I can feel the exact moment Gen lets go—the pleasure pulsing around my cock, my name torn from her lips—and I let myself come with her, both of us lost in our shared need for one another. Both of us desperate for this final connection.
Because nothing is guaranteed tomorrow.
After I pull out of her, I lower my head to her soft belly and watch my seed spill down her thighs. This cannot be the end of us. I cannot lose tomorrow.
“Kieran.” Gen’s voice is only a shred of what it was moments ago, a whisper where a shout had been.
“Yes, my darling,” I answer.
“I can’t lose you. I don’t know how I’ll survive it. Come back to me.”
I want to promise her I’ll beat this, that I’ll fight my way back to her no matter the cost. But she knows the stakes. She knows exactly what I’m up against, and I won’t give her false hope.
Instead, I tuck her beneath the covers and draw her close. “I’ll love you always, Gen. No matter what happens tomorrow.”
Before the darkness fades to silvery dawn, I leave my love’s side, knowing my fate is no longer with hers.
47
Kieran
The air buzzes with anticipation as the warden walks me toward the front of the courtroom. People gawk and whisper as I pass, making no effort to hide what they think of me. I keep my gaze fixed ahead, unwilling to be distracted by any of them.
Still, my eyes drift to the seats behind me. Gen promised she’d be here, supporting me through this. Leland sits there, giving me a reassuring smile—but Gen’s seat is empty. She didn’t come. After all her promises between kisses, her word feels like a bitter falsehood. In fact, none of the Ashcroft family is present, neither on my side nor across the aisle. A numbness settles over me, and my lawyer gives me a stern nod as we take our seats.
The judge enters and we rise. I try to focus on his words, but a ringing builds in my ears as the reality sinks in: she isn’t coming. I sit mechanically, barely aware of the motion, until a steady hand presses my shoulder. I turn to see Leland.
“She’ll be here,” he murmurs. “I know it. Just wait.”
My throat bobs and I give him a curt nod. His attempt at reassurance does nothing to ease my nerves.
The judge begins reading the accusations against me. A gnawing dread settles in my gut as I realize there will be no second chance. Penelope has likely barred Gen from attending.
At last the list of charges ends, and the judge addresses me. “How do you plead?”
The words leave me in a quiet rasp. “Not guilty, Your Honor.”
He turns to the jury and, in full view of the court, says, “The queen has a special interest in this case and wishes the verdict read by day’s end. I trust you understand what that means when she makes personal requests.” The jury—a group of blueblood aristocrats by the look of them—offers solemn nods of understanding. One of my lawyers mutters a curse under his breath.
Our eyes meet. We both know this will be near impossible to win—not with the charges stacked this high, not without proof of my innocence, not with a judge and jury already leaning toward guilt.
The prosecutor calls his first witness, a man I don’t recognize. From his manner and clothing he’s clearly a servant, a fact that becomes even more evident as he recounts his version of Gen’s alleged abduction.
“And did the princess resist his advances?” the prosecutor asks.
The man nods. “Yes. She went to him, possibly to say goodbye, but he snatched her up with his own two hands and dragged her into the carriage. She fought back, but Prince Leland ordered us to stand down, so we did. Before we knew it, the carriage was gone.”
A ripple of gasps spreads through the crowd. The distortion of events spirals into something comically diabolical, painting me as some rogue redblood out to harm the princess. Leland is made to look like a dithering accomplice, a puppet working at my side to help me get my hands on Gen.
Finally, my lawyer steps forward for cross-examination. He questions the servant about Gen’s body language toward Leland, how she behaved as she approached the carriage, and why, if this was truly a kidnapping, he didn’t inform the palace immediately.
To that question, the servant replies, “I’ve seen enough in the palace to know when to keep my head down and my mouth shut.”
The audience laughs—servants are notorious gossips—and my lawyer points out that if the man truly feared for the princess’s safety, he would have alerted someone about the kidnapping.
A few jurors nod in agreement, and a thin thread of relief loosens in my chest.
Next, our team calls Leland forward. He’s a prince, a powerful blueblood; surely his word must carry weight with this jury.
