Page 31 of Coronation (Royally Forbidden #1)

The reminder has me moving to smooth my hands over my dress, wishing I’d picked something else.

This morning, the forest green, lace number had felt the perfect balance of appropriate and attractive, falling to just above my knees while clinging to my waist. Now, it’s clear I was way off.

Almost every other woman here is wearing pastels and has a fancy, ridiculous hat on.

Why didn’t I think to buy a fancy, ridiculous hat? Is it an etiquette thing?

Is that what King Benedict is looking for? Someone who knows the rules?

Even wondering fills me with self-disgust.

“I’m going to get something to eat,” I mumble, moving away from my colleagues. None of them pay me any mind, too busy debating whether the word ‘shit’ is as uncivilized as Davina believes it is.

Something about being here and seeing with my own two eyes how ridiculous I was to entertain hopes of a relationship with a king is undoing all my determined psychological prep work in a matter of minutes.

There is a secondary marquee off to the side, one which is well stocked with tables piled high with canapés and tiny, elegant desserts.

I bypass it, though, marching straight past and into a less-occupied section of the garden, one bordered by an entire wall of the high, green hedges that make up the maze.

There is an entrance up ahead, covered by a carefully manicured arch, and when I see it, a reckless, desperate plan begins to take shape.

I’m going to get lost.

I’m going to get so lost, it will take me an hour to find my way back out again, upon which time, I’ll recount my harrowing tale to my colleagues.

Likely there will be some teasing, and maybe even some suspicion from Davina, but I won’t care less.

By then, an appropriate amount of time will have passed, and with any luck, I won’t have to see King Benedict a single time.

Without pausing to second-guess myself, I hurry beneath the archway and out of view of any partygoers who might happen to look this way.

As I find myself standing on a grassy path bordered by two towering walls of shrubbery, it feels like I can breathe properly for the first time since I laid eyes on Ashwell Palace. Reaching down, I take off my heels with unsteady hands and set off.

It quickly becomes clear that there is a quiet magic about this place.

I make turns at random, my mind curiously blank as the minutes pass and the sounds of the party die away.

Out here, all I can hear is the occasional wisp of laughter or music carried back to me on the summer breeze, which rustles the living walls of the maze.

If there are other guests in here, I don’t see a single one of them.

It doesn’t take long before I really am lost, and there’s a kind of freedom that comes with it.

My bare feet move forward in steady, silent steps across the grassy floor, and the longer I walk, the lighter I feel.

Everything that weighed so heavily on me before I came in here, all the hurt I’ve been willing myself not to let show, and the self-doubt that has plagued me for far longer than I realized, all of it seems to have loosened somehow.

Pausing at a dead end, I double back, only to find myself at a fork.

Without pausing to consider which might take me closer or further from the party, I turn right, making my way along another endless hall of green with only blue sky above me.

I’m in my own world, having long since forgotten it would be possible to run into another living soul within these walls.

As I turn the next corner, however, I stop dead.

I’ve reached the edge of an open circle, quite unlike the rest of the narrow corridors I’ve ventured down so far.

Right in the middle of the space is a towering, ancient oak.

Its branches extend out over the hedges, which circle it in some places, and its trunk is so wide I’m not sure that three of me could wrap our arms around it.

The tree isn’t what made me stop, though. It’s the man.

He’s sitting alone on an old stone bench at the base of the great tree, holding his head in his hands, and even without seeing his face, I know exactly who he is. There is no mistaking the long, dark hair, the breadth of his shoulders, or the tendons straining in his forearms.

Seeing him like this, unguarded and unaware of anyone’s eyes on him, makes something deep inside me pull taut.

I need to leave, to vanish back into the maze before he realizes I’m here, and yet I can’t seem to move.

It’s as though my feet are anchored to the ground beneath me, keeping me in a place I know I shouldn’t be.

I watch as King Benedict lifts his head, staring at the wall of green ahead of him, his expression full of such obvious misery that it makes my heart ache, too.

Without warning, he reaches out to fist the suit jacket laid out over the bench beside him and pushes to his feet with an air of forced determination. Before I can even think of moving—or running for it—he turns, and I see the change in him the moment he realizes he isn’t alone.

King Benedict stares at me, and I don’t have to wonder what he’s feeling. Not now. His chest rises and falls, heavier than it should for a man who was sitting still. “Zelda.”

Just the sound of my name seems to unlock whatever paralysis I was briefly under. “I’m sorry.” I still can’t seem to move. “I didn’t know anyone would be in here. It was… I was just walking. It was an accident.”

He takes a step toward me, and the heels still held loosely in my hand fall to the earth with a soft thud. I make no move to retrieve them. Every single cell in my body seems to be on , caught up in whatever strange, magnetic energy swept into this place when King Benedict’s eyes found mine.

A dangerous little voice wonders whether it’s what brought me here in the first place.

Another step, and his jacket falls to the grass, too.

There are ten yards between us, ten yards of nothing but open space, and I know what’s about to happen.

