I felt as though I had sustained a hard blow to the gut, like all the air had been knocked out of me, like I could not breathe.

  He… he wanted me to sleep with his wife?

  He wanted me to put a baby in her belly?

  No.

  Surely not.

  I must have misunderstood.

  “No…” I said, the word escaping me before I could think better of it.

  “Yes. That is my demand,” the king said. “There is no one I would better trust. And, if you look closely at some portraits, you bear a striking resemblance to my father’s brother. People would draw that conclusion if the child came out looking like you. This is how it must be.”

  “But… but I am your wife,” Marielle said, looking as confused as I was.

  “Yes, and I can not be a true husband to you. Not in that way. But you must be bedded. You must be bred. You must produce an heir to this kingdom. This is how we shall accomplish that.”

  “Surely this is not your true wish,” Marielle said.

  “It is. I know, perhaps, this was not what you were prepared for. But this was what I chose you for. I am not a possessive man. You are quite the stranger to me, so there is to be no jealousy. And while I can appreciate that you are a beauty, my dear, I do not feel any of the yearnings I may have in my youth.

  “You will be better served by a younger man who can bed you and often, so you can produce an heir quickly. That is what the kingdom needs. That is what I desire most.”

  “Your majesty…” I started.

  “I will hear no more objections,” the king said, holding up a hand to silence me. “You have heard my wishes and demands. You shall carry them out. That is the last we will ever speak on this subject,” he said. “Marielle, you are dismissed,” he said, waving back toward the door.

  “I, ah, yes… sir,” she said, getting to her feet, and moving out with her head down.

  “What are you waiting for? Go after her now. Better to get a start on things,” the king said when she was gone.

  “Sir…”

  “I see your discomfort,” the king said. “You see this as some sort of disloyalty to me. You do not need to. I want this. I want this more than I want to live to see another year. There must be an heir, Cyprian. I can think of no man better than yourself to produce one.

  “That is not to mention that I have eyes, my boy.”

  “Eyes?” I asked, brows drawing together.

  “Yes. And they may not see as well as they used to, but they see enough. They saw the way you were looking at the queen today,” he said, making my stomach tense. “With hunger. But also something softer, something kinder. Adoration, perhaps? Who better to introduce her to the ways of men and women, but a man who craves her and adores her? I have no inclination to give her that. You do. So carry on with it,” he said, waving a hand toward the door, dismissing me.

  And so it was.

  On the night of his wedding, the king demanded I bed his queen.

  A part of me thrilled.

  Another part was terrified this was some cruel trick.

  “Is it done?” Warwick’s voice called, coming down the hall to find me standing outside the door. “What is it?” he asked. He had told me he was off to eat and sleep, but he looked as though he was hitting the ale instead. But one look at my face seemed to instantly sober him.

  “You can not tell a soul,” I told him.

  “Never,” he agreed.

  Perhaps it was reckless to trust him so fully. But this was a man that I trusted to suck my cock, to suck his. Those were secrets never to be told as well, ones that would ruin us both.

  That created an unshakable trust.

  “The king can not… consummate his marriage.”

  “Not surprised he can not get it hard at his age,” Warwick said. “Does that mean we shall have a virgin queen forever?” he asked, looking troubled at the idea.

  “The king wants me to bed the queen to produce a child that he shall call his heir.”

  I expected shock.

  Maybe even disbelief.

  Even outrage.

  But it was disappointment on his face.

  “You lucky fuck,” he said, exhaling hard. Then, “What does the queen think of this arrangement?”

  “She was dismissed before I was,” I told him.

  “So she is sitting in the other room, rejected by two men right now? Do better, Cyprian. I expected more from you,” he said, turning and storming back off down the hall.

  He was not wrong.

  Warwick, for all his lack of good manners, rarely was wrong.

  Taking a steadying breath, I moved to the queen’s door, removing my sword, then opening it without knocking because I did not want to draw her maid’s attention.

  There the queen was, standing before the fire, the glow making her even more breathtaking than before, the shadow of the flames making her hair seem to flicker.

  “Milad—Marielle,” I called, voice soft, not wanting to startle her after such a trying day already.

  Her head turned over her shoulder, looking at me with wide, red-tinged eyes.

  “Will you sit with me?” I asked, waving toward the ledge before the fire.

  I did not wait for an answer, but moved there myself, waiting for her to join me. She did after a short hesitation, but kept careful distance between us.

  “I was dreading this evening,” she said, voice low, almost as if she was speaking to herself. Her gaze was on the fire as she spoke. “I feared the usual things,” she added. “The uncertainty, the pain, the embarrassment…”

  “Sweetheart, there should never be any embarrassment,” I objected.

  “Perhaps that is easier to say when you have the experience I lack,” she reasoned. “I thought I had been somewhat prepared for the… event,” she said, and my stomach tightened at the way she was speaking of intimacy.

