The Fallen King's Dirty Secret

She Followed Me Into My Sleep

EROS

She was wearing a black masquerade mask that covered half her face, scarlet lips curved into a smile that walked the line between sweet and dangerous.

Nothing else but a pair of black panties, heels, and an X-strap harness that framed her breasts like they were something worth displaying. Which they were.

I stayed where I was on the couch and watched her cross the room toward the pole, moving through the dim red light like she owned it.

"What are you doing in my room dressed like that?" My voice came out rougher than I meant it to.

She gripped the pole above her head, slid down slowly, parted her legs without a trace of hesitation. Eyes on mine the entire time.

"How do I look, Your Highness?" she purred.

In the library, when she'd said that, she'd been fighting to keep her voice steady.

Not now.

"Like a kitten," I said. "A very dangerous one."

She smiled like that was exactly what she wanted to hear. She let go of the pole, dropped to her hands and knees, and crawled toward me. Slow. Deliberate. Hips swaying.

When she reached the couch, her hands slid up my legs to my waist. Her fingers found the holster on my belt.

"What's this?"

"My gun."

She tilted her head. All innocence.

"What's it for?"

I dragged my tongue over my lips. "To kill anyone who gives me a reason, kitten."

She didn't flinch. She thrived on it. She slid her hand down and gripped me through my shorts, slow and deliberate, her eyes never leaving mine.

"And this?"

"The one you should worry about."

"And what's that for?"

I leaned in close.

"To make you moan for me, kitten."

She smiled. Climbed into my lap. Her bare breasts pressed flat against my chest as she leaned in to kiss me, scarlet lips brushing mine—

Pop. Pop. Pop.

My eyes snapped open.

I sat up fast, hand going to my mouth like I could hold onto the warmth before it disappeared. Gone. All of it.

A dream.

I kicked the sheets off. My c**k was hard enough to ache, my heart hammering, my jaw tight. That woman had followed me into my sleep and left me wrecked before six in the morning.

The shots came again from the perimeter. I checked the clock, swore under my breath, and headed straight for a cold shower—to clear my head and kill the erection she had no business giving me from miles away.

It didn't help. The image wouldn’t go away—the mask, the heels, the way she'd looked at me like she knew exactly what she was doing. In the library she'd been rattled and guarded. In my head she was something else entirely.

And that was the problem.

If the s*x had been average, she'd already be a footnote. Women who chased me afterward were easy to walk away from. Eva had told me it would never happen again and then walked out of the library without a backward glance.

That was new.

I threw on jeans and a T-shirt and headed downstairs.

A guard blocked the side exit before I reached it. "Your Highness, orders are to remain inside until the perimeter is secured."

"Is it under control?"

"Yes, sir."

I turned back. Another guard was already moving toward me down the corridor.

"Sir, King Roman requests your presence in his chambers."

I closed my eyes for half a second.

Son of a b***h.

The old man was exactly where he always was—parked in his chair by the window with a cigar burning between his fingers, the crimson crown on his head like he'd slept in it. The room smelled like ash and slow death.

Ninety-eight years old and still sharp enough to be a problem.

"You wanted to see me," I said.

He didn't look at me. "Want a smoke?"

"It's six in the morning."

He took a long drag and let it out slow. "What happened to the last shipment bound for the States?"

There it was.

One of our most trusted men had tried to skim three shipments and disappear. A stupid decision, badly executed. We'd caught him before he got far.

"Recovered," I said.

"And the man responsible?"

"In the dungeons."

That displeased him. I could tell by the way he took another pull from the cigar before he bothered to respond.

"Why is he still breathing?" His cold eyes finally moved to mine. "Betrayal has one answer, Eros. You know what it is."

“Mercy has nothing to do with it,” I said evenly.

"Federik handled the last traitor without hesitation." He said it the way he always said Federik's name—like a blade he was keeping close. "I see more of what I need in him than I do in you."

My jaw locked.

He'd been doing this my entire life. Using Federik as leverage. Dangling the crown between us and watching us fight for it. I ran the business. I kept the rebels contained. I handled everything this kingdom needed to function while Federik collected women and showed up when it was convenient.

And the old man still acted like it was a real competition.

"Do not compare me to that man," I said. Low and controlled. "You know exactly who carries this family."

He shrugged and lifted the cigar.

"My end is closer than you think," he said. "And my will remains… uncertain."

I bit down on everything I wanted to say and walked out.

I went straight down to the dungeons, took a rifle from a guard without stopping, and walked into the cellblock. The traitor was slumped against the bars, hollow-faced, long past hoping.

He started to say something.

I pulled the trigger.

“Execute the rest and burn the bodies.” I handed the rifle back to the guard and walked into the corridor.

Martín was waiting. Arms crossed, that smirk already in place.

"Another round with King Roman?"

"Always the same," I said, still moving. He fell into step beside me. "One day I'm going to wonder if he ever wrote a will at all."

"He hasn't," Martín said. "Not until he's sure he's dying."

"He is dying."

"He doesn't know that yet." Martín glanced sideways at me. "You still have time to give him what he wants. To make yourself the obvious choice."

I slowed. "If you say kill him—"

"Produce an heir," Martín said. "A son. Something Federik can't counter."

I kept walking. We'd had this conversation before. Marina couldn’t have more children. Aurora’s birth had nearly killed her, and the surgery that saved her life had closed that door permanently. I hadn't touched her since. Hadn't wanted to long before that.

We were married on paper. That was all either of us had ever agreed to, regardless of what the ceremony said.

"Marina can't give me children," I said. "We both know that."

"Then you'll need to find someone who can."

I let out a short, humorless laugh.

But the thought didn't leave as quickly as it should have.

A bastard child. Would the old man accept that? It was insane. It was exactly the kind of chess move he'd respond to.

I was still turning it over when I heard Aurora's voice on the staircase.

I looked up.

The two of them were coming down together—Aurora and Eva, both in swimwear. My eyes went straight to Eva before I could stop them. Red bikini top. Tiny shorts she clearly planned to take off at the pool. The kind of stomach I'd had my hands on seventy-two hours ago.

My body remembered before I could stop it.

"Good morning." Aurora was cheerful, oblivious. "We're going to swim."

"Sunscreen," I said, keeping my voice neutral.

She nodded. Eva kept her eyes straight ahead and walked past me without a word.

Martín turned to watch her go. Openly. Shamelessly.

"Who is that?" he said, voice low. "Your daughter's friend?"

"Yes."

"She is absolutely—"

I stepped directly between him and his line of sight.

"Keep your eyes off her." No room for interpretation.

He raised his hands and walked away smirking.

I went to the window and lit a cigarette.

Outside, Aurora was already in the pool. Eva had stopped at the edge, pulled off the shorts, and sat down to trail her feet in the water. She twisted her dark hair up, slid her sunglasses on, tilted her face toward the sun.

I couldn't look away.

I tried. I stood there with smoke curling from my fingers and tried to look at literally anything else, and I could not do it.

Then Federik appeared on the patio.

Hands in his pockets. That easy walk he used when he'd spotted something he wanted. Heading straight toward her.

I took one last drag, ground the cigarette out, and walked away from the window before I had to watch him sit down next to her.

Because if I watched him sit down next to her, I was going to go out there.

And I couldn't. She wasn't mine. I had no claim on her. She'd made that abundantly clear in the library, and she was right.

That was the logical position.

My instincts, unfortunately, did not give a damn about logic.