CHAPTER FIVE
Nikolai
“THANKS FOR BREAKFAST.” Kate regards me uncertainly.
“Seems only fair, Miss Winter. Especially after the delicious feast you offered me yesterday.” Here’s hoping that my wolfish smile covers any sincerity that might poke through my veneer. “Nice pants, by the way.” They fit slim against her shape, hugging the soft swell of her thighs, tapering at her small waist. I take my time drinking her in for two reasons. One: she looks even better than she did in my dreams last night. Two: it’s time to scare her off.
I don’t care a whit about ancient marriage requirements. But my father is the king, and Edenvale is a strict monarchy. No constitution. No parliament. His word is absolute law.
But despite his decree, I cannot marry. I will not. My heart hasn’t been whole for years. To subject a woman to a lifetime of darkness—to a love I cannot give—is anything but fair. I may not play by the rules in my day-to-day—or night-by-night—affairs, but I am straightforward. Each beauty I bed knows full well I have nothing to offer the morning after other than burying my cock in her one more time.
I do like a proper goodbye, after all.
And I also like to be clear that I will not share my future crown.
Father has to be bluffing about this twenty-ninth birthday bullshit. He can’t take the throne from me. He wouldn’t. What are his other options? Benedict would yield our sovereign power to the Roman Pope. Damien? My cousin Ingrid, who is still a child? Nightgardin would be licking its chops if that happened.
A hot copper taste fills my mouth. The inside of my cheek hurts from the involuntary bite.
Damien destroyed my world. His scandal nearly brought down our entire lineage. Now he is banished. Not even allowed to claim Edenvale citizenship. No, that bottom-feeder will never be permitted to call himself more than “King of Traitors.”
Father has no other choice, if he wants to avoid passing the crown from his bloodline. He will have to relent, to compromise, come around and see things from my point of view. It is that or let the kingdom fall to ruin, and that—he knows—is not an option.
My shoulders relax. I’ll indulge in Miss Winter’s little game for the time being, but she doesn’t know that I’m the one writing the rules, and that I only play to win.
“Ahem, Highness?” Her exaggerated throat clearing breaks my thoughts. “My eyes are up here.”
I allow my gaze to slowly rake over the swell of her perfect breasts. “I know exactly where your eyes are, Miss Winter, and might I say that’s a fetching color of shadow. Makes your eyes appear deeper than the Bottomless Lake.”
Kate sucks in a ragged breath, one evidenced by the rapid rise and fall of her chest rather than heard.
“Can we get down to business?” Pleading fills her voice.
“That all depends. Would getting down to...business bring you pleasure?” I dribble innuendo over every sentence. My mask is perfect. I’m every inch the rakish rogue everyone has come to expect. Kate Winter has no idea that my heart accelerates in her vicinity, kicks into fifth faster than my Ferrari 250 Testa Rossa.
And she never will.
She balls her free hand into a fist while the other clutches a portfolio, her fingertips white from her grip. Bet Little Miss Ice Queen would love nothing better than landing a punch right in my arrogant smirk. She can take a number. There are many in the line before her.
Plus she’s safer wanting nothing more to do with me than our business dealings.
“X,” I call, not breaking my gaze. “The poles.”
“Very good, Highness.” He clicks his heels and strides to the trunk of the Rolls. Good old X. Familiar as my shadow.
“I’m not really a nature girl.” She casts a baleful look at the long grass, swatting away a hovering insect. “But I am excited to get to work. Here is the dossier.” She brandishes the portfolio. “I spent last night reviewing suitable prospects and have winnowed your choices to five viable candidates.” She clears her throat. “Your parents offered some input as well, wishing the choice to be someone who would buoy your image and thereby the image of the throne. Your stepmother in particular took a keen interest. The queen is a woman of many opinions.”
I arch a brow. My hag of a stepmother has many feelings about my existence, none of them good. “I thought we were to do some sort of personality profile.”
She breaks eye contact. “Your stepmother didn’t think it was necessary to invest too much in compatibility since—well—since you don’t intend this to be much of an emotional connection. You’ve made that point crystal clear. So I’ve been instructed to provide you with appropriate choices.”
“Fascinating.” A cold front blows over my chest, transforming my tone to sheer ice. I spent last night milking my cock, dreaming of her sweet, soaked pussy, and all the while she’d been reviewing appropriate brides. Not once in five years have I given a single fuck what a woman thinks about after I’ve been with her.
Not once until today.
How much is Father paying her for this trouble? My stepmother would bankrupt the royal coffers if it meant having her revenge. She won’t play me the fool the way her daughter did. Victoria made me believe that a kiss meant love, not a fast track to sink her claws into my wealth—or my future throne.
