[Christina’s POV]
Parliament has never smelled more like justice. Or possibly my own vindictive satisfaction. Hard to distinguish between the two when you're about to destroy the woman who stole your entire life.
I stand before the assembled lords with Hunter's evidence spread across the prosecution table like a feast of betrayal. Financial records. Correspondence with Montclair ciphers. Testimony from three servants who witnessed secret meetings.
Lady Maryanna Valdren sits in the defendant's chair, spine rigid as iron. She still thinks she can survive this. Remarkable, really. Delusion elevated to an art form.
"The charges before this chamber are severe," I announce, my voice carrying without effort. "Sedition. Conspiracy against the crown. Nineteen years of systematic theft from the royal treasury."
The evidence presentation takes two hours. I watch Maryanna's composure crack incrementally with each document, each witness, each damning detail she thought buried forever.
Her lawyers attempt objections. I counter with more evidence. They try procedural delays. I produce authenticated signatures. They appeal to her decades of distinguished service.
I remind them that service doesn't excuse treason.
The verdict comes swiftly. Guilty on all counts. The chamber falls silent as I rise to pronounce judgment.
"Seizure of all Valdren assets, effective immediately." My voice is ice. "House arrest for the remainder of your natural life. Permanent banishment from court and all royal functions."
Maryanna's mask finally shatters completely.
"You stupid bitch!" She lunges forward, guards catching her arms. "You think you've won? The Montclairs have secrets buried in palace archives that would destroy you!"
I maintain my neutral expression through sheer force of will.
"Daniel Cromwell's name appears in places it shouldn't!" She's screaming now, dignity abandoned entirely. "You don't know the half of what they've done! What he's done!"
The guards drag her toward the doors. Her accusations echo off marble walls, poisonous and desperate.
"Ask him about twenty years ago! Ask him what he was doing when your mother died!"
The heavy doors slam shut. Silence descends like a physical weight.
Vivienne is arrested next. She goes quietly, too shocked to mount her usual theatrical resistance. Her influencer empire crumbles in real time as the news spreads across social media.
I leave Parliament feeling hollow rather than triumphant.
My phone buzzes in my pocket. Hunter's message glows on the screen: It's done. Are you okay?
I stare at those words. Remember his mouth on mine. The way my body betrayed me completely. The brief, fierce kiss I've been trying to pretend never happened.
I don't respond.
Daniel arrives at my chambers that evening carrying victory I desperately need to feel. His grey-green eyes warm when he sees me.
"You were magnificent today," he says, setting the bottle aside. "Watching Maryanna finally face consequences—"
I kiss him before he can finish. Hard. Demanding. Needing something I can't name.
He responds instantly, hands finding my waist, pulling me closer. "Christina—"
"Don't talk." I'm already working his buttons. "Not yet."
His shirt falls away. My fingers trace familiar planes of muscle, nails raking down his chest. He groans into my mouth, the sound vibrating through my bones.
I need this. Need him. Need to prove that what happened with Hunter was nothing. Stress. Sleep deprivation. A moment of weakness that meant absolutely nothing at all.
Daniel lifts me without warning. My legs wrap around his waist as he carries me toward the bed. The urgency between us crackles like electricity seeking ground.
We fall together onto silk sheets. His mouth finds my throat, teeth grazing my pulse point. I arch beneath him, desperate for more contact, more sensation, more proof that I chose correctly.
"You're shaking," he murmurs against my skin.
"Adrenaline." Not entirely a lie.
He strips my clothes with practiced efficiency. Each piece falls away until I'm bare beneath him, eighteen weeks of pregnancy visible now in the soft swell of my belly.
Daniel pauses, palm pressing flat against where our future grows. "Beautiful," he breathes. His thumb traces gentle circles on my skin.
The tenderness almost breaks me. I pull him down, kissing him hard enough to bruise. Tenderness isn't what I need tonight. I need consumption. Obliteration. Complete erasure of everything except this moment.
His fingers find my center, sliding through slick heat. I'm already wet—arousal and desperation tangling together until I can't separate them. He strokes once, twice, thumb circling my clit with devastating precision.
"More," I gasp. "Now. Please."
He doesn't make me wait. One smooth thrust and he's inside me, filling me completely. My back arches off the mattress. My nails dig into his shoulders hard enough to leave crescent-shaped marks.
The pace he sets is relentless. Each thrust drives deeper, harder, claiming me completely. The headboard crashes against the wall in a rhythm that matches my racing heartbeat.
I wrap my legs around him, heels pressing into his back. Take everything he gives. Demand more than he knows how to refuse. His cock hits that devastating spot inside me with every stroke.
"Christina." My name sounds like worship on his lips. "God, you feel incredible—"
"Harder. Don't stop."
He obeys without hesitation. The intensity spirals upward, pleasure building in waves that threaten to drown me entirely. His thumb finds my clit again, circling in time with his thrusts.
My inner walls clench around him rhythmically. The tension coils tighter with every movement. I'm climbing toward something explosive, something that might shatter me completely.
The orgasm crashes through me without warning. I cry out, back arching violently. Stars explode behind my eyes. My entire body shudders with release, waves of pleasure radiating outward endlessly.
Daniel follows seconds later, groaning my name as he spills inside me. His hips stutter against mine. His arms tremble with the effort of holding himself above me. I feel him pulse within me, hot and claiming.
We collapse together, sweat-slicked and breathing hard.
I cling to him like he's the only solid thing in a spinning world. My fingers grip his shoulders. My face presses against his chest. His heartbeat pounds steady beneath my ear, grounding me.
"Our future," he murmurs eventually, stroking my hair. "After coronation, we'll figure everything out. The announcement. The baby arrangements. Whatever you want."
"Whatever I want," I echo quietly.
"Anything." He kisses my forehead with devastating tenderness. "I meant what I said. I'm not going anywhere."
I chose Daniel. I chose this. The kiss with Hunter meant nothing.
I repeat it like a prayer until I almost believe it. Almost.
But Maryanna's words echo in the darkness. Daniel's name in places it shouldn't be. Secrets buried in palace archives. Questions about twenty years ago.
About when my mother died.
Daniel's arms tighten around me. Safe. Warm. The man I trust with everything.
The man who might be hiding something terrible.
I close my eyes and pretend to sleep. Pretend I'm not wondering. Pretend the foundations beneath my feet aren't shifting again.
Hunter's kiss meant nothing. Maryanna was lying. Daniel is exactly who he seems to be.
I repeat all three until exhaustion finally claims me. But the doubts follow me into dreams, and so does the ghost of Hunter's mouth on mine.
Some lies are easier to tell than others.
________________