I fuck Victoria’s doubts away throughout that afternoon, the next week, and the next month. She claims not a single doubt remains, not since that first time. But I won’t take any chances. We barely get enough time together to show her how much I love her, so I take my opportunities where I can, and if that means keeping her body overwhelmed by her need for me, I’ll do it. Because losing her would fucking destroy me, and I won’t feel secure until she’s bound to me in marriage—and standing beside me as my queen.

But I also know damn well that doesn’t always count for anything. My mother was a queen, married to a king whom she loved…and the cruel bastard fucked everything up, hurting her so bad that she couldn’t bear to stay.

I won’t ever do that to Victoria.

…except I did, for twelve years. Not deliberately. But making her feel like an invisible nothing all the same.

She’s forgiven me for it, I know. To her the past is done with; all that matters is our future. But the way she looked at me with tears swimming in her eyes, all that anger and pain bursting out of her like a festering boil, is something I’ll never forget. And I never should forget it. With my carelessness, I wounded her heart—and carelessness is a passive, inactive thing, but it can still harm. Caring means making the effort. Even if that effort is simply being mindful of what I say and do for her…and being mindful of what I don’t do and say to her.

That’s a vow I make long before our wedding day.

That morning arrives after the longest fucking night I’ve known in a while. And despite all the reasons that the ceremony, the procession from the chapel to the palace, and the wedding reception afterward is important—despite all that it symbolizes to the citizens of my kingdom and helps raise Kapria’s profile around the world—every selfish part of me just wants it to be over. I want to skip to the part where Victoria’s mine, and she’s sleeping beside me every night.

But I contain my impatience as I’m pressed and polished and buffed from my head to my toes. Across the city, in a hotel suite on a floor reserved solely for the bride and her bridal party, Victoria’s likely undergoing a much more complicated ordeal. The wedding ceremony begins at noon—an hour away—and I’m just now dressing for it, whereas her first stylist was scheduled to arrive at seven in the morning.

Nearby, I see Geoffrey check his phone. “Still on schedule?”

He and Ursula have been in constant contact, so that if there’s any delay we’ll immediately be able to adjust our timeline.

But with no hiccups, in ten minutes I’ll leave the palace on foot. The church is only a twenty minute walk away, in the southwest corner of the royal grounds. Around the same time that I arrive at the chapel, Victoria’s car will begin the drive across the city, and it’s all coordinated so that she arrives at the chapel’s front steps immediately before noon.

And why the fuck is it taking him so long to answer? A knot of tension twists in my gut. “Geoffrey!” I bark. “Are they still on schedule?”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” he confirms. “Still on schedule.”

The tension doesn’t completely release. I scowl at him and he gives me a bland look. “I had to wait for Ursula’s reply, Your Majesty.”

I hate waiting. For anything. I don’t know how Victoria waited so long for me, except that she’s the most perfect being ever created.

With the most perfect cunt. Sweet and hot and when I get her alone again, it will belong to a queen. Whenever her pussy gets so damn slick and greedy, she won’t need to beg anymore. She’ll just command me to taste it, to fuck it. And I’ll serve at her whim.

That thought helps get me through the next ten minutes, which each seem like an eternity determined to keep me away from her. Finally it’s time to go. I glance at Geoffrey. I don’t even need to ask.

“Still on schedule,” he says.

Anticipation fills my chest. “Notify Karl,” I tell him. The palace grounds are open to the public today so all of Kapria can celebrate in the wedding. Enormous tents are set up on the lawns, offering refreshments and, after the wedding ceremony is over, champagne and cake. Even now, though the walls of the palace, I can hear the large gathering crowd. My path the the chapel has been kept clear—not out of fear of an attack, but simply to make certain I’m not delayed—but as soon as I start my walk, Karl’s security team will discreetly secure every step of the way.

But the man himself will be walking with me, and serving as my best man.

Tilting his head toward the chamber door, Geoffrey says, “He’s here,”

In a Kaprian uniform that manages to destroy the image of a nondescript man, and instead revealing the deadly force that he truly is. But he’s not alone. Philippa’s with him, dressed for the wedding in a pantsuit and boxy hat perched atop her gray hair. I stride over to greet her, hoping like hell that she doesn’t intend to make the walk with us. Under any other circumstances, I’d be happy to have her along. She’s a fine advisor and a good friend…but her walk is slow as hell.

I take her outstretched hand and kiss her cheeks. “I am set to leave now. Geoffrey will arrange a car to take you to the chapel. Have you seen my mother yet?”

She’s long been a friend of my mother’s, and one of the few supporting figures that had stood up to my father during those worst years.

“We had breakfast together this morning.”

As Victoria and I did, yesterday morning. And there my bride once again proved how perfect she is, because I hadn’t expected it to be as awkward as it was. I have no hard feelings toward my mother. No resentments. She’d been right to leave my father. Hell, I’d even told her to go. And speaking to her over the years has never been anything but easy—but those conversations had also always been short and infrequent.

