the law, some way to prove that the baby couldn’t be the heir or to give Penelope more security in her place as Queen, but while he’d been closeted away in the royal library she’d been on her own.

He couldn’t change the past week, but he had to let her know she didn’t have to be on her own anymore.

He popped his head through the entrance and found her already huddled under one of the giant quilts they’d brought up here. “I’d like to be alone too,” he announced, pulling himself up. “Maybe we could be alone together?”

She smiled softly and raised an arm, pulling the quilt up in invitation. He went to her and settled down behind her. Her warmth pressed up against him after having gone for a week with so little physical contact—it felt like going home at the end of a long day. When she shivered in the cool air of the Esconian evening, he tucked her into his arms and curled himself around her. Sunset bled into dark as he wordlessly held her, and after an hour, Penelope finally spoke.

“I want this life,” she admitted in a whisper. “And I’m so scared it’s all going to be taken from us.”

A tear trickled down her cheek and he kissed it away. “Me too,” he told her.

She turned her head to kiss his cheek, her breath soft on his ear. She hesitated a moment, then kissed him on the mouth. He deepened the kiss, caressing her, wiping her tears gently with the pads of his thumbs, trying to comfort her with his body the way he couldn’t with his words. They undressed each other slowly, carefully, their movements highlighted by the moon’s silver cast. He held her tight against him as they lay on their sides. He reached around to her chest and slid his fingers across her pebbled nipples, then reached further down, stroking and caressing until her breath came in deep sighs and quiet moans. She slung a leg back over his hip, opening herself to him, and he eased into her inch by inch until he filled her.

This, this, was what he’d been missing the past week. By closeting himself away from her, he’d deprived them both of the comfort of intimacy during a time when they needed it more than ever. He made it up to her now, with his slow, deep thrusts, with the way he whispered her name in the starlight as he came inside her, with the way he let his body tell her how much he loved her.

Love. He hadn’t thought it could happen this quickly, but there could be no other word for what he was starting to feel for her. He loved Penelope Alcott, and he would fight for her right to be Queen with every breath he took. He wanted to make love to her just like this for the rest of his life. He wanted to support her, to be the one she turned to when she needed help. He wanted her, just her, forever.

They lay under the quilt and recovered until it was too cold to stay outside. Then they cleaned up, gathered their things, and headed for the castle. Simon held Penelope’s hand as they walked and she clung to it like it was a lifeline.

At the edge of the gardens, they nearly ran into a woman out walking with a little boy. He was two or three, and when he caught sight of the treehouse around the side of Simon’s leg, he gasped and stared at it in rapture.

“Treehouse! Go see? Please, please?” he begged his mother.

The harried-looking woman sighed and turned to Simon. “I’m sorry, he’s had way too much sugar today, I’m trying to get all his energy out so he can sleep but—” her words tapered off as she seemed to recognize the King. She flushed and bowed shallowly, with an uncertain look on her face.

Simon smiled, though it was a bit strained. He really didn’t have the energy to do anything but go to bed right now, preferably with Pen cuddled up at his side. “I’m sorry, the treehouse hasn’t been cleared quite yet,” he told the pair. “The structural engineer said she needs to double-check a few more things before it’s ready for people to go inside.”

The little boy promptly flopped down on the grass, tilted his head back, and bawled like his heart had been broken. The mother, obviously exhausted herself, tried to scoop him up but he squirmed away. When he skinned his knee upon landing back on the sidewalk, she looked nearly ready to cry herself.

Simon held up his hands and knelt down so he was at eye-level with the boy. “Hey,” he said quietly, and the boy stopped crying to hear him better. “I loved treehouses as a kid too. I can’t take you up, but how about I take you out to get a closer look at it from the bottom of the tree? Maybe give your mom a few minutes to just sit and rest?”

His mother looked tempted, but shook her head. “Oh, no, I really couldn’t trouble you—”

The boy started sniffling again.

“No trouble at all,” Simon said quickly.

The boy got up and trotted toward the treehouse, and Simon hurried after him, smiling a bit despite himself. He’d always liked kids, even though they made life more unpredictable than he usually preferred. Their sheer energy and enthusiasm, the way they felt everything so deeply and purely—it was contagious. Behind him, the grateful mother sat on a bench to wait as he escorted the boy to the treehouse.

“I’m Simon,” he introduced himself to the child once he caught up.

“My name Ricky!” the kid said.