My Royal Temptation / Ruined. Riley Pine
have to say, burying my face between Kate’s thighs takes me to the gates of heaven. Imagine what burying my cock in her would do.
“I came to bid you good-night and let you know that I’ll be taking up residence in the south tower for the foreseeable future.”
Benedict long ago laid a claim to the ancient keep on the far northern border of the palace grounds. He prefers its austere environment for prayer and solitude.
“What happened to the Vatican?” I ask him. “Thought you were off to Italy for good.”
He laughs softly. “The Vatican City is its own country,” he reminds me. “As you should have learned when studying geography.”
“Ah, didn’t Mrs. Everdeen tutor us on that subject?”
He inclines his head.
“Well, I was too busy studying Mrs. Everdeen in other ways.” I smirk. “She had this trick she could do with her tongue that—”
“You are incorrigible, brother,” Benedict says. “And yet it is bloody good to see you.”
I cross the room and enfold him in a warm bear hug, slapping him on the back. “You too.”
“I hear you are to be wed. Is it your bride who has you playing Wagner?”
I shake my head. “The matchmaker.” The words are out before I can stop them.
Damn Benedict. His kind eyes make a sinner like me yearn to confess.
He nods thoughtfully. “Sounds like a dilemma.”
A flicker of hope lights in me. “You’re the scholar in the family.”
“Between you and Damien, it wasn’t hard to do.”
Benedict is also the only one not afraid to acknowledge our younger brother’s existence in my presence.
I ignore it this once. “If there’s a loophole to the Royal Marriage Decree, a way for me to make my own damned decisions without losing the kingdom, I need you to find it. I am determined not to wed. You know this.”
He appears thoughtful. “Such an action will displease our father.”
“Yes.” And by extension, that will displease my too-good brother. “And Adele,” I add. My lips curl into a grin as I know this point will make Benedict my ally.
He brightens at that thought. He and Adele have no love lost. That witch is the only person to ever make my saintly brother lose his temper.
“Very well,” he says, a muscle twitching in his jaw at the mention of our stepmother. “I’ll look into it.”
“You are truly a glorious human. You’ll be canonized yet.”
He grins at that, but his normally clear green eyes remain dark.
“What’s the reason you are back, brother?” My light tone doesn’t mask the hint of probing seriousness. “You haven’t said.”
His lips tilt in a smile that only I ever get to see, one that isn’t all that angelic. “It appears the Lord’s wish is to help prevent your sacrament of marriage.” He clicks his heels and disappears out the door.
It takes me a moment to realize that he hasn’t answered my question at all.
Kate
What the hell was I thinking, placing a wager against someone as strong-willed as Nikolai Lorentz? If there’s anything a man like him thrives on, it’s the game, and I’ve just upped the stakes of the one he’d been playing long before I came into the picture—thinking I will get him to play by his own kingdom’s rules.
I pace the length of the conference room, the same one where I first met the prince two weeks ago, and the same one where, afterward, the king and queen called me to a private meeting without their son.
Shit.
The door opens, and I freeze midpace only to find Beatrice and another member of the kitchen staff with a silver cart laden with pastries, finger sandwiches and a sterling teapot. Each woman offers me a quick nod as they begin depositing the refreshments on the table.
“Will there be more than the king and queen joining me in here?” I ask nervously, and Beatrice shakes her head.
“No, Miss. These are Queen Adele’s favorites. The king orders Her Majesty’s most requested finger foods when she’s in—” The other woman flashes Beatrice a look, but Beatrice waves her off and crosses over to where I stand. “It’s really not my place, Miss, but I think you should know today is the anniversary of Miss Victoria’s passing.”
I swallow, and my eyes widen. I am to meet with the queen on the anniversary of her daughter’s death—the daughter who was betrothed to Nikolai.
The date hadn’t registered with me. Of course I knew of Nikolai and Victoria’s relationship. The entire continent did. But it had been years since the car crash. It wasn’t the type of thing that made news anymore. Nikolai saw to that—sees to that every moment he finds himself in the spotlight. Unless the king has any diplomatic dealings that call for broadcast coverage, Nikolai is the family’s media darling.
Why, then? Why have my sovereign rulers called me here today, of all days, for a mere check-in on my list of possible brides for the prince?
A throat clears, and Beatrice and I both look up to see the other kitchen servant nodding toward the entrance of the room where Queen Adele stands in the double doorway, flanked by two guards.
She wears an exquisite black dress, long sleeved with a square neckline, the bodice hugging her womanly curves. I can see why King Nikolai was taken with her so soon after Queen Cordelia’s death. The woman is a sight to behold, her golden hair in perfect pin curls framing her face, a ruby-studded tiara atop her head. She is elegance and grace, but there is ice in her emerald stare, and I can’t help the shiver that makes my hair stand on end.
“That will be all, everyone,” she says, and the two guards, along with Beatrice and her assistant, leave the room, pulling the doors closed behind them.
I bow my head and curtsy as she walks toward the head of the table, and I wait for her to sit. I’m not sure where to seat myself, so like an idiot I ask, “May I pour you some tea, Your Highness?”
“Do sit, Miss Winter,” she says, her voice laced with amusement when I expect to hear the remnants of grief. Surely she’s come from visiting her daughter’s grave. Or perhaps she will be on her way after our meeting.
Our meeting. It’s only when I take a seat at the opposite end of the table that I realize the king is nowhere to be seen.
“Will His Highness, King Nikolai, be joining us soon?”
She laughs softly. “The king is away on matters of state business,” she says. “It’s just the two of us, I’m afraid.” She places her palms flat atop the mahogany table. “Don’t worry, Miss Winter. I shall be brief.”
I nod as the breath catches in my throat. Something about the queen—being in her presence alone—has all my senses on high alert.
“I know how important this job is to you,” she drawls, her tone like an animal toying with its prey.
“Yes, Your Highness. It is,” I say.
She steeples her fingers before her and grins, the smile not quite reaching her deep green eyes.
“And that you and your sister stand to gain a great deal of fortune if all goes according to plan.”
Double my fee is a generous offer. “Yes, Your Highness.”
She leans forward, and though the length of the table separates us, I flinch at the movement.
“And if you do not succeed, your business will be in ruins.”
I gasp. To lose the fee promised