Vicious King

I’d only been a stable boy, mucking out the stalls—a great gig my father had landed me after a particularly unlucky night at the card tables. No matter how unlucky he was in his losses that evening, it was the luckiest thing to have ever happened to me—that and our first kiss in the stables after Mykaella’s successful cricket match.

I’ve been by her side, as much as possible, ever since. Helplessly in love with that woman—watching her grow from a young girl who had to face cold reality far too early in life and ascend to the throne when King Troy passed from an unexpected heart attack the summer before Mykaella’s twentieth birthday.

I close my eyes and smile as I touch her own smile in the painting and reminisce on that cool evening before her coronation. I’d asked her to marry me and she breathlessly accepted. We married mere weeks after the coronation and surprise engagement, shocking the family and turning quite a number of heads. But it was all worth it to see her walk down the aisle in that tiny countryside church where we shared our vows and made promises that have since been broken. I’ll never forget her long blond hair trailing over her shoulders or her bright as the sky blue eyes when we said “I do”. So much hope and promise all wrapped up into one event and now...my heart tightens.

We moved so fast too. Nine months post wedding came Rome and shortly after, Larz, followed by Svea and then the twins, Caleb and Fara. Our little family of seven was complete, which was when the real work began. I tried, I mean I really tried to walk a clean line. My hand balls into a fist at my side and I open my eyes again, trying to fight back the urge to punch the royal walls for what those bastards in Warsaw pulled. Mykaella’s smile thawed my sudden rage and I relaxed my fist.

I’ve upheld my vows. I love that woman with every ounce of what makes me, me. But, I think she’s finally fallen out of love with this old hopeless rake, I think to myself, and boy does it pain me.

A door opens at the end of the corridor and I peel my eyes away from the painting and bring myself out of memory lane.

Mykaella stopped in the doorway, those crystal blues pinned on me and for a moment, I forgot how to breathe as all the air leaves the room and time suspends around us.

Chapter Four—Mykaella

When I open the door, I’m far from prepared for seeing him—really seeing him. I’ve never liked this hallway, save for the portrait Mads is standing beside. Rows of gold rimmed mirrors line the walls, reflecting the gold and red carpets and intricate frescos of the vaulted ceilings. It’s not that the hallway is ugly, far from it—but it is stifling. Like I’ve entered a romantic-era time capsule where all of time stopped and will remain as such until the palace is nothing but ruins.

He looks at me and my heart races. The distance between us does nothing to hide the pain in his hazel eyes or the weight on his muscled shoulders. I’m sure it’s not doing me and my hunger for this pain in the ass of a man either, so much for maintaining my queenly bearing. So many thoughts and plans of how this first interaction would go escapes my mind and I’m left with this empty hole in the pit of my stomach.

Mads covers the distance between us, scooping me into his arms as the first wave of hot tears slide down my cheeks. Our foreheads meet and I completely forget the anger and resentment, even my wishes to destroy him from top to bottom. All I can do is breathe him in as I melt into him, savoring his strength that envelops me and allows me a moment to let down my guard and just be me.

Sobs rack my body and his embrace tightens around me. I’m not sure how long we stayed like that—holding to each other as if our lives depended on it. But, when I finally pulled back, Mads took my hand in his and brought it to his lips—planting soft kisses across my knuckles and wrists that sent that heat wave rushing through my system again. Releasing my hands, he steps closer to me again and takes my face in his warm palms.

“I’ve missed you so damn much, woman. Do you have any idea how much it’s killed me to be away from you?” he whispers.

I try to form the words to say that I know, because I missed him so bloody much too. I try to find the courage to shout at him, tell him all the awful things I wanted to say just moments ago in my study, but instead, I’m lost in his eyes. He seems so familiar and not at the same time—his eyes hold so much love and warmth, is he the same man that was hauled off to prison so many months ago? I’m torn. On the one hand, I don’t know if I can forgive him for the tarnish he brought to my family’s name and title. On the other, I still love this fool with all of my own fool heart.