Until I can’t breathe or think or remember my call.
Rhys hauls me close to him, picking me up and wrapping my legs around his waist before he sits down with me in his lap. His erection presses against my aching core.
Everything else may be complicated. But this . . . us . . . we make sense.
“Hi,” I murmur against his lips.
“Are you okay, little bee?” He holds me like I’m precious... fragile.
Like my answer is all that matters.
“I am now. I think the stress of everything just got to me,” I admit without making my brother sound like a dick. He’s not. He’s just overprotective. He always has been, and nothing, not even a king will change that.
“Are you worried about tomorrow?” Rhys asks as his fingers absentmindedly play with the locks of my hair. “State dinners can be stressful, but I promise I’ll be by your side the entire time.”
Shit. The state dinner. I guess I should be nervous about that.
“I guess a little.”
Without another word, he stands with me in his arms and carefully rests my feet on the carpet. “Come with me.”
“I’m in my pajamas, Rhys.” At least they’re more modest than the last time a Windsor brother dragged me through the palace.
“And you look beautiful.” He smacks my ass, sending a jolt of need straight to my core as he takes my hand in his. “Let’s go.”
I hurry to keep up with him as his long legs eat up the dimly lit halls.
He guides me down a flight of stairs into the grand dining hall. The ceilings are hand-painted, and the walls are covered in golden sconces. The table is set with china and crystal, and tiny place cards rest on each gold-rimmed plate.
“I hadn’t realized so many people would be here.” I struggle to take in the size of the room and focus on the place cards instead. “Where will we sit?”
Rhys guides me to the center of the table and picks up my name card. “You’re right here, my love.”
I take it from him and carefully place it back down, looking on either side of my setting. “And where are you sitting if I’m sandwiched between Atticus and King Aaric?”
He points directly across from me. “I’ll be right over there. Staring at you.”
“Oh, you do say the sweetest things, Your Highness,” I tease, trying to play down my nerves.
His eyes heat with my words before he tugs on my hand. “Come on. I have something else I want to show you.”
“Lead the way.”
Rhys is good at that.
Leading.
And before I know it, he’s led me right into the center of a room I’ve never been in before. Domed, floor-to-ceiling stained-glass windows line the walls leading up to... “Oh my God. Is that an actual throne?”
I spin around, just as my incredibly sexy husband lifts me from my feet and carries me down the long aisle. “Yes, my queen. They are actual thrones. Mine and yours.”
“Holy shit,” I whisper. “I can’t... I... Oh. My. God. Rhys,” I shriek. “I’m not a queen. I can’t be a queen. I can’t sit on a throne.”
Hysteria snakes its long, spindly claws into me as my vision tunnels.
“This was a mistake. I shouldn’t be here. I can’t sit there.”
Rhys sits me down on the bigger chair—throne—monstrosity—and kneels in front of me. “I’m going to need you to breathe, Bellamy.” He wraps a hand around the back of my neck and drags his thumb over my wildly beating pulse. “In through your nose, out through your mouth, love.”
