Page 3 of Royal Rebel

“They do; don’t let them look down at you.” She grabs my elbow, turning me before we enter the ballroom. We walk down a long hallway, where surprisingly some of the noise dissipates.

“He’s in there.” She points to a large wooden door. “He’s ready to meet you. Are you ready to meet your soon-to-be husband?”

Inside, my heart pounds against my breast, I feel faint, and a slight sheen of sweat break out over my upper lip. It takes dedicated breathing to make everything calm down again, but I manage.

“I am.” I nod, squaring my shoulders, clasping my hands in front of me, hoping to hide the shaking.

The door opens, making a noise, heavy in the near-silence of the hallway. She pushes me toward the entrance, giving me the extra courage I need. “Godspeed, Amelia. I’ll be here when you come out.”

While those words should probably make me feel better, they don’t, but I give her my best smile as I walk over the threshold. It’s a metaphor for my life at this moment. I’m leaving behind one part of myself and embracing a whole new part. One I’m not familiar with yet, but I have no doubt that this starts one of the best adventures of my life.

It takes a moment for my eyes to adjust since there’s not a lamp on. The only light is coming from a fire, giving the drafty room extra heat. For minutes I don’t see him. But as I become accustomed to the darkness, his outline becomes visible. He’s facing the fire, his back to me, holding a glass of what looks like scotch at his side. His hand is flipped down, his fingers gripping the edges of the glass.

He doesn’t turn, even when it’s obvious I’m waiting for him to do so. Protocol says that he directs this meeting,although I don’t know how he’s going to direct it if he never speaks to me. Just when I’m about to break the silence, he turns, getting his first look at me.

Immediately there’s a thread of awareness between the two of us. It’s a string of electricity, and I have no doubt it would spark if we allowed it. I do my best not to fidget and at the same time allow myself to look at him without censorship. His dark hair looks as if he’s run his fingers through it all night, blue eyes look almost black in the muted light of the room, and a trimmed black beard hides what I know to be a strong jawline.

For a long time, I wait—wait to see what he’s going to say. Wait for him to give some indication I pass inspection. I’m about to give up when he lifts the glass to his lips and tips it back, downing the rest before setting it softly on the table.

Then, for the first time, I hear him speak toward me, and the words? I’ll never forget them. They’ll always be branded into my memory.

“Christ, you’re beautiful, and damn if you don’t look like an innocent.” He walks over, lifting his hand to my cheek, brushing back a piece of hair. “Forgive me for saying it aloud, but I can’t wait to show you how to be wicked.”

With those words, I know my life will never be the same again.

CHAPTER 2

TRISTAN

I wasn’t prepared, not even a little bit, for the woman standing in front of me. Have I seen pictures of her before? Yes. I may not have met her, but I was given glimpses of the woman who would eventually be mine. Did they do anything to capture her beauty? Not even close.

Dark hair, flawless skin, bold lips, sexy as fuck eyes that appear to be looking straight through me. Immediately I feel as if I’m standing in front of her without the walls I’ve worked hard to erect. I’ve had my walls up since I awoke in the hospital after the wreck with my mother. They haven’t come down since, but there’s something in those depths that reminds me of the woman who raised me. Her voice; I want to hear it, want to hear my name against her lips, want her to offer me some piece of herself in return.

“What’s your name? Others have told me, but I want to hear it from you.” My voice is pitched low. I want no one else to hear us, want no one else to be involved in this. There arefew things in my life that are just mine. This moment here will be mine for the rest of my life.

“Amelia, Your Grace.”

Her voice washes over me, a husky, hoarse sound that travels up and down my body. Awareness raises the hair at my neck and along my arms. TheYour Graceannoys me. Enough people kiss my ass. I want her to see me as a man, not my title. For her, I’ll be the best man I can be.

“I’m Tristan. Please call me that. Know me aswhoI am, notwhatI am.”

She smiles, her teeth white against the bold color of her lips. It doesn’t go to her eyes, though; she’s nervous, possibly scared. I want to tell her I understand, I’m nervous too, but I’m never supposed to show weakness. It’s been ingrained in me since I was a kid.

“Tristan,” she says my name and damned if I don’t want to hear her say it again and again. Preferably while she’s under me, begging me to go harder, deeper, faster. “Nice to meet you.”

I chuckle slightly, trying to control my wayward thoughts. “Hell of a meeting, huh?”

Her tone is wistful as she nods her head toward me. “One for the history books.”

It occurs to me that she’s correct. Thiswillbe one for the history books. After we’re long gone, the people of this country will read about our marriage in school. They’ll study and compare it against all the ones that came before and those that will come after. They’ll debate whether I was a good king or not, whether she was a queen the country can be proud of. The pressure is immense, but I’m glad to have someone to go through it with me.

“Would you like to sit?” I ask, taking her by the elbow,directing her over to the couches in front of the roaring fire. “No one will disturb us. I’d like to speak with you. To get to know you as much as I can in the next few hours.”

“We won’t go to the party tonight?” She looks equal parts relieved and disappointed.

“We’ll see how the night goes, but tomorrow you’ll be introduced to the people and I would like for us to be at least friendly. Expect the world to pick your introduction apart, and that will include how we act toward one another,” I explain to her as we have a seat on one of the couches.

“I understand.” She sits with her hands clasped in her lap. It’s the way she’s been trained.

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