Crown of Thornes : a modern day royal romance Read online

  I never asked for any of this. I didn’t ask for my life to be put on public display or for a king instead of a father. I didn’t ask for that king (and father) to be dying, leaving me to take his place long before I was ready. And I sure as fuck didn’t ask to spend the rest of my life with some woman I probably wouldn’t even like.

  “People don’t want a king without a queen, Sutton. They want stability. You have one year.”

  How the hell was I supposed to manage that?

  I’d needed a drink, and the wine cellar was on the other side of the kitchen. That’s when I saw her and lost all sense of rational thought. I stood at the kitchen door and watched the cords of my fate wrap around a blonde goddess with my kryptonite flowing through her veins. All I knew was she was there, and I was here, and there was entirely too much space between us. I didn’t even give a shit that she was obviously one of the kitchen staff, and that was one of the ten commandments of being royal. Thou shalt not fuck the help. I wanted her with a ferocity like I’d never known before.

  Her platinum blonde hair fell over her shoulders and down her back like strands of silver woven strictly for the sake of being wrapped around my fist. The jeans she wore hugged her curves in a way that made me want to trace every one of them with my tongue. And when she peeked over her shoulder to look at me, I was drunk, fucking intoxicated on her beauty. Her bright blue eyes pierced through me. The deeper she looked, the more I saw. Hidden behind the blue abyss was a pain threatening to climb its way to the top, a sadness for a life she’d never asked for.

  We were the same.

  It was like time, space, and gravity all existed for this moment. All I saw was her. All I heard was her. All I felt was her. It felt… life-changing.

  Then she opened her mouth, and every syllable that spewed from it was laced with animosity for a crime I had yet to commit. My brain took every one of her anger-fueled words as a challenge. She was determined to be strong, but I would own her. I would bend her until she broke.

  “Sorry, Your Highness. But that doesn’t belong to you.”

  She might as well have spit in my face. Fury ripped through my veins, hot and swift. She was going to pay for that little remark, and I was going to love making her scream.

  The Ambassador’s Room practically sparkled with its pristine white walls, marble floors, and crystal chandeliers the size of statues. Opulence. It was my mother’s favorite word. I always told her that if she’d look high enough in her family tree, she’d find King Midas perched on one of the golden branches. Thornebridge Castle dripped in wealth, from the guard’s shack at the entrance to the guest villas on the back acres.

  The silky sounds of a cello drifted through the sea of guests waiting for their moment to rub elbows with the king. I tuned out the chatter and let the strings sing to me—their voice deep, sensual, and dark—just like my mood. I leaned against the back wall with a glass of scotch in my hand as I watched the people float around the room, forcing laughter and faking smiles. An older man in a tuxedo walked past, a woman with diamonds dripping from her ears latched onto his arm. I raised my glass and smiled, amused at the fact that less than a week ago I’d seen him with a beautiful brunette—and it wasn’t the one wearing his ring.

  Marriage. So, this is what I had to look forward to.

  We were only two weeks into spring, and I was already waiting for winter. We didn’t entertain nearly as much in the winter. I had nothing against the parties… or the people. Lately it seemed that with every party came more questions. With more questions came the stark realization that one day soon this would all be mine.

  The night a storm caused a tree to fall on top of my father’s car, we found out he had cancer. Post-accident, routine examinations and blood tests turned into visits from oncologists. Stage four pancreatic cancer. Apparently, we’d completely skipped over stages one through three, and there was no stage five. Dad went from living a normal, healthy life to the world of the terminally ill—straight from the frying pan into the fire.

  We were expected to put on the appearance that everything was fine. Hope for the best, prepare for the worst. That’s what they kept telling us. It worked for a minute, but people were starting to catch on. Their king was making fewer public appearances, especially during the months of chemo. His normally fit figure had lost most of its muscle mass. It was getting harder and harder to keep making excuses.

  Normal sons got to say goodbye to their dying fathers with heartfelt conversations and tear-filled memories. Nothing about our relationship was ever normal. I got to watch my dad die from the other side of a conference table in an assembly room full of people. Our private conversations involved going over protocol and to-do lists rather than hugs and endearments.