  I understood, of course, that with nobles and royalty, there was rarely a choice for women to marry for love. They were often traded like horses. For their looks. For their breeding.

  And because the most beautiful and well-bred ladies typically caught the eye of much older men, I could understand how the marriage bed was something to be feared or disgusted by.

  It bothered me, though, that she would feel that way for even a moment.

  She deserved a soft, sweet introduction to intimacy. And, as much as I knew I should not be thrilled by the circumstances without knowing how she felt, I was glad to be able to give that to her.

  “But there was no way for me to have prepared for that.”

  “No,” I agreed. “I believe we were both caught entirely off-guard with that,” I told her. “I should have known, being his caregiver. But… that is not something a man asks of another man.”

  “Yes, that does seem like it would be wholly… uncomfortable,” she agreed, and a small smile teased her lips.

  “What is on your mind, Marielle?” I asked.

  “That my husband wishes for me to be unfaithful,” she told me, glancing up at me from under her lashes.

  “Are you worried because you made vows?” I asked.

  Personally, I believed in a higher order to things, but I doubted God really cared all that much about who slept with who, so long as no one got hurt.

  If I believed too much, I would conclude what others did.

  That what was between Warwick and I was wrong. That Gwen’s interests were wrong.

  And I could not, would not, ascribe to that mindset.

  “I am conflicted. Surely, the king knows better on these matters than I do,” she said. “And the kingdom needs an heir.”

  “It does,” I agreed, nodding. “There will be chaos should there not be one before the king’s age catches up to him.”

  “So we have to do this.”

  “Listen to me,” I said, leaning forward to gently snag her chin in my fingers, carefully forcing her gaze up. “You will never have to do anything with me,” I told her. “I do not care what the king has to say about it. I will not be a part of forcing myself on a woman. Not even to get an heir for the kingdom. You are in control here. With me.”

  “I was not aware that women ever… had a choice.”

  “Perhaps some do not. But you shall.”

  “If I chose not to be with you, the king would choose someone else.”

  “He is a stubborn man,” I agreed, though I had no idea who else he might turn to for such a private task.

  It was me.

  Or Warwick.

  There was no one else.

  “I got that impression,” she agreed.

  “I believe, if the king were to choose a second man, he would go with Warwick,” I told her. “I would not begrudge you for choosing him instead. He saved your life. He got you the puppy. He is overseeing your library.”

  “He is not a soft man, is he?” she asked.

  “No, he is not. So I believe it says something of his affection for you that he is showing you softness.”

  “I will not lie,” she started, making my stomach drop, “I have an affection for him as well,” she told me. “That does not mean, however, that I do not have affection for you. There is a kindness that shines through you at all times. It is not something I have ever truly known from a man before. And you are who the king chose.”

  “Do not weigh the king’s opinion in who you want taking you to bed, Marielle. Make this decision for yourself. And you do not need to make it tonight, either.”

  “He will ask. I am sure of it,” she said, her fingers fidgeting with one another.

  My hand moved out, closing over both of hers, making her gaze shoot up to me.

  “There is no pressure,” I assured her. “I can handle the king if I must.”

  “And say what to him?”

  “That I… failed to perform,” I said, watching as her eyes widened at that.

  “Or you could tell him that you were not attracted to me.”

  “No, Marielle, I absolutely could not say that.”

  “Why ever not?” she asked. “Surely, it would be better to say that than to… say the other thing.”

  “I could not utter that lie,” I told her, shrugging, watching as her eyes went all soft at the compliment, making me want to give her more. “Amongst the confusion of the king’s plan, there was also another sensation, perhaps a stronger one.”

  “What sensation is that?” she asked, voice going a little quieter, shier.

  “Pleasure. I would consider myself a truly lucky man to be able to put my hands on you, to be able to bring you pleasure, to spend many hours wrapped up in bed with you. I could not think of something I would want more.”

  To that, her hand turned under mine, her small fingers slipping between my larger ones, squeezing tight.

  “Perhaps this can work,” she said, unable to meet my eyes as she spoke.

  “You may take all the time you need to think it through,” I assured her as my hand lifted, framing the side of her face, waiting for it to lift.

  When it did, I saw in her blue eyes that she had made her decision.

  “I do not believe I need any time,” she told me, offering me a small, sweet smile.

  I did not possess much control over myself then as I closed the distance between us, tilted her head up further, and pressed my lips to hers.

  And she simply… melted into me.

  In that moment, I knew what was to come to pass.

  I was going to bed with the queen…

  CHAPTER TEN

  Marielle

  I had been too stunned for my mind to operate correctly after I had gone into my room.

  I had paced the floors, anxious and unsure, and much more upset than I could have anticipated.

  It was not that my husband did not want me.

  For I did not want him either.

  In my heart and my mind, I knew the truth.

  I was upset at the idea of Cyprian not wanting me.

  Kind, steadfast, beautiful Cyprian. With his good heart and his soft way of speaking to me.

  If there was a man the king could choose that I would as well, it would be Cyprian.

