I was living someone else's fairytale, and the masquerade was killing me.
The palace was golden with celebration. Tapestries hung from every balcony, wine flowed like water, and nobles smiled at me with the kind of approval reserved for those who'd done exactly what was expected of them.
I wore the pendant not as a candidate anymore, but as Prince Luka's chosen consort.
"Princess Penelope!" Lady Meredith practically glowed as she approached. "You look radiant. Absolutely radiant."
"The prince can't take his eyes off you," Cordelia added with a delighted giggle. "It's so romantic."
Luka was indeed glowing, his attention warm and open in a way that made the court sigh with satisfaction. When he kissed my hand in public, his fingers lingered just long enough to make the gesture intimate.
When he spoke to the nobles about our future, his voice carried genuine pride.
"She'll make a remarkable queen," he told Duke Aldric during the afternoon reception. "Intelligent, graceful, with a strength that complements rather than competes."
To everyone else, this was a fairytale. The beautiful princess who'd captured the prince's heart, the political alliance wrapped in romance, the promise of a golden future.
That evening, he took me to a private balcony dinner overlooking the kingdom. Candles flickered in crystal holders, casting dancing shadows across the silk-draped table.
The view was breathtaking, the entire realm spread out below us like a tapestry of lights.
"Look at it," he said softly, his hand covering mine. "All those people counting on us to make the right choices. To bring them peace."
"It's beautiful," I replied, and meant it.
"We'll change everything together, Penelope."
His thumb traced across my knuckles with gentle reverence.
"End the conflicts, strengthen the alliances, build something that lasts." He turned to face me fully. "I can't imagine doing it without you."
When he brushed my cheek with his free hand, his touch was tender. When he kissed me, it was soft and sincere, the kiss of a man who genuinely cared, who saw a future in my eyes that he wanted to claim.
I didn't pull away. I kissed him back, tasting wine and promise on his lips.
His mouth moved over mine again, deeper this time. The kiss lost its polish—no longer the kiss of a prince to his betrothed, but of a man who wanted more than a political bond.
I felt it in the way his hand slid from my cheek to the back of my neck, in how his thumb brushed the sensitive spot behind my ear.
My lips parted instinctively beneath his, and he took advantage of it, tongue teasing gently, coaxing mine into a slow, sensual rhythm.
My heart thundered, confusion twisting inside me. Because it felt good.
Different than Rios—less commanding, less consuming—but so good. Gentle. Safe.
There was something deeply seductive in being wanted like this, not as a lesson, not as a test, but as a woman to be cherished.
Luka’s fingers trailed down my arm, then slipped beneath the tablecloth, his palm settling warmly over my knee.
“I’ve wanted to kiss you like this since the moment I saw you,” he said, voice low, breath brushing my cheek. “But I didn’t want to rush you.”
My lips were still tingling. “You didn’t,” I whispered.
“Then let me give you something.”
I opened my mouth to ask what he meant, but he was already standing, taking my hand in his. His smile was soft, almost boyish, but there was heat simmering behind his eyes.
He led me inside, through carved glass doors, into a candlelit antechamber off the royal suite. Velvet drapes rustled as the breeze followed us in.
My breath caught as he kissed me again, firmer now. Hungrier.
His hands slipped around my waist, pulling me close as my body instinctively molded to his. My back hit the cool stone wall, and the contrast made me gasp against his lips.
He deepened the kiss.
One hand slid down, cupping the back of my thigh, lifting it slightly to press me closer. His other hand skimmed up the curve of my spine, splaying across my upper back through the sheer fabric of my gown.
Every point of contact ignited sparks beneath my skin.
“I want to make you feel good,” he murmured, lips trailing along my jaw, to the hollow of my throat. “Let me, Penelope. Let me show you how much I want you.”
My breath hitched when he dropped to his knees.
My hands caught the edge of the wall behind me as I stared down at him—Luka, heir to the throne, worshiping me like something sacred.
His hands slid up my thighs, pushing the silk of my gown higher, higher, until it gathered at my hips. The cool air hit my bare skin, making me shiver, but it was nothing compared to the way his lips pressed against the inside of my thigh.
Soft. Slow. Worshipful.
His mouth trailed higher, tongue teasing against sensitive skin, and when he finally reached the apex of my thighs and kissed me there—truly kissed me—I gasped aloud, my hands flying to his shoulders for balance.
He moaned softly, as if just the taste of me was enough to undo him.
I was already wet, already aching. His mouth latched around me, his tongue moving in slow, languid strokes that made my knees buckle.
He steadied me, strong hands gripping my thighs as he pressed deeper, tongue circling with unhurried devotion.
My back pressed against the cool stone wall behind me, and my hand dropped instinctively to his hair, tangling in the soft strands as my hips rocked gently toward his mouth.
Luka moaned softly into me, the sound vibrating through his lips and tongue, and I felt it everywhere. His tongue moved with careful attention, teasing and circling, working in a rhythm that sent heat building low in my belly.
He wasn’t aggressive, but he wasn’t timid either. His focus was absolute, his hands gripping my thighs to hold me steady as he worshipped me with his mouth.
Each stroke of his tongue was a plea for more, and when he finally found the rhythm that made my legs shake, I let out a soft cry, unable to hold it back.
The pleasure built quickly, rising with each deliberate movement of his tongue and the slow thrust of his finger. I was panting now, chest rising and falling as my body tightened, every nerve alight and burning.
And then it broke.
The orgasm rolled through me like heat bursting from my spine. My mouth fell open, and I whimpered as I came, shaking in his hands.
Luka didn’t stop until I was completely undone, his mouth still on me, drinking in every wave of release like it was his to claim.
When he finally pulled away, his lips were glistening, and his eyes were darker than I had ever seen them. He looked up at me with something close to reverence, then slowly stood.
He cupped my cheek in one hand and kissed me, deeply, tasting me on my lips, and I let him. I kissed him back, dazed and warm, still pulsing from the aftershocks.
He held me there, breathing with me, his hands strong and steady as I came back into my body. But when the silence settled around us, it wasn’t peace that followed.
It was a confusion.
I stood in his arms, still trembling, but my mind was already elsewhere — racing toward another pair of hands, another voice, another man.
I should have felt safe, content, pleased. Luka had given me something beautiful — he had taken his time, made me feel wanted. But it hadn’t reached that part of me Rios had touched.
The wild, aching place buried deep inside me, the part that bloomed only beneath fire and command.
I realized then that what I had felt with Rios wasn’t just chemistry. It wasn’t just dominance or submission. It was something worse. Something terrifying.
It was the truth.
Because in Luka’s arms, I felt adored. Cherished. Cared for.
But in Rios’s presence, I felt known.
I leaned my forehead against Luka’s shoulder, and he wrapped his arms around me, his voice gentle in my ear as he whispered something I didn’t hear. My body had been satisfied, but my heart was tangled in silence, and shame stirred at the edge of my desire.
Because I knew exactly whose name I had wanted to whisper when I came.
And it wasn’t Luka’s.