When we arrive back at the palace, I'm thrilled to return to my bed. Vincent assures me he'll speak with the king about running into Christopher and being unable to kill Alexander's sister. Perhaps there's another way we can use him, so long as we keep his wife alive. Then again, I'm not sure how much he ever truly cared for her. When I'd stumbled into him, he hadn't asked how she was; he'd seemed more engaged in the thought that he was free.
For a few minutes, I'm allowed to rest. The moment my head grazes the pillow, I'm out cold.
Warmth surrounds my body, wrestling me awake. My eyes flash open. Vincent sits quietly in the corner of my room. Has he been sent to watch over me again? He swore not to tell the king that I was his sister.
I don't know how long I slept. The sun has fallen across the sky, indicating that it's well into the better part of the afternoon. "You didn't sleep?" I ask, pushing the covers from my body as I sit up.
"As much as I wanted to," Vincent says and sighs, "no. We have a situation that needs attention."
"We?" I say, confused. Is he referring to the king or to me? I've played my part as best I can. Will Alexander insist I return to enemy territory for the slaying? I grimace just thinking about it. No. Even without him knowing I'm also his sister, he wouldn't put my life in danger for an unnecessary risk. Would he? Of course, he'd already done that with sending me to King Frederyk. My thoughts wander rapidly until Vincent speaks.
"Charlotte and Marie paid a visit to the palace this morning. They returned to Paris to discover the brothel had burned down."
I open my mouth, prepared to ask why they'd come to the palace when Vincent continues his story.
"It turns out they paid a visit to your husband's cottage. What's his name again, Rowland? They were shocked to find the man dead in his chambers and immediately came to the king for assistance."
"Rowland is dead?" The air leaves my lungs, and I find it difficult to breathe. I lie back down on the mattress, staring up at the ceiling. My bottom lip quivers. How can that be? I had put him to bed, and he'd been drunk but alive.
"Cold as a fish." Vincent nods, leaning forward, his elbows on his knees and hands clasped together in front of him. "Tell me what you know, Helene. Maybe I can help you out."
I push myself off the bed and stand up. The cold stone against my feet forces my temperature to soar in ways I never thought imaginable. Sweat glistens my forehead and there's an undeniable ache in my stomach. The room is sweltering and yet my feet are as cold as a winter's snow. "I brought him home to the cottage. He walked himself into bed and passed out. Did I scope the place out to make sure there weren't intruders? No. Is it possible Rowland owed money for gambling? Yes, it's more than likely the case. He also left the house unlocked. He's careless."
I don't move from my place on the floor. Beside Vincent is a mirror and I catch my ghastly reflection. I'm quick to turn around, stepping closer to the only man who can help fix things for me.
"How did he die?" I ask.
"There was a gash to the back of his head and blood in the bedroom."
How can that be? I'd heard a noise when he'd gone to sleep, but he was never gentle, and the bed wasn't made of feathers. Had the murderer been in the room with him?
"The girls came here concerned for you," Vincent says. "Charlotte worried that whoever set the brothel on fire might have attacked Rowland and taken you with him."
I exhale a soft sigh. "Where are Charlotte and Marie? Did someone tell them I'm okay?" I know they couldn't have known the mission I'd been sent on by the king.
Vincent nods. "They're resting. Tomorrow, at first light, they'll return to Paris. Charlotte intends to let Marie stay with her at her parents' home." He grows silent as the seconds lead to minutes, without a word exchanged between us.
I glance up at him, waiting for him to say something. Is he angry that Charlotte had been a girl from my brothel? I'd told him the truth the other day, not that he believed it. "What happens to the king's half-sister?" I ask. Now that we've confirmed her existence, will she be slain as originally planned? Wars were started over far less dire circumstances.
"Alexander proposed a trade. We get the girl, and we turn over Christopher's wife."
"He's not going to execute Katherine?" I ask. I'd felt confident that King Alexander would carry out the sentence of treason.
"Execute? No. I do believe he will give her twenty lashings before the exchange."
I grimace at the mere thought of being whipped. I've seen a few and they are both brutal and disturbing as the flesh is ripped from one's back.
