him, chuckling when he doubled over. "Yes, it is. Now I really do need to go."
They called goodbye, sitting down at the table to finish their breakfast. For a moment I wanted to stay, joining them for a chat and linger over coffee.
The urge to ditch my duties was strong, nearly overpowering.
You are Queen, Kit. You don't have that option.
I suppressed a sigh, straightened my shoulders. "And Mother?"
"Yes, darling?"
I grinned, throwing her a wink.
"I give you permission to plan the entire event."
She smiled, her eyes twinkling. "Then I expect Victoria and I shall have a rather busy day ahead."
Jonathan
National Arboretum, Sommerland Park
"Ah, it appears the Queen has arrived." Patrick threw me a side-eye. "Were we expecting her after last night?"
I watched Katherine enter the room, noting with approval, and no small amount of relief, her additional guards.
"I expected it. And if you didn't then, honestly, I'd question your political prowess, Pat. She's going to want to send a message after last night. The attack won't derail her."
"Strength and might. I can get behind that."
No. Resilience and fortitude. Perseverance and responsibility.
While I'd not doubted her commitment to presenting a 'business as usual' face, I had to admit surprise at her appearance.
Except for a slight darkening under her eyes, the Queen looked no different than any other day.
"A consummate professional," Patrick sighed, admiration clear in his voice. "Do you think she'd ever renounce the throne and consider a run for the Prime Ministership?"
I snorted, shifting to give him my driest stare. "Never. But it's nice to know where your loyalties lie."
He grinned, slapping me on the shoulder. "Unlike some men, I'm not encumbered by such meaningless trivialities as loyalty and mateship. You and I are of the same ilk. We're out to win."
I glanced back at Katherine, my body tightening as the crowd around her began to grow.
"Perhaps winning isn't all it's cracked up to be."
Patrick started, choking on air. I slapped his back, perhaps slightly harder than I should.
"Not all it's… Jonathan! What the fuck are you saying? This is all you've wanted for years."
I lifted one shoulder in a dismissive gesture. "Perhaps last night changed my priorities."
"More like you have a concussion and none of us realised. I'm calling the doctor. We can't leave this to chance."
I waved him off, focussing on our Queen.
My Queen.
She made her way gracefully around the room, ensuring each of the attendees got a slice of her time.
This is what she does. This is what you will have to reconcile.
Her days would forever be the people’s.
But her nights?
Mine. All mine.
I wanted to kiss her brow, soothe the tension I saw hiding there. I wanted to brush the stray hair from her cheek even as I guarded her back, providing another layer of protection.
As if sensing my thoughts, Katherine raised her head, her eyes meeting mine across the room. For a moment our gaze held, and I saw something I hadn't ever expected— desire.
Then the moment was gone, disappearing behind the collegial mask of meaningless banality that she wore.
Lust flared, my body humming, my cock thickening as primal triumph fired my blood. A near overwhelming desire burning in me to walk across the floor and claim my Queen.
"Patrick?"
"Mm?"
"Call a caucus meeting for tonight. I have something I need to do immediately."
He frowned. "What’s that?"
I turned away, striding for the door, the priorities of my day shifting. "Resign."
10
Jonathan
Private Dining Room, The Royal Palace
The woman across the table considered me over her wine glass. She'd greeted me with the same ready warmth that she offered to every person she met, but I wanted more.
I want lust and love. I want desire and flushed cheeks. I want glassy eyes and panting breaths. I want her under me. I want her nights and her days.
I want her heart.
My cock pressed against the fly of my slacks, hard and insistent. It'd been so since the moment I'd walked in the room.
My Queen had dressed for seduction.
She rarely wore her hair down in public, but tonight her long locks flowed like silky midnight water down her shoulders, and over her breasts and back. She'd occasionally brush a stray lock away from her face, the ends trailing along the swells of her breasts before being discarded.
Yet another thing she rarely revealed in public. In fact, while most of her outfits were dresses or nicely pressed slacks and tailored blouses, the Queen rarely revealed her figure—often being compared to a primly dressed school marm. Rare were the times she showed any decolletage, and, casting