Into His Command (31 page)

I arched a brow. “Bet you didn’t get
that
from the queen mother.”

“Actually…I did.”

I followed her into the room, which turned out to be a sizable office. The space appeared
unused, however. No equipment on the desk or paperwork tacked to the bulletin board.
The computer and printer were switched off.

“So…about Samsyn and his blondes…”

“You mean his aversion to them.” She cringed as if accidentally spewing the
f
word. “Errr, I mean—until you, Your Majesty.”

Wasn’t like the same damn thing hadn’t fallen on me like a pallet of bricks. I just
thanked the crap out of the universe that I had tools to control my demeanor a little
better.
Ramrod spine. Tightened abs. Relaxed mouth.

I barely managed them all.

Until you.

What the hell did that mean?

“Ummm…is this your office, then?” I took a step in, pretending the blank walls were
as fascinating as the Louvre. Might as well have been. I was just as uncomfortable,
considering I stood there in nothing but a satin robe. The nervousness officially
worsened when Mishella blink-blinked back at me.

Gah. Not the blink-blink.

“This is not my office, Your Majesty. It is
yours
.”

I really would have preferred another minute of blink-blink.

“Mine?” I laughed and prayed she’d join me. No luck. “Look, I don’t really…I
can’t
really…I mean, I do everything on my laptop. All my certifications are online; I
do my kinesiology homework through the university’s web portal; I have an email and
some social media and—”

“Not anymore.”

“Huh?”

“Oh, I am certain your university courses will still be fine.” She said it as if the
rest was totally understandable. When I only gawked back, she continued more carefully.
“You are a member of the Arcadian royal family now, Your Majesty. You know what that
means, correct?”

“Well…sure.”
Bullshitter.

Mishella’s face tightened. Clearly, she saw through the bluff too. Great. Doe eyes
had fox smarts. Just my luck. She didn’t say anything, though. Simply flipped on the
computer—a newer model thing with a wide screen that made my geek side tingle—and
logged onto Facebook.
My
page on Facebook.

Thank God my tongue was attached, or I would’ve swallowed it. “Holy. Shit.”

“Hmmm,” Mishella countered. “That one is better than ours too.”

“I have nearly a hundred thousand followers.”

“Samsyn’s numbers are even higher.”

“Of course they are. He has a better ass.”

Finally, the woman laughed. Okay, so it was a snort with humor. Close enough. But
too quickly, she looked up, earnest eyes back in place. “Can you now understand why
we must consider every piece of information that is posted, tweeted, and shared?”
Mishella exhorted. “If you cannot see it from the public relations viewpoint, Majesty,
then look at it from the safety one. We still have no idea who murdered King Evrest
and Lady Camellia. Even posting something like a rant about your hangnails could clue
those animals in about getting to you and Samsyn next. They could disguise themselves
as your manicurist; get back in that way.”

“Shit.” My belly twisted. “You’re right.”

“I do not want to be, Majesty.” Her voice cracked. “I really do not. But those roaches
are still out there, and—”

“Okay, okay.” I soothed it in time to my hand on her back. “I get it.” I really did.
And the truth was, I should’ve been “getting it” more.

Ugh. I felt like a bitch-on-high for being so cavalier now. The woman was still mourning
her young king and his betrothed, while fearing the outlaws responsible for their
“deaths”. Being assigned to babysit me probably wasn’t her dream job but here she
was, making the best of it despite being tagged as Syn’s booty call, enduring snark
about the queen mother, and having her notepad snagged from her grip.
Wonderful
. How was I going to make her day in the
next
five minutes?

This, on top of the stellar little get-together with Syn’s parents yesterday, would
have me setting island records in no time.
Fastest queen to become a hideous meme, coming right up
.

It was time for a change. A fast one. I’d already married Samsyn with my heart. Now
I had to do it with my head. Become the queen he needed me to be. I could do that.
I could do
this.

Mishella stepped back. Dabbed the corners of her eyes while her cheeks flushed dark
pink. “I—I am so sorry, Majesty.”

I dipped my head, meeting her big watery gaze. “Because you’re human? And you actually
care about what happens to me, though you barely know me?”

Her lips wobbled upward. “You are so kind, Majesty.”

I bit my cheek to hold back what I longed to retort.
If you call me “Majesty” one more time, I really will post pictures of my hangnails.
But making her call me Brooke would be as good as yanking
her
nails out, then scratching them across a blackboard.

Become the queen he needs you to be.

“Aw shucks.” Going for the tease helped us both relax. “It’s all good, sweetie. Besides,
it’s not like all of this will be for—” So much for relaxing. “Uhhhh—for the Palais
newsletter.” I forced out a grin. “Right? We can’t put everything into it. We’ll have
to be selective.”

“The…what?”

“Come on. It’s a good idea.” Actually, it
was
. “We can include newsy bits about what’s going on around here…”

Her nose scrunched. “Such as Evrest’s and Camellia’s funeral?”

And this was me, being the queen Syn needed.

“After that, of course.” I drew myself up higher, feigning that I’d
meant
the exchange to go in that direction, before flashing another confidence-I’m-nowhere-near-feeling
smile. “So…why don’t you get settled in here? I really need to grab a shower.”

“Of course,” Mishella said. “While you are bathing, I shall select something nice
for you to wear.”

“No!”

“Pardon?” Once more she looked like the kid with the coal in her stocking.

“I meant…
no problem
.” I’d dodged coal but there
were
those memories of the popped Barbie heads. If letting Mishella dress me up for a
few days helped ease her transition into this new routine, I could live—
for a few days
.

Dear God,
I prayed.
Only for a few days, okay
?