These days the only crown jewels I’m prepared to offer the opposite sex rest between my legs. It’s likely she is conspiring with my stepmother. No doubt yesterday’s unexpected encounter was part of her carefully constructed ruse designed to disarm me. Being heir to the Edenvale throne means living with an invisible target on my back. The thing is, though, that I already know there’s a sniper in my midst, and she sleeps in my father’s bed.
My smile is as cool as her name. If Kate Winter hopes to lie in wait to stab a proverbial blade between my shoulder blades, then I hope she has the patience of a saint, because I aim to give her no such satisfaction.
X returns, and her expression morphs from confused to horrified.
“Fishing poles?” She gasps. “Is this your idea of a joke?”
“Fishing is one of my many hobbies,” I lie smoothly. “And it seems an apt metaphor given our current situation.” I take a pole from X and hand it to her.
She grips it without complaint, understanding the gesture isn’t a request, but an order from her prince.
I grab the dossier from her other hand, not bothering to look inside, and hand it to X. “We won’t be needing that just yet,” I say, then turn my attention to Kate. “After all, there are many fish in the sea, correct? Or should I say...river?” I pivot and stride toward the old Roman bridge. “And how can I be sure of your skills in catching one for me until I see you in action?”
Kate
It’s a stone bridge, I remind myself. A sturdy, stone, won’t-crumble-beneath-your-feet bridge. There’s no need to tell him I can’t swim.
Though the swelling in my ankle has gone down, the lingering ache still slows my gait. He walks a few paces ahead of me, not bothering to wait. Decidedly different behavior from yesterday when he carried me after my fall—saw to it that I made it home safe. Hell, he even sent me breakfast this morning. I knew I was stupid to think it meant anything more than feeding the help, that Nikolai Lorentz was anything other than what the media portrayed.
I catch up to him at the center of the bridge where nothing else waits for us other than two buckets, one of which must be bait, the other to hold what we catch. I swallow hard when I note the height—or lack thereof—of the stone wall separating us from the river below. Nikolai perches casually on the low barrier, reaches into the bucket and pulls from it what looks like a small slice of sausage.
“What is that?” I ask, wrinkling my nose.
He shrugs. “X prepared it. Says it’s his best recipe for catching trout. You met Beatrice in the kitchen yesterday, yes? Our head cook? Tonight’s royal meal depends on what you catch for us today.”
His tone is more cold than playful, yet I decide to humor him.
“Well, then,” I say. “I’ve got plenty of suggestions for takeout when this goes royally amiss.”
He buries the hint of a smile, but I see it nonetheless and take it as a sign that I do have the power to break through whatever wall he’s hiding behind today. I remind myself that my livelihood depends on it and let out a breath before reaching into the small bucket and pinching a slimy piece of bait between my thumb and forefinger.
I shudder at the feel of the foreign substance against my skin but do not dare complain. I watch as Nikolai fixes his bait to his hook and mimic his movements precisely. Maybe this won’t be so difficult after all.
He raises a brow. “You’ve fished before?”
I shake my head. “I’m a quick learner,” I say, realizing I’ve nowhere to wipe my hand and opt for the ledge of the wall I don’t dare sit on myself.
He casts his line into the river, and again I follow suit.
Piece of disgusting, slimy cake.
He finally grins. “May the best fisherman win,” he says. “Not that it’s a competition.”
I smile. “You’re on, Your Highness.”
We fish in silence, him still sitting on the wall while I stand a pace behind it. In less than three minutes his line tugs at the pole, and Nikolai whoops in response, standing to reel in his catch.
I can’t help but marvel at the ease of his movements, the flex of his biceps as he rotates the crank on the pole. And it’s this lapse in my attention, this gravitational pull he seems to have on me despite every bit of logic saying it shouldn’t, that causes the tug on my own line to catch me off guard.
My body yanks forward, and I stumble. It all happens in the space of a few seconds. I don’t even have time to scream before I knock into the wall and pitch right over it.
The water is cool, yet it burns my lungs and throat as I panic and breathe it in. I cough, but it only makes me take in more water. In this strange, suspended panic, I note the clarity of the river, that I can see through the surface and to the bridge to where it looks like something is falling toward me as I sink.
As quickly as I was yanked off the bridge, strong hands wrap around me and tug me toward the surface. When I break through, I cough up the water I couldn’t release seconds ago and gasp for air. Instinct has me thrashing in his arms, but he doesn’t let go.
“Kate!” he yells, his voice hoarse. “Christ, Kate! Stop fighting me and put your feet down. It’s only five feet deep!”
