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I cleared my throat. “You’re sending me away?”
Queen Isabelle tossed me a washcloth. “Clean yourself up, Christine. The job is not done.”
I scrubbed at my skin, making it raw from how ferociously I washed Lord Geralt’s blood from my skin. Minutes passed as she stared at me, her lips pressed into a firm line. “Can I say goodbye, Izzy?” I used the nickname I reserved for private moments, the same name my mother gave her.
Queen Isabelle tilted her head to the side. “No. You cannot. You’re going to leave here and never come back. As long as my husband is alive, you’ll be in danger.”
My heart clenched. The idea of leaving August and Atticus—and even Leo—made a fresh wave of pain wreck my soul.
I was going to leave the kingdom of Aldrich.
But I would live.
Even half of a life without those I loved was better than being six feet underground.
No Such King
BLOODY ROYALS
Chapter One
AUGUST
Yachting offered a superior sexual experience.
I’d fucked on private jets, in penthouses, and in the bathrooms of exclusive clubs, but none of them compared to getting my dick sucked on the top deck of a multi-million dollar vessel.
The waves, the complete waste of money, and the flowing champagne made the entire fucking experience more extravagant. Ask anyone with enough cash for the experience, and they’d tell you the same. Yacht sex was better. Period. End of fucking story.
I was a man who loved the finer things in life. And let me tell you, the finer things loved me back. Hard. The wide open sea offered something the rigid castle walls couldn’t—freedom. Escaping was the only thing that made me feel whole these days.
The beautiful woman kneeling before me had blushing knees. Even though she intimately massaged my cock with her throat, I’d forgotten her name. Raspy words like baby, love, and sweetheart tumbled encouragingly from my mouth as she worked my dick. Even if I remembered her name, I wouldn’t say it. I wanted to avoid the drama as well as make it clear what I was after. This was a quick fuck, something to pass the time and drain my balls.
“Yes, love. Just like that,” I cooed.
She had this adorably determined look on her face. As if shooting my royal swimmers onto her tongue would somehow make me fall in love, swoop her up from whatever mediocre life she lived, and put a tiara on her head. She was pretty enough to hang onto my arm for official events, and she certainly gave head like a slobbery professional. However, she lacked a certain deviousness required of all royals. The eager little cocksucker had thick brown hair down to her waist, lips like pillows, and soft, oversized tits. But a porn star’s body didn’t make your blood run royal. It took generations of corruption, murder, and sabotage to turn an ordinary girl into a queen.
I invited her onto my boat because the kind of fun I offered was mutually beneficial. She wanted to know what it was like to swallow the cum of a future king, and I wanted to escape the world for a short while.
I was all for reciprocity.
My cock came out of her mouth with a pop, and I tried not to show my frustration when she spoke. “You taste so delicious, Prince Augustus.” I bumped my dick against her lips, wordlessly encouraging her to shut the fuck up and suck. I hated the way she called me by my title. Those closest to me called me August, the papers called me the twisted prince, and my father called me a fuckup. Royalty and power were a kink for some. I could tie a girl up and lick her clit until sunrise, but it was nothing compared to the mental orgasm people experienced when I stepped onto the throne.
The smell of coconut sunscreen and sex permeated the air. Her tempting, clipped accent and low, raspy voice made for delicious debauchery. In her small town, this beautiful girl had the power to turn normal men into gods whenever she got down on her knees. A wet dream. Perfection.
However, I was not like most men. This chick was just another fuck, another face I would forget.
“Come down my throat, Prince Augustus,” she roared, bold enough to command me.
I wish she’d stop talking and move faster. I didn’t need her to fuel my ego. I was aware that my cock was huge. I knew women loved to play with it. No doubt she’d one day get married and let some sorry sucker slam his meat into her with the lights off, and she’d still think of me. I wasn’t an asshole about it, I just knew what I offered a woman—fun, orgasms, bragging rights, and memories to last a lifetime.
“Don’t stop,” I encouraged while watching the sun disappear into the water. Seagulls cried as they dived for food. I licked my lips, tasting the salt in the air. Fuck the paparazzi hidden on the shore snapping pictures. I didn’t care if this blow job ended up on the front cover of all the tabloids tomorrow. I didn’t care about much of anything. My father was dead as of this morning, which meant I was fucking free.
I found out when my attendant walked into my room and bowed, waiting for me to thrust my hand in his face for him to kiss, as was customary for when an old king died and the next in line took the throne.
I was king now. Happened the moment his heart stopped. I was sure my publicist was preparing to share a statement on my behalf. The House of Lords were all mentally kissing my hand and swearing allegiance.
I wrapped her long brown hair around my fist and tugged, fucking her mouth with reckless abandon. She took every inch of me like a pro, letting my thick cock slide down her tight, humming throat.