‡

A
n hour later,
I emerged from the bathroom, turning left for the spacious dressing area Mishella
had already shown me. As I padded over heated floors and breathed air with a touch
of eucalyptus, I wondered if anyone would think it strange that the queen spent half
her days in the royal suite’s bathroom.

That was before the mirrors gave me a glimpse back into the master bedroom. And a
sighting of the man in one of the big leather chairs positioned in the corner, book
in hand, one ankle propped against a pinstriped leg. He’d taken off the big work boots
for now, giving me an advantageous view of that foot. It was hewn into graceful angles,
toes forming a perfect slant, dusted by just the right amount of dark hair along the
top.

Shit.

Samsyn Cimarron even had perfect feet.

I tried to turn the observation into something witty while making my detour complete.
My brain gave back zilch—especially as he looked up, gaze full of sun-on-sea blue,
smile full of moon-and-stars magic. I leaned against the doorway, simply staring back.
Drinking in every amazing inch of him. The pride in his shoulders, even while resting
in the chair. The sheen of the reading light on the top of his head. His hand on the
closed book in his lap. The gold band on it, gleaming against his burnished skin.

Mine
.

I let the sight of that ring seal the thought on my mind…just for a few moments longer.
Didn’t feel a drop of selfishness about it either. Moments were all I had…when I could’ve
said it forever.

“
Bon sabah
, wife.”

If his eyes were the sunlight on the sea, his voice was the foam: smooth and gorgeous,
belying strength just beneath the surface. It sent sparkling energy through every
inch of me. Tilted a girlish grin to my lips.

“
Bon sabah
yourself, husband.” I stole a glance into the living room. “Where’s Mishella?”

“Off to get you some brunch. I thought you might be hungry.”

“You thought right.” Tickled little smile. He took such good care of me. “Thank you.”

He slid the book to a circular side table, taking his very sweet time about speaking
again. Well, sweet for
him
. It was agony for me, having to stand there and simply watch him, when I craved to
rush over, climb into his lap, feel his arms close around me, huge and safe and warm.
After a few minutes of that, I’d open my robe, letting his luxurious clothes slide
against my bare skin…

When my breath hitched, he cocked his head. Steepled his fingers. “What is going on
in that brain of yours?”

I licked my lips. The truth probably wasn’t a good idea, but he’d detect a lie from
me in a heartbeat. He always did. “That you look too damn good to be in mourning.”

He rested his chin atop his fingers. “Imagine that. I was just considering you with
the same thought.”

“But I’m—” I gestured at my wet hair, the bulky robe, my bare feet.

“My point exactly.”

Inner swoon. Fluttering heart. And other parts…simply pulsing. I shifted my weight,
praying for an ease between my legs.
Rookie move
. The squirm only gave my pussy a nice massage, tempting my clit to come out and play.

Innocuous subject matter, don’t fail me now.

“What are you reading?” My eyes widened when he tilted the book up. “
Call of the Wild
? Seriously?”

“Making up for my teenage antics.” He shrugged. “I missed out on many good stories.”

“
You
had teenage antics?”

He chuffed. “To a degree.”

I sat on the bottom corner of the bed. “When did you have to grow up?”

His gaze narrowed. His brows hunched. He actually seemed confused.

Time to take the reins.

“Samysn…when did you learn both your parents were having affairs?”

He stabbed his stare to the floor—just before bracing his feet and bolting up. I reached
for his hand, already curled into a fist. I didn’t care. Hung on as much as I could,
battling to work my fingers beneath his—

Until his violent evasion. His brusque pivot from me. I’d expected both—but didn’t
know what to think about his doomed man’s walk toward the terrace, slow and measured,
echoing in the room like a funeral drum. The last time he’d stunned me like this had
been at the Temptina Bridge, when we’d almost kissed. Had that been only ten days
ago? Had I really looked at him so differently? Had
I
been so different?

Yes had never been a more appropriate answer.

Just when I thought he’d escape outside again, he stopped. Spread his long arms across
the double French doors. The late morning sun streamed in around him, imparting the
effect of a newly arrived dark angel.

Or maybe a departing one.

“I was eighteen.”

For a second, his calm cadence was startling. Then I remembered what always happened
to my own voice when speaking of the night Rune Kavill burned down my home. Only emotional
distance made the feat possible.

“That’s…young,” I replied quietly.

“I certainly did not think so,” Syn returned. “I was a cocksure little
bonsun
who thought it would be more fun to sneak around at midnight with my friends than
study for my secondary school finals.”

I smiled a little. It was too easy to envision a Samsyn on the cusp of manhood, already
starting to bulk up a little. In Vermont, he easily would’ve been the star quarterback,
letterman’s jacket on his back and prom queen on his arm. As a prince of Arcadia,
he was the cut-up of the royals, saved from responsibility by the sheer luck of his
birth order—and reveling in it.

“So you did,” I affirmed.

“So I did.” He turned from the window, scraping his hair back. “And we did what every
self-respecting bunch of
gencrients
would do.”

My smile lifted again. “You went for the girls.”

“Persuaded them to come ‘walk’ with us in the gardens, yes.” He returned to the chair
though barely perched on the seat, bracing elbows to his knees, lacing his fingers
again. “Tryst and I broke away from the others, hoping the sisters we had been courting
would follow.”

I grabbed the chance for some levity. “‘Courting’?” I giggled. “Really?”

He shrugged. “Passing notes in class. Saving seats at breaks. Calling A-Rock and making
anonymous dedications. The usual.” He cocked a fresh frown. “Right?”

Contemplative hum. “Trade the walk through the garden for a loop around the mall,
and you have the same thing in America. So…” I spread my hands. “Yeah. Right.”