Page 11 of Wedding Night In The King's Bed

His usual aides surrounded him as they walked, and he nodded along as they filled him in on things that had happened during this long day of celebration that required his comment or signature or merely his attention. When they arrived at the King and Queen’s apartments, half of the entourage peeled away and took Helene with them, so that they might prepare her for the next part of the evening.

As was tradition.

Yet there was something in him that wanted to stop them. That wanted to dismiss all the staff, and carry his own wife into his own bedchamber, then strip her out of that gown of hers with his own hands—

But that was not how things were done. And he was not going to start making up his own rules now. That would spit in the face of all he’d attempted to do since he’d taken the throne and, sooner or later, make him no better than the people he least admired.

So he allowed her to be borne off without him, little as he liked it. Then he tried his best to focus on the things his staff were telling him as he strode into his rooms, casting off his own wedding garments as he went.

But focus did not seem to be available to him. Not today.

And it was a relief to dismiss them soon after, so that he could stand there in nothing but his shirtsleeves and his trousers low on his hips, allowing himself a small bit of liquor that he had decided was permissible long ago.

It was one more thing he would not deviate from now, no matter the provocation.

The Fiammettan Royal Palace was a standing pageant of its own history, much of it starring Gianluca’s own family. He had grown up here. He had played in all of these rooms, even when instructed not to, and so he knew exactly which doors separated him and his wife now. He could even guess which rooms her aides were moving her through. Readying the new queen for the King’s royal pleasure.

And he was glad, then, that he had taken this moment to himself, because there was a howling thing in him—that brazen hunger—that he was just as happy to keep to himself. So that he might wrestle it under control here, alone, when no one might suspect it lurked within him.

So that he could pretend it did not.

He and Helene had talked about their wedding night, obliquely. He was well aware that in some marriages like theirs, sex was not assumed. That it was something to be worked up to, or perhaps suffered through when necessary.

But he had walked with Helene on a late summer evening out in the garden her mother had planted and had seen the way she’d blushed when she’d nodded and said that all things considered, she was perfectly happy to do things the traditional way.

His mouth went dry even now, remembering it.

Gianluca told himself it was perfectly reasonable to wish to enjoy this particular part of his duty. For he would execute it either way. If he had found himself a woman who flinched at his touch, well, they were both lucky that they lived in a time where intimate touch was not necessary to build the required bloodline a king needed.

But he did not think that was going to be an issue.

When he heard that faint tap at the door at last, and then the sound of it opening, he waited for one beat, then another. He heard her quick, light feet in the hall, yet still he stayed still, his eyes out a window he hadn’t looked through once tonight.

Almost as if he was not entirely sure what his response would be.

Or if he could control it, more like—

But then he stopped trying. He turned.

And she stood before him at last.

His wife. His queen.

His Helene.

They’d taken down her hair so that it waved riotously over her shoulders, but still did not conceal the fact that they’d been left bare. That she wore another bit of soft white, but this one cascaded from tiny straps all the way to the floor and was just transparent enough. Just enough, so he saw the hint of the ripe swell of her breasts and got his first taste of the curve of her hips.

One taste was all it took when her eyes were so wide and so gold, and the smile that she aimed at him seemed to resonate deep within him.

He crossed to Helene and finally took his bride into his arms, then fastened his mouth to hers.

This time, there was no one watching them, so Gianluca stopped pretending that he could control any of this.

And so he let himself go.

CHAPTER THREE

THERE WAS NOTHING in the stretch of Helene’s life, quietly blooming or not, that could have prepared her for the look on Gianluca’s face just then.