Part of me is curious what the king intends to do with his half-sister upon her arrival. Had she lived anywhere but with King Frederyk I'd have surmised a festival or at least glorious invitation to the palace. Her allegiance would always be in question. Would Alexander ever trust his half-sister? What about me? I'd have to wait to see the damage before revealing my secret to the king. A moment too soon, and I could face the whipping post along with Katherine.
"And if King Frederyk refuses the exchange?" I ask.
"Then we'll be forced to storm the palace and take her. Helene, he's not stupid enough to refuse. He knows what he has, a princess of two kingdoms. Frederyk is building his army; he's not ready to fight. My guess is he'll make the exchange and move progressively forward with his plan for attack."
I don't dare bring up the fact that she probably won't want to come with them. What they're suggesting amounts to kidnapping. Though I suppose it's more humane than killing her outright, which had been my responsibility.
"Is King Alexander prepared to answer to the people of his kingdom why we're at war?"
Vincent stands up, his eyes glancing over my body. "Don't worry yourself with politics. There are other concerns at the forefront."
"Which are?"
"You were the last to be seen with Rowland."
I sigh, feeling disgruntled that we're back to this line of questioning. "You know I wouldn't kill my husband."
"Do I? You mentioned that you wished he were dead."
"A bad choice of words," I say. It had also been poor timing, considering the circumstances. "You must believe me. If I'd have murdered Rowland, I wouldn't have told you I wished him dead. It wasn't true, Vincent. I was feeling frustrated. You stir a desire in me that I can't afford myself to feel."
"Because you were married?" Vincent asks.
"Yes." I don't lie to him. There's no reason to hide anything from him anymore. He knows my most intimate secrets outside of the bedroom. Will I finally have the chance to show him the rest?
He stalks across the room toward me, his hands finding my cheek, cupping it before dragging his lips against mine. His breath is hot, and his fingers are moving around to my lower back, pulling tighter, letting me feel his desire building. "I know you're grieving," he says between his teeth, attacking my mouth in a fervor of kisses and soft bites. "I want you, Helene. I want to taste every freckle and lick the wetness as it seeps out, while you moan my name. Now that you're free from him, you're mine."
I'm torn, not from guilt but loss. His lips caress the nape of my neck as his touch sends sparks down to my core. My heart flutters with pain and sadness while my stomach is in knots. I tangle my fingers in Vincent's hair, and a slight moan elicits from the back of my throat, easing my grief. Everything about him is perfect. With a simple caress, he's able to mend my broken heart.
"Let me take your pain," Vincent says.
He seems to know exactly how I'm feeling. His fingers loosen the ties on the back of my gown, and I lift my arms, letting him pull the heavy fabric over my head. I stand before him in only my chemise.
"I want to feel your skin against mine," I say, letting my fingers caress down his arms and around his stomach to help him undress.
"Let me," he says with insistence.
I crave his touch and want to drag my hands and tongue over his soft skin. I step closer as his clothes drop to the floor and he's wearing nothing in front of me.
"You have on too many clothes. We need to make this even. Lift your arms."
I do as I'm told. With Vincent, I don't mind taking orders, especially if I know to what great pleasures it will lead me. I shut my eyes and lift my arms, basking in the feel of his strong hands lingering at my ankles, caressing up my leg and over my hip as he draws the chemise up and over my head. My heart flutters with his touch. The moment my chemise hits the floor, his arms are around me, and mine around him.
His lips find mine and he backs me quite forcefully against the mattress. "Lie down," he says, nipping my bottom lip when I don't move fast enough. I whimper in protest, scooting back onto the quilt and feel the bed dip as he climbs above me, his body hovering. "Are you nervous?"
I can't explain to him the rationale of why I would be nervous, but he's right. My heart's tempo has quickened as I pull him down, covering his lips with kisses. I allow my hands to roam against his bare back and down across his ass, enjoying the feel of his warm skin.
"I'm terrified," I whisper, staring up at him. Perhaps it's because he can see right into my very heart, know what I'm feeling. I've never felt that connection with anyone before.
