Chapter Eight
IT WAS AN ONSLAUGHT. Too many emotions, feelings, sensations. Too much her. There were proclamations he’d given himself, and he didn’t know where they disappeared to.
Because it wasn’t like the last time. It wasn’t wild per se. It wasn’t frustration bubbling over.
I am yours.
How he wanted her to be. Needed her to be. Couldn’t let her be.
But she was moving against him, soft and sweet. It didn’t have to be about her words. It was two bodies. That was how he’d always seen it. How he’d prepared himself every time he’d come to her room. That this act was separate from who they were and what they must do.
Nothing felt separate, and all his old proclamations to himself were deserting him.
She was making it so difficult to hold on to them.
To separate duty from need. Because there was no duty here now.
She was pregnant. So this was all…something else.
He could not pretend it was duty. He wanted it to be proof that he did not need such soft things.
But in the moment, he felt as though he needed her or he might never breathe again.
All those careful fortifications that kept him separate, that kept him protected, that kept him sane felt more of a burden than necessary when she nipped at his ear.
When she said those things. When she shuddered and came apart around him with his name on her lips.
He moved up, tangling his hands in his hair to find that wildness that was dangerous and he should avoid, but with her it only felt elemental.
You do not have to be anyone but yourself with me.
It was a dangerous, insidious thought. Too good to be true. Things that felt this good were only ever harbingers of doom.
She met every thrust, every wild desperate move with one of her own. She used her teeth on his bottom lip, and he emptied himself in a shuddering, mind-blanking moment that seemed to echo on and on until he collapsed onto the floor.
A floor. In a room where she took appointments with palace staff. In a room not meant for this. But she snuggled in, her head tucked into his shoulder, her naked body tangled with his. She had a smile on her face.
On her floor. While she carried his child. No, this would not do.
He bundled her up in his arms. She made a low, contented sound in her throat that was both a dagger to his heart, and a salve to some part of him he tried to ignore existed. He carried her through the doorway to her sitting room, then another door to her bedchamber.
It was dim in the room, but he had navigated it in the dark every time he’d come for one of their appointments, so he knew the way.
He deposited her in her bed, ready to leave, needing to leave, but she held out her hand as if to invite him into her bed.
Because he was meant to stay, when he had never once allowed himself that before.
To stay here in warmth and sated pleasure was akin to taking some kind of drug. He couldn’t allow it.
But it was on her list. A list he’d agreed to. Because he would prove to her this changed nothing. Nothing. So he got into the bed, and she curled up against him again.
Perhaps it was the deal, but if she fell asleep…
Well, he had every right to leave, didn’t he?
He’d tell her he was called away. That she did not get to have first dibs on a king.
He could go along with some of her little list, but not all.
Not all the time. Just enough to hold up his end of the bargain, but not enough so that she won.
He’d just wait until she slept, and then he would slip out. Everything would be—
But the next thing he knew, he woke up with his wife in his arms and morning light filtering into the room.
He looked down at her sleeping form and wondered if letting her run away again—or throwing her in the dungeons—might be a better option.
Because he did not want to get out of bed. He was tempted to stay right here, watching the morning light gild her beautiful face. He wanted to feel the soft, even rise and fall of her chest.
You do not have to be anyone but yourself with me.
What a ridiculous statement. Because he always had to be a king. He always had to be a man who would put his country above his ego. And what was this damnable lust except some version of ego? Selfish desires. This yearning was all the things he’d taught himself to reject.
He slid out of bed. He was careful to be quiet, collecting his clothes and pulling them on. With each item of clothing, he managed to build back a layer of armor. Of kingly duty. Maybe these months would not be so bad.
If he could wake up and find King Alexandre again…he could survive this. Give her what she wanted, then the baby would be here, and she would have that. She would not have a need for…this.
Everything would work out all right. He would make as certain of that as he did everything else.
“Good morning,” he heard her murmur, sounding sleepy and satisfied. He didn’t dare turn around to see what that looked like on her face. He had met her demands, and now he would get a respite from them.
