Into His Command (33 page)

“Hey, big guy.” I fought to keep it light as I damn near sprinted across the Palais’
biggest ballroom—impressive as hell, considering I hadn’t worn high heels like this
since Dad’s last campaign—and jumped at Samsyn like a parched beggar at a mirage.
Instead of dissolving into dust, he solidified into perfection. His arms banded around
me, a protective shelter. His head rested atop mine, sure and steady. The only rickety
element was his sigh, weighted as if he, too, had been holding his breath all day
long.

“Well hey to you too,
raismette
.”

Whiplash. Had he really just made it…enjoyable? My gaze, yanked up along with my face,
searched the dancing blue depths of his. Holy shit…he
had
. His eyes were always astounding, a crystalline contrast against his swarthy skin,
but now they were more than that. His blatant joy made them outright mesmerizing.

“Wh-what—” I finally stammered, “did you…just…”

“
Raismette
.” He repeated it without hesitation. “Thought I would…give it a test try.” He palmed
the side of my face. “It sounds good, yes?”

“Yes,” I whispered. Bit the inside of my lip, if only to confirm I wasn’t dreaming.
“Very good.”

“No.” His lips covered mine, though he kept his five-star tongue dutifully leashed.
“Not
very
good.” With a small step back, he stared down to my toes and back. “The
very
good belongs to my beautiful wife.”

I laughed, not even trying to hide the nervousness, as he gazed longer at what I’d
jokingly pegged “the Brooke 2.0”. The pumps, a pair of sleek mid-heels with a T-strap
on top, were just the base blocks of the ensemble: a black pencil skirt and butter-soft
cardigan over a silver satin shirt that tied into a floppy bow at the neck, complimented
by pearl earrings and, thanks to Mishella, a French-twisty look for my hair.

It had definitely been a step from my comfort zone.

A
big
step.

Now, thanks to the man’s hot and hungry dragon stare, one I officially flagged as
a do-over.

Looping my hand into his only sealed the deal. The man was always warm, everywhere—forming
the thousandth reason why I always yearned to be closer to him. I did just that, swinging
our hands, sashaying in until our bodies were flush.

“Just thought I’d give it a test try,” I teased.

Syn moaned softly. “It is breathtaking.”

I fitted my lips against his neck. “Well, maybe I can think of a few more ways to…take
your breath away.”

“Fuck,” he snarled. “Yesssss.”

“After dinner with our families.”

He groaned and growled at once. I winced and squeezed his hand. “Sorrrrrry.” Forced
a tight smile. “Didn’t Mishella message Grahm about it?”

The seasoned warrior had been tagged as Syn’s
secran
for the time being, since Grahm’s thigh wound had been worse than everyone originally
thought. I ached for Grahm about the sidelining but thanked God and fate and even
the Creator for his service over the last two days. He’d left for Tahreuse practically
right after the wedding, tasked with telling my family the crazy story behind this
elaborate ruse—including the bombshell they’d finally be freed from playing dead for
the world. But because of that, Samsyn had insisted they stay at the Palais for the
next few weeks. For the time being, security was heavily fortified throughout Sancti,
more so in the Palais complex. If Rune Kavill still had the resources and resolve
to even come after Dad now, we’d all be much safer in the capital city.

“Of course.” Samsyn finally grumbled his reply. “Mishella was very diligent. So was
Grahm. I simply had other things on my mind.”

“Only a million of them.” I stroked the tension beneath his jaw in empathy. “Playing
nice with the High Council, arranging your brother’s memorial, staying on top of the
hunt for those missing assholes…”

He took a turn to nuzzle
me
now. “And resisting thoughts of staying on top of my wife.”

And just like that, stardust again—in my veins, through my limbs, tingling in the
hand that twisted against his scalp. “Just as she’s resisted thoughts of the same
thing.”

He let out a soft snarl while pressing his lips fully to my neck. “Oh, is
that
so?”

Soft sigh. Searing need. “That is…very so.”

