“Sheena Davenport,” Millie said.
Ele automatically reached her hand out before the name registered. She jerked her gaze forward and met the warm, shining eyes of Tristan’s favorite sister. Her light-brown skin was the exact shade of Tristan’s, but her face was peppered with freckles. Her gorgeous, spiraling hair cascaded around her.
Ele spent her life on the fringes. As a child, she had been coddled and sheltered. When she made it to school age, the notoriety of who she was had already been ingrained into the little hearts and minds of her peers, so she never knew if the offered friendships were genuine. It had made relationships difficult. But there were people she observed, people she immediately wished she could get to know in a meaningful way. Perhaps knowing the woman in front of her was important to Tristan made her feel as if she wanted to connect with Sheena Davenport, but Ele thought it was more the old soul residing in the depths of the laughing eyes that spoke to her.
“A pleasure to meet you,” Sheena said. She didn’t tack on any of the royal entreaties, and somehow, it made her all that more endearing.
“No,” Ele practically gushed, “the pleasure is mine.” She lowered her voice, her excitement making her conspicuous. “I have heard so many wonderful things about you.”
“Oh,” Sheena commented with a look of surprise. “We aren’t pretending.”
Ele glanced around, a habit. “Did you want to?”
Sheena’s hand came to her chest. “I think you might have taken me by surprise.”
“I wouldn’t think much surprised you.”
Sheena threw back her head and laughed. It was a husky, joyous sound, probably indulged at will. “You would be right,” she finally responded with sparkling eyes. “I was prepared to hate you a little bit.”
This time, it was Ele who was taken by the candidness. “Why?”
The light dimmed in Sheena’s eyes, and Ele felt the loss. “Because you are going to break his heart.”
“I …” Ele wanted to look away.
Sheena’s head tilted to the side. Something like compassion washed over her features, softening her. “Or maybe not.”
Ele nodded. “Or maybe not.”
Then, Sheena’s arms were around her, and Ele was engulfed in a tight hug. Her gaze met Millie’s startled one, and then Ele closed her eyes and let herself be comforted by Tristan’s sister.
“He chose well,” Sheena said softly before she released Ele. She bowed her head. “Your Highness.”
Ele took it for the respect Sheena intended it, and damn if it didn’t make her feel like she could walk on water. She was giddy and impatient. She hadn’t seen Tristan since they shook hands at the ceremony, and she didn’t think she could wait any longer.
“Millie.”
It must have been written on her face or apparent in her tone. Millie merely nodded and led the way out of the room. Ele didn’t bother to look for Jamie or Juliana. She didn’t care about protocol or really anything else.
The click of her shoes marked time and space, every step taking her closer to him. Millie opened the door, and Ele walked in, anticipation making her impulsive. But then she saw Tristan leaning casually against the back of one of the couches, his arms crossed over his chest. And her world narrowed to just one person. She hesitated in the doorway, not knowing how to move forward. Instead, she drank him in, from the top of his head down to his shoes. When her gaze returned to his face, he smirked.
“Are you going to come any closer?” he asked with a tilt of his head.
“I suddenly don’t know what to do.”
His smirk melted into a familiar smile. “Take a step, E.”
She did. And another. Then, she ran and threw herself at him. His arms wrapped around her, and he pulled her in until there was no space between them. Her head nestled under his chin. She’d expected heated kisses, but instead, they merely held on to each other, equally afraid if they let go, they might not get another chance.
She lifted her head, her eyes locking with his. Her hands cupped his face on both sides, and she brought his head down, so their lips met. It was a brush, a light, delicate taste.
“I missed you,” he exhaled, the vibration of his words a different kind of caress.
“I missed you so much.”
The declarations freed something in both of them. The heat followed. Their mouths met in a searing kiss, full of regrets and promises. Ele took everything she’d hated leaving behind. She devoured his mouth, teeth clashing, lips bruising. Tristan’s hands moved from behind her back. They swept over her body with a veracious hunger. He ended the kiss, his mouth moving down the column of her neck, leaving shivers in his wake. Ele leaned into his touch, still plastered against him. His hands gripped her hips, and he squeezed.
“Turn around, Your Majesty,” he demanded against her collarbone, his teeth nipping.
Her eyes fluttered closed, and she flipped around, his command like an erotic prod. His mouth landed on the nape of her neck. He bit down and then soothed her with an open-mouthed kiss. Ele’s hands landed on the back of the couch, seeking an anchor.
“Tris,” she said belatedly as her head dropped, chin to chest.
He pushed the long sheath of her dress up, over her hips.
“Not … Your … Majesty,” she said inanely, like the wrong title mattered. But she could hardly hold on to thoughts.
“Your Majesty,” he said again, more definitively, right before his fingers invaded her body.
“Ah,” she sighed.
“Need to be inside you,” he whispered. “Can I?” His mouth settled on her ear, and his hands snaked around her waist, holding her in place.
She didn’t think anything could make her want him more, but his hesitation, his question, catapulted her feelings into some sacred stratosphere. “Yes.”
She heard the crinkle of foil. Then, he was inside of her, and she was lost, floating in the place she occupied with Tristan. It was quick and dirty and the most incredible moment of her life because as Tristan’s hands held her, she realized she was with who she needed and wanted. Tristan Davenport was a tattoo, forever branding her as his.
Tristan held her until they both stopped shaking. Then, he helped her clean up and straighten up. He turned her around and gently kissed her.
“Always Your Majesty,” he said.
She met his gaze and shook her head, smiling. “Wrong title. And you know I don’t want you to address me formally.”
He kissed her again. “Always Your Majesty because you, Ele, you are my queen.”
29
4 August
Celebration Gala
“How long have we been here?” Ele asked.
“Probably too long,” he answered honestly.
Ele was tucked up under his chin, her head resting on his chest, and his arms were wrapped around her. The chair was rubbish, probably some sixteenth-century heirloom, with a stiff back and a hard seat, but Tristan would stay in it for hours if he could keep her right where she was. His hand crept up her back, diving into her hair before nestling on the nape of her neck. She sighed at the contact and wiggled in deeper. Tristan chuckled.
She began to extricate herself, and Tristan felt the loss. As she sat up, her hand slid along his jaw, and she stared at him, memorizing him maybe.