* * *

It has been a month since Korinthia and Titus were executed in front of the entire city. I thought I wouldn’t be able to look, but I did. I watched as they hanged because being queen isn’t just about doing what’s easy or what makes me feel good--I’ve learned that from Roark. I’ll carry the weight of their deaths for as long as I live, but Roark has taught me to bear the weight with dignity, to hold it deep inside and use it as fuel when I’m presented with difficult moments.

I haven’t returned to see my foster parents since Roark took me the night everything went to hell, and I don’t know if I ever will. A small part of me still longs for the love and affection that I never received from them as a child, but I know it won’t happen. They took me in for a paycheck, not because hey wanted a child to love. They treated me like dirt because they hated that I was destined for more. Jealousy turned any positivity they could have had toward me to poison.

I’d like to think if they knew what Titus had planned for me they wouldn’t have been so happy to get rid of me, or maybe they would have even treated me better… But I doubt it. Frankly, the more I think of it, the more I realize I can live without trying to fix that part of my life. Moving on gets easier every day. The palace is my home now, and Roark, my king, is my family.

I’m sitting in one of the circular dressing rooms on the ground floor of the palace. Huge bay windows surround me, letting in startling views of the crisp blue winter skies and flurries of snow that buffet the frozen trees outside. The palace decorators have already made a winter paradise in the interior of every room, picking out color schemes that scream winter bliss and cozy comfort. I bite my lip, watching in the mirror as Marcella, Kadene, and Niera circle me and work on my dress, hair, and makeup.

“I’m so excited,” says Marcella, who hasn’t stopped smiling since she showed up to get started this morning. “A royal wedding,” she says wistfully. “The entirety of the Shrouded Kingdom is talking about it. There will be cameras everywhere.”

“I heard Mikah will be there,” says Kadene, who looks meaningfully at Niera.

Niera studies the floor, speaking in a forced tone of disinterest. “Really? I hadn’t heard that,” she says.

Marcella winks at me. “You look particularly lovely, by the way, Niera. Is that a new dress?”

Niera looks down at the bright pink dress she wears, which definitely seems to be brand new. “This? What? No. I’ve had this for ages.”

“You look wonderful,” I say to Niera, who smiles back and blushes. “How long do we have until the ceremony?”

“Stop worrying, my queen!” says Marcella

“I thought I told you to call me Elizabeth,” I say, almost laughing at the look my three personal assistants--servant was a title I quickly disposed of, even if it was only in my head for now--give anytime I request they address me without all the formality.

“Elizabeth,” she says, looking green as she does, “This is your day. We want you to enjoy every second of it.”

I look at myself in the mirror and think about how unbelievable this all is. Less than two months ago, I was still living with the people I thought were my parents. I was spending my days wishing I could be anyone else, anywhere else. And now? It wasn’t easy, but I look at the woman in the mirror and can’t help but smile. My platinum hair is curled into delicate ringlets that fall around my shoulders, bouncing with the slightest movement of my head. My makeup is subtly applied to emphasize all my natural features in a way I could never pull off on my own, and my dress is more perfect than I imagined it would be.

It’s a pure white lace over a layer of silk that feels like heaven against my skin. The neckline is more modest than traditional city clothes, but a bold explosion of fabric at my shoulders marks it clearly in the style here, which I’ve already grown used to. Aside from the flared shoulders, the rest of the dress isn’t far from what I grew up looking at women wearing to their weddings. The biggest difference between the woman in the mirror and the one I thought I’d see if my wedding day ever came is the silver crown on my head.

Queen Elizabeth Burkewood. If I wasn’t seeing it all with my own eyes, I still wouldn’t believe that it is real.

I wait at the altar with the traditional frozen lotus flower in my hand. I wear a black suit with a high collar and a white undershirt. The wedding ceremony is being held in the palace courtyard, which workers have spent the last month tirelessly converting into a scene straight out of a fantasy--Elizabeth’s fantasy. Cherry blossom trees were imported from Japan to line the pathway from the main green to the footbridge, where their pinkish white petals drift lazily down into the chilly stream I had dug into the grounds. The altar sits on an island surrounded by the water and the cherry blossom trees.

