Page 26 of The Royal in Room 3

Disappointment landed in my stomach as I followed him.

“Sex is a possibility if that’s what you want,” he said. “But not penetrative tonight. We have too much to discuss and get through. If you still want to after that, I can make you come in other ways.”

I grinned, perking up as he led me into the dining room, where a rectangular wooden table sat beneath a chandelier with a black metal frame curved around a wide wooden ring. Candle-shaped bulbs glowed warmly inside it, reflecting off the polished wood and casting a soft, intimate light across the room.

It wasn’t grand or covered in crystal like any of the ones found in the several dining rooms used for different occasions at the palace, but I found it far more charming.

“Sit,” he said, pulling out a chair for me. “I’ll be right back.”

Jude made a couple of trips to the kitchen, bringing back a large bowl of spaghetti with a generous amount of red sauce and meatballs, as well as garlic bread, salad, and grated cheese in a small dish. Sparkling water with lemon filled our glasses to complete the meal. It was no seven-course meal the way the chefs prepared our meals in Belvaria, but very few things in this place were like my home country, which wasn’t necessarily a bad thing.

“This smells lovely,” I said. “Do you have a chef who makes your meals?”

Jude laughed. “What would I need with a chef? I live alone, and when I have a sub, we share the duties.”

“Oh.” I stared at the table, where the meal looked simple, but I doubted I could put it together. Would he change his mind about me if he knew how helpless I was in the kitchen?

“Tell me a little bit about yourself, Soren,” he said. “You have a foreign accent that I can’t place. Where are you from?”

9

JUDE

Soren sparkled when he spoke of his home country, a place called Belvaria that I’d heard of before but about which I knew very little. From the way he described it, it sounded beautiful in an old-world sort of way, with mountain towns, stone palaces, blue lakes, and traditions that seemed interesting. He spoke fondly of the summer festivals, the royal family, and the villages that still looked as though they belonged in another time. He hadn’t mentioned why he left, and I didn’t want to pry so early into our relationship, which he hadn’t confirmed yet, though it was safe to say from his presence that he was on board.

“My brothers and I used to sneak off to the lake for a swim,” he said, all but forgetting he’d been eating. “Once, my eldest brother, Marcel, almost drowned while saving our brother Thaddeus. My father was furious and wanted to ground us, but my mother convinced him that it would be best for us to have swimming lessons. I was terrified of the water then, but now I love it.”

“We can take a walk on the beach after, if you want.”

“Really?” The wistful look on his face disappeared, replaced by an earnest expression. “I’d love that.”

“Of course.”

Either Soren was excited to go for a walk on the beach, or he wasn’t all that hungry, but soon I took the plates away. I brought dessert over to the table—a slice of tiramisu that I did not know enough about cooking to make—and the pages of the contract I’d tailored for us.

“Wow,” he said, flipping through the pages. “That’s a lot.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll go through each section with you, so you understand what you’re getting yourself into.”

We worked through the contract slowly, pausing whenever Soren had a question. I explained what I would be responsible for as his Daddy—guidance, structure, honesty, patience, and making sure he always felt safe enough to speak up. His responsibilities were simpler: communicate with me, respect the boundaries we agreed on, follow the rules we set together, and tell me when something no longer felt right.

The section on discipline took the longest.

“I don’t want anything humiliating,” Soren said, tracing one finger down the page. “And I don’t want to be ignored.”

“Then neither of those things will happen.”

He considered the list before agreeing to extra chores, loss of privileges, writing reflections, and being sent to sit quietly in a corner for an undetermined amount of time, depending on the severity of the offense. A spanking was something we ruled out after he admitted that he found it a turn-on, so it wouldn’t be effective.

“Punishment is meant to correct something and help you do better,” I said to him. “If it ever feels cruel, then I’ve failed, and if it’s turning you on, then you won’t learn your lesson.”

“That sounds fair.”

By the time we reached the final page, the tiramisu was finished. He stared at the signature line for a long moment, then looked up at me.

“What is it?” I asked, sensing his hesitation. “Is there something you want to change?”

“One thing,” he replied. “I don’t want to sleep alone in the guest bedroom. Can’t I sleep with you once you’re my Daddy?”