Royal Affair

A Princes of Danislova Novella

Copyright 2015 Alice Brilmayer

Smashwords Edition

All Rights Reserved

ISBN 978-1-940854-10-6

Cover Design: Talina Perkins, Bookin’ It
Designs

Digital formatting by Author E.M.S.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any
form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including
information storage and retrieval systems—except in the case of
brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews—without
permission in writing from the author.

This book is a work of fiction. The
characters, events, and places portrayed in this book are products
of the author’s imagination and are either fictitious or are used
fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is
purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

Copyright

Also by Alice Gains

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Epilogue

About the Author

Kiss the Frog

The Glass Slipper

Beauty Awakened

Royal Affair

After loving Friedrich VonRamsberg for over
forty years, Marta Damrov was finally kissing him. Or he was
kissing her. Who could tell? All that mattered was that the caress
outshone all her dreams with its sweetness and its heat.

Still tentative, he held her with one hand
loose at her waist. A miracle when he’d first touched her—now, it
wasn’t enough. She moved toward him, never separating their lips,
and ran her arms around his neck. She’d released him once from an
embrace and had kicked herself the ten years since. She wouldn’t
make that mistake again.

His breath hitched as if she’d surprised him
with her forwardness, but then he circled her with his other arm
and nestled her against him. Their lips parted in unison as the
kiss took on a life of its own. Her mind still registered the sound
of birdcalls as if from a great distance. Otherwise, the vineyard
around them disappeared from consciousness as a new reality
blossomed. Friedrich was kissing her. He wanted her. Perhaps he
didn’t love her as she did him. Perhaps this was no more than lust,
even at their ages. But they’d been friends for so long. They could
build from here. Finally. This time, she’d make sure they did.

Emboldened by the knowledge, she grazed his
lower lip with her tongue and pressed for entrance to his mouth. He
responded with a moan and pulled her hard against him. They fit
together so perfectly, her breasts full against his chest. Sexual
arousal—something she hadn’t felt for so long—wrapped its tendrils
around her, making her bones feel pliant. As if she’d fall if he
released her.

He ended the kiss but still held her, his
cheek against hers. His breath came in puffs at her ear, matching
her own struggle for air.

“Marta,” he whispered.

“Don’t.”

“Don’t?” He pulled back, his gaze searching
her face.

Just then, reality made a quick return in
the form of voices at a distance. They’d be discovered in a moment
if they remained as they were. He caught the sound, too, and
stepped back.

She nearly did stumble at the sudden absence
of his body but caught herself. Straightening, she smoothed her
hair and composed her face into a neutral smile as their visitors
came into view. Friedrich’s youngest son, Ulrich, and his Southern
belle, Dixie, emerged from the woods and headed between the rows of
vines toward them. From the looks of them—rumpled clothing and a
softness around the eyes—they’d engaged in even more intimate play
during their “walk” than she and Friedrich had a moment ago.
Clearly, there’d be a third royal wedding soon, to follow those of
Friedrich’s older sons, Dev and Kurt, who’d married their own
Americans recently.

Ulrich glanced around. “Kurt and Casey gone
inside?”

“Of course they have, silly.” Dixie nudged
Ulrich with her elbow. “They’re newlyweds.”

Friedrich cleared his throat, and his
normally dark complexion gave a hint of a blush. Marta remained a
few feet away from him and crossed her hands in front of her. What
should she say? Ask them if they’d had a nice walk, when they’d
clearly been naughty? Make some innocuous remark about the weather?
She settled on the latter.

“It turned out to be a lovely day, didn’t
it?” she said.

“Lovely,” Friedrich repeated.

Dixie studied them, clearly assessing the
situation. Ulrich, thank heaven, seemed completely oblivious.

“Say,” Dixie said a bit too loudly as she
took Ulrich’s hand and tugged. “Why don’t we check out the brandy
distilling equipment?”

“We did that this morning,” Ulrich said.

“I might have overlooked a few details,”
Dixie said. “Y’all won’t miss us, will you?”

“Not at all, my dear,” Friedrich said. “I’m
sure the monks will be happy to show you around.”

“Time’s a-wasting,” Dixie declared, and this
time she was successful in pulling Ulrich away.

Marta watched them go in silence, aware in
every cell of her body of the man standing beside her and his
too-stiff posture. Oh, no. He would not walk away from her again.
She wouldn’t allow him to.

Finally, the other two were gone, and
Friedrich turned to her. Before he could speak, she placed her
fingers on his lips. “Don’t.”

He moved her hand away. “You said that
before.”

“Don’t apologize,” she said. “That’s what
you were going to do, isn’t it?”

“Perhaps. Or explain myself.”

“Don’t do that, either. I don’t want an
apology
or
an explanation.” She steadied herself. She would
do this. “I want more kisses.”

For a moment, he seemed perplexed, simply
staring at her out of those dark eyes she’d admired for decades. He
opened his mouth to speak and then closed it.

Though her knees weakened, she stood her
ground. She might well have surprised him with her honesty. Women
of her age and upbringing didn’t speak so frankly about matters of
the heart. They hung back, hoping the object of their desire would
somehow fathom their needs and wants without anything more than a
sideways glance from the woman as a clue. She’d tried that these
last ten years with this man, and he’d either missed her hints or
decided to ignore them. He’d stepped over a line with this kiss,
and he’d ignore her no longer.