On the other side of the bridge, Elizabeth’s personal team of servants sit at the front--which was her request. All three of the women look as proud as if they were her sisters. Calian sits beside them, and favors me with a wink when he sees me notice him. Kato stands ceremonial guard at the footbridge, along with the guard who brought me news of my brother and mother’s betrayal and has since been promoted to a Captain of the Guard alongside Kato. The rest of the hundreds of seats are filled with the upper crust of society from the greater nobles all the way down to the lesser nobles, but at Elizabeth’s request, the common people were allowed to enter into the palace and watch from the windows facing the courtyard, and as I look around I see thousands and thousands of smiling faces beaming down from open windows--men and women holding each other close, fathers holding their children so that they can see this momentous occasion. It’s humbling to see how many support my union to Elizabeth.

But it all disappears from my notice when Elizabeth emerges from the dressing room at the far end of the courtyard. I did a little reading on traditional weddings outside the Shrouded Kingdoms and know her father is supposed to “give her away” in her culture, but in ours, there is no such tradition. I’m glad of it too. After what Elizabeth has been through in the short time I’ve known her and the years prior, I know no one has a right to give her away. The woman I’m watching walk toward me is a queen now, in every sense of the word, and she’s the only one with the right to decide her own fate.

The crowd ignites with whispers and hushed conversation as everyone turns toward her to watch her approach the altar. Jealousy is written plainly on every face. The women wish they could look like her and the men wish they were the ones standing where I am. I smile with pride and excitement. We’ve technically been married for a month now, but I think we both felt like the marriage was incomplete--not until we had a traditional wedding. And now it’s happening.

She takes her place across from me on the altar. My mind flashes an image of her from the night I rescued her from Titus and the way she looked standing across from me at a similar altar. She was going on no sleep, her dress was torn and dotted with other’s blood. Now she’s a picture of perfection, so beautiful she practically glows, I can’t help smiling because I know I would have her either way--battered and worn or beautifully put together. Elizabeth is my queen My wife. My love. And nothing will ever change that.

Roark closes the door behind us. I look around the playroom at his estate outside the palace, which has become a place full of memories in the last month--the kind of memories that make me feel as if I need to change my panties.. Now I’m standing in this place of lust in my pure white wedding dress, looking at my king, who is absolutely stunning in a black suit with a high collar embroidered with his family crest.

“I’m sorry I didn’t save myself for the wedding night,” I say with a smirk.

Roark grins. “On the contrary, you did save something for me.”

I raise an eyebrow.

“You still haven’t let me enjoy that perfect ass of yours. Not the way I want to.”

He steps closer, eyes dark with intent. The idea of anal makes my stomach flip over and my skin tingle. I shake my head reflexively. I may have pushed past insecurities I never thought I would since meeting Roark, but the idea of that… It’s not that I don’t want to try, I just can’t help thinking of all the ways it could go horribly, embarrassingly wrong. “I can’t,” I say.

He moves closer still, chest pressing into me until I’m forced to back up with every step he takes. “Can’t, or won’t?” he asks.

“Can’t,” I say.

“You would deny your king?” he asks with a crooked smile.

“I wouldn’t… I just--” I back into the wall and he presses into me, filling me with the scent of his skin--fresh and crisp like cold morning air on mountaintops. I close my eyes. “It’s too embarrassing.”

He finds my eyes with his. “Elizabeth. My queen. Tell me one thing. Do you remember the safe word?”

A thrill runs through me. I know he’s about to push my boundaries when he asks me this, even though I’ve never had to use the safe word with him. He always anticipates my desires and balances that with my limitations that he just instinctively knows. “Yes,” I say.

The look on his face is feral. “Then I’ll make this very clear. I’m going to fuck your ass, and if you don’t like it, you can try to run.”

I stand motionless for a second, letting his words sink in. Instinct kicks in and I turn toward the door, yanking hard on the handle, it’s barely open an inch before it’s slammed shut by Roark’s hand. He reaches to grab me and I spin away from his grasp, running deeper into the room even though I know there’s no other way out. He’s trying to get me and I’m trying to get away--there’s nothing more. Adrenaline floods through me and the only sound I hear is my heartbeat pounding in my ears.

