My Royal Temptation / Ruined

CHAPTER NINE

Nikolai

IT ISN’T UNTIL nightfall that I realize that Kate never laid out the terms for our wager. I sit at my baby grand piano, my fingers flying over the keys, weaving a complex, sensual sound. Don’t believe classical music can be sexy? Listen to Wagner’s Tristan and Isolde before dismissing me. Harmony and dissonance. Brutal discord only to be thwarted by soaring passion. Music pours through me as I toy over the many ways I can extract payment from the lovely Miss Winter. Such an interesting paradox that her hair holds hints of flame even as her name promises coldness. She is both fire and ice.

I picture her lips sheathing my cock, taking me down to the root on the banks of the river. There had been a promise in her eyes, a promise that she’d be mine, if I reached out and made a claim. And so I will—at least physically, but the pleasure of the flesh is as much as I can offer. And pleasure I shall give her.

If only she had royal blood...then...perhaps she could make me overcome my vow.

“Who is the lucky lady?” a deep voice says behind me, and I strike a wrong key.

Damn it.

I turn around, ready to bite the head off whoever dares to venture into my inner sanctum, and find my brother Benedict regarding me with an arched brow.

We look so much alike save for the eye color and the goodness that emanates from him just as something wicked brews inside me. I am darkness and shadow. He is golden light. I hear the whispers. I know those that think him a bastard—Benedict himself included. I pay those words little heed. Full brother or half, he is my best and only true friend.

“Welcome home, Bastard,” I say. It’s a joke between us. We wear our vulnerabilities like armor. It’s the way we survive as the lords of the land, all eyes on us.

“That was Wagner, no?” He cocks his head. “You only play that when a woman has you tied in knots.”

His memory is keen.

“Dear brother, don’t you know? If there is a woman and knots to consider, I am the one doing the tying. Apologies if I offend your holy sensibilities.” I eye Benedict’s simple clerical garb. My brother is a seminarian, a year away from taking his holy vows and entering the priesthood, much to the eternal pride of our father. When the idea of his virginity is not causing me nightmares, the idea is amusing in the extreme. Benedict is one of the most sought-after men in Europe, and he chooses to marry the church.

I hope God keeps his bed warm.

“What good is the spare to my heir if he is celibate?” Father likes to roar after a drink too many. While he speaks in jest, there is a glimmer of truth.

Benedict takes it all in stride. All he wants to do is please the king—to prove himself worthy of his lineage no matter what the rumors say. When Benedict declared his life belonged to the church, Father was the first to commend him.

How many times have I wondered if a woman could ever tempt him from his path? But he assures me that his destiny is fixed. That the pleasures of the flesh pale in comparison to the rhapsody of the soul.

I 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 me would be a devastating blow, but Madeline and I would still be able to come back from it. We’d still—

“Stop trying to rationalize whatever it is you think you’re going to say to me, Miss Winter. I’m not in the habit of ruining others—as long as we are on the same side. And I think we both want the same thing, don’t we? To see my stepson walk down that aisle and the throne stay in the...immediate family?”

“Yes, of course,” I say. I hold her gaze, determined not to flinch again.

Her posture relaxes, but only slightly. “Good. Then all you have to do is keep up business as usual. Seek out all the lovely, appropriate, deserving women. Build up Nikolai’s image like his father hopes you will.”

My teeth grind together in my mouth. Something is off here, but so far she’s not asking anything other than what I’m already doing.

“May I ask you a question, Your Highness?”

Her brows rise. She is considering my boldness, no doubt, but then she nods her head.

“Forgive me if I’m being untoward. But are you trying to see to it that I fail or succeed? Because I can’t for the life of me figure out why you called this meeting.”

This time her eyes light up as her lips curl. “You will succeed, Miss Winter.”

“How do you know?” I add, deciding to go for broke in my impropriety of speaking my uncensored thoughts in front of my leader.

“Because,” she says, standing from her chair. I stand as well. “I’m going to find the woman most deserving of a life with my stepson, and we will present her to him when the time is right.”

“But my list—”

She shakes her head, closing her eyes as she does. When she looks at me again, I see something so cold in that stare that I shudder. “My match won’t be on any such list, but when I’ve found the one, you’ll know. All you have to do is convince Nikolai she’s the one, as well.” She narrows her eyes at me. “That boy trusts you already. I’ve seen the way he looks at you. All you have to do is maintain that trust—keep him occupied while I set everything in place. You’ll get your doubled fee and maybe even an additional bonus. I get what’s rightfully mine and Nikolai gets what he deserves.”

“Rightfully yours?” I ask, unable to stop the question even though I know I should not speak out of turn with her.

But the queen doesn’t bother to respond.

She plucks a cucumber finger sandwich from the top of a tiered plate and pops it in her mouth, smirking as she devours it. Then she saunters out of the room, not waiting for me to say another word.

Double my fee. A bonus. Or a ruined business if we’re not playing for the same side.

Maybe Nikolai does play his games, but he no longer makes the rules.

I wonder now if he ever did.

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