  You were born to be powerful, not to be pampered.

  If the wages of sin were death, then the cost of privilege was solitude.

  I was about to be the king of a nation, and I’d never felt more alone.

  “Sutton.” My father waved his hand at me from across the room.

  I made my way across the oak parquet floor, past servers handing out hors d’oeuvres on silver platters, making eye contact with everyone else along the way. Always make eye contact, but never for too long. Don’t appear to favor one person over another. It was one of the many rules that had been ingrained in my mind since birth. I sure blew that one to shit in the kitchen a couple of hours ago. Then again, I never was good with rules.

  Dad stood, tall and proud, near one of four arched openings in the room. Even in his illness, my father looked every bit the king that he was, his stature intimidating and his smile welcoming. I knew the woman standing beside him… and exactly why he’d called me over.

  I gave a polite bow of my head when I reached him. “Dad…”

  “Have you met Julianna Bellarosa?”

  The petite brunette smiled, and her perfect teeth flashed brightly against blood-red lips. I reached for her hand, which she gladly offered, then kissed the back of it. “Not formally, no,” I answered.

  The rest of the world knew Julianna as the daughter of Prime Minister Bellarosa of St. Carina, a neighboring country off the coast of Italy. Everyone knew her family the same way everyone knew mine. I knew her thanks to a nude selfie she’d sent to Ashton Messini that ended up going viral. Their relationship didn’t last three months, but the screenshots lasted forever. He sent that shit to everyone in his contact list. I didn’t blame him. She had great tits. Now everyone knew it.

  “Nice to meet you, Julianna.” I dropped her hand but held her eyes.

  My father took a sip of his scotch then nodded toward a group of men in a far-off corner. “Excuse me a moment. There’s someone I need to speak with.” He set his glass on a passing server’s tray and walked away.

  “He’s not great at subtlety,” I said, hoping my grin helped her relax a little.

  She returned my smile. “It’s okay. I think we both knew it was coming.”

  Julianna got that look in her eyes, the one that only saw used condoms and dollar signs. Too bad, princess. I don’t fuck strangers. The last thing I needed was someone crying wolf and claiming to have the prince’s baby, or worse, saying I’d taken them against their will. I was all for the occasional blow job here, or hand job there, and maybe if the woman was lucky, I would return the favor with a good finger fuck. I may have been a prince, but I sure as hell wasn’t charming. Unless that stranger had sapphire eyes and a mouth that made me crave the taste of her so bad my nuts ached.

  I sucked her goddamn finger in a crowded kitchen for fuck’s sake. I never let my guard down, but for this woman I would drop that shit like a bad habit. Then my father would kill me… after he disowned me and burned my crown.

  I needed a distraction, and Julianna was it. “I need another drink. You coming?” I asked.

  She moved closer to me, stopping with her lips on the edge of my ear. “I think it’s obvious what our parents hope will happen here. So, why don’t we go to your room and give
everyone what they want.”

  I kept my focus straight ahead, politely smiling at the many faces across the room. My dick reacted to her suggestion, but I made sure the rest of my body didn’t. “Is it? What everyone wants?” I tilted my head to face her.

  You have no fucking idea what I want.

  Her eyes fell to my mouth. “You tell me…”

  She was dripping. I smelled it.

  Beautiful. Rich. Wet.

  She wanted me, and all I could seem to think about was cupcakes and long blonde hair.

  Three

  Music echoed through the Great Hall—soulful, powerful, intimate—like a calm voice luring me to follow it. Except I knew where it led, and I wasn’t going anywhere near that gala. Mama would be there, at the queen’s side, laughing and smiling and fitting in. He would be there, deceiving innocent people with his unmistakable perfection, pretending he was every bit as noble as they all believed.

  I knew better.

