Page 9 of Bred By the Emperor

“I don’t care who he is. He’s a man. He doesn’t touch you ever again, or he loses a hand.”

Julian pales visibly. “I see why they call him the Monster,” he mutters under his breath.

“He’s not a monster.” Louder, I say to my husband-to-be, “Julian doesn’t like women that way. You have nothing to worry about.”

Malakai turns his frightening green gaze to me. He seems about to say something and then stops. I can tame this beast.

“Julian has brought my wedding dress. If you will excuse me, I want to call my legal advisor and discuss the document you sent over with them before I sign it. Then we can have a wedding.” I pat his cheek and blow Malakai a kiss as I walk away. Julian hurries after me.

Chapter 8

Malakai

“The word for what you are, Dad, is pussy-whipped,” Kenton says. Maybe making him my best man wasn’t a smart move.

“Can’t be whipped when I haven’t had her pussy yet.”

“Jesus, Dad. I didn’t need to know that.” My son, dressed in a suit with a stupid blue boutonniere pinned to his breast pocket, stops spinning around in one of the conference room chairs, gets up abruptly, and sends it flying back, crashing into the edge of the table. He strides over to me, glaring.

“You’re the one who brought it up.” I shrug.

“I still can’t believe you’re doing this. You’ve known her for less than eight hours.”

“What kind of background research do you want me to do? She’s a princess. She already has access to any security documents.” I was surprised to learn how involved Liliviere is in her kingdom’s military. Such as it is. Mostly ceremonial. They send a token contingent of troops to the Empire as a gesture of good faith.

“You’re dishonoring our mother’s memory,” he seethes. “I can’t believe you’re the same man who lectured me and Zarek about loyalty.”

His words cut me to the bone. I’m not about to show him that. He and his brother don’t know what I sacrificed. They’ll never understand.

I know I’m being unreasonable. He has every reason to be angry with me. I’ve publicly humiliated my own son. I didn’t set out intending to, but as the saying goes, intention does not equal impact. And yet I’m so angry with him for talking about Princess Liliviere as if she’s a pretty object to be possessed, I can’t bring myself to find any sympathy for his plight.

He saw her for all of five minutes. They didn’t have any chemistry. We did. And even if Lili and I haven’t been in direct contact, we have been aware of one another for years. Orbiting the same space, if you will.

“What if she’s working with the rebels, Dad? Isn’t all of this a little too convenient?” he says.

“Nothing about this is convenient.” I push back my own chair and draw myself up to my full height. Looking my son in the eye. “Do you think I wanted to fall in love again?”

“Is that what you think this is? Love?” He scoffs. “Come on Dad. Admit it. You’ve lost your fucking mind.”

The slightest beat of concern pushes through the haze of my libido. What if he’s right? The idea that tiny, pretty Liliviere could be working with a violent rebellion, or worse, an assassin getting close to kill me in my sleep, is ridiculous. I’m almost intrigued by the latter possibility. She does have an unexpected inner strength. She has bent to my will, but not without asserting her own. That is what I find so appealing about her. She does not yield easily.

All of my blood goes rushing southward again. I can make her yield. Make her want to.

Kenton is just trying to throw cold water on my wedding because he’s jealous. He’ll get over it. Eventually. He’s going to have to. He can’t hate his stepmother forever.

We are interrupted by a knock at the door. I yank it open thinking that the time has come to walk down the aisle of the emperor’s private chapel. I’m wearing traditional Enovar ceremonial garb, which is generally something I try to avoid. I’d rather get married in military dress. But if I had to concede one thing to my aghast council, I decided clothes weren’t worth fighting over. A strategic retreat, if you will.

“Sir,” one of the men says, looking like he’s bracing for me to cut his head off. Bad news, then. “There has been a delay with the wedding.”

“What kind of delay?”

“Kellimarian law requires that any princess of the realm have permission of the ruler to marry. It’s a threat to the crown if she marries the wrong person.”

“Let me guess. Her grandpa finally woke up and decided I wasn’t a suitable match.”

My assistant confirms this with a terse nod. “He wants you to wait. Get to know one another a bit.”

“Too fucking bad. I’m not waiting a second longer than necessary.” After ten years spent in masturbatory exile, I’m beyond ready to claim my wife.