“I had no idea,” he said softly.

“You must have, Friedrich. You’re not a
stupid man.”

“Never underestimate a man’s ignorance where
women are concerned.”

“You must have noticed how much I…” All
right. Here, the correct words—desire, want—could prove impossible.
She couldn’t reinvent herself after decades of training in how to
act as a modest woman, after all. “…admire you.”

“You seem willing enough to dance with me,”
he said. “But then, for some reason, all women want to dance.”

“There’s a very good reason I like to dance
with you, and I imagine you can puzzle that out for yourself if you
try.” She stared up at him evenly. If she shamelessly stood there
and dared him with her gaze to admit the truth, he’d have to figure
out her meaning. She wanted his arms around her and the closeness
of his body. He’d have to realize she meant more—physical
intimacy.

“Oh,” he said after a moment. “That.”

“Yes, that.” Perhaps she’d engaged in more
difficult discussions in the past, although exactly when eluded
her. She couldn’t back down on this one. The last time he’d touched
her had taken place ten years earlier. She would
not
wait
another ten years.

“I thought…that is, that day at your
house…you didn’t seem…” His voice trailed off.

“You startled me.” The whole encounter had
come on suddenly and ended just as abruptly. His visit to offer
condolences and whatever support she needed. Exactly the same as so
many other visits she’d had—right up until the last few minutes
when he’d risen to leave. She’d seen him out, of course, her hand
on the door, as he’d bent to place his lips to hers. Then his
mumbled apology, and he’d left before she’d managed to utter a
word.

“It was too soon,” he said. “Your husband
had just died.”

“It wasn’t the right time, I’ll admit,” she
said. “Alexander’s harpy sisters were staying at the house. They
would have had a fit over any sign of improper behavior.”

“You seemed so sad. I only wanted to comfort
you.” He lifted a hand as if to touch her but let it drop back
down. “That’s what I told myself. I never expected to react
as…well, I did.”

She might have asked him how he reacted that
day, but the whole discussion clearly embarrassed him. Unfortunate,
that, as she planned to continue this conversation until it got her
everything she’d craved the last ten years.

“And were you comforting me just now?” she
said.

“No.” He blushed again, but at least he was
still talking, even if in monosyllables.

“There are no harpy sisters to keep us apart
now. It’s time we explored this thing between us.” Lord knew she’d
always felt that pull, all the way back to when she’d been hardly
out of the schoolroom and he’d been a dashing young prince. Too old
for her and completely out of her reach. How she’d dreamed.

If she didn’t live those dreams now, it
wouldn’t be for lack of trying.

“We should discuss this,” she said.
“Honestly and openly.”

“Men don’t discuss these things.” He blew
out a breath the way one might after being beaten over the head
with truth. “Especially not men my age.”

“That causes most of the world’s problems,
wouldn’t you say?” she said. “Men not discussing things.”

“We’re not talking about war.”

“I disagree.” She stuck her nose up into his
face. “What goes on between men and women is the oldest war in
human history. I’m tired of it. I want to negotiate a truce.”

“Marta…”

“For goodness sake, we’ve already wasted ten
years by not talking about this. I’m not getting any younger.”

He laughed. “Neither am I.”

Although Friedrich had a timeless quality to
him—the patriarch who never truly aged but became more centered,
more sure of who he was in relation to those around him, he’d never
grow old, at least not in her eyes. He’d remain the tall, strong
prince of fairy tales every girl dreams of. In the meantime, she’d
come so far in winning her heart’s desire. One more prompt, and
she’d have him.

“Well then…” she said.

He sighed. “I suppose you’re right. We need
to talk”

“Come to my room tonight,” she said.

“Here?” He gestured around him. “At a
monastery?”

“Unless you’d rather we returned to the
palace or went to a hotel.” Lord in heaven, had she actually said
that?

He raised his hands in surrender. “No,
here.”

“I’ll see you after everyone has retired.
And bring some brandy.” Before he could object or she could change
her mind and beg him to forgive her outspokenness, she turned on
her heel and headed down the path toward the main monastery
building. He’d come to her, and she’d turn a new page on her
life.

*

Friedrich VonRamsberg, Prince Royal of
Danislova—a widower with children old enough to make him a
grandfather—found himself skulking along the chilly hallways of a
monastery on his way to an assignation. Unless he was very much
mistaken, he’d have to tread carefully to avoid colliding with his
youngest son who, no doubt, was on a similar prowl at this very
moment. The whole thing smelled of Balzac or a ribald Italian
opera, especially given the flask of brandy and glasses he carried.
His heart hammered in his chest, and he listened carefully for his
own footfalls in case they’d give him away. Against the stones,
they made no noise, but surely anyone nearby would hear his
breathing.

This whole situation was ridiculous, and
he’d never have gotten himself into it if he’d controlled himself
in the vineyard that afternoon.

But then, Marta had looked so beautiful
among the vines with the sun shining down on her. Her laughter had
filled his heart. When she’d smiled at him with such warmth, he
couldn’t have torn his gaze away from her mouth. From there, the
fantasy of how her lips would taste had overcome him. He might not
be young any longer, but he was still a man.