  Even if I gave into temptation and followed the seduction of the cello into the Ambassador’s Room, I wasn’t a guest, so I didn’t have an invitation. I wasn’t technically staff, so I wouldn’t be working either. In my world, it was another typical Friday evening with my blanket, a glass of wine, and the beautiful words of Thomas Hardy.

  The library was solemn at night, which didn’t mean much because it wasn’t exactly a hot spot during the day. The rich, dark wood shelves, burgundy walls, and a spiral staircase with an intricate iron banister made it seem almost churchlike, holy. No one ever really came to the library. For the most part it sat here in the middle of the West Wing like this great majestic secret—quiet and solitary—almost as though at one time it had been destined for greatness then left abandoned. If rooms had souls, mine and the library’s would be the same.

  I scanned the shelves like I didn’t know exactly where Tess of the d’Urbervilles was.

  “Is it true?” A gruff, masculine voice made me jump.

  Keaton found me. Not that it was hard. If I wasn’t in the kitchen or my villa, I was here. The rest of the castle didn’t concern me.

  I spun around, coming face to face with the polar opposite of Sutton. Keaton was rugged where Sutton was smooth. Sutton was the ocean, and Keaton was the forest. The only thing they had in common was their eyes, piercing seas of blue-green that saw into the depths of my soul.

  I met Keaton my first day in the library. He’d shown up with a cupcake, making jokes about there being a file hidden inside. I was immediately sucked in by his mischievous smile and killer man-bun-and-beard combination that said look at my pretty face, but don’t you dare effing touch me. He spent the next three weeks shamelessly flaunting his muscles and flirting his way right into my panties. Keaton didn’t need to bring me a file in a cupcake. He was my escape.

  His shift must have ended because he’d changed from his uniform into jeans and a white polo that looked like it would split at the seams if he flexed his biceps. A rogue curl from his dark, shoulder-length hair fell in front of his eyes. Anger rolled off him in waves. Forget the book. I grabbed his hand and walked us to a long, leather sofa in the middle of the room.

  “Is what true?” I sat down then parted my legs, allowing him to move between them.

  “They’re saying he wants you. They’re saying he touched you… that he fucking tasted you, Katie. Like a goddamn sample flavor at Ben & Jerry’s.”

  It was only a matter of time before Keaton found out about what happened in the kitchen. People loved gossip, and people loved the royals. More than anything, they loved gossip about the royals.

  I scooted to the edge of the sofa and reached for his belt. “He doesn’t want me.” I looked up at him as I unfastened the buckle then the top button of his jeans. “And he didn’t taste me. He tasted caramel.”

  It just happened to be on my finger. Inside his mouth. Bathed with his warm tongue.

  The music from the gala grew louder, drowning out the sound of me pulling on Keaton’s zipper. He closed his eyes, his breath growing more rapid. “Tell me you don’t want him.”

  His thick cock strained against the fabric of his tight boxer briefs. I pulled the elastic band down and set it free, licking my lips at the sight of it. Keaton wasn’t my boyfriend. I didn’t date, and neither did he. We didn’t text each other with heart emojis or talk about our plans for the future. He served in the Royal Guard, and I was a good distraction from all the crap he dealt with.

  “I don’t want him,” I said as I curled my fist around his length and began to pump.

  “Jesus, Katie,” he said through gritted teeth.

  The only light in the room came from a solitary lamp by the sofa and the glow of the moon through stained-glass windows. It was almost romantic. Only it wasn’t. Because this wasn’t about romance. This was about two people who enjoyed getting lost in each other after a long day, and I really needed to get lost right now.

  I brought my mouth to him, licking the dewy droplets from the tip of his cock. Keaton threw his head back and groaned. I fisted him harder. Faster. My tongue traced the rim of his thick head while the tips of my fingers slid behind him, between his cheeks and into the crack to tease his tight hole.

  “Fuck. I’m coming. Open your mouth.”

  I opened my mouth wider, welcoming him inside. His hands grabbed a fistful of my hair while his hips thrust forward. He came with a loud growl. Hot liquid coated my tongue, and I savored the feeling. He needed this. I needed this.

