Sleeping Beauty (Not Quite the Fairy Tale Book 7)(15)
“Very well, then.” She got up, and moved to stand right in front of him, holding her hand out. “Eleven. We have a deal.”
He looked at the hand she wanted him to shake. Until now, she’d simply bowed her goodbye from a distance before running off. Which had been wise of her.
Rupert ignored her hand, tugging at the hem of her skirt, pulling her to him. “I’ll seal bargains with you another way, Rory mine,” said he, half expecting her to move away, push him, fight him. She didn’t.
Rupert circled her waist with his hand and pulled her on his lap, eyes on her lips. This hadn’t been the plan. But she’d gotten close to him, close enough for him to touch her, so the plan had gone out the window.
He started with a kiss on her chin, then another one on her neck, and her shoulder, while one of his hands caressed her leg. Her dress was so very proper, just one inch below the knee.
Her breasts rose so high his attention couldn’t go anywhere but on her conservative neckline and then fall again.
The hand still around her waist moved her closer to him, higher on his lap, one of her legs resting right against his hardness. Then finally, he took her mouth, slowly and thoroughly. Her lips parted in an unsaid invitation he wasn’t taking. He felt her heat, her desire mirroring his. If he responded now, there would be no turning back.
“There,” said he, removing his hand from her thigh and moving her back to her feet. “Consider this bargain well and truly sealed. I’ll see you at eleven, princess.”
Chapter 12
Sleeping With a King
Allowing himself one small taste had been a mistake. He spent the entire night - or morning - tossing and turning, replaying each excruciating moment in his mind. In other circumstances, he might have retreated to his office as soon as the light of dawn had risen, but he’d made a promise. Each promise he made to her, he intended to keep.
He watched TV, yet again attempting to catch up on years of news. The King of Alenia appeared with his wife and son to speak of his return. Said he had every hope their kingdoms may remain allies now. Rupert made a mental note to reach out to the boy. Or man, for they seemed around the same age, although Rupert had a hundred years on Daniel.
The woman at Daniel’s side got his attention. She was short, and a brunette, but these two features aside, she very much looked like Rory. He’d ask her how they were related. No doubt their familial links would help mending whatever fences needed to be mended between Alenia and Ferren.
Other monarchs and people of importance spoke of him - he was the man of the hour, it seemed. Some questioned, others applauded, his decision to disband the Council and see that his next advisors were elected. Commoners loved it and foreigners wished their own kingdoms functioned that way.
Rupert winced. It wouldn’t make him popular amongst his peers. But he’d had no choice. There was no trusting the men seated at his side and he knew not whom he should lend an ear to. Who better to decide that than the men and women who’d lived during this age?
The eyes of the world were on him, on his next move. They knew he was either convalescing or getting acquainted with the current climate, but there was no doubt that he would act soon. They wanted to see how.
Rupert took notes and changed the channel. The next documentary was positively fascinating, to him at least. It was about her.
Rory had told him she’d been engaged twice; she’d never mentioned that it had been to two kings. The reporter delved into the two failed relationships, quick to point out how Rory had, each time, seemed cold and remote. She rarely smiled and was often absent from official events. Her reason had always been her work. Developments with her latest experiment. Her reason had always been him.
“After years of working tirelessly on reanimating the fallen King, it seems Aurora Stephenson has finally been successful in her endeavors. One cannot wonder what’s next for the most brilliant mind of our Kingdom. We have it on good authority that she’s been invited to take the lead on various projects, such as medical research and astrophysics. Yet Miss Stephenson hasn’t answered any queries. Close friends of the lady reveal they’ve not heard a word from her since last week. Her father has been unavailable for comment. Her aunt, always the colorful sort, advised us to get off her property before she set her gnomes on us. You’ll recall that Miss Stephenson comes from an unorthodox background.”
“Lady Stephenson, to you,” Rupert grumbled at the large, flat TV screen that was ten thousand times better than the big boxes they’d had back in his day.
“Her mother left her on her father’s doorstep and hasn’t been seen since. Her aunt, who has taken an active part in her education, refuses to speak of the rest of her family. As nobles in Ferren need to have three generations clearly marked on their paperwork, Miss Stephenson has been unable to claim her father’s title. Some say it may be the reason why she worked so very hard at making a name for herself…”
Rupert frowned. How bloody nonsensical. He glanced at the clock and was relieved to see it was ten now; he’d wasted enough time.
Getting up, he ventured to the bathroom, feeling like a knight who’d tamed a monster. Bathrooms had changed more than computers and television screens in a hundred years. He wasn’t going to ever mention how long it had taken him to work out his toilet. Or the fact that he’d screamed when a jet of clean water had burst out, intending to clean his ass for him. It made sense; who ever thought that wiping shit was enough to be clean? But he’d still yelled like someone had attempted to fit a broomstick in his asshole.