Chapter 51

No.

No. No. No.

No.

A maidservant hands Acker a glass of amber liquid. He thanks her, taking a sip, face placid when his gaze catches on me. Then he freezes, body stilling, breath unmoving in his chest as his eyes stop on my face before flicking down to my bare body.

I know no one but him can see me, but I can't fight the desire to cover my breasts in the company of strange men, squeezing my thighs tight together. Water sluices down my skin from my hair, down my body and legs until soaking into the fibers of the woolen rug beneath my feet.

He blinks and looks away, jaw ticking as he clenches his teeth. Calling the servant back over, he says, "Please send someone to check on Princess Jovinnia."

The servant dips her head and disappears out a hidden door in the paneled wall, sealing me in with the party of seven men. We're in a sitting room with tufted chairs and low-lying tables laden with crystal decanters of different alcohols.

"Have we received any reports of movement?" asks the man seated to Acker's right. It's the commander from training, I realize.

Acker shakes his head, but there's noticeable tension in the gesture.

A man I don't recognize sits across the table from him. "You alright? You look as if someone kicked your dog."

The men laugh in jest, and Acker manages to loosen a smile at their teasing. They move on to discuss the troops they plan on sending to the border, remarking on the need for fresh blood if discord is to break out between Roison and Kenta again.

Acker glances over at me then curls his fingers in a gesture that indicates I should go to him. I tiptoe around the high-sided chairs, careful not to bump the table or the glasses on it. He doesn't look at me as he widens his knees for me to step between his legs. Then he braces his elbows on the arms of the chair, drink balanced in his hand, an invitation for me to sit.

I'm shivering, the cool air amplified against my damp skin as I debate the consequences of folding myself into the confines of his lap. It doesn't matter how much I reiterate to myself that no one is able to see me, no one but Acker; the feeling of exposure doesn't dissipate.

"Don't you agree, Acker?"

"Yes," he says, voice clipped as he keeps up with the conversation. "I think a celebratory dinner would be nice."

He dares a look at me, eyes conveying everything in the split second they meet mine.

Sit.

It's an order. Slow and measured, I angle my body to rest on the expanse of his thigh. He doesn't move or so much as blink as I get situated. Goose bumps erupt across my skin in response to the warmth radiating from him. I balance a hand on the back of the chair behind him, careful to not put too much pressure against the material as I lift one foot, then the other, and tuck them on the other side of him. It's a tight fit, but I'm comforted by the high walls of the chair. It gives the illusion of privacy.

Acker adjusts his body lower in the seat, causing me to lean against the front of his chest, placing my head against the cut of his shoulder. He takes a drink of his liquor, voice so low I nearly can't hear him over the chatter in the room.

"Are you sleeping?" he says, eyes remaining on the men conversing around him.

Again, I know no one should be able to hear me, but I whisper back, "I don't know."

I can't remember. I'm in the bath, that much is obvious, but I can't recall being tired enough to doze off. If anything, I was still buzzed after the connection to my mother, as well as my realization of Acker's feelings.

"I think I might be awake."

He seems less than pleased by my answer. This time when he drinks, it's a healthy swallow.

"You're angry with me," I point out.

He doesn't reply—can't—but the sharpness in his eyes, the stony way he turns his head away is answer enough.

I run my fingers over the strap of daggers he always wears across his chest. "I think it's because the bond can sense how close I am to giving in," I say, letting the truth run free with my tongue.

His inhale presses against the hand I have braced on his chest. I smile, pleased with the fact that he's not totally unaffected despite his cold exterior.

"…the goods are fine…they don't have a clue… "

Words flow in one ear and out the other as I slide my fingers through the open buttons at the collar of his shirt.

"I was thinking about you." I watch as he swallows, noticing the thrumming pulse in his neck. "While I was taking a bath."

His breaths deepen, muscles taut as he remains unmoving. I lean forward, knowing there's nothing he can do to stop me, and whisper into his ear.

"Touching myself."

The muscle of his thigh tenses underneath me. "The cache is plenty stocked."

I'm impressed but also displeased by his ability to remain invested in the conversation. I place my lips on that thundering spot in his neck, tasting the skin with the flat of my tongue.

He moves then. Bringing his drink closer to his body, he shoves his elbow between my thighs. It opens me up to him, to the air as he pretends to inspect his drink. But he's not looking at his beverage. I suck in a breath, nerves and anticipation coursing through my veins.

"Have you spoken with your father?"

Looking up, Acker presses the glass against my inner thigh, using it to pull my leg toward his taut stomach, opening me up even further. "I haven't."

I dig my fingertips into the hard plane of his chest. A smirk emerges on his face as he plays with his drink, running the glass along the inside of my thigh.

"You know he lives by his own time," he says, sending a conspiratorial look around the room. It glazes me in a sweeping pass. "He'll be here when he gets here."

He drags the glass until it's almost kissing my exposed center .

"Acker," I warn, ripping my free hand from beneath his shirt, not caring about the ripple effect it causes as I brace my hand over his between my legs to stop him.

He doesn't listen. Instead, he traps my fingers under his against the glass and presses it firmly to the apex of my thighs. The glass is warm from being in his hand, and it instantly causes a fiery sensation to ignite in my lower stomach. I squirm in his lap in a bid to get away, but there's nowhere to go, not without spilling his drink or giving away that something's amiss.

