“Now it’s your turn,” I husk. “Come down here.”
She turn around, her movements a little awkward. I’m not interested in waiting, so I grab her knees and spread them wide. Her lower lips spread, giving me unbridled access to her most intimate parts. She squeaks softly, probably feeling a little awkward being exposed like this, but I’m not too worried about her emotions just now.
“Cup your breasts,” I command, ducking my head low. She sucks in a breath and does as I ask, mmming at the sensation.
I start kissing my way up her pale, creamy skin, just inside her knee. My hands touch her inner thighs, sliding up as I trail my kisses toward her pussy. She moans softly and shivers, bucking just a little. I look up at her, catching her eye.
My dark brow descends. “You are so beautiful, Margot.”
One second I’m about to go down on Margot, the next second I am awake and sweating.
Where am I, exactly?
I manage to focus my eyes and see that I’m in my bedroom at the palace, naked against the thousand dollar silk sheets of my bed.
“Fuck.”
I close my eyes, trying to recapture the dream. But it’s like trying to catch fog in my cupped hands; the dream slips away and I’m left feeling a twisting kind of loneliness.
Margot is gone.
I left her behind in New York.
And I’m here by myself, almost four thousand miles away, the scent of her perfume still teasing my senses. Groaning, I cover my face with a satiny pillow and try to go back to sleep.
Chapter Three
Stellan
Don’t react. Just keep your facial expression smooth and untroubled.
I’m sitting at one end of a very long dining room table, looking at the coffee cup in front of me. I am being lectured on responsibility for about the millionth time; I learned as a child to school my expression into a troubled frown and look at some object that’s just out of reach.
God. Why am I even here? I know I messed up. But my mother and father, the queen and king of Denmark, are sticking to their world tour. They are busy; my four siblings are off doing god knows what with god knows who.
Why won’t my grandmother just let this scandal die?
But I can answer my own question. As the oldest child of Goran and Thora Løve, I should expect to inherit the crown someday. There are endless expectations and responsibilities that I’m responsible for… things that even my closest family and friends don’t know about.
“I don’t even think he’s listening!” Prime Minister Finley, the prime minister of Denmark, growls at me.
He stops to brush a fleck of lint off of his dark gray suit, shaking his head. He tsks and tuts; with his fake blond hair and his preening posture, reminding me of nothing so much as a prized cockatiel.
As of today, he’s an angry cockatiel. He puts his hands behind his back, pacing back and forth. Several other members of my private cabinet have been brought to Amalienborg Castle to watch this act of Finley’s. To watch and learn as Finley scolds the golden boy prince.
They sit at the opposite end of the table, looking at least as bored as I am. This isn’t new, the summoning of multiple people to witness my dressing down.
My grandmother watches everything from her seat by the window, her keen blue eyes picking up on everything she sees. She clears her throat gently and picks at a phantom thread on her pink Chanel suit. A tendril of steel gray hair has escaped from her chignon. No one says anything about it, though. Just like no one is fooled by the fact that she isn’t speaking.
We all know who really has the power in this country, and it isn’t the absentminded king or the ridiculous prime minister.
“The entire reason you were sent to New York was to do one simple interview. And what do you do instead? You go and cause a scandal!”
He walks over to the table and points a long, pale finger at the tabloids that are spread out over it. My face is splashed on every last one, as is the same shot of a very harassed-looking Margot leaving my hotel.
PRINCE STELLAN HAS ONE NIGHT STAND
ONE MAGICAL NIGHT WITH THE MAN WHO WOULD BE KING