The things that would have held me at bay, all the pain and resentment I felt toward this man, seemed to fall away as I wandered through the maze.

Now I’m standing in front of him, naked of every single thing that I might have used to protect myself. I could try to gather up the trail of sharp fragments that brought us here, could try to piece them together and remember why , but I don’t. I can’t. There isn’t time.

Ben lurches forward, and so do I, moving so quickly that I barely have time to breathe, never mind think.

We collide, his lips descending on mine in a kiss so hungry that it borders on violence.

There is no finesse to it, no teasing or savoring, only raw, devastating need that sets fire to my whole body.

My hands are on his shoulders and his are on my waist, sealing us together with bruising strength.

Between my legs, my clit throbs, more wetness gathering at my entrance with every frantic, desperate second that passes.

Ben is no better off, pressing his erection into my stomach, showing me what I’m going to have inside me very soon.

The pair of us tumble back into the grass in an uncoordinated mess, and faster than I can even comprehend, I find myself flat on my back, staring up at the beautiful dichotomy of a man above me.

The king’s eyes are dark with desire, and I can see nothing but him, Ben, and the endless blue sky stretched out behind him.

He looks so undone, so totally without the walls he takes such trouble to erect between himself and the rest of the world, as though he put them down before I arrived and didn’t think to put them back up.

He kisses me again. Harder. Deeper.

We’re both panting as my dress is shoved up around my waist, and my bare legs find their way around his hips. There are only a few layers of material between me and the thick ridge of his erection, and just feeling him there, ready but not inside me, is torture .

He must feel the same, because Ben groans as I shove both hands between us, fumbling with his belt, button, and fly. It would be easier if he would sit back, but he doesn’t, still kissing me so desperately it makes my head spin.

The muscles below my belly button twist when I finally shove the waistband of his pants down, panting into Ben’s mouth as he presses his hips forward, grinding against me through my sodden panties.

With an impatient noise, he reaches down, balling the material in his fist to literally tear the white lace away from my body.

Nothing has ever felt better than his bare shaft gliding through my seam as he coats himself in my arousal, his tip bumping my swollen clit with each pass. Then, he’s pulling back, one arm between our bodies to grip his base, and the raw, desperate expression on his face must mirror my own.

He needs me.

I need him.

Nothing about this is optional.

The broad head of his cock is pressed to my entrance, and before I can open my mouth to beg for it, he surges forward, filling me so completely that it aches.

My back arches off the grass, my lips parting in a ragged sob as Ben’s forehead drops to my shoulder, both of us rocked by how impossibly good it is.

He’s too big for me, and even with the arousal coating us both now, my body has to stretch to accommodate him.

It’s everything I remember, though, and I find my hands buried in his hair as he rocks into me, his lips on my neck.

“ Zelda. Darling. Fuck .” The words are broken and disjointed, and knowing he is so affected by me that he loses his ability to speak sends me, impossibly, higher.

I drag his face up to mine and our lips meet in another deep, searching kiss as my eyes squeeze shut, focusing on the relentless, bruising pace of his hips .

Nothing has ever felt so raw, so carnal , as this act we’re committing. I’m flat on my back with my dress shoved up around my waist, clinging to Ben as he fucks me into the dirt, the summer air filling with the sound of my cries, his low, masculine noises of pleasure, and the slap of skin on skin.

Urgency vibrates in the air around us, entering my bloodstream with every greedy lungful of air I take.

His hand moves to my breast, twisting and kneading it through the material of my dress. Tendons are straining in his neck as he looks down at me, his handsome features transformed by pleasure as he bears down on me.

“Zelda,” Ben hisses, lowering his lips to mine and stealing a hot, open-mouthed kiss. His teeth graze my bottom lip, and my answering whimper is broken by the impact of his hips hitting mine. “You have no idea how good you feel. This cunt is a fucking miracle.”

My legs open wider.

Pleasure is beginning to tighten deep inside me, but I hold it at bay because I don’t want this to end. I don’t want to remember why we shouldn’t be here, or why we shouldn’t be doing this. Nothing has ever been this good, and never have I felt so connected to another person.

He must know I’m close, because Ben’s hand moves to my thigh.

His fingers dig into the flesh as he drags my limb higher on his waist, allowing his cock to hit that spot only he has been able to find.

There’s no stopping what is about to happen, not when this man is in complete control, doing everything in his power to make me come.

I have to.

My nails dig into his bare ass, my entire body convulsing as I finally fall. My orgasm borders on violent in its intensity, carried on and on by the man on top of me who swallows my sobs of pleasure.

Ben is shaking too, as the rhythm of his thrusts becomes shaky and desperate, taking what he needs from me freely now. “Fuck,” he grunts as, with one final pump of his hips, he presses deep and stills.

I collapse back onto the grass, my heart hammering as his cock twitches and throbs, flooding the deepest part of me with his cum. My stretched, aching pussy has clamped down on him, clutching at the thick length wedged inside it, as if instinctively trying to keep him where he belongs.

It’s only my brain that seems to remember he doesn’t.