Page 26 of Kneel Before Me

“You are a part of this. Or have you forgotten your role already?”

Maximus could never forget his role: dutiful son, doting father, obedient prince. Augustus reminded him every single day. It was impossible to forget anything in this fucking castle. “Of course not, Father.”

“Good. Then I expect you in the ballroom shortly.”

A moment later, Maximus was alone once more. He stared at the wall in his father’s absence, seriously considering having another wine. But that would tip him over the edge, and he’d rather hoped to parcel out his buzz so it lasted the entirety of the evening. He needed his wits about him if he was going to survive this disgusting mating ritual.

He stalked down the hallway to the ballroom, recognizing many of the royals, all from faraway lands, as well as prominent members of the business community he knew his father was eager to court. His cousins had come from beyond the mountain, frost still clinging to their furs. They looked hungry. He wondered if their kingdoms were faring well. His own kingdom was struggling; even in the castle, Maximus felt it. Their tables were not as laden as in years past. Unless they could secure allies with a few key shipping merchants who had connections with other kingdoms, it was set to be a difficult winter.

Then there were the women—all twenty years old, just like him. The thought of sleeping with any of them made him sick. No one had been in his bed since Lilibet. At the thought of her, he immediately regretted not having that last wine. Their child was upstairs, and all Maximus wanted was to be upstairs with her. Even her squalling was preferable to this group of social-climbing women. He’d much rather the company of a baby than the insufferable preening of someone who wanted nothing more than to be the future queen. It was a position everyone coveted yet no one understood. Only Maximus knew that his future wife’s role would merely be decorative. According to his father, the queen’s sole job would be to support her king. Not at all what he and Lilibet had planned to do together. Their partnership would have been a mutual one, where she had equal say. Now Maximus couldn’t care less who sat beside him on the throne. None of these women mattered. None of them were Lilibet.

The only woman he wanted was dead. The wound was still raw; it had happened less than a year ago. Mere weeks after Lilibet was gone, his father had come to him and told him it was time to take a wife. It was tradition, after all. Any prince who was unwed at the age of twenty would participate in the competition. The entire thing was revolting to him.

It wasn’t possible to manufacture attraction in such a short amount of time, much less actually fall in love. His heart felt as if it had been crushed. A random woman would not fix that; no woman could fix that. And yet here he was, standing in this ballroom, adjusting his suit so he looked good for his prospects.

A girl wiggled her fingers at him from over by the mead. Maximus waved reluctantly back. He was quite familiar with Veronica’s wiles. She was the baker’s daughter, and he’d kissed her once during the midsummer parade. After that, Veronica had sucked his cock more times than he could count. He was half tempted to pull her into one of the many bedrooms and have her do it again right now. At least that would be a more enjoyable way to spend the evening. Anything was better than making small talk. But there was no point. He had spurned her advances ever since he met Lilibet—and had continued to spurn them after she died. He had spurned everyone’s advances, no matter how tempting. It wasn’t exactly difficult. Everything seemed hollow now, as if all the color had been swept from the world. Yet on a night like tonight, with the inevitability of his betrothal looming, he felt tempted to indulge in his former vices. Given the way Veronica was headed straight for him, he just might.

“Maxie,” she purred when she reached him, wrapping her fingers around his arm. “Aren’t you going to compliment my dress?”

Maximus sighed, giving her dress a cursory glance. It was scandalously low-cut with a slit nearly up to her hip—hardly appropriate for a formal event at the castle and certainly not something his father would want his son’s future wife to wear. Veronica had made the critical error of thinking she needed to impress Maximus when it was Augustus she needed to please. Despite the prominence of her family—the bakers were highly respected in the village—she had already set herself behind.

“It’s lovely.” He put next to no effort into the compliment, yet Veronica smiled as if he’d just proposed.

“I wore it just for you.”

“I’m sure you did.”

“I could take it off just for you too.”

Maximus sighed again. “I’m sure you could.”

He knew exactly what was under that dress. Despite the involuntary twitch of his cock at the sight of so much exposed skin, his heart remained buried under a pile of rocks.

At his tone, Veronica’s hands tightened. “If you want, I can—”

What was sure to be an exceedingly salacious offer was cut off by his father’s voice: “Maximus. Follow me.”

Normally he wouldn’t tolerate such a command, but Veronica’s python grip was cutting off his circulation, and he was beginning to fear for his fingers.

“Will you excuse me?” He disentangled himself from her with some difficulty, ignoring her whimpers of protest as he followed his father’s shoulders through the crowd. Their journey was short; a moment later Maximus found himself facing yet another girl, this one decidedly more conservatively dressed than Veronica. Her thick, blond hair was practically white.

“This is Constance,” his father said. “Her father is a shipping merchant. You met him last Christmas.”

Maximus didn’t bother trying to remember last Christmas. He’d been so drunk at dinner that his father had sent him up to bed early. Even if he remembered dinner, it wouldn’t matter anyway. Maximus had met so many shipping merchants—and other colleagues of his father’s—over the years that after a certain point they all just blended together.

At his silence, his father prompted: “Where are your manners? Shake her hand.”

Maximus bristled at the order. His father was more patronizing than usual tonight, if that was even physically possible. Nevertheless, he extended his hand toward Constance, who took it with a smile.

“Your Highness,” she said with a small curtsy.

“Please, call me Maximus.”

Her smile widened. “I shall.”

Maximus dropped her hand. Beside them, his father loomed. Maximus did not need it spelled out for him: This was his father’s pick, a suitable match for the prince, the future queen. Augustus wanted to guarantee that what happened with Lilibet did not happen again. He would not allow his son to fall in love with another farm girl. His son’s wife would be the daughter of a shipping merchant—someone from a reputable family, who would bear him an heir. If only it were that simple.

“Constance enjoys painting,” his father said.