“You will meet with the palace doctors after breakfast,” he said, sounding stiff and formal to his own ears. “You will follow all their directives.”
She didn’t say anything at first, and he didn’t dare look at her, though he could hear the rustle of sheets, the sound of feet meeting the carpet.
“Your health is paramount,” he continued, pulling on the rest of his clothes.
“You will not hide anything from them. Pregnancy and childbirth is a dangerous time for a woman, if you are not aware.”
He felt her approach but did not look. Had she pulled on clothes or something to cover herself with? Was she naked? How much time could he spare to tumble her back into that bed and—
No. They had appointments for a reason. Lines. Boxes. Carefully constructed protections.
“I hadn’t thought…” She trailed off, somewhere behind him. She didn’t say anything else.
“Hadn’t thought what?” he demanded, feeling irritation scratch along his skin.
She slid her hands down his back, then around him, hugging him from behind. Her cheek pressed to his spine. “I knew your mother died in childbirth, but I did not really put it together. That you were old enough to understand what was going on. That it might have marked you.”
He froze. When he spoke, he felt as brittle as thin ice. “It did not mark me. It simply made me aware that pregnancy can be a dangerous time if one does not take care of themself.”
“You were so tense the day Evelyne went into labor. So…wound tight. It’s why you lost control, no doubt. You were terrified.”
He had not considered…but that was ridiculous.
Yes, he had some concern for his sister, and learning that morning that she had gone into labor had left him worried.
But only because she’d been away for so much of her pregnancy and had dealt with some stress during it. That didn’t mean he was…terrified.
“I will go to whatever doctor’s appointments you like. And I will give them permission to tell you everything.”
He pulled her arms off him, stepped away and fixed a glare on his face. “Ines, I am—”
“The king, yes, I know.” She was wearing a brief, silky robe that covered enough…
and yet not enough, because he wanted to rid her of it immediately.
But she beamed up at him, so happy and…different than he’d ever seen her.
Relaxed? Like any walls she’d kept up were gone, and she was certain she could break down his.
He couldn’t let that happen.
“You could have all the information anyway, but I want you to know I’m giving it to you.”
He stared at her, wondering how all this positivity and sweetness and acquiescence felt like little daggers being shoved into his heart.
So he left, while he had some semblance of sanity left.
Ines was in a marvelous mood.
Being home? Relaxing in a way the cabin just had never fully been.
Being able to immediately storm through all Alexandre’s defenses and have him in her bed—and meeting room—that very night? Incredibly satisfying.
She had not expected to be getting through to Alexandre on what was only the first day of Operation Real Marriage, but she had. There were still mountains to climb, but they felt…scalable this morning.
She had an hour before her meeting with the doctors, so she went in search of Evelyne. She hadn’t seen baby Gabriel since he’d been born.
She found both of them in the playroom. Evelyne was stretched out on the floor with the baby laid on a little mat connected to a kind of arch that had things dangling from it. Evelyne reached out and sent one spinning, and the baby on the mat kicked his legs and gurgled.
The boy had grown by such leaps and bounds in four months, Ines’s heart gave a jerk. She’d missed so much. It was another wave of being happy to be home. Being happy to be part of this family. If there were things she had to fight for, so be it.
Her child would have a family. Not just a loving father, but an aunt and an uncle and a cousin—probably more than one. Her child would never be anyone’s pawn or bargaining chip. And it wasn’t just her who would make sure of that. It was the entire family.
“Good morning,” Ines greeted.
Evelyne looked over her shoulder at Ines. She didn’t smile. She didn’t really do anything. Her expression remained a strange kind of neutral as she got to her feet and hefted Gabriel onto her hip.
“Gabri and I have an appointment,” Evelyne said, and for the first time in their entire acquaintance the stiffness in her voice reminded Ines of Alexandre. Because usually Evelyne was bright and vibrant and…warm. Welcoming. No matter what was going on around them.
Now she walked past Ines without a second glance. Said nothing else. Ines watched her walk to the door and had the sickening realization something was not right.
“I… Are you angry with me?”