So that might be why I had so little to say when we were finally face-to-face. But Victoria took over the conversation so easily and naturally, keeping my mother engaged with questions about her new family—and making it seem as if I was the source of many of those questions. As if I’d spoken to Victoria about my mother many, many times. And I don’t know if my mother even recognized that she’d done it.

In the car afterward, she simply climbed into my lap and tucked her head against my shoulder, letting me hold her. And she didn’t say a word, but she didn’t have to. I don’t resent my mother. But her leaving left its quiet mark on me, somehow. Or maybe it wasn’t her leaving, but not taking me with her. Rationally, I know it would have been impossible to fight my father. But I don’t know if the young boy I was truly believed or understood that when I told her to go. Which is probably the same part of me that’s always so fucking worried that Victoria won’t stay.

But Victoria didn’t say that either. She didn’t have to. We both know.

Karl clears his throat. Time to head out. Then Philippa’s hands tighten on mine—and I realize that his prompt wasn’t for me, but for her.

“I came to offer my sincere congratulations on your wedding,” she tells me in a wavering voice. “But also to beg your forgiveness.”

I frown, then realization hits me square in the chest. “You leaked that meeting?”

The one that is still the reason a few tabloids like to put ‘horrible’ in front of Victoria’s name. Not all the time. Not even most of the time. But it stuck.

She nods, her lips quivering.

“Why?” I demand. “You wanted me to marry a banker’s daughter that much?”

“Not Felicity, necessarily. Just someone who wasn’t a duty and obligation. You never took anything for yourself, Maximilian. And then you intended to marry this girl who’d been nothing to you and—who I believed would continue to be nothing.”

“So you made that decision without consulting me?” And I understand why Victoria had been so angry when I’d done the same to her. Even the best intentions are worth shit when a choice is taken away.

Regret darkens her eyes. “I was wrong. And I saw how wrong I was almost immediately. When I saw you with her, and saw that you were finally taking something for yourself, I realized the woman I believed would be a problem was a solution. And that you loved her. So when that horrible article did not seem to affect your relationship her, I was relieved. I contacted the tabloid journalist and told him not to use anything more of what I’d given him regarding that meeting. And since there was nothing else, I’d hoped that would be the end of it.”

Dread fills my chest. “But it wasn’t?”

“There was more today. So I called the tabloid and ordered them to rescind it, because I’d retracted my permission to use anything more, but of course that was nothing. But that phone call apparently tipped off Mr. Sauer.”

Karl. Who’s waiting now for me to decide what to do about Philippa…and to walk with me to the chapel.

I don’t have any fucking time for this. “I leave for my honeymoon tomorrow. I expect to find your resignation when I return. You’ll cite a desire to retire.”

Eyes wavering but her mouth firm, accepting that punishment, Philippa nods.

To Karl, I say, “Let’s go. Geoffrey? Walk with us.” Which wasn’t the original plan but I don’t give a fuck. They fall into step beside me and I ask him, “Did you find it?”

“Here it is.” He hands over a tablet, the screen already open to the website.

Did King Max make a devil’s bargain to save his kingdom? Sources close to King Max reveal that despite public appearances that suggest a love match, his marriage to socialite Victoria Dietrich is the result of a longstanding betrothal agreement between the power-hungry billionaire and the impoverished king. But the royal hunk was apparently so reluctant to marry his horrible bride, that he delayed for twelve years before resigning himself to his fate. ‘He doesn’t even love the girl,’ a source claimed—and noted that when his advisors pointed out that he was being forced to marry a girl he didn’t love, King Max admitted that he didn’t even know her.

This is contrary to how the couple behave at public appearances. Never has a king and his future queen seemed more in love. But is it all pretend?

“It’s bullshit,” Karl dismisses.

So it is. Mostly true. But all bullshit.

Yet a sour ball of worry lodged itself in my throat anyway. Because if Victoria saw this…how could it not hurt her? Because she’ll know it’s bullshit, too. But she’ll also know that it’s mostly true. Or was. But simply being reminded might bring back all those doubts that I’ve worked so goddamn hard to erase.

If she’s seen it. She’s been busy with her stylists all morning. But I’ve seen her ask Ursula to read out loud the news headlines or emails while having her hair styled before.

“Find out if Victoria has seen it,” I tell Geoffrey.

Then we exit the palace and there’s no use to try and continue talking. As soon as I step into sight, the crowd begins cheering. And this is what matters. Not the tabloid gossip. But seeing so many Kaprians happy. That has been my only purpose for so long. And with Victoria’s help, we’ll do even more than I did before.