  Keaton slowly pulled away then dropped to his knees in front of me, cupping my face in his hands. “Let me stay with you tonight.” His voice was soft. Gentle. Pleading.

  “You know that’s not what we do.”

  “Why?” His tone grew louder with each word that followed. “Why can’t it be what we do?”

  I swallowed hard. Because I don’t want to be stuck here. I didn’t want to be trapped in a world where I didn’t belong. My heart couldn’t handle another pregnancy scare.

  Things weren’t always like this between me and Keaton. We used to have sex. Lots of it. We’d both agreed it was only casual, that it would always be casual. Until I’d missed my period (due to stress and exhaustion, I later found out) and everything changed. That was over a month ago, and we hadn’t had sex since. We still stole moments now and then. We still helped each other escape. We were simply more careful now. I was happy with the way things were. Why couldn’t he be happy too?

  “I want more,” he continued as though he was answering my unspoken question. “I want more than blow jobs in the library or hand jobs in the bathroom. I want you, Katie.” He leaned his forehead against mine. His breath danced across my face. “I want us.”

  There was no us. We never agreed there would ever be an us. We’d always been on the same page. This was not Keaton talking, it was his jealousy.

  “Is this because of today? Because of what people are saying? Is it some kind of pissing contest? Because I swear—”

  He closed his eyes and cut me off. “This has nothing to do with Sutton Thorne.”

  I placed my hands on top of his, prompting his eyes open again. “Good,” I said even though I didn’t believe him. Then I kissed the tip of his nose. Kissed one corner of his mouth. Then the other corner. “Because he doesn’t matter. This…” I kissed his lips. “This is all that matters.”

  He smiled against my mouth. “I taste me on you.”

  I kissed him again.

  Keaton licked the seam of my lips. “And I fucking love it.”

  I moved my hands into his thick brown curls as he parted my lips with his tongue. For a split second, something caught the corner of my eye. I glanced over Keaton’s shoulder right as he slid his tongue over mine. That’s when I noticed the door… wide open.

  I could’ve sworn it was closed five minutes ago.

  Her name was Katie. At least that’s what he called her.

  Right after she swallowed his dick.

  I never went to the library. Nobody ever went to the fucki
ng library. Which was exactly why I went to the library. I needed to put some distance between me and Julianna, between me and my dad, between me and the rest of the world right now. No one would look for me in the library. I never imagined that she would be there. And I damn sure wasn’t expecting to see her pouty, pink lips wrapped around some other guy’s cock.

  It was wrong to stand here and watch, but I was infatuated with her, with her hands and her mouth and the way her eyes grew dark the minute she tasted him. The darkness that lurked in the depths of my soul bared its teeth. That should be me. Jealousy, rage, and curiosity all blended together in a raging, boiling, and dangerous cocktail. It should’ve been me fucking her mouth. My fists wrapped in her hair. My cum on her tongue.

  She stirred my demons, and I hated it. I hated that she took my power to shackle the green-eyed monster called jealousy and held it in her tiny little hands.

  I leaned against the wall right outside the library and waited. Maybe it would be her, or perhaps him, but one of them had to come out sooner or later. God help us both if it was her.

  It was him.

  He walked out still tucking his white polo shirt into his jeans. Motherfucker. Of all the dicks in Torryn, Katie had to suck the one that belonged to Keaton Valetta, royal guard and resident badass. I didn’t mean your everyday, run-of-the-mill badass either. Keaton was a House Guard, the head House Guard. That made him King Badass, for lack of a better word.

  Fan-fucking-tastic.

  Fuck him… and his occupation. The only person I bowed to was my father. Keaton may have been ex-military—all the guards were—but so was I. Consider it part of my Future King Deluxe Training Package. Two years in Torryn’s military. I stood up straight and pretended I hadn’t been hanging around like a groupie at a Harry Styles concert.

  Keaton bowed his head as he approached me. “Your Royal Highness,” he said through a forced smile.

  “Keaton,” I replied, throwing an arm over his shoulder. He tossed me a curious glance.