✷✷✷CAMELOT✷✷✷
Orion slammed into the palace suite like a storm, his mood as black as the sky outside. Dinner with his family had been a special kind of torture—his father unmoved by his report that Princess Adrienne could clearly defend herself, his sister finding the entire situation hilarious.
"We're going to Silvara for dinner tomorrow night," his father had announced, as casually as if he were discussing the weather."What? You mean who and…"
"Father, all of us, right?" Giselle had interrupted, practically vibrating with glee. "Including me? I need to see the girl who's making my big brother run mad."
"Manners, Giselle," their mother had cautioned, but even she'd been smiling.
Orion had excused himself shortly after, unable to stomach another minute of his family's amusement at his expense.
Now he stood in his chambers, yanking at his collar, wanting nothing more than to hit something. Or drink something. Or…
"You're back."
The voice came from his bed, sultry and knowing. Celeste reclined against his pillows wearing nothing but a sheer silk negligee that left absolutely nothing to the imagination. Her dark hair spilled across the sheets like ink, her lips curved in that smile that promised sin and satisfaction.
"I don't care about the betrothal," she purred, sitting up slowly. The negligee slipped lower. "Just come here and let me make you forget. Let me give you an heir. That's what you need, isn't it?"
She stood, moving toward him with feline grace. Her hands went to the negligee's ties, and it whispered to the floor in a pool of silk.
Orion's gaze darkened.
Celeste was breathtaking. Effortlessly beautiful in a way that made his blood run hot. He'd never bothered to untangle what he truly felt for her—emotions had never been his priority. As long as he could worship her curves, crave her skin, and lose himself in the perfection of her body, that was enough.
And gods, it was always enough.
"Come here," Celeste breathed, and her hands were on his clothes, unfastening buckles with practiced efficiency. "Let me make it better."
His clothes hit the floor piece by piece. When her mouth found his, he tasted wine and want and everything he actually needed right now.
She'd always carried herself like a queen. Moved like she was born to rule. And her body—he knew every curve, every sensitive spot, knew exactly how to make her scream his name.
Her hands worked at his belt, freeing him with dark desire. "Bed," she commanded, and he obeyed gladly.
She climbed over him, all silken skin and knowing eyes. "Forget her," Celeste whispered, taking him in hand. "Forget the princess. There's only this. Only us."
Orion groaned as she positioned herself above him, sinking down in one smooth motion that made him forget his own name. She was heat and perfection and exactly what he craved, moving with the confidence of someone who knew his body as well as he knew hers.
"That's it," she breathed, rolling her hips in that way that drove him insane. "Just feel me. Only me."
He gripped her hips, fingers digging into soft flesh as she rode him with increasing urgency. Her breasts swayed with each movement, and when he captured one in his mouth, she threw her head back with a moan that sent heat straight through him.
This was what he needed. Her body, her skill, the way she took him apart and put him back together.
"Harder," she demanded, and he flipped them, pinning her beneath him with a growl.
He drove into her with punishing force, chasing the pleasure only she could give him. Celeste wrapped her legs around his waist, her nails raking down his back hard enough to draw blood, and he loved it. Loved the pain, the passion, the way she matched him stroke for stroke.
"Yes," she hissed. "Like that. Ruin me."
He pounded into her until she was sobbing his name, until her body clenched around him in waves that pulled him under. He followed her over the edge with a guttural groan, emptying himself inside her, his mind finally, blissfully blank.
Pure satisfaction. Pure release.
Exactly what he needed.
Orion collapsed beside Celeste, breathing hard, his body completely sated. She'd wrung every ounce of tension from him, left him boneless and satisfied in a way only she could manage.
"Better?" She traced lazy patterns on his chest, smug and satisfied and absolutely right to be.
"Much better."
She curled against him, fitting perfectly against his side like she always did. "Good. Because you're mine, Orion. Betrothed or not. Remember that."
He pulled her closer, his hand sliding possessively over her hip. "I'm not likely to forget."
She laughed softly, already drifting toward sleep, and Orion closed his eyes.
✷✷✷SILVARA✷✷✷
Adrienne woke to sunlight stabbing through her curtains and Old Rosaline's disapproving face looming over her bed.
"Up. Now. You have exactly four hours to make yourself presentable."
"Go away, Rosa." Adrienne buried her face in the pillow. "I'm dying. Terminal illness. Very tragic. Cancel everything."
"The only thing that's going to be terminal is my patience." Rosaline yanked the covers off in one smooth motion, letting the morning chill assault Adrienne's skin. "The royal family of Camelot arrives at sunset. You will be clean, dressed, and civil, or so help me—"
"Civil." Adrienne sat up, her blonde curls a riot around her face. "You want me to be civil to the arrogant prince who thinks I want him? Who probably thinks I'll be blushing and battering my lashes at his face? Who—"
"Who you're going to marry in four weeks whether you like it or not." Rosaline's voice softened slightly. "Child, I know this isn't what you wanted. But for tonight, can you just... try?"
Adrienne's jaw clenched. "Fine. I'll try. But if Prince Onions says one word triggering me, I'm stabbing him with a dinner fork."
"That's alright." Rosaline sighed. "Now, about your dress—"
"No."
"Adrienne—"
"Absolutely not." She swung her legs out of bed, padding toward her wardrobe in bare feet. "I wore trousers yesterday. I'll wear trousers today. That's my compromise."
"Your father specifically requested—"
"My father can request all he wants." Adrienne pulled out a pair of black trousers and a cream-colored blouse with gold embroidery at the collar—elegant enough to be formal, practical enough to move in. "This or nothing, Rosa. Choose."
The old woman studied her for a long moment, then nodded wearily. "You're going to give that poor prince absolute hell, aren't you?"
"That's the plan."
"Good." A small smile tugged at Rosaline's lips. "Your mother would approve."