  Though, to be fair, Warwick would have been acceptable as well.

  There was something in the way my body and mind responded to those two men. In equal, yet different ways.

  But Cyprian was who the king wanted.

  And my body and heart was drawn to him as well.

  If I was to be… bedded, I could not have chosen someone better.

  But the way he dismissed me made me sure he did not want me.

  I could not blame him. I was not like the women he was used to. I had seen so many of the cold lands women in the streets, their beauty something foreign to me, but it was undeniable. Their thick, dark hair, their fuller bodies meant to keep them warmer, their warm brown eyes.

  I was so small in comparison. I lacked the curves that women like Gwen had been blessed with. Heavy breasts, rounded hips, thick thighs. They were the bodies of women I had seen in fine art from many different periods of time. The apparent ideal representation of womanhood.

  Of course a man who was given the option between the ideal woman and me, would be disappointed to have to be with me.

  I could not blame Cyprian.

  But that did not mean that my heart did not feel crushed to powder in my chest.

  Then the door was opening, and there he was, with his tender words and his understanding eyes and his own hesitations and confusion.

  I could not be sure of his true feelings regarding the situation.

  Until he told me that he could never say that he was not attracted to me. That he would rather say he could not perform his duty than to lie about his feelings toward me.

  A warmth bloomed through my chest, spreading outward until it seemed to overtake me completely.

  And I knew.

  It was the right decision.

  He was the right man for the job.

  Then his lips were on me, careful, coaxing, trying—it seemed—not to startle me, to be too demanding of me.

  He could not know how my body had already come alive, how my heart was pounding, my skin was overheated, and there was that newly familiar ache between my thighs.

  My hands slid over his forearms, then slowly upward, feeling the strength of his muscles beneath the fabric of his clothing. And, somehow, that only managed to intensify my longing, making my lips press harder into his.

  Taking my lead, he deepened the kiss, his lips almost bruising into mine.

  As my arms wrapped around the back of his neck, his own moved from my hand and my face to my hips, pulling, lifting me up as though I weighed no more than a feather, then settling me on his lap, my legs on either side of his.

  When my nightgown made it impossible to lower down comfortably, he grabbed the material, whipping it up, then dragging my hips down to his lap.

  Where I felt his hardness straining against his trousers.

  I had thought I would feel fear or uncertainty at the feel of someone’s manhood.

  All I felt, though, was the ache intensifying. And an almost uncomfortable awareness of the empty space inside of me that he could fill.

  His big hands pulled me more tightly against him, my cleft resting against his hardness, making my thighs clench at the sides of his body at the sensation.

  His lips pulled from mine, and when his eyes found mine, they were heavy-lidded with his own desire.

  He watched me as his hands pulled me against his length.

  When a surprised whimper escaped me at the quick rush of pleasure, his jaw tightened so hard that a muscle ticked in his cheek.

  Then he did it again.

  “Beautiful,” he murmured, leaning to press his lips to the column of my throat as he continued to move me against him.

  It was not long, however, before the need moving through me had me taking over, my hips writhing against him.

  Lifting his head, he watched me with molten eyes for a moment before he reached down to gather my nightgown once again. This time, he was slowly drawing it up over my body.

  “Raise your arms, sweetheart,” he urged, voice a soft, yet rough, whisper that shivered over my skin as I raised my arms straight up in the air, allowing him to pull free the silky material of my nightgown, and toss it to the side.

  The nearness to the fire kept me from getting too chilled as I was exposed entirely to him.

  “Oh, Mari,” he sighed, closing his eyes for a second as though it was all too much. They opened again, brighter, and his gaze slowly started to move over me, taking in each exposed inch of skin.

  It sounded insane, but it almost felt as though each inch of me he glanced at grew warm under his inspection.

  His hands, a little rough in a way that I could not have anticipated being appealing, started to rub up and down the outsides of my thigh as though he could barely contain himself, could not resist touching me in some way.

  His head dipped, his forehead pressing into my shoulder as he took a slow, deep breath.

  My own hands went to the sides of his face, framing it, then pulling him up to face me before sealing my lips to his.

  A rumbling sound moved through him, then vibrated into me as his hands suddenly wrapped around me, pulling me to him, my breasts crushing to his firm chest.

  His hands went to the back of my neck, deft fingers massaging the tense muscles there as his tongue moved inside my mouth to claim mine.

  My head and heart felt light in that moment, like a strong breeze might just blow me away, like the only thing keeping me tethered to the ground was Cyprian himself.

  His hands drifted over my shoulders, then down my back, sinking into my behind and using it to drag my hips against his hard length again.

  My whimper was muffled by his lips at the contact, but he quickly broke free to look at me as he did it again, wanting to hear me as he stoked my desire.

  “May I?” I asked as my hands slid down his sides to touch the material of his shirt.

  “You may do whatever you want with me,” he told me, eyes blazing, and that was all the encouragement I needed.

 

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