Page 3 of Bred By The King

Holly. Shit. He’s massive. Easily six-five, broad as a damn doorway, with huge muscles pushing against his dark ceremonial uniform. He has short-cropped blond hair, icy blue eyes, and a ruggedly handsome face that sports his infamous permanent scowl. Asshole’s all straight nose, full pink lips, square jaw, and cut cheekbones. Ugh, kill me now!

As he walks toward us, I notice Soren of Vinterfjord moves like a soldier, not some pampered royal. Straight, powerful, fucking commanding. And the closer he gets, the more our size difference hits me… My knees go weak. Actually weak. Like, might-collapse weak.

“Breathe,” Monique whispers behind me. “You look like you’re about to faint… or come,” she ends even lower.

I stifle a giggle. “Shut up.”

Soren shakes my father’s hand, then turns to me. His fingers completely swallows mine. And I feel it all at once: warm, strong, calloused. A warrior’s hand. And he holds on…

Then greets me, “Princess,” in a low baritone.

Jesus, I’ve heard this man speak in interviews too many times to count, hated myself for enjoying the deep notes of his voice, and I’m realizing now that was nothing compared to the real thing… His voice is low with a touch of gravel that travels straight between my legs.

“King Soren.” I manage to keep my tone flat. “Didn’t think you’d actually show up.”

His full lips twitch, blue eyes twinkling. “I aim to surprise.”

His eyes drag over me. Blue as a bright summer sky, with thick, short lashes, and the shine of the ocean over the horizon. Slowly. Deliberately. From my increasingly heating face, to my ample chest, to my full hips, then back up. It feels like he’s undressing me. And my traitorous body is very responsive to his scorching gaze. I’m getting wet. Embarrassingly so.

My father clears his throat, cutting through our staring contest. “Let’s get you settled, Soren.”

The ride to the palace is pure fucking torture. Soren sits across from me in the royal limousine, his thick, muscular thigh taking up half the space of the vast bench, his stupidly big arm brushing mine every so often. He smells like clean soap, aftershave, and a darker note underneath I’m sure is all him. Simple, masculine. Ridiculously sexy.

I squeeze my thighs together and stare out the window, trying not to think about what that massive body would feel like over mine. Pinning me down. Stretching me open. What the fuck, Layla?!

“You okay, princess?” My seat companion asks in a low rumble, the melodic notes of his Scandinavian accent rolling through his words.

“Fine,” I reply between gritted teeth.

The corner of his stupid, sexy mouth lifts. How is this man so fucking big, rugged, terrifying, and pretty at the same time?! “You look… bothered.”

“It’s hot.”

“Is it now?” He cocks a thick eyebrow as his eyes drop to my chest, where my stupid nipples are hard against the fabric of my dress. Fuck. Me. “Could’ve fooled me.”

I kick his shin, but the brute doesn’t even flinch. He just smirks. Asshole. Hot, terrifying, makes-my-pussy-clench asshole.

God, I’m in trouble.

Three

SOREN

Layla of MeliTar in the flesh is… fuck. I don’t even have words. Curvy every-fucking-where my eyes land, her gorgeous skin glowing in the sun, brown eyes looking like they want to fucking stab me. Her hand in mine was warm and… not soft, not the feel of a delicate flower. It was a warrior’s hand. And her perfume… fuck. She smells sweet, spicy, and something else that makes my cock hard enough to pound nails.

I adjust myself in the car while she stares out the window, pretending she doesn’t feel the tension between us. But I know she feels it. And it’s driving me fucking insane.

* * *

The royal palace of MeliTar is bright and open, nothing like our stone fortresses back home. White walls, wide, carved arches, and light coming from everywhere: the tile, the water beyond the terrace, the stone under my feet.

They give me a suite with a balcony overlooking the sea. The view is gorgeous. The marine air, the clear sky, and bright water… I can understand why my ancestors never wanted to let go of this land.

I change out of my formal uniform and into a fresh dress shirt and slacks, and head in the direction they pointed on the way to my rooms.

Tariq and his advisors are already in the spacious meeting room. With Layla sitting at her father’s right, arms crossed, looking pissed and gorgeous.

I take the seat opposite her.