He catches me just by the bed in the center of the dungeon-like room, gripping me by the shoulders and throwing me roughly down to the mattress. I roll to my back and start to get up, but he crashes down on top of me, pinning my arms to the bed with hands that might as well be steel.

I squirm and struggle against him, kicking my feet. “Let me go!” I shout.

“Not until I fuck that tight little ass of yours, my queen,” he says.

His words send a dirty rush of excitement through me that starts at my chest and lingers between my legs, flooding my pussy with heat. “Please,” I gasp, “Let me go.” Red. All I have to say is a single word and he will let me go, but I know I’m not going to say it. Resisting him is turning me on like nothing I’ve ever experienced, and judging by the satisfied look on his face, he knows exactly what he’s doing to me.

“Don’t move a fucking muscle,” he says. “I’m going to strip your clothes, and if you fight me, I’ll tear your wedding dress to shreds.”

This time I actually stay still, letting him take my dress off carefully, even if he’s a little rough where he can be without hurting the dress. The moment takes away from the fantasy a little bit, but the fact that he’s aware enough to make sure he doesn’t ruin my dress--which I’ll cherish for the rest of my life--is worth the distraction.

When he has me down just to my panties, he flips me over to my belly, yanking my panties down roughly and positioning himself behind me. I try to crawl away but he grips me harder, pushing my hips down and pinning me to the bed, his big body completely engulfing my smaller form. I wiggle beneath him, testing his strength even though I know there isn’t a point. He has me pinned completely and I’m at his mercy.

Roark leans down, his breath heats the skin of my neck seconds before his lips skate over the sensitive spot below my ear. “Relax, my queen.”

The breath I didn’t realize I was holding bursts from my lungs and I lay limply beneath him. Taking that as my submission, he brushes a soft kiss on my shoulder. I tremble, my mind rushing over what is about to happen. I’m so distracted by my own thoughts that I jump when Roark’s fingertips glide down my back, over my ass, along my thighs, and back up again. Each pass of his fingers lulls me into an almost dreamlike trance. Lost in sensation I hardly notice how Roark has repositioned me to my knees, then his mouth is on me--hot and wet--devouring my pussy from behind.

My orgasm rushes through my body, barrelling down on me from nowhere and everywhere. I cry out his name, shaking and panting. I expect him to stop and do as he said--fuck my ass, but he doesn’t. His wicked tongue continues to eat at me, licking and sucking every inch of my pussy until I’m on the edge again and again. I’m a sobbing mess as I beg for release. Finally, one of his thick digits presses inside me and I shudder.

“That’s it,” he praises. “Give it to me.”

His command lights the fire I needed to explode. Lights flash behind my eyes and my entire body bursts into a million peices. Before I have a chance to come down, Roark moves that deliciously thick finger from my pussy and trails my wetness up to my ass. I flinch when his finger gently rims me, but his quiet murmurs and the continued pleasure of his tongue on my clit are enough to distract me.

Slowly, his finger penetrates me, there was a slight twinge of pain, but now there is nothing but pleasure. My body is quickly ramping up to another orgasm, I’m reaching for it with both hands, but it’s snatched away when Roark moves away. Then he’s kneeling behind me and I know this is it--he’s going to own this last piece of me. He owns everything else--my heart, mind, body, and soul--this is just part of that ownership.

His hard cock is pressed between my cheeks and I have a brief moment of panic that he’s just going to take me, but I should’ve known better. Roark would never do anything to harm me. Hurt me for my pleasure, yes. Cause true harm? Never. I hear the snap of a lid then feel a cool trail of liquid slide between my cheeks, then his fingers are there rubbing it into my crease. His hand doesn’t just focus on my ass, he runs those wicked fingers over my pussy, circling my clit, dipping inside, then up and around my ass again. Over and over until I’m mindless.

“Roark… Please…” I beg.

Finally, his hands are gone and his cock is there, gliding easily through the lubrication. Again, I expected this to be the end of it, but I couldn’t be more wrong. His cock moves the same path his of his fingers. He’s driving me so crazy I’m about to scream at him to just fuck me already. As if he senses this, he finally presses the tip of his cock to my ass, making me freeze.