“Hmmm.” His hands slipped lower, taunting the top of my ass. “Our radios must be in
sync,
raismette
.”

I sighed.
That man’s incredible mouth
. “Sounds like we’re at a go for the mission, then.”

“When do we rendezvous?”

“As fast as we possibly can—”

“Fuck, yes. Copy that.”

“—as soon as we’re done with dinner.”

His extended grunt spurred my burst of a giggle. “Sorry,” I repeated. “I really am,
big guy. But we have to. It’s protocol.”

“You want to know how much of a shit I give about protocol?”

“A big one.” Stiffened spine. Not an easy feat when one’s husband had just turned
their body into a puddle. “It’s part of the territory, Your Majesty.”

After smoothing my clothes, I re-extended a hand to him. As Mishella had informed
me earlier, that lovely protocol also dictated that we enter rooms together with hands
clasped. There were lots of other rules about which hands went where, how we should
look and
not
look at each other, and even what our pace should be, but for right now, the basics
would have to do.

Annnnd, maybe not.

As soon as our palms touched, Syn hauled me back against him. Secured me there by
pushing our joined hands into the small of my back. The pose was open but controlling…and
aroused me in at least a dozen new ways. Wow. As in…
wow.

“‘Your Majesty’,” he repeated, gaze dropping to my lips. “So that is the way of it
for now?”

I pressed my other hand to his chest. Despite the new moisture in my panties, lines
had to be drawn—somehow. “
Yes
…Your Majesty.”

He lowered his head. Stopped his mouth inches above mine. “Maybe I shall simply have
to imagine it more…muffled.”

The sensual suggestion of that last word could’ve made a nun horny—and dumb. I was
good-to-go on both accounts, barely managing to stammer, “M-muffled?”

“Mmmm hmmm.” His gaze intensified. The dark beast awaited his prey. “As you scream
it…and twist your thighs against my face.”

I let him punctuate it with a kiss—if that was what the teasing touch of his lips
could be called, giving me more breath than pressure, causing a needy mewl to curl
from deep in my throat before he was done.

As he finally let me go, using both hands to steady my awkward stumbles, he took his
own turn at an indulgent chuckle—and I seized the chance to get in the last word on
our game plan for dinner.

“I’m ordering the kitchen to speed up dinner service.”

*

I followed through
on that promise.

Like it helped things one damn bit.

Four exhausting courses later, as Tahreuse mountain coffee was served and dessert
declared on its way, I strived to enjoy the beauty of our surroundings instead of
yearning—again—to be in bed with Samsyn.

The setting really was beautiful. Out of respect to Evrest and Camellia’s “memory”,
we dined on the candlelit terrace of the high couple’s receiving room, instead of
the formal royal dining room. The surroundings were as opulent but as comfortable
as I remembered, though it was strange to think I’d been up here for the first time
just yesterday. So much had happened since. Moving into Samsyn’s suite. Getting the
first of my queenly crash courses from Mishella.

A lifetime in an hourglass
.

Wasn’t the first time the feeling had struck lately, and deep instincts told me it
wouldn’t be the last. Syn had to be feeling the same way—or maybe he was used to it.
Life as a royal was definitely…full. His castle in the boonies made more sense now.
Perhaps the Tahreuse digs were the only place he could let his hair down, in all senses
of the word.

I logged that curiosity into my brain, along with the other thoughts and questions
I’d developed during the day. It came as a shock, realizing I knew Samsyn in so many
deep ways…but still knew so little
about
him.

Yesterday, having months with him had seemed like enough.

Today, it felt like a drop of water in the desert.

I couldn’t wait to be alone with him again.

So much for not thinking of my husband. And bed. Oh yeah…
that.
All of it. The way the sheets molded around his torso, cutting him off just when
the twin trails of muscle started to get good. The way he could pitch those sheets
into a beautiful “tent” when I reached below, cupping him…
there.
The way he groaned out wicked things in Arcadian as I began stroking, and—

“Do you not agree, Brooke?”

