5,760 minutes. 96 hours. Four days. Roughly, that’s how long it’s been since Heath Bordeaux fit me for my crown. Those days snuck by in the blink of an eye, in the microseconds a bolt of lightning steals when striking the ground…in the time it takes to break a heart.
Leaving the haven of Liam Castle broke mine.
“He should be here with you,” Faye says as we approach the library on the first floor of the tower. Elise nods in agreement.
“He decided against it,” I say, doing my best not to chew my nails.
The chancellor’s absence is like a gushing wound in my chest. I’m devastated he chose not to escort me himself—leaving my ladies to do it—but I understand why he made the decision.
I think back to my last ten minutes with him, on the cusp of his penthouse door.
“I’m not ready to say goodbye,” I’d pleaded, tears stinging my eyes as his hands rose to frame my face. His thumbs had brushed along my cheekbones as if preparing to wipe the pain away between us.
“This isn’t goodbye, my sweet girl.”
“It feels a lot like goodbye, Chancellor.”
A melancholy smile quirked at the corners of his lips. “I know we’ve grown close enough this past month for you to be comfortable using my name.”
“The title just slipped out,” I’d lied, hoping he’d scold me, spank me, lock me up and keep me as punishment for my refusal to use his name. Anything but sending me out that door.
He’d raised a brow upon my feigned innocence. “If you’re begging for my hand as a delaying tactic, it won’t work. I won’t cause your tardiness for the inevitable.”
By the inevitable he meant the start of my prison sentence with Heath Bordeaux.
I couldn’t have argued with him even if I’d wanted to, because in the next instant he’d kissed me. It hadn’t tasted like goodbye. In the sweep of our tongues, I’d found quiet desperation. Sweet sorrow. A promise for so much more, whether it be eleven days or eleven months down the line.
“Go,” he’d rasped against my damp lips, forehead pressed to mine. His hand landed on the door handle, threatening to thrust me into the supervision of my ladies who waited on the other side of the barrier locking us in this private moment.
“Don’t make me go.”
The handle turned—an almost indiscernible click. “You have to. Don’t make this harder than it already is, Novalee.” His warm breath on my cheek, followed by the press of his lips, would have to sustain me until I saw him again.
I cling to the memory now as his maid stops in front of the massive doors of the library. “Are you ready?” Selma asks, and I think I spot a sorrowful hint in the pinch of her coral lips. She’s in full uniform, a no-nonsense bun holding her graying blond hair at the nape.
“Yes, I’m…ready.”
It’s a lie. I’m as ready for Heath Bordeaux as I was the day he fit me for my crown and revealed a taste of his unforgiving, obstinate nature.
Selma knocks three times. A deep male voice calls for us to come in, and Selma allows us entry into the room where it all began. It’s a light and airy space, despite the masculine bookcases that surround the comfortable seating arrangements inviting meetings among leaders.
And the passing-around of queens.
Heath Bordeaux is waiting by the south-facing windows. His back is to me, but I recognize him by his rigid stature. His black hair sheens silvery in the late morning rays pouring through the arched glass in front of him. A blond man I’ve never seen before stands at attention near him, his posture as rigid as the man who will have dominion over me for the next month.
Mr. Bordeaux turns, and those hazel eyes shoot ice through me. They’re beautiful eyes set in a traditionally handsome face, but something about him is…
Cold.
Vacant.
To make matters worse, he’s glaring at me.
“Your ladies may return to their quarters. You won’t need their services while you’re a guest in my house.”
His statement hits me like a sneak attack—a wave that rises from nowhere and knocks me down—and I drop to my knees.
“Please, Mr. Bordeaux. Don’t send my ladies away. I beg of you.”
They’re all I have in this place. The only two people keeping me sane.
“That isn’t for you to decide.” He nods toward his silent companion, who steps forward upon command. “My manservant will escort your ladies back to where they belong.”
