Page 3 of Mated to the Crown

“Yes, please!” She moans. I grumble, pushing the concubine off of me.

I snatch up the towel by the bed and wipe my dick, throwing the used up cloth to her as I make my way to the bathroom.

I flip on the hot water and wait for it to heat up.

I can hear her scampering to get her things, and I shake my head.

I need to stop this shit. It never satisfies me the way I want it to.

“Excuse me, your Highness. Anything else you may need?” I turn to see her in the doorway looking meek. She huddles against the frame, her clothes askew as if she put them on in a hurry.

“Don’t come back. Tell Madam Delany I don’t want you again.” Her eyes widen but she nods, slipping out of my sight. A low grumble leaves me as I step into the shower, not caring if it is ready or not.

That is what I want. My mother wants something else.

I am the oldest of her children and she wants me to carry on the family legacy of being Royal.

My father didn’t love her as much as he should, but also was not blessed with a Mate so it was a marriage of political importance.

Something I was very quickly about to find out for myself.

I slide my hands down my body, closing my eyes as the soap gathers on my hips and the swell of my cock.

I want a mate, I have dreamed of her for days now and I can’t get her from my mind.

The dreams started harmless, just a beautiful woman I knew deep in my bones, but then they got more erotic.

Her - beneath me in bed. Her - screaming my name.

My hand slips down to my cock, the other pressing against the shower wall as I wrap my fist around my length.

She makes me want her so fucking bad and I don’t even know who she is.

I slide my hand up, imagining it is her hand.

The way her fingers grab me, her other hand running through my hair.

She is shorter than me, I know that much, and her body fits against mine perfectly.

Her waist dips in but her hips swell outward.

She is not rail thin like these concubines, her body curves and moves in all the right ways.

Her belly is plump, her tits perfect and her hips have a large curve but all I can imagine is myself grabbing them, pulling her back as I fuck her from behind.

My strokes quicken as I think of her. When the dreams first started it was meeting her, down at the stables.

It quickly turned into us in bed, her bed - it must be - for it wasn’t the Palace.

It was somewhere else. The hunger in her eyes, the way her hands touched me.

I groan, my seed splashing out on the shower wall.

I press my face against the cool surface.

Surely that shouldn’t have pleased me more than a concubine, but it did. I need her.

I quickly finish cleaning myself up and get dressed.

Today I am supposed to meet two potential brides.

I didn’t want to do any of this but I didn’t have a choice.

I pull on black slacks, a white button up and my suit jacket.

It’s adorned with patches, buttons and other embroidery.

I hate it. I wanted to just wear a T-shirt and some jeans but if I go out in public like that my family will have a heart attack.

“Sir, are you almost ready?” A familiar voice calls through the door.

“Yes, Morgan. On my way.” I call out, combing my hair back until it looks proper enough to leave the room. Image is everything. My mother’s famous words.

I open the door and smile at Morgan. He is basically my Butler, I guess.

He has been by my side since the day I was born, tasked to handle anything I needed.

He is older than me, his hair graying and thinning out in the back.

He is dressed in a simple black suit, nothing out of place except his wedding ring.

He had married a few years back, and wouldn't even go on a honeymoon until I pretty much tricked him out of the Castle.

“I can survive for a week, Morgan.” I had told him.

I did survive. I’m not a pathetic man who was just born into this.

I trained every day for years. I am well educated and don’t take my status as a specialty.

It is something important and I don’t want to lounge about in the Palace like my cousins. I need to stay busy or I will go mad.

I follow after Morgan as we make our way down the hallway to the main foyer.

The walls are filled with paintings of our families over the years.

I don’t dare look at them, I have seen them millions of times before and each time I look at them I find five more things I don’t like about them.

The way my great uncle looks like he is disgusted with everything.

He was the one who cheated on his wife and had a bastard son though.

The way my great great grandmother had to hold her prized diamond in her portrait, insisting on having it painted in - even when many people told her no.