His words register, and I cease movement, letting my legs straighten below me while I still cling to his arm with my own.
My shoes touch the riverbed, and I stand on my tiptoes, my five-foot-five height keeping my face well above water.
We reach the bank, and I collapse onto my ass, humiliation seeping in as I cough up another mouthful of water.
Nikolai falls onto his back, panting, his T-shirt and jeans plastered to his muscled frame.
“Christ almighty,” he says, catching his breath. “Why didn’t you tell me you couldn’t swim?”
I try to convince myself that this job is worth it, that no matter what other disasters befall throughout the length of this contract, it will be worth it in the end. Because if I fail, it’s Maddie and Gran who will pay the price.
“You’re my prince,” I say dully. “You said we were fishing, so I obeyed.”
He bolts upright, brows pulled together. “Is that really—?” he sputters. “You think I would endanger—?” But he trails off again. He reaches for my face, resting a palm gingerly against my cheek, and it’s almost as hard to breathe as being underwater. “Are you okay?”
Genuine concern laces his words. This is a Nikolai I’ve never seen in the pages of a magazine. This man did not exist in the maze yesterday.
“Yes,” I whisper, the heat in his palm making me forget I’m soaking wet.
“I told you,” he says, his gray eyes darkening to black, “I will not marry.”
I nod slowly. “And your father will keep the throne from you if you do not. Nikolai, when you stormed out yesterday, he mentioned Damien...”
A soft, guttural sound emanates from his throat.
“If you want the throne,” I continue, “then finding a bride is the only way.” And the only way to keep my grandmother getting the best care that our country has to offer. But I don’t tell him that. As much as I am drawn to him, I can’t get close to another man. Especially not another bad boy who doesn’t seem to care about anything other than his next thrill. My heart can only take so much.
He lets out a long breath. “So it is,” he says, and my heart tightens at the sound of defeat in those words. “Then we find someone who will play by my rules, who knows she is queen in name only, and that I will govern Edenvale as I see fit when it’s my time.”
I nod again. “If that is your choice.”
He lets out a bitter laugh. “Choice,” he says through gritted teeth. “Wouldn’t that be a luxury?”
I shiver, the cold setting in and seeping into my bones. He drops his hand to my neck, my collarbone and then to breast, my nipple hard against the cold, wet fabric of my blouse, a trail of heat in its wake.
“What if I choose to touch you like this?” he asks, his lips a fraction of an inch from mine. “Would you choose that, too?” He glances toward the river. Then his gaze burns into mine again. “Because you have a choice, Kate. You should have told me that you live along a river yet have never bathed in it.”
I feel the prick of tears and try to will them away.
“Maddie and I—my sister—lost our parents when they drove off the road that winds along the mountain’s edge. The river was deeper than five feet where their car plunged in.” A single tear escapes, and he brushes it away, the gesture too sweet. Too intimate. “I was too young to remember them but not too young to develop a fear of the water. The funny thing is, Maddie says I was an excellent swimmer from a young age, but it’s like my mind has blocked that part out. So...here we are.”
He runs a hand through his soaked black hair. “You should have told me,” he says again, and I startle to see the intensity in his eyes. “You have choice, Kate. With me. Nothing is an order. Do you understand that?”
“Yes,” I whisper.
He places a hand behind my neck and lowers me to the ground, my body a willing accomplice.
“You will find me a royal bride,” he says, hovering over me. A bead of water drips off his skin and splashes near the corner of my lips. It takes all my self-restraint not to lick it.
“Yes.”
“I will not love her,” he adds.
“I know,” I whisper.
“I cannot love anyone.” His voice is a low vibration, one I feel in his chest against mine.
“I know,” I say again, cursing the beating of my heart that seems to speed up the nearer he gets. We might be from two different worlds, but we have that much in common. I can love, but I won’t. Not when I’ve known so much loss.
“But I want you,” he says, his breath warm against my lips.
“I want you, too,” I admit.
He flicks out his tongue, running it along my bottom lip, and I grind my pelvis into his.
“Do you choose this, Kate? Do you choose what I’m offering?”
My body has already complied. All that’s left is my voice.
“I do, Your Highness.”
“Call me Nikolai.”
I let out a trembling breath. “I do—Nikolai.” His name tastes as delicious as his hungry mouth.
He kisses me, long and slow and deep until my toes curl and my core is on fire.
“Say my name again,” he growls, his erection firm against my aching clit.
“Nikolai,” I whisper, and his tongue plunges into my mouth again.
I may have the freedom of choice, but I also have the wisdom to know this is a foolish one to make. I’ll have to add a note in my planner to regret this sometime tomorrow.