33. Ryker #2
I make a non-committal noise, my hands tightening on the small of her back. My logic tells me we have a schedule—that our friends are waiting and a room full of noble suitors is expecting a royal welcome—but my blood is screaming a different set of orders.
“You’re mine now,” I growl, pulling her completely flush against me until there isn’t a breath of space left between us.
My soul echoes the word, a possessive roar that vibrates through my chest. “These ceremonies, the vows, the politics…they’re just the acts of men trying to put a label on something they can’t possibly understand. You were mine the moment you said yes.”
For it had been there, in my room, that I told her once she said yes, there was no going back. I meant every word. And the moment she said yes, sliding into my lap and claiming me, I had felt the promise become a tether between us.
I fuse my mouth over hers. The light of our Bond flickers to life beneath our skin, a sudden surge of heat that wraps around us like a shield, shutting out the rest of the palace.
With a gaspy moan, she drops her head back, her mouth forming an O when I suck on her neck. Her fingers bury themselves in my hair. “Ry, got…to…go.”
A low laugh slips from me. My hand finds the end of the material before sliding beneath it along her soft skin. She shivers. “You sure?”
“Yes,” she says, shaking her head, “I mean—”
My hands grip her ass, fingers toying with the edge of her panties. Her chest rises and falls rapidly. My mouth presses a kiss over the top of her breast, over her heart, then I set her down, reluctantly taking a step back.
Her eyes flutter open, and she attempts to regain her breath. I lean against the desk after adjusting myself. Fuck I need to be in her.
“Why did you stop?” she asks breathlessly.
“Because once won’t be enough.”
She grins, letting out a soft laugh.
A smirk pulls at my mouth as I reach for her hand. “C’mon, Princess. Let’s go welcome all these poor fools who think they’ll even get a moment of your time.”
She scoffs, slapping my shoulder. “Mean. They at least get two minutes.”
We’re seated in the formal dining room with Raea and me at the head of the table, our friends around us, and further down, the thirty-six men who’ve arrived to be a part of her Ceremony tomorrow. More are arriving later tonight and tomorrow morning.
Raea keeps shooting me nervous glances. It would suck to be in her position. Having to fake interest in a large group of noble men who are probably all hoping it’s them. She takes a deep drink of her wine before Duke Lane Cromwell from her kingdom clears his throat.
The conversation dims as he says loud enough for the whole table to hear, “So, Princess, tell me. What happens when you Bond with one of us? I mean, how awkward for Prince Anders, no? He is, after all, hosting your Ceremony at his home.”
Her face flushes as she sits straighter. “Both of our kingdoms understand my duty to my Bond. Once the Ceremony is over, the wedding will take place, and I’ll be married to whomever the Bond has chosen for me.”
His eyes narrow as he sits back, twirling the red wine in his own glass. When I think he’s going to drop it, he says, “And what of you, Prince Anders? Will you back off when she’s finally claimed by another, or will you continue to be a problem?”
Raea mutters a curse as I lean back, throwing an arm over the back of her chair. I let the question sit in the air long enough that everyone’s conversations have settled to hear my reply.
I grin. “Oh I have no doubt I will be the one doing the claiming.” Raea’s elbow connects with my side, only making me grin wider. “So no, I guess I won’t be a problem. Duke Lane, you’d do well to understand that the Princess is not a prize to be won, but a Queen to be worshipped.”
I feel the mating Bond roar in my veins as Lane’s eyes narrow. The possessive snarl is back, clawing at my throat as I realize these thirty-six men see a prize where I see my soul.
I don’t want to claim her—I want them to understand it. To feel it. To know, without a doubt, that whatever this is between us was never theirs to touch.
That they were never players in this game…only witnesses to my devotion, to something that was decided long before they ever walked into this room.
All the ladies at the table melt, a flush rising across their cheeks—Raea included. Duke Lane huffs, offering a false smile as he leans back.
Conversation at the table resumes.
“Why did you do that? Couldn’t you have just, you know, ignored him?” Raea asks under her breath, pushing around food on her plate.
“I was being diplomatic.” I shrug.
“Diplomatic? That was the furthest thing from diplomatic.”
I can’t help but smirk. “He’s still alive, isn’t he?”
She groans, grabbing her glass of wine again. I don’t give a shit what these assholes think. I lean in close, my lips brushing her ear as I say, “They all need to understand that you’re mine, and you’re not chattel, love. You are the Queen that has me on my knees, ready to do your bidding.”
Her body erupts in goosebumps as she gasps softly. “Such promising words, Prince,” she says, turning her head to me. “Feel free to make good on them tonight.”
I can’t help the way my cock twitches in response.
Gods, I’d love to throw her onto the table and worship her right here, right now.
There is a physical ache now, a hunger that dinner can't satisfy.
I don't care about the press, the war camps, or the ghost of my father in the other wing.
Tonight, I belong entirely to the harbinger of light, to the princess who will save us all.
And I will spend every second reminding her that the only king who matters is the one already on his knees for her.