The way my who-knows-how-far-back-grandfather, wouldn’t allow his wife in the same portrait.

Men in one, women in the other, he had said. Pathetic.

We curve around the hallway and Morgan holds the door to the foyer open for me.

The place is magnificent, even if it is the place we spend most of our time in for not the best of reasons.

The high ceilings arch and fill with light from the various windows high up.

Intricately designed stone walls form a beautiful pattern.

The tile floors break the room in two different sections.

One for the Royal family to sit, one for commoners.

I frown, I hate that the most. When did we put ourselves on such high pedestals?

“Good morning, your Highness. If you please.” The man in front of me motions to the table to sit.

It is a large table, nearly 8 feet long, with 6 chairs on one side and one on the other.

It is meant for us to talk with others, the tile separating the family from commoners under the table.

Gone are the days of thrones, for the most part.

“Thank you.” I mutter as I settle in the seat. Two folders are thrust at me and the man on my left begins to speak. He is the one who runs the front, he organizes everything from meetings to introductions, parties, you name it. He knows more gossip than anyone.

“The first woman we are meeting today is named Elodie. She comes from an Eastern district. Her father is from a long line-” I zone out to his incessant talking.

I can read the file myself. I look through the portfolio, reading the lines quickly before pulling out her picture.

Ugh. Definitely not my type in any way. I close it quickly and move onto the next.

“This woman…” I wave my hand, silencing him quickly.

“Thank you, Jeffries. I can read.” I drawl.

I open it and again am disappointed it is not my mate staring me back in the picture.

I rub my head, feeling a headache begging to crawl into my skull.

“Please have them talk to my mother, I think they are better suited for my younger brother. I have other things to attend to.” I stand and look at Jeffries, waiting for him to challenge me.

“Yes, your Highness.” He nods and grabs the folders, tucking them under his arm and disappearing out a side door. Morgan gives me a look but I wave my hand at him. I couldn’t even explain this shit if I wanted to.

“I am going to see Grandma Charlotte. When is our next meeting?” I ask, already walking away from the room. Morgan trails after me, taking his notebook out of the pocket of his suit and looking through it.

“Three hours.” He responds.

“Thank you. I will see you then.” With that I exit the side door to the balcony and let out a silent prayer that Morgan doesn’t follow me.

The door closes and I wait a second to see if he will.

Thank the Goddess he doesn’t. I walk toward the edge of the balcony, leaning down so my forearms lean against the cold concrete railing.

I look down at the gardens, bursting with spring activity.

This was my grandmother's favorite spot. I wasn’t close with most of my family, but she had been the one I had been closest to.

We used to spend a lot of time together but when she started getting older and it was harder for her to get around I couldn’t escape as much.

I was inundated with meetings and political matters that needed my urgent attention.

She withered away in her room. I could see the pain in her eyes every time she was alone so I had Morgan pick a servant to visit with her and read to her or play cards.

Just someone to keep her busy while I couldn’t.

Even though I wasn’t first in line, even close to taking the throne, I still had multiple things to organize and oversee.

It took too much of my time, but little moments like this were nice to just breathe.

I push off the railing and make my way to my grandmother’s room.

I knock on the door, not hearing anything.

Usually she calls out for me to come in.

I go to knock again and the door is flung open.

A woman stands there, tears brimming her eyes and her face red.

She looks scared, worried and confused. I cock my head to the side slightly, looking from her to my grandmother.

“Please, help.” She whispers and I step forward, pushing her off to the side.

I quickly make my way to my grandmother, kneeling down and feeling for a pulse in both her neck and her wrist. I set my jaw, questions piling up in my mind.

Did this girl hurt her? Did she poison her?

What was her motive? I stand up and walk to her, cornering her as I slam the door shut.

“What happened?” I growl, leaning forward. “Spill it, now.” Anger surges through me, thinking of all the awful things this woman could have done.