Damien
WHEN WE REACH the throne room, I move to enter, but X places a hand on my shoulder and nods toward Juliet.
“Is it safe?” I ask him.
“Yes, Your Highness,” he answers with a clipped bow.
I take a step back.
“This is your palace,” I tell my wife, gesturing her forward. “Claim it.”
She laces her fingers through mine and shakes her head.
“It is ours now, my king. We will take it together.”
So we enter, hand in hand, to find a host of bodies on the floor—those who resisted The Order. Then there are those members of the Black Watch who surrendered, bound and guarded by X and my mother’s comrades. But what stands out among all of it is the Nightgardin queen herself, still sitting regally on her throne, a glass of wine in her hand.
“Bravo, daughter,” she purrs, laying eyes on Juliet. “It seems you’ve won, but I will not surrender. If I cannot rule, then this ends on my terms.”
She raises the glass to her lips, and before it even registers what she’s about to do, a feral cry comes from behind.
“No! No poison!” Juliet’s father cries, and then I hear the whistle of an arrow sail past.
The crystal goblet falls, shattering on the flagstones. The queen screams as the arrow impales her forearm, pinning it to the back of the throne.
Blood streams from the wound as the king stalks toward his wife, bow still in hand.
“Death is not the answer,” he roars at her. “You need help, my love.”
She shakes her head as she writhes from what must be unbearable pain.
“I will not grow old,” she cries through gritted teeth as the king approaches. “I will not live out my days behind the bars of a dusty cell!”
He drops the bow when he reaches the dais, and the whole room looks on in wonder as he pulls a blade from his pocket, cuts off the shaft of the arrow, and pulls it gingerly from her arm.
The queen wails and then blacks out.
“Did you know your father was such a marksman?” I whisper to Juliet.
She shakes her head, her dark eyes wide as she takes in the scene before her. “I knew he practiced archery, but Mother never permitted me to join him at the range.”
The king turns to face his audience.
“The queen must answer for her crimes against our country—against her own daughter and husband,” he says. “But death is not the answer. Not when she can still be helped. She will be locked away. Of that I promise you. But she will be given the medical care she needs to bring back the woman I once loved.” He drops to one knee. “Allow me this last pardon as I abdicate the throne to you—Queen Juliet and King Damien. May you rule as you see fit, as equals. And may you bring together two countries that have brutally battled for far too long.” He bows his head. “I humbly request that I be allowed to retire to a monastery to live out the rest of my days in contemplation and prayer. I have much to atone for.”
I squeeze Juliet’s hand. “This is your call, my queen. I follow your lead.”
Juliet squeezes back but does not release her firm grip. She is nervous, but I also know she is so very strong.
She squares her shoulders and holds her head high. “Thank you, Father,” she says, voice steady. “I will show mercy on my queen mother. We will set a date for her trial when she has recovered from her wound.”
Juliet’s father stands and scoops her still-unconscious mother into his arms.
“Thank you, Your Highness,” he says, bowing his head once more. Then he is escorted from the room by three members of the Order.
It is then that I see him, bound and gagged by another member—the guard of the Watch who dragged Juliet from my penthouse the weekend they stole my memories. The same guard who took her from me again at the hospital, leaving me bleeding on an elevator floor.
“I wish I could say I shared your penchant for mercy,” I say to my wife. “Perhaps someday you can teach me.”
And then I let go of her hand and stalk toward the guard.
I untie his gag, and he spits it from his mouth.
“What did she promise you?” I seethe.
The man says nothing.
I lift his bound hands, examining the scars on the right one—the one my wife bit as she was brutally dragged back to her murderous mother by this man. The man who then let his compatriots beat me to within inches of my own life. The man responsible for Juliet’s almost dying tonight.
I note his square jaw, the perfect slope of his nose, his clean-shaven, unblemished skin.
“She promised you eternal life. Didn’t she?” I ask, amused. “She promised you’d be the perfect specimen you are right now forever, did she not?”
He makes a move to wrap his bound hands around my neck, but he is too slow. I block him with one hand, then punch him in the face with the other.
Bone crunches against my fist, and blood pours from his nose, covering his lips and neck. He screams, and I shake out my hand, every one of my knuckles split and bleeding. But damn it was worth it.
“See that the wound is not properly set,” I say.
“Yes, Your Highness, King Damien.”
The answer comes in unison from from the brothers and sisters of The Order—X included. The words even echo in my earpiece, ringing loud and clear in my mother’s voice.
“And make sure that whatever cell he is locked in until his trial has mirrors on every wall so he can never escape looking at his ruined face.”
I run fingers over the scars on my own face, old and new, and for the first time in years I do not dwell on how much I deserve each one—on how many people in my life I have let down. Instead, they remind me how far I’ve come, that I have earned my brother’s forgiveness and the love of my wife. My queen.
I make my way to Juliet and wrap my arms around her, pulling her to me so tightly.
She squeezes just as hard, and I know it’s all hitting her, too—all the steps it took to get us here.
“Sorry about that,” I say. “But he hurt you, and I couldn’t let that go.”
Juliet shrugs. “If you hadn’t broken his nose, I might have had to bite him again. You saved me the trouble.”
I laugh, then rest a hand on her belly where our unborn child still lives and grows, and I know now the depth of love a mother or father is capable of.