A round of raucous laughter breaks out, and Acker uses it to his advantage. "Touching where?" he whispers.

Then he spreads his legs even wider, sinking me into the crux of his lap where his erection is at full length and hot against my bottom. A choked gasp leaves my lips as he angles his hips and presses, presses, presses the glass against the sensitive bundle of nerves between my legs. My breath stutters in my chest as I fight his hold.

To anyone else in the room, it looks as though he's contemplative, lost to the thoughts in his head, but his eyes are affixed to the space where our fingers are intertwined, where the glass slides between my wetness.

The only giveaway is the quickened breaths he can't hide, nostrils flaring. He bends his other elbow, bracing his temple against a fist, and it's effective in putting pressure on my upper back to keep me in place with the bracket of his arm. There's no stopping the building pulse in my body or the hum deep in my throat. He's relentless, fingers punishing over mine as he undulates the pressure, to the point I fear for the integrity of the glass in our hands.

My integrity? On the floor in shambles, because I can't fight the pleasure any longer. I'm chasing it, angling my hips, rubbing against his hard length. I close my other hand over his wrist, urging him to get it over with, and for him to put me out of my misery by urging him to press harder.

Harder.

More.

Almost…

The king walks in, drawing everyone's attention to his arrival across the room when I come, letting the moan I can't contain sink into the crick of Acker's neck. I undulate in his lap, soaking in the last few moments of bliss.

His teeth seem to crack from his restraint, but then he's quick to remove the glass. My heart is thundering in my chest as he holds it up to his father in greeting. "Come have a seat," he says.

Then he does the unthinkable and places the glass against his lips, tongue dipping to the rim when he tilts his head back and swallows the remainder of the liquid. I reposition myself on his thigh, grateful for his dark pants and their ability to hide any proof of my arousal. He sits up, hiding his own evidence by placing the empty glass on the table. He licks his lips, eyes cutting to mine briefly.

The king removes his cape and sits in the chair opposite Acker's, eyeing the assortment of liquors. "Where's the maidservant?"

As if summoned, she emerges from the disguised door, head down as she walks toward Acker. "There seems to be an issue," she says, voice timid .

Acker's voice comes out hurried. "What is it?"

"The princess," she says, eyes struggling to remain on Acker's. "Beau told me to fetch you."

That's all Acker needs to hear, and I all but fall onto my feet when he stands.

The king sits forward. "I'm sure it's nothing Beau can't handle," he says, pointed stare on his son. "We need to discuss business." If I'm not mistaken, his eyes cut to a man standing behind the servant, a man in finery with light blonde hair and striking features.

The maidservant speaks up, though her voice is still hardly audible. "I think—something's wrong," she says, hands fidgeting before her. "It seems urgent."

"You'll have to fill me in later," Acker says, walking around the servant toward the door.

The king's call to his son goes unanswered as Acker stalks out of the room. I race after him, eager to get away and also to find out what's happening to me that has the maidservant so alarmed.

People freeze in place as Acker picks up his pace, feet pounding on the marble floor as he races to my room.

"Slow down," I yell after him. "I'm sure it's fine."

He doesn't even spare me a glance, taking the stairs two at a time. "Wells said it would trap you."

A passing servant looks at Acker in confusion. "Excuse me, your highness?"

He ignores her as he turns down the hall. I feel obscene, rushing after him completely naked, but all I can do is follow him to my room. He barges in, eyes swinging around the empty space.

"In here," Beau calls.

Nothing could prepare me for the sight before me. Beau leans over the tub, now empty of water, hand propping my head at an angle to prevent my chin from meeting my chest. My eyes are wide open and unfocused as I stare into thin air. Acker climbs into the tub, hands bracketing my face.

"She's alive, but her aura—" Beau's words cut off as she looks at me. Not the physical me, but whatever she sees standing beside the tub. "Woah."

Acker looks up at me then to Beau. "What do you see?"

"It's like…" She shakes her head in awe. "Like I've never seen a whole aura until now. There are so many colors. It's unlike anything I've ever seen."

That does nothing to appease Acker, whose focus goes back to my physical body. He smacks my cheek. "I did that," she says. "Threw cold water on her, yanked her hair. Nothing."

"Thanks so much guys." I retrieve a towel and wrap it around me.

Beau's mouth falls open in shock. "What the fuck."

"Get out," Acker orders his sister.

She looks at him as he sinks to his knees on either side of my legs. "I know you're matched, but it feels wrong to leave an unconscious woman in the hands of a man."

Acker snaps. "She's right fucking there, Beau. Get out."

Beau looks at me, and I wave the towel to let her know I'm at least a coherent participant.

"Okay," she drawls as she gets to her feet. "I claim no part in this."

"It would be weird if you did."

He cradles my face in his hands, the worry straining the crease between his brows.

Then it hits me. "The bond wants us together," I explain. "As long as I'm near you, it will keep me here. "

Realization dawns on Acker's face and he stands, stepping out of the tub. "I'll come back in fifteen minutes."

"I might need more time," I tell him. "I feel fulfilled right now."

He understands what I'm insinuating. The physical connection we shared created an anchor of sorts. Dipping his head in a nod, he doesn't bid me any goodbyes, gaze averted and tense as he moves around me to leave.

A moment later, Beau returns, leaning against the door jamb. "He's pissed."

Sighing, I sit on the edge of the tub, offput by the sight of myself.

This is a disaster.