“Uh—shit. I mean
excuse me
. Yes, of—of course I agree.”
Ugh
. Out of all the times to phase out of the conversation; just when Xaria began talking
about—

What
had she been talking about?

The airport. Yes. And the flight arriving tomorrow morning, carrying Camellia’s parents.
They’d be grief-stricken and full of questions about the hunt for their daughter’s
“killers”. It would be one of the toughest parts about this operation, despite knowing
we could fill them in on the truth once they’d been escorted to a secure Palais vehicle.

Tough—but necessary. No way could the truth be entrusted to emails, texts, or even
phone calls.

“Perfect,” Xaria intoned, gracefully letting my profanity slide. “So it is settled.”
She smiled up at Mom. “Veronica, you have my thanks for volunteering to handle the
tarmac greeting with Brooke and myself.”

“Agreed.” I sent a heartfelt smile to Mom, wishing Xaria and her cleavage weren’t
separating us. The woman had fantastic boobs, but who was she trying to impress? The
only explanation, that she’d expanded her “offside hobby” to include the Palais banquet
wait staff, was
not
worth broaching for another second. “Thank you, my awesome
maimanne
.”

Mom leaned toward Xaria but checked herself before completing the move. The queen
mother’s formality was as hard on her as me. Mom was a hug whore—her words not mine—but
Xaria had been raised to be a queen. Stories abounded about the days following her
selection as one of The Distinct. Many of the remaining girls of that chosen set had
simply not bothered traveling to Sancti. Ardent had selected her in less than a month.

How long had it taken him to start cheating on her?

Another question never to be raised again. Mom’s comeback made that easier. “It’s
the least I can do, Your Majesty. It was Samsyn’s kindness on the tarmac that made
our
first steps in Arcadia so much easier.”

Ardent, seated on the other side of me, took ear to Mom’s comment. “Syn has always
possessed the drive of a fighter and the soul of a diplomat.” He dipped his head toward
Samsyn, though finished by raising his glass. “If anyone can fill his brother’s boots,
it is him.” Then higher. “Long live King Samsyn.”

“Long live King Samsyn.” We all repeated it, adopting our best tones of respect and
acclaim mixed with shock and grief—well aware that the walls really did have ears.
No less than twenty Palais staff members lingered within earshot, any one of them
bribable by the Pura, meaning none of them could know the truth we were hiding. When
Evrest and Camellia made their “miraculous return” in a few months, all of us would
be just as “shocked” as the rest of the country.

The charade was going to be exhausting.

It already was.

A beautiful slice of chocolate molten cake was placed in front of me—but even as the
server drizzled vanilla bean crème over it, I couldn’t summon a yayza even for a bite.
Brooke 2.0 suddenly felt like Restless 1.0. My clothes itched. My shoes killed. My
head hurt from approaching its tenth hour of Ps, Qs, and the rest of the etiquette
alphabet. The lie was taking its toll.

Luckily, the chocolate and caffeine loosened the ambiance around the table. Mom and
Xaria, learning they shared a love for gardening, started talking mulch, water, and
worms. Ardent did his best with me, bringing up the conditioning benefits of training
in the mountains, but lost me at the carbs versus protein debate. Thank God for Dillon,
who hadn’t lost his ability to read me like a gypsy with tea leaves. He jumped right
in, occupying the king father about the progress on the telecommunications tower in
Tahreuse—exciting Ardent five times more than healthy pasta options.

I folded my napkin and pushed out my chair, hoping to sneak to Syn for a few moments
of whispered dirty talk—but his phone rang. Wagering it was Jagger and his crack timing,
I rose anyway. The only protesting body parts were my toes, stuffed back into the
trendy pumps, but they were overruled by the bliss from the rest of me, able to finally
stretch again.

Holy hell, I needed a workout. A merciless run supervised by Jag, followed by a session
on the mats that would leave bruises. There’d be no chance of the latter for weeks,
but I was hopeful about talking Jagger into a morning run on the beach soon.