The Queen Called Me to Her Room After the Attack

Arken Palace, minutes before the shot:

I was alone in the private library, bent over an ancient manuscript, with a half-finished glass of wine beside me and nerves gnawing at the back of my neck. The queen had asked me for an answer before dawn, and I could barely decipher half of those cursed symbols. If I concentrated hard enough, I could forget about the dance playing on the other side of the east wing—and the fact that she had been there for hours, smiling for everyone but herself.

The text spoke of displaced souls, emptied bodies, and a return possible only if the entire path of the tearing could be understood. It was exactly what we needed, and for that very reason, I was terrified of getting it wrong. We had already meddled with forces we didn’t fully understand, and every attempt to fix something ended up opening a new wound.

I moistened my lips, went over a line in Latin, and cursed under my breath. If I’d listened to my father when he kept insisting I learn ancient languages, I wouldn’t have been painstakingly unpicking sentences word by word like an idiot that night. The queen could have helped me translate it, yes, but I wasn’t going to drag her out of that room full of ministers, guards, and sycophants just because I was stuck.

I sighed, took another drink, and kept writing out my interpretation by hand. If it worked, we could put everything back where it belonged. If it didn’t, we might finish breaking everything. The thought drew a dry laugh from me, born of sheer exhaustion.

That was when the shot rang out.

It wasn’t a clean sound. It was a muffled blast, followed by screams, shattering glasses, and running feet. My body reacted before my mind did. I threw down the book, shoved back the chair, and ran into the corridor with my heart pounding against my ribs.

***

Arken Palace, after the shot:

By the time I reached the main hall, chaos had already broken loose. Guards were herding people toward the side exits, women were clutching their skirts to keep from tripping, and in the middle of the marble floor a huge man—one of the queen’s new guards—was bleeding out across his white shirt. He had taken the bullet meant for her.

The queen struggled between two agents dragging her toward the armored corridor. Her makeup was smeared, and her fury was so vivid she looked ready to bite anyone who crossed her path. She shouted the wounded man’s name, ordered them to let her go, demanded to return. No one obeyed her.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw her gaze find mine over everyone’s shoulders. It wasn’t a long second, but it was enough. There was fear there. Real fear. Not the elegant fear concealed beneath protocol, but that raw trembling that leaves a person naked even while she’s still dressed in silk.

They dragged her away. They lifted him onto an improvised table, and the palace’s chief physician rolled up her sleeves to open the wound without anesthetic. I wanted to go closer, but a captain blocked my way with her arm.

—Not you—she said sharply. —The queen asked for you in the secure room.

The words pierced me strangely. Amid assassins, blood, and panic, she was looking for me.

***

The secure room was windowless, with metal walls and a single fixed table in the center. When I entered, two guards were stationed beside the door. The queen paced back and forth with her fists clenched, her dark dress split along the side where someone had grabbed her too hard.

She turned when she saw me, and for a moment she stopped being a queen. She was only a woman on the verge of collapse.

—Is he alive?—she asked without greeting.

—Yes. They’re closing the wound.

She exhaled, but didn’t calm down. She ran a hand through her hair, leaving a reddish smear at one temple. It wasn’t her blood. I knew that from the way she looked at it afterward, as if it disgusted her and filled her with guilt at the same time.

—He stepped in for me—she murmured. —He didn’t hesitate for a second.

I moved toward her slowly. I knew her too well to offer her spoken sympathy. Soft words were no use to her; what she needed was to feel that she wasn’t falling apart alone.

—He did his job—I said.

—Don’t repeat that to me as if it were an empty uniform. —Her green, reddened eyes locked onto mine. —I saw him fall, Maia. I saw him take my bullet.

I moved close enough to smell perfume mingled with smoke, wine, and fear. Her breathing was quick. The neckline of her dress rose and fell with every restrained gasp. I wanted to touch her, but I didn’t. Not yet.

—Look at me—I said.

She did.

—You’re alive.

—Barely.

—No. You’re alive and trembling. That’s different.

The tension loosened her jaw a little. She held my gaze for several seconds, and then something happened that had never happened so clearly before: she let the mask fall. No irony, no rank, no distance. Only exhaustion and a brutal need to cling to something.

—I don’t want to be alone tonight—she said at last.

The silence behind that sentence weighed more than the shot.

I had spent months secretly wanting her and just as many hating myself for it. It wasn’t an innocent fantasy. It was an obsession built from brushes of contact, whispered orders delivered too close, closed-door dinners, and her habit of holding my gaze half a second longer than necessary. There had always been something interrupting us: the crown, politics, the day’s catastrophe.

That night there was nothing left to pretend.

—Then don’t be alone—I replied.

She swallowed. I saw it in her throat. I also saw her eyes travel over my mouth before she spoke.

—Come with me.

***

Her rooms were at the far end of the armored corridor. The guards remained outside when she ordered privacy. The door closed and, all at once, the entire palace vanished. There were only the two of us, the echo of the recent violence, and a bed far too large presiding over the room.

The queen stood with her back to me, motionless, as though she didn’t know what to do with her own body now that no one was watching. I approached slowly and saw the broken fastening of her dress, the twisted fabric, the bare shoulder showing beneath her disheveled hