“You’ve worked so hard,” I murmur.
“Doesn’t matter.” He rubs his brow. “Franz knows. I suppose his father told him. I have enemies in the government. They would do anything to stop me from taking more power. If they found out I was a fraud—”
“You’re not a fraud!” I shift to my knees to face him.
“Aren’t I?”
“You’re the best possible choice for Crown Prince; you know that. Benedict,” I cup his face, “you’d make a great king. You’re amazing and responsible and… this country can’t do better than you. You have my vote,” I joke awkwardly.
He huffs. “I just don't know what else I can do. I've jumped through every hoop they've put me through. Like a trained show dog.”
“So what does this mean? What would happen if your enemies found out?”
“They’d most certainly issue a challenge to my succession.”
I bite my lip. I don't pretend to understand New Arcadia’s complicated government, but I’ll try for Benedict’s sake. “What happens then? A duel, right? Can it be a schnitzel eating contest?” Stop trying to joke, Frankie.
“No.” He sounds so tired. “Nowadays, it’s a lawsuit. But even that is bad for the nation. Especially now. Once my aunt’s pregnancy is announced, everyone will be waiting with bated breath to make sure she gives birth. Securing succession is of the utmost importance. Insecurity is bad for financial markets.”
“God forbid the financial markets get their feelings hurt,” I grumble under my breath.
That wins me a tired smile. But it drops away all too soon.
I can’t fix this. I wish I could. “What can I do to help?”
“You are helping.” He turns his head and kisses my palm, his five-o-clock shadow rasping on my skin. I shiver. He keeps kissing, moving to my wrist, up my arm. My heartbeat quickens. I shift to straddle his lap so he can reach more of me. “This,” he murmurs against my skin. “I need this.”
Yes. I can't change the facts but maybe I can make him feel better.
I let him kiss down my neck, to my collarbone, before pushing him back and unbuttoning his shirt. This time he doesn't make a move to control me or my movements, and I take advantage of that. I spread my hands over his chest, admiring the muscles sprinkled with a few coarse dark hairs. “When do you even have time to work out?” I dip my head and kiss his collarbone. I kiss downward until I reach his belly, working at his belt at the same time.
He lets me take his cock out but tugs me upwards so I'm straddling him. With a firm grasp on my hips, he grinds me down over the hard length of him. I angle my hips so that it rubs the right spot, gasping as my arousal blooms in every corner of my body. My panties are wet. He rucks up my skirts, hooks his fingers in my underwear, and rips them off with a snap. I fall on him with a moan, my mouth slanting over his as he guides himself inside.
Even though I'm on top, he controls my movements with his hands on my hips. I rock over him, hungry for friction. His dick drags over my G-spot and I come, convulsing over him. After that, he makes me slow down, lifting me up and dipping himself carefully into my slick channel until I'm shuddering. I grab his shoulders, trying to force him to go faster, and he only slows his movements further like we’re moving through honey.
“Come with me,” he says against my mouth. He pumps his hips, slamming deep. My body tenses, and we gasp and go over together.
We lie against each other for a moment, panting. The light from the movie plays over Benedict’s face. He looks relaxed, at peace.
“Frankie,” he murmurs in the afterglow. His voice is full of meaning only I can understand. I’ve never felt so close, so intimate, with another person.
Later, we go to bed, and he falls straight to sleep. But I lie beside his slumbering form, staring into the velvety darkness.
Benedict told me his deepest, most wretched secret.
One day, I’ll tell him mine.
Chapter 12
Frankie
I wish we could stay inside and make love all year, but the show must go on. On Monday, we hold a press conference to express our dismay at the trespassing photographer. Daniel words our statement cleverly, so we sound properly solicitous of the man’s injury. On Tuesday, Benedict has a ribbon cutting for a new library. I’m photographed reading to the children. On Wednesday, we have more ceremonial duties, and make an appearance at a diplomat’s dinner party. And so it goes.
Benedict and I spend a lot of time being cute together in public. In private, we say very little. Some cuddling. Light conversation. We don’t mention Benedict’s secret again.
On Friday night, I’m in the dressing room with the hair and make-up artist, getting ready for yet another ball.
I hear voices outside and straighten my slumped shoulders. One final spritz of hairspray, and the stylist pats my shoulder.
I turn to face the door just as Daniel opens it. He’s wearing something only he could pull off—a sleek tux with an extra fancy cravat-like tie, secured with a brooch.
“Doing all right?” Daniel sweeps his keen gaze over me.
On cue, I curl my lips up. I’m tired of playing a polished, pore-less future duchess but I have to fake it.
“Oh, darling.” He saunters into the room. He’s holding a walking stick with a silver tip. The ornate metal matches the brooch. “You have to do better than that.”
“I’ll smile when I’m at the ball,” I grumble, and smooth down my poufy pale blue princess dress. “How do I look?”
“Perfect,” he says. “Except for one thing.” He hands me a smooth white mask.
“A masquerade?” I ask, startled.
He steps behind me to fasten the ties. “Indeed.”
Benedict swoops in, looking suave and handsome as usual. His black on black brocade mask hides the extra lines around his eyes that appeared this week. “You look lovely.”
“Thank you. So do you.” I glance at the mirror. The woman looking back at me is a stranger. I bite back a complaint—I wish I could stay home tonight, and rest. I touch my mask to straighten it and end up pushing it askew.
Daniel starts to move forward and Benedict holds up a hand.
“Allow me.” He adjusts the mask carefully, and touches my lips. My lipstick is red as deadly berries.
“I’ve never been to a masquerade.”
“We take off our masks at midnight,” Daniel says.
“Do we ever really take off our masks?” I murmur. Both Daniel and Benedict raise a brow. The movement makes them look startlingly alike. One dark, one pale, but there’s a similarity in their features. I’m not sure why I didn’t notice it before.
“Are you all right?” Benedict asks in somber tone.
“Don’t mind me.” I wave a hand. I’m feeling especially fragile today. Brittle. Benedict shared himself with me, and it awoke something between us. Something beautiful and new. But raw.
I got a glimpse of Benedict, the man he is in private, but since our audience with the queen, he’s back to being the duke.
The duke offers his arm. “Shall we?”
This week, we've played our parts with flawless protocol. The queen has announced her pregnancy, and this ball is to celebrate it. She'll be in attendance.