Nina Bruhns - Capturing the Crown Bundle

“I think of you as the only prize,” he answered just before he kissed her.

The kiss, meant to be fleeting as he stood up to take his leave, took on a life of its own, growing and flowering until it threatened to overwhelm them both, blotting out the room, the palace and everything that was beyond the very small circle created by the two of them.

She heated his blood the way no other woman ever had before her. An eagerness went galloping through his veins, causing him mentally to discard the rest of the things he had intended on seeing to in the next few hours.

Nothing was nearly as important, nearly as pressing, as allowing himself to make love with this woman he had had the great fortune to have bestowed on him as his bride.

“Don’t you have somewhere to be?” Amelia breathed against his mouth as he began to remove her clothing with the speed and dexterity of a finely skilled magician. Not to be outdone, she began separating him from his own garments almost as quickly as he was peeling her out of hers.

“Yes.” His own breath was growing shorter and shorter just as his anticipation was steadily growing greater and greater. “I do. Right here,” he told her. “Right now.”

“Can’t argue with that,” she laughed softly.

And she didn’t. Not for the next few hours.

Russell turned his head toward the woman who somehow still managed to be a complete revelation to him. Amelia was in bed beside him. He had things he had to tend to. He knew they both did. But right now, nothing seemed to be as important to him as savoring this moment, lying here next to her.

“But you would be all right with that?” he asked, still wondering what he had ever done to deserve to be so lucky. “With the possibility of my not becoming the next King of Silvershire?”

Amelia turned so that her body was tucked against his. She smiled up into Russell’s face, the warm glow of lovemaking still very tightly wrapped around her. They had already settled the matter, she thought. For all intents and purposes, it looked as if he were going to be the next king. But if he wasn’t, she didn’t care. Perhaps, she mused, she even liked it better that way. Because then they could go home.

“You’re king of my heart, Russell, that’s all that really matters to me.” And then her smile faded just a little as a thought occurred to her.

Russell propped himself up on his elbow. He didn’t like the way her brow furrowed. Was there an obstacle after all? “What?”

She picked her words carefully. The male ego, she knew, was a very fragile thing. Would his be bruised if the scenario he suggested really did play itself out? “If this does come about, if you’re not crowned the King of Silvershire, would my being Queen of Gastonia some day bother you?”

Russell pressed his lips together, not to think, but to suppress the smile that rose to his lips. Titles had never mattered to him and he was comfortable enough in his own skin not to feel threatened by any she had. As long as she loved him. “You mean would it bother me to be a kept man?”

In her experience, men such as the ones he referred to idled away their time in vapid pursuits. That wasn’t Russell.

“The only thing you would be ‘kept’ at is busy. Being the prince consort requires a great deal of work. You would be involved in guiding Gastonia, in keeping it safe. I don’t intend to rule my country alone,” she informed him. Amelia stroked his cheek lightly, feeling excitement taking hold again. “We are partners, you and I. Partners in everything that we do. Nothing would make my heart happier than returning to Gastonia. But I will not go without you,” she added quietly. “And I will not remain there without you.”

Russell turned his body until he was leaning over her again. He slipped his hand along her face, tracing its features slowly with his fingertips.

Amelia sighed just as her new husband brought his lips down to a breath away from hers. “I never believed in fairy tales,” she told him. “Until now.”

“Stick with me, Princess,” he murmured. “The best is yet to be.”

But the knock on the outer suite door, at first respectful, then louder, told them that whatever was to follow would have to wait. At least until they sent whoever was at the door away.

“Princess, are you in there?” There was no mistaking the urgency in Madeline’s voice. It rang out, loud and clear. Her friend’s tone gave no indication that she was about to go away.

Amelia exchanged glances with Russell. “Your lady-in-waiting apparently doesn’t seem to want to live up to her title,” he quipped.

Feeling protective of her friend, as well as somewhat frustrated, Amelia said, “Madeline has always had a mind of her own,” just before she raised her voice so that Madeline could hear her through the door. “Yes, what is it, Madeline?” She glanced at Russell and smiled. He pressed a kiss to her throat, making her pulse jump. Oh, but she loved this man. “I’m…a little…busy…right now.”

“Princess, the king is looking for your husband. I thought maybe he’d be in there with you.” The smile that was in Madeline’s voice said she knew exactly what was going on behind the closed doors. “King Weston requests that both of you meet with him at the royal clinic as soon as humanly possible.”

At the mention of the clinic, Russell sat bolt upright, concerned. Thoughts of sharing another round of pleasure with Amelia were temporarily shelved. He reached for his clothing.

“Is the king ill?” he asked, raising his voice.

“I wouldn’t know, Your Grace,” Madeline answered. “He does not appear to be. But I’m just the messenger. One of several he requested look for you,” she added.

Amelia scrambled out of bed. Russell paused a moment to let his eyes drift over her appreciatively. Rousing himself, he cleared his throat.

“Tell His Majesty that we’ll be right there,” he instructed. He allowed himself only a moment to fleetingly brush his lips over hers. “To be continued,” he promised in a whisper.

“I will hold you to that,” Amelia responded as she hurried into her clothes.

They lost no time in getting to the clinic. When they arrived, they found the king sitting in the corridor right before the entrance. The expression on his face was grave.

His complexion was far from viable, Russell noted. And the monarch’s hands were clutching the chair’s arms, his knuckles almost white from the effort.

“Is everything all right, Your Majesty?” Russell asked before Amelia had a chance to.

Apparently lost in thought, Weston raised his head like one coming out of a deep trance. The monarch looked at him as if surprised to see that there was anyone else there. When he became aware of Amelia, he attempted a dignified smile to greet her.

“Hello, my dear.” Weston shifted his eyes toward Russell. “And no, everything is not all right.” A sigh escaped his lips. “My only son is being cut up.” He struggled for strength to continue, to face the pain that seemed to be looming everywhere, waiting to ensnare him, to take him captive. “I’ve finally given permission for the autopsy to be done. You were right, of course,” he told Russell without preamble. “We need to move forward, to get answers if we can. And to finally bury Prince Reginald the way he deserves to be buried.”

Relief whispered through Russell. He was seriously beginning to worry about the king’s mental state, afraid that the monarch was withdrawing more and more into himself. Since Reginald’s death, he’d caught the king talking to himself on more than one occasion. In addition, he was concerned that the monarch might just decide to go ahead and hold the funeral, burying the prince without having the autopsy performed.