Though I want to reach the church as quickly as possible, this is important, too. So I slow my pace and wave for their personal photos, shaking hands where I can, accepting flowers from little girls here and there. I reach the chapel after my scheduled time but it doesn’t matter much—she’s not here yet, and isn’t supposed to be for at least thirty minutes.

I look to Geoffrey the second we get inside. “Well?”

“She hadn’t seen it—”

I scowl. “Hadn’t?”

Geoffrey grimaces. “Not until I asked Ursula if she had, and piqued their interest.”

My chest tightens. So she wouldn’t have seen it. But now she has. And less than an hour before our wedding, when any doubts she might already have must be gnawing away at her.

“Has the car left the hotel?” It should be leaving now.

“I’ll find out.”

But not before I’m greeted by the archbishop. The next twenty minutes is fucking torture as I accompany him to his chambers and I sign what I need to sign and sit through his blessing, but my only prayer is that she’s on her way.

When I emerge from the chambers, I search for Geoffrey but only find Karl. “Is she on the way?”

“No.” He shrugs. “There was a delay.”

Tight bands wrap around my chest, making it hard to breathe. “What kind of delay?”

“My people don’t know. Just that there is one.” He frowns at me. “It’s usual for weddings.”

Not royal ones. Fuck.

I find Geoffrey in the crowded church hall. A thousand guests will fill the pews today. As soon as he sees my face, he rushes to say, “They’re on their way, Your Majesty.”

Relief eases constriction around my heart. “What was the delay?”

“Ursula wouldn’t say.”

What the hell? That worries me more than any other answer could. Because there’s no reason that couldn’t be said. Her makeup’s not done, a button on her dress broke, a stuck elevator—there’s nothing to hide.

The only thing a bride or her assistant might want to conceal is that, for a short time, Victoria didn’t want to come. “Tell Ursula that it’s by the king’s command. I demand to know.”

He looks abashed. “I tried that already. She shut me down. And said that she was following the queen’s orders.”

Even if she’s not yet the queen, I won’t start off our marriage by undermining her in front of our staff. So there’s nothing to do but wait and ask her myself.

The next half hour is the longest of my life. I picture Victoria in her hotel suite, assailed by doubts before bolstering her courage and deciding to come. I picture her in the car, still doubting and ordering the driver to head for the airport, instead. I picture her arriving at the front steps of the church, looking up and seeing a future she doesn’t want anymore, then racing away.

I’ll chase after her if she does. I told her before. There’s nowhere I won’t follow.

But I don’t have to go anywhere. I just have to stand before the altar, my heart pounding and swelling with the music from the organ that announces her arrival.

Liz comes through the doors first, holding a sprig of wildflowers. She walks down the aisle with mincing steps, and another eternity passes before Victoria’s sister finally stands at the front of the church. Then everyone rises to their feet.

And I was so fucking wrong about want to skip ahead past the ceremony. To skip past the moment she appears at the end of the aisle, a vision in white framed by the ornate archway that leads to the antechamber. A thousand eyes are turned in her direction, but she’s not looking at any of them. Instead her gaze is fixed on me, the happy tears shining in her eyes turns them into a sapphire sea.

Her brother is giving her away, but I’m barely aware of James at her side. I spend every moment memorizing her appearance, from the tiara nestled in her thick dark hair to the embroidered lace that cups her breasts and cinches at her waist, to the flaring skirt and the long train that trails behind her. All of it, I commit to memory. Her hands, trembling slightly as they hold her bouquet. Her lips, curved into a smile that I want to spend a lifetime kissing.

And her feet, because I know that every single step they take is a decision she makes—and every step is bringing her to me.

I don’t know how much time passes before she reaches my side. It seems an instant, not long enough to memorize every detail of how she looks on the day she gives herself to me. It seems an eternity, an endless delay before I can make her mine. But it doesn’t matter either way.

For Victoria, I would have waited forever.

But I won’t wait to take away any pain she might be feeling. “What was the delay?” I murmur as she abandons James’s escort to take my arm, and I lead her up the steps to the dais where the archbishop waits.

She muffles a giggle and shakes her head, whispering, “Nothing.”

I know that’s not true. “You saw the article.”

“I did.” Her gaze is slyly amused—not wary or pained as it used to be in the days when she would run from me, and I let myself relax slightly.

“It was bullshit. I love you. I’ll always love you.”

“And I love you,” she responds softly, then slants a laughing glance at me. “You shouldn’t believe everything you read in those rags, Your Majesty. Even if it’s mostly true.”

Fair enough. “Then what was the delay?”

She grimaces slightly. “I threw up.”

“You were sick?” Desperately I search her face. She doesn’t look ill. “Did you have second thoughts? Or were nerves to blame?”

“I suspect your cum was to blame,” she whispers quickly, then we halt in front of the archbishop.

And maybe I do want to skip ahead. Because as soon as I realize what she implied, I pull Victoria into my arms—and get to the part where I’m kissing the bride.