The Queen. Tiffany Reisz
want you to be.”
He chucked her under the chin and left. A few minutes later Elle heard a soft knock on her bedroom door, which meant it wasn’t Kingsley returning. He never bothered knocking.
Elle opened the door.
“Juliette,” was all Elle could say. Beautiful, glorious, magnificent Juliette. Even Elle got a little tongue-tied around Kingsley’s consort.
“Calliope brought in the mail. There’s something for you.”
“For me?” She held out her hand and Juliette passed her a thick manila envelope.
“C’est pour toi.”
“Thanks.” She tossed it in a drawer.
“You aren’t going to open it?” Juliette asked, her hands lifting gracefully in a question.
“I’ll open it later.”
“It’s from a literary agency,” Juliette said.
“Yeah, I know who it’s from.”
“I didn’t tell monsieur you received any mail today.”
Elle smiled, relieved. “Thank you for that.”
“For years, I lived with a man who monitored any mail I received. I had no privacy. It was...unpleasant. You should have your privacy. But I think it’s wonderful you’re receiving mail from a literary agency if it means what I think it means.”
“It means I wrote a book. But please don’t tell.”
“Something tells me the subject will not come up. I keep monsieur on other topics,” she said with a sly smile.
Elle liked Juliette. It didn’t take long for her to decide this was the perfect woman for Kingsley. She had a backbone of iron and a love of submission that made her the ideal consort for their king. Since Elle did like her so much she had to say what she said next or she wouldn’t be able to look Juliette in the eyes much longer.
“Juliette, you do know Kingsley and I used to sleep together, right?”
“He told me, oui.” Juliette seemed entirely unperturbed by the fact.
“And we’ll probably be sleeping together again in the near future.”
“He keeps me abreast of these sorts of things.”
These sorts of things? Probably the tamest euphemism Elle had yet heard for Kingsley’s sex life.
“You’re fine with that?”
She nodded her head regally. Everything Juliette did or said looked or sounded regal. If Elle wanted to be a queen she would do well to emulate Juliette.
“He told me what he was and what he needs. I would never deny him what he needs.”
“Some people don’t like the thought of sharing.”
“It isn’t sharing. Not to me. He is one man when he’s with you. Another man when he’s with me. It’s clear you care for the man who he is with you. I care for the man who he is when he’s with me.”
“He loves pain when he’s with me. I’ll send him back to you covered in whip marks and bruises, cuts and welts. I left a lot of burns on him last year. You should be prepared for that. I mean that literally. Keep the medicine cabinet well stocked. He hates doctors. You’ll have to handle first aid.”
“I will be prepared. In truth, I couldn’t watch while he’s being hurt, but I admit I enjoy the thought of tending to his wounds after...”
“That’s a kink, you know. Comforting someone after a hard scene. Usually it’s the person who did the hurting who handles the cleanup, but I’ve known kinky people whose favorite thing to do was dress the wounds of masochists after a beating. Aftercare can be very intense, very intimate.” Søren had always taken good care of her after the beatings. Washing her wounds, cleaning her cuts, kissing her boo-boos away. Those were her favorite moments, when he put her back together after tearing her apart. “It’s like playing doctor or naughty nurse.”
“I would look good in a nurse’s costume, wouldn’t I?”
“You would look good in a brown paper bag.”
Juliette smiled, a smile so steamy it could have fogged the windows in a parked car.
“You break him down,” Juliette said, pointing at Elle. “And I—” she pointed at herself “—I will build him up so he’ll be ready when you break him again. Between the two of us he should be a very happy man. It’s a good plan, non?”
“A very good plan, yes. So you think we can be friends?” Elle asked. “No jealousy? No awkwardness?”
“Jealousy is a sign of insecurity. He adores me,” Juliette said, sounding almost affronted by the very suggestion Kingsley would ever choose another woman over her. Veritable madness. “And I am never awkward.”
“I can believe that. Thank you for this.” Elle swallowed hard, suddenly on the verge of tears and not knowing why. A tiny kindness from a woman she barely knew and...tears? This wasn’t like her. Not at all.
Juliette gave her a long searching look.
“You miss him,” Juliette said. “Your lover?”
“I shouldn’t,” Elle said. “I left him.”
“I miss mine, and I hated him.”
“I hate my ex, too.”
Juliette raised a finger, shook her head. “Elle, you do not know hate the way I know hate,” and Elle believed her. “Starting a new life isn’t easy. Not even for me and I have wanted this new life all my life.”
“I hate crying,” Elle said. “Seems...weak. I’m usually stronger than this.”
“It’s not weak. I cry, too, and I’m not weak. If I feel weak because I’m crying I remind myself of one true thing.”
“What’s that?” Elle asked.
“This is a new life I’m living. I am reborn. And all babies cry when they’re born.”
Elle smiled and knew she’d remember that one true thing all her life. Being born hurt. So did being reborn.
Juliette left her alone and the second she was gone, Elle locked her bedroom door and tore open the envelope. A handwritten note lay on top of a rubber-banded bundle of papers. Her book printed out with edit notes.
“Elle,” the note read, “Loved it, loved it, loved it. I’ve made some notes in the margins. I found a couple scenes to cut but most changes are minor. I’d love to have it back by next Friday.”
The note was signed by her new agent. Kingsley had ordered her to stay in the house. Elle did not follow men’s orders anymore. So she stuffed the book into a backpack, threw on a hat and headed out into the city.
Coming back to Manhattan had been harder than Elle had anticipated. Even now, two weeks after she’d returned, the noise of the city had kept her on edge. Life in the convent had been so quiet. She’d fallen asleep at night to the sound of soft breezes and chirping crickets. With nothing but Kyrie to distract her, she’d been able to write her book quickly. Yet another reason to make as much money as she could as fast as she could. A quiet house of her own where she could write in peace. That was the dream...
But first, she’d need her own damn computer. Sneaking to the library to work on her book was hardly ideal. She didn’t put it past Kingsley to chain her to the bed. He’d done it to Juliette, after all.
She reached the library but didn’t go into the computer lab yet. First she walked through the stacks, as she always did, seeking inspiration. The convent library had “uplifting” or “religious” literature in its small library and not a single novel. But