2
It had been a very long time since a woman had kissed Frederick.
A very, very long time.
And never in this kind of situation.
Frederick threaded his fingers through the hair at the base of Elise's neck as the kiss grew in intensity.
But before things started to take a turn they shouldn't, he pulled back, resting his forehead against hers.
Neither spoke for several long seconds.
"I probably shouldn't have done that," she whispered.
"Probably not." But he didn't let her go. "But I'm not mad you did."
"So you won't throw me in the dungeon when we get to Southern Santiero?"
Frederick's eyes were still closed, but he could hear the smile in her voice. "No, I won't throw you in the dungeon. I have security staff to do that for me, should the need arise." Would she take the comment in the lighthearted way he intended?
"Don't wanna get your hands dirty, huh?"
Her amusement was obvious, but something about the words hit a nerve. He let his hand slide out of her hair as he rolled ontohis back. "No. I won't get my hands dirty." Rolling even further, he stood up and went through the door into his dressing area.
His fresh clothes had been laid out, waiting for him. Normally, he didn't feel the need to lock the door behind him. This time, he stared at the lock then decided Elise wouldn't be so bold as to walk in while he changed. After splashing water on his face, he scrubbed it with a towel. He should probably shave, but that seemed like too much work.
Quickly changing into a pair of slacks and a long-sleeved button-down shirt, he went back into the bedroom.
A sense of disappointment flooded through him as he realized Elise had left the room.
Rather than exiting into the main cabin, he sat at the desk in the bedroom, opening the window shades so he could see outside.
Not that he had any idea where they were. Below was blue ocean as far as the eye could see.
Frederick knew he could turn on the screen within reach and discover for himself how long they had left in the flight, but he realized he didn't care that much. The steward would tell him when they had about half an hour left. Until then he needed to get work done.
He tried, he really did, but Frederick accomplished absolutely nothing.
Except reliving the moments immediately after he woke up.
What he told Elise was the absolute truth. He had very little physical contact with anyone in any sort of intimate setting. The intimate contact didn't need to be that of a lover, though that was part of his long-term plan - and not just because he was expected to marry and have at least two children.
By intimate contact, he simply meant hugs or claps on the shoulder or any sort of contact at all. His father had never been overly demonstrative. His mother had held him as a child,reading books together or even during the rare movie night. As he grew, the snuggle sessions, of necessity, became fewer and farther between, but she always gave him the best hugs.
Until a week or so after his father passed.
In the space of a single breath, Frederick went from a son to a king.
For the first week, not much changed, but after his father's funeral, his mother began to grow more distant, walled off. Frederick suspected it had to do with the fact he'd become king and one simply didn't hug a king.
Before long, his mother moved out of the palace and to a dowager's cottage on a small island on the other side of the country. As part of an island-wide resort, she had everything she needed at her fingertips - and none of the paparazzi. She came to visit a couple of times a year plus holidays, and when he was in the area, he'd stop to see her.
But it wasn't the same.
Finally, he decided he wouldn't get any work done, especially with the Internet access down for some reason.
Rather than asking the steward to bring him something to drink, Frederick left the sanctity of his room and headed for the galley. To one side, Elise had turned a chair so she could look out the window without having to look at him.