I know that despite her betrayal, my mother did what she had to do to protect us all.
Hand in hand, Juliet and I stride toward the dais. Then we turn to face the crowd before she takes a seat in one throne, and I in the other.
“I forgive you, Mother,” I say quietly, knowing she is listening in. “It’s time for you to come home.”
Juliet
This arrival to Edenvale Palace is very different to my first. For one thing, we are traveling in a motorcade, an honor befitting a prince...and a to-be-annointed-queen.
“It’s going to be okay,” Damien tells his mother for the tenth time in as many minutes.
I take an opportunity to study her pale face, her bloodless lips. She is still beautiful, although her years in isolation have marked deep grooves near her eyes.
Her penetrating gaze flits to me, and not for the first time do I marvel at the resemblance between her and her son.
“Why do you watch me so?” she asks.
I swallow hard, unnerved by her forthrightness but also appreciating that from now on I’ll be living among people who demand honesty in all dealings. “I admire you.”
Her delicate nostrils flare in surprise.
“You sacrificed everything to keep your children safe.” I place a hand on my belly. “In not that many months, I’m going to bear my own child, and I can only hope that if the time ever came to make such a difficult decision, I’d be half as selfless as you.”
She answers with a soft smile. “Something tells me, Juliet, that you will be a fierce and remarkable queen.”
As we speed through the open front gates of the castle, a long line of guards lift brass trumpets to their lips and begin playing Edenvale’s national anthem.
On the front steps stand Nikolai and Benedict, Kate and Evangeline...and Damien’s father. The king.
Damien steps out and helps his mother and then me from the Rolls-Royce.
The trumpets finish their song and silence reigns.
King Nikolai practically stumbles down the steps leading to the circle drive. “C-Cordelia?” he stammers, the first time that I’ve ever heard the regal man speak with anything but perfect eloquence. “Dear God, is it really you? They told me you were coming, but I swore it was an imposter, some publicity trick. I didn’t dare let my heart hope.”
“You—hoped. Oh, Niki,” Queen Cordelia sobs, and just like that the king sprints across the gap separating them and draws his wife into his arms, claiming her in a passionate kiss that practically sends up a plume of steam.
“I’ll still be kissing you like that when we’re their age, you know,” Damien growls into my ear, nipping my earlobe. “But right now, all I want to do is get you inside.”
I shiver, knowing exactly what he means. The tension between us is electric, and as much as I want to focus on the happy reunion playing out on the front steps as Cordelia embraces both of her two other sons, I can’t ignore the ache between my legs. An ache that begs for Damien to be inside me like we were those months ago—like we were meant to be. I am no longer a bewildered girl shameful of my sexual urges, but a queen ready to claim what is rightfully mine.
“We’re going inside to clean ourselves,” Damien announces, and I try to ignore X’s chuckle.
As we walk away, the king calls out, “Wait, my son. A word.”
Damien stiffens beside me. “Father?”
“Thank you.” The king’s eyes mist over. “You have given me back my soul. I can never make up for the years of our estrangement, but I want you to know that I’ll work hard to repair the rift between us.”
“As will I,” Benedict adds.
“And I.” Nikolai steps forward and shakes his brother’s hand. “You have set our family on a course for a future even brighter than I dared to hope. Thank you on behalf of the kingdom and from me, your brother.”
They both aggressively clear their throats and clap each other’s shoulders.
Then we make it up to our chamber. How we get there I do not know. Perhaps we float, because it doesn’t seem possible that we could have walked a single step. All I know is that here we are, naked, kneeling before each other in the middle of the king-size bed, fitting for Damien’s new role as King of Nightgardin. My home, which is now ours.
His hand works between my legs. It’s not as if I need to be primed for him, but I relish the attention of his clever fingers on my swollen clit.
He groans as I lick my palm and work his shaft from root to tip. Soon that thick head will be inside me. My mouth waters in anticipation.
“Are you nervous?” he asks.
“No, my love,” I croon in a husky voice.
He barks a short laugh. “That makes one of us.”
I grab his wrist as he attempts to thrust two fingers into my aching heat. “No. I need you. Just you.”
“Juliet,” he grinds out, pushing me onto the bed. “I’m not sure I can be gentle.”
“Good.” I rake my nails down his muscular back as he roars. “Because I want the full Damien experience.”
He dips down and gives one of my nipples a punishing suck that sends me bowing off the bed. “Careful what you wish for,” he says.
With a rock of his hips, his length glides inside me, filling me not only between my legs, but into my very heart. I wrap my thighs around his trim hips and undulate my body in time with his rhythm. He adjusts the angle, ensuring his pelvis grinds me right where I need him. Our lips meet, demanding, plundering, claiming. It will take two strong people to heal the ravages of the Nightgardin monarchy, but together we set a course for a new regime—a future unlike I ever could have imagined.
“Damien,” I gasp, feeling my climax roll over me like an inexorable wave. “I love you. I love you so much.”
“I love you beyond the power of speech,” he says. “You saved me, in so many more ways than you could ever imagine.”
“We saved each other,” I tell him, because it is the complete and utter truth.
“My queen.” He heaves against me as we shatter in unison.
And I know then that we are no royal mess, that our future together is nothing short of beautiful.