Bellamy’s legs tighten around me.
“Your Royal Highness, it’s urgent.”
My phone rings again, but I fucking refuse to stop as Bellamy’s thighs tremble. “That’s it, little bee. Let me have what I want.”
Her eyes are heavy and unfocused as I press my thumb against her clit, and she comes apart for me for the first time. The first of many, if I have my say.
“Fucking beautiful.” I drag my fingers from her body and trace her lips, then lick them clean. “Fucking delicious too. I’m going to feast on you?—”
“Your Royal Highness,” whoever the hell is on the other side of my door calls out as my phone continues to ring.
“Someone had better be dead,” I growl and brush my lips over hers as I push up from the bed. “Don’t move a muscle. I’ll be right back.”
A beautiful, sex-drunk smile slides into place on her face. One I put there. One I plan on keeping there. “I don’t think I could move if I tried.”
“Well, that’s enough to make me feel like a king.” I force myself away and open the door, furious to see Devon standing outside. “This had better be the most important news of your life.”
He dips his head in a heavy bow. “Sir...”
“Spit it out, man. I have better things to get back to.” Things I make sure I’m blocking any view of with my body because as much as last night was impulsive and kind of perfect, it was also rash and will definitely lead to a royal-sized headache when I’m forced to deal with it in a few hours. Grandfather is going to kill me when I tell him what I’ve done and that I have no intentions of undoing it.
“The king is dead, sir,” he stutters. “And you are . . . in fact . . . Sir . . .”
I stand frozen in place.
What did he just say?
He bows again.
“Long live the king.”
BELLAMY
Shock is easier than grief.
—Bellamy’s Secret Thoughts
My heart sinks in my chest as I slide to the edge of the bed, unable to avoid eavesdropping on Rhys’s conversation. One I shouldn’t be privy too. But here I am, in his room, in his bed, with his rings on my finger, listening as he gets the heartbreaking news.
His shoulders slump as he’s told of his grandfather’s death.
It’s the first time I’ve seen him look anything less than in complete control, and my heart hurts for him. I fight the urge to go to him. To comfort him. There’s no way I’m what he needs right now.
I can’t imagine that he wants me seen, so I slip his t-shirt back on and quietly stay put.
He goes back and forth with whoever’s on the other side of the door for another moment, but I can’t quite hear what’s being said. Just every few words until. . .
Until I can—“Long live the King.”
I’m sorry . . .what?
I didn’t think it was possible for this morning to go any more off the rails.
But apparently, I was wrong.
Rhys straightens and stands frozen for a moment before closing the door without another word. He rests his palm flat against the wood, and everything about his body language—from the unmoving way he stands to the rigid hold of each muscle—it all screams shock... and pain.
That’s all I need to drown out the voices in my head trying to process this roller coaster of a morning and focus on him.