Faye takes a brave step toward Mr. Bordeaux. “This isn’t right. I’m not—”
Cutting her off, I jump to my feet and hug her tight enough to silence her objection. Elise dabs at her eyes in my peripheral. “Shh, it’s okay,” I tell her in a whisper. “Go, please.”
Mr. Bordeaux is not Liam, with his gentle authority and quiet leniency. I don’t know who the man from the House of Taurus is, but he’s not someone you disobey or argue with, and it would wreck me to watch him punish Faye because of her loyalty to me.
“He can’t keep us away from you for a whole month.”
I pull back and meet her sable eyes. “Yes, he can, Faye.”
With the exception of taking my virginity, he can do whatever he wants.
“But you’re my queen.” Faye blinks rapidly, and it’s enough to harden my heart against the man forcing us apart because she doesn’t get emotional. She gets angry, indignant, righteous.
She doesn’t do tears, but she’s holding them back now.
“As your queen, I’m ordering you to go. I’ll be okay. I promise.”
“Faye,” Elise says in a soft lilt, “we have to do what’s best for Novalee.” She grabs Faye’s hand, giving it a subtle tug, and wordlessly, they follow Mr. Bordeaux’s manservant out of the library.
I’m frozen to the spot, fighting tears, fearful of turning around and confronting the heartless man who just sent my only support system away for the next month.
“Don’t stand with your back to me.”
I pivot. “Why did you send them away?” Anger vibrates in my limbs, rushing through my blood until I’m brimming with it. I embrace the sting in my eyes, unwilling to shed a single tear in his presence.
He appears unmoved by my outburst, his expression wooden as his stride brings him within arm’s reach. “It’s not your place to question me.” He points to the floor. “Kneel.”
I go down, my mind flashing back to a month ago when my uncle forced me to my knees for the chancellor. Unwittingly, my attention darts to Mr. Bordeaux’s zipper.
Unlike Liam, he’s not aroused.
I cling to that small favor.
“Down on your haunches.”
My ass meets the back of my heels.
“Bow your head.”
Aiming my gaze at the floor, I follow his movement from the corner of my eye as he wanders behind me.
“Hands on your thighs, palms up.” He murmurs his approval after I do what I’m told. “Good. This is how you’ll kneel in my presence. Is that clear?”
“Yes, Mr. Bordeaux,” I say, lifting my head enough to peek at him as he approaches the other side of me.
“I see you’ve learned a little respect since our meeting in the chancellor’s penthouse.” Three more steps brings him full circle. “But there’s room for improvement.”
My pulse ratchets as one word blares in my mind, as loud and panic inducing as a scream.
Dungeon.
“I’ll do my best to learn, Mr. Bordeaux.”
Anything to get through the next thirty days unscathed.
“Queens are to be seen, not heard. You will not speak unless spoken to. Do you understand?”
I don’t understand at all.
“Do you understand, my queen?” he enunciates slowly.
I stutter out an answer. “Y-yes…but…what if I need to say something?”
“It’s yes, Mr. Bordeaux.” His ire lands in the thump of his shoes as he circles me once more. “If you feel the need to speak, then you’ll raise your hand, and I’ll either grant permission or deny it.”
I lick my lips, eliminating the question weighing on my tongue.
The one I can’t ask.
The one I’m afraid to learn the answer to.
What happens if I break his rules?
“We’ll begin with a training session in the dungeon. You need to know this isn’t a punishment. I’m giving you the necessary information and training so you know, without a doubt, what your duties and boundaries are.”
Maybe this won’t be so bad. Maybe his cold detachment will mean more distance between us. The lump of dread in my belly warns otherwise.
Mr. Bordeaux thrusts out a hand. “You may rise.”
I get to my feet, and despite the alarm blaring through my head, I raise my eyes to his as our palms press together.
Displeasure pulls at his mouth. “We have a lot to cover.” With a tug of my hand, he urges me toward the door, and I follow him as the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.