Page 25 of Kneel Before Me

What she found when she opened it was anything but.

The room itself was small, possibly a pantry. It was occupied by two people, both of whom Daphne immediately recognized. Veronica was on her knees, her mouth around the cock of a tall boy with white-blond hair. The prince.

Daphne froze. She could feel herself blushing.

“Oh, I’m—uh—I—”

“Unless you’re here to join us,” the prince said in bored tone, “I think you’d better shut the door.”

Veronica remained on her knees, sucking his cock like her life depended on it. Daphne didn’t know it could be done with such verve. If she hadn’t been intruding, she would have taken notes on technique.

“Right,” Daphne gasped. “Of course, that’s…right. Yes. Sorry.” She shut the door as quickly as she could.

Daphne stumbled back into the ballroom, then leaned over, placing her hands on her knees. A moment later and she was on the move again, heading straight for the hallway. She needed to be alone. If she saw one more person she didn’t expect to see, she was going to cry.

Mercifully, the hallway was empty. She walked aimlessly, listening as the sounds of the ballroom faded, ascending a long set of stairs that led to another hallway, this one lined with portraits of the royals. A legion of blonds stared down at her, each one icier than the last. Daphne stopped before a portrait of the queen. She could clearly see where the prince got his cheekbones from. The queen had been dead a long time, although nobody knew what she’d died from. In the schools they were taught that she died during childbirth, but there were rumors that she’d had some kind of illness. It was not unusual for the royals to deny that one of their own was sick; it would be viewed as a weakness, a fault in their bloodline. Daphne almost hoped she’d been ill. It seemed too cruel a thing that the prince’s mother would have died in childbirth and that the mother of his own his child would die the same way too.

A sound interrupted her thoughts.

For the third time that night, Daphne froze. It took her a moment to realize what she was hearing—a baby was crying. Without thinking, Daphne turned toward the noise. The cries came from the second door from the landing, and she opened it quickly, slipping inside and closing it behind her. Pale pink walls and an ornate golden crib greeted her. Daphne crossed to the crib immediately, looking down at a tiny blond baby. She reached for the child, lifting it into her arms. Somewhere in the back of her brain, Daphne knew exactly whose child she was holding. But rather than focusing on the fact that the future princess was in her arms, she focused on quieting the child, which was no small feat.

Despite the deafening shrieks, Daphne preferred the company of this squalling child to the crowd downstairs. She’d rather listen to a baby wail directly in her ear than hear anything else Benjamin had to say about her.

Eventually, the baby quieted, and Daphne stared down at the prince’s daughter, Lilly, in awe. To think that the woman who’d borne this baby no longer walked this world made her irreparably sad. Had her mother gotten the chance to hold her before she passed? The child was tiny, very light, and Daphne cradled her gently against her chest, bouncing her up and down and murmuring words of comfort. She stood there for what could have been hours. By the time Daphne intended to lay her down, the baby was fast asleep.

As she moved to set her in the crib, a voice cried, “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

Daphne whirled around to see a young man standing in the doorway. Something flashed in his mouth: two sharp, gold-encased incisors. He was wearing a green velvet suit, his eyes as gray as a slate-stricken sky. The exact same young man who, not that long ago, had been getting his cock sucked downstairs in the pantry.

The prince.

CHAPTER FIVE

Maximus

It was the first night of the competition and it was already a disaster.

Maximus’s father had been hounding him all day, Lilly hadn’t stopped crying since noon, and the waitstaff had already broken two heirloom wineglasses. It was because of this last transgression that Maximus found himself sequestered in the parlor, drinking red wine from a whiskey glass. The vessel did not matter. Getting drunk did.

“Maximus?” His father was in the doorway.

“Augustus,” Maximus said back.

His father stepped into the room, his face twisting. “You know I find it disrespectful when you call me that.”

“It’s your name. What else should I call you?”

“You should call me Father.”

“Fine.” Maximus downed the rest of his wine before placing the whiskey glass back on the bar cart. “What do you want, Father?”

“The women are starting to arrive.”

“So?”

“So I thought you might grace them with your presence. They are here for you, after all.”

“They’re here for this”—Maximus threw his arm out to encompass the castle surrounding them—“not for me.”