Devrim's Discipline (Court of Paravel 1)

Two spots of color burn in Aubrey’s cheeks. “It’s just a lot to process. I’ll need some time to come to terms with it all.”

“Of course, you will. I want you to know we haven’t set a date yet. We’re waiting for things to settle down, and then we’ll marry.”

My eyes narrow at this, but Wraye shoots me a defiant look.

Aubrey nods, promising to call Wraye tomorrow, and then disappears into the crowd, with the excuse that she’s promised someone a dance.

Wraye and I keep walking. “All the handsome young men are looking at my bride,” I tell her, keeping a possessive hold of her hand. “Are you sure you want to marry me?”

“They’re only noticing the gown. You looked at me, even when I wore ugly dresses.”

I lean down and murmur in her ear, “In my experience, dresses come off. Let’s get some fresh air.”

I lead her around the dancefloor and through a door, listening to her tell me about the work she’s doing with my brother.

When it’s too late, Wraye realizes we’re not on the terrace. “Where—?”

Her eyes widen, when she recognizes where we are. The room in which I first cornered her in at the ball and got my hands all over her.

I tug her over to the window. “Come and look at the stars.”

As she looks out on the darkened garden, I move her curls to one side and kiss her neck, while drawing handfuls of satin up her legs.

She presses her palms against the panes of glass and turns her cheek against it. “Daddy, we could meet at our apartment tomorrow. Do you want to wait until then?”

Wraye’s wearing the tiny underwear I like, and I pinch her ass. “Wait? More waiting? I’ll not wait another second for what I want.”

I hook her G-string to one side and smack my hand across her bare ass. She gasps and comes up on her toes. When I slide two fingers against her sex, I feel how wet and slippery she is.

I press my face into the curve of her neck and groan. “It’s been weeks. I’ve missed you.”

Instead of sliding against her sex, I delve inside her, reveling in the tight grip of her around my fingers. I drive into her, over and over again, not letting up for a second. The satin of her dress rustles with every movement. Her breathy gasps become moans, and I clamp my other hand over her mouth.

“Pretty Lady Wraye up against a window and panting for Daddy.” I sink my teeth into her earlobe. “I can feel you getting tighter, sweet girl. Are you going to come for me?”

She whimpers against my hand and nods her head. I rub hard, on the spot, just behind her clit, and she squeals in her throat, her head tipping back as she comes.

I plant a row of soft kisses along her shoulder as I withdraw my fingers. “Good girl.”

Wraye leans against the window, panting and licking her lips. She turns around and regards me with hazy eyes. “Your Grace, you’re pretty sexy, you know that?”

I straighten the cuffs of my uniform jacket. “You’re quite the picture yourself, Lady Wraye.”

“You promise you don’t mind a long engagement?

I mock-glare at her. “Mind? Of course, I mind. I hate waiting.”

Wraye smiles up at me, sliding her hand up my arms and around my neck. “But good things come to those who wait.”

I put one hand against the window and lean down close to her. Don’t I know it. I waited for her all my life.

My mouth skims her plush lips. “I’ve waited this long. I can wait a little longer. Because you’re worth it, every day, every month, and every decade.”Chapter Twenty-FourWrayeMy heels click down the long, wood paneled corridor toward the King’s offices. This is the business end of the palace, where the day-to-day running happens. Across a courtyard and through the windows, I can see the twinkling chandeliers, gilt mirrors and oil paintings adorning the ballroom. A place where I belong and where I’ve danced, many times, in the arms of the man I’m going to marry.

I pause by one of the long windows and look in the other direction, out onto the parade ground. A tall figure with iron-gray hair is addressing two dozen soldiers, all dressed in scarlet uniform jackets and black trousers. There’s braid and decorative insignia on the captain’s chest. To them, he’s Captain Levanter. To everyone else, he’s Archduke Levanter.

To me, he’s Daddy.

He shouts an order, and all the men present their rifles. They go through a complicated set of movements, put the rifles back on their shoulders and begin marching. It disappointed Devrim that he and his men no longer have a ceremonial place beside the monarch’s throne at balls, but I’m glad about it. It would make the dances feel regimented, and Devrim wouldn’t be able to dance with me or sneak away for kisses in silent corridors.