Page 2 of A True King

Future kings don’t get to choose who they marry. But they do get to choose who they love. That wasn’t written in any official royal handbook, but it might as well have been.

The first time I met Mia Edgewater is engrained in my memory for all of time. I required a new personal secretary. I had finished all my academic and military duties. My duties now would be to serve the crown. Father insisted I interview three candidates. She was the first one. I never interviewed another.

The moment I laid eyes on her I knew she had to be part of my life, even if it was just so I could admire her from afar. She had the most mesmerizing reddish-brown hair that shimmered under the crystal chandelier in my office. Her dark eyes gave her a mysterious presence like she had a secret to share. Her skin looked more like a woman who spent her days enjoying the outdoors rather than the pale skin of the princesses I was constantly required to meet and accompany to various royal affairs. And the glasses. She wore a pair of glasses that more belonged to the librarian at my boarding school than to a young woman. Those glasses became my kryptonite. Something of a fantasy that was always playing on a reel in the back of my mind.

As I stare out the window of my private jet, it’s the glasses that I’m thinking about, the first time she made my fantasy come to life.

“Is that all, Your Highness?” Mia says as she looks up at me from behind her glasses. Her hair is pulled up in a bun on the back of her head. She is wearing a button-down blouse and a pencil skirt with heels that make her taller but still substantially shorter than me. We’ve been playing this game of cat and mouse for months now. And day by day, my resolve is cracking. I shouldn’t want her. She is my employee, well, she is an employee of the crown. A relationship would be forbidden. I am the heir to the throne and the only woman suitable to marry me would need an HRH accompanying her name.

“Yes, Mia. That’ll be all,” I state as I lean back in my chair, handing her the last envelope. We’ve been working late, as usual. Mia is sorting my mail into stacks as I go through it. We have arranged a system for most of my daily tasks and she now knows them forward and backward. What I want to say is that it wasn’t all and that she needs to bend over my desk so I can fuck her because that is all I have thought about for days and my royal cock is tired of my hand when all it wanted is Mia’s pussy, but I refrain. I don’t know how much longer my willpower will hold out.

“Very well, sir. I will see you in the morning. Your first appointment isn’t until eleven. Shall I have the kitchen bring your breakfast at the usual time, or would you prefer a lie-in?” she asks as she stands up and begins to pick up the piles of envelopes.

“I’d like to lie in with you,” I think to myself.

“Sorry?” she asks, raising her eyebrow.

Shit, had I said that out loud. “Later is fine.”

I stand and follow her out of my office, inhaling her perfume with each step. I’m not sure what is more intoxicating, her smell or the mere vision of her ass swaying. She hasn’t noticed me approach her, so when she swivels around to say something else, she is nearly knocked over and the envelopes go sailing in all directions.

“Oh, shit,” she yells as she falls to her knees in front of me.

“What was that?” I ask.

She looks up at me. Her face is now eye level with my cock and the vision of what she could look like with those red lips wrapped around it is all I can see at that moment.

Her face reddens. “I…I’m sorry, Your Highness. I…” She trails off and looks down, collecting the papers on the floor. I can’t help but drop to a knee and join her in retrieving everything.

“We’ll have to sort these again,” I say, feigning contempt.

“I’m so sorry. I think I remember most of them. I can do it and follow back up if I can’t remember,” she states as she grabs the envelopes and piles them on the floor next to her.

And that’s when I see it. Her lip trembles and that small reaction is enough to unleash the protective beast inside me.

I reach out and gently take her chin between my forefinger and thumb, urging her to look up at me. Our faces are closer with me on my knee, but she is now on all fours, so I still hover above her. I can see the unshed tears in her eyes.

“Mia,” I breath, “it’s alright. I can sort these. I’m not mad.”

She sniffles as a single tear manages to make it over her lower eyelid. I catch it on my thumb. “You’re not?”

I shake my head and take her face in my hands. We are nearly face-to-face as she rises on her knees.

“W-what are you doing?” she asks.

“I’ve been fighting this since the moment I saw you. I’ve tried, Mia. I’ve tried so damned hard to not want you, but I can’t deny it any longer,” I say in a low voice.

“Your High—”

“Christian,” I correct as I run my thumb over her bottom lip.

She clears her throat, and I can feel her swallow against my hand. My mind goes to a thousand dirty things that I want to do with her.

Her mouth opens and then closes. She is flustered and it only makes her more attractive. I should ask before I take, but I’ve never had to ask for a thing in my entire life. As the heir to the throne, everything has been presented to me on a silver platter. And right at that moment, I want to take her, to make her mine.

I bring my face to hers and whisper, “I shouldn’t do this, but I don’t have any more willpower left.” And with that, I kiss her. She doesn’t move at first, but she also doesn’t pull away. It is when I lick her bottom lip that I unlock the door into her soul. She suddenly responds with fervor like I have ignited a flame within her. The kiss takes on a life of its own as we divest each other of our clothes. The image of Mia laid out naked on my 17th-century Mazarin desk, her legs spread and dangling over the edge is a sight I will never forget. Every inch of her body is perfection, the type of perfection men dream about and fight wars over. I don’t worship her body properly. No, it is quick and rough, and we both take what we need. The languid, slow lovemaking will come later, and it won’t disappoint.

“Your Highness?” the flight attendant says, pulling me from my memory. I glance up and find her holding a tray with a cup of coffee. I nod and motion for her to set it down.

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