“Hush, my queen. Breathe and push against me.”

I look over my shoulder at him and am met with a fiery, lust filled gaze that has me wanting this as much as him. I do as he said, releasing my breath and pushing back into him. My eyes widen as the pressure becomes almost too much, but my king and his wicked fingers on my clit distract me until it’s nothing but pleasure.

“So fucking beautiful,” Roark praises. “Look at you taking my cock.”

His words are almost as maddening as his movements—slow and steady. I want more. I want him to fuck me. To give me everything that he is. Realizing he’s being gentle because he thinks that’s what I want, I decide to take matters into my own hands. I want my dominant king. With his next thrust I push my ass into him, forcing him inside me deep and hard. We both groan. His fingers dig into my hips and he holds me still.

“Fuck me, my king. Take what’s yours.”

With a growl he does exactly that. Each movement is harder than the last as he pistons inside me. His hands gripping me so hard that I know I’ll be wearing his bruises for days.

“Cum, my queen.”

I’m standing at the precipice of the biggest, most earth shattering orgasm ever, but not quite there yet. Once again, Roark senses what I need and his hand cracks against my ass. I detonate. Seconds later he grunts his own release.

“Wow,” I say, still trying to catch my breath.

“Marriage has its perks.”

“Yeah. I think I might have trouble walking normally for a few days after that.”

“Good. It wouldn’t be a proper wedding night if you weren’t limping a little the next morning.”

I laugh. “That’s debatable.”

He sits up, smirking down at me before leaning in to kiss me. I enjoy every second of the kiss, my hands roaming over his hard, warm body, getting my fill of his strong chest and chiseled abs, taking my time following the lines of muscle that lead down to his still-hard cock.

“I’m so lucky I found you,” he says.

“Funny,” I say. “I was thinking the same thing. Roark?” I ask, chest fluttering because I’ve been trying to find the right time to bring this up for weeks now.

“What is it?”

“I want to ask you something but you have to promise not to get mad.”

“Ask me anything,” he says seriously.

“Can we free the servants? I mean, I understand the whole Shrouded Kingdom thing wouldn’t work like it has if word got out, but does it have to exist like it does? If the world knew about this place, there would be people lining up to work the jobs the servants do and it wouldn’t have to be against their will. We could offer the servants who are currently working here a fair salary if they want to stay, and we could offer them freedom if they want it.”

He looks down at my arm, tracing a path from my bicep to my breast where he idly runs a thumb over my nipple, grinning to himself. “You want to free the servants? To take centuries of tradition and throw them out the window?”

“I wouldn’t put it so dramatically,” I say. “But yes. I do.”

“Then we will,” he says. “But this will cause conflict with the other kingdoms. My people have valued secrecy for as long as anyone can remember. The other kings will not want to give it up so easily. You’re still sure you want to do this?”

I nod. “Getting you wasn’t easy, and at times it felt like it was impossible, but we did it. We could have looked at the odds and said it’s suicide to try, but we didn’t.”

He strokes my cheek. “I’m proud to call you my queen. They will celebrate you for the rest of history if this works. And you’ll deserve it.”

I kiss him. “Thank you,” I whisper.

“Now, the real question,” he says, sitting up and smiling wider. “Is when you’re going to start giving me little princes and princesses.”

“Oh? Thousands of slaves might gain freedom they never thought they’d have and the real question is when we’ll have babies?”

“Precisely,” he says. “I think you would look sexy as hell with a swollen belly.”

I laugh, rolling my eyes. “Oh, right. I’ll be waddling around and you’ll barely be able to keep your hands off me.”

“My queen, I’ll barely be able to keep my hands off you when you’re using a walker to get around.”

“I’m going to need a walker tomorrow after what you did to me, so that’s not saying much.”

“So? Can I expect a pregnancy next week? The week after?”

“What you can expect,” I say, climbing on top of him and pushing him down so I can kiss him again. “Is that you’re going to fuck me so many times, it would be a miracle if I didn’t get pregnant.”

“Then we had better get started,” he says.