"Good." His eyes sparkle as he smiles down at me. "You're not the only one."
I raise an eyebrow, surprised by his own admission. My fingers drag up his spine, tangling in the nape of his neck. "You have nothing to be nervous about." Warmth spreads through my body, and I feel his fingers separate my folds. My lips open, emitting a soft puff of air as he stares at me, watching my every expression while his fingers touch my center.
As his fingers delve deeper, I drag my hand between us, wanting to feel his source of arousal. With my thumb, I graze the head of his prick. His eyes darken and narrow as he struggles to concentrate on me.
The smile grows across my face, loving the one power I hold over him. My fingers caress his length, stroking him softly but firmly as I feel him swell under my touch.
His lips find my neck, gently sucking the skin as he brushes his thumb against my pearl. It's as though lightning crackles, and I shudder from his touch. I close my eyes, basking in the feel of his body hovering above mine.
"I want to feel you," I say as he lowers himself down and I guide him inside my entrance. My head lulls back, and my back arches to accommodate his size.
I wrap my legs around his hips, drawing him deeper, letting him fill me. I open my eyes, wanting to see him above me. It's heavenly. My fingers drag down his back, over his bottom, as I pull him to me. I need to feel him, his warmth and love, his caressing touch.
"Helene," he whispers against my ear, his breath a moan. It's warm and hot, and hearing his name muddled with arousal sends a shiver down my spine. I lean into him, capturing his lips, shoving my tongue into his mouth as he moves his hips, grinding into me.
He's panting, his breaths coming out labored, as he holds his weight above me, thrusting but careful not to crush me. I don't care. I want to feel all of him, I crave it. All the men I've been with always take; they never give. Vincent is different. His fingers dip between us, two of them finding my pearl.
My eyes slam shut, and my toes curl as my insides pulse. With each movement, he brings me closer to the edge of oblivion. My heart slams against my ribcage, and heat fills the room as if it's the middle of summer. I tremble under his touch, pulsating around his prick, and want him to feel as satisfied as he's made me. I spank his bottom, urging him to hurry.
I feel his breath against my cheek and a loud moan falls from his lips as he shudders above me, spilling himself in ecstasy.
"You spanked me?" he gasps, attempting to catch his breath.
There's a quick knock at the door and then it opens in haste. King Alexander clears his throat at the door jamb, and we break apart. I reach for my chemise on the floor, embarrassed. I slide it over my head, trying to hide my naked body from the king, my brother!
"Shouldn't you be grieving, Mistress Helene?" King Alexander says. "I came to give my condolences and ascertain that you weren't the one responsible for your husband's demise. I must say I'm disappointed to see that you've moved on so quickly. I've been hoping you were above all that, even with your history of the brothel." The king lifts one finger, gesturing the guards into my chambers.
Vincent is pulling on his breeches, quick to redress.
My eyes widen, and I climb off the bed, trying to get away and escape my fate. "I didn't kill Rowland!" Just because we had a loveless marriage didn't make me a murderer. Did the king not see that? I'd slept with many men as a madame. Why would I need to kill Rowland to sleep with Vincent?
Vincent watches as I dart across the room to avoid the guards. He's still working on the rest of his clothes. Shame marks his features.
"Tell them I'm not a murderer! I didn't kill my husband!" I shout at Vincent. He's my last hope. What will King Alexander do to me? Will he have me executed?
Two men trap me against the bureau, each taking an arm as they drag me from my chambers and down the stairwell. I don't have to ask to know where I'm being escorted. The prison is down below the palace, making it an impossible escape. I wriggle against the men, trying to free myself from their grasp, but it's of little use. Both men are burly in size and stature. Not even Vincent could fight both of them off. It's as if the king chose his two most fearing guards to escort me to the prison. Am I that much of a terror to the king?
Thrown into a cell, the cold cement floor is marked with dust and dirt. Coughing, I rush to the metal bars as the guard locks me inside. "Please!" I beg of them. "I'm innocent."
"Tell that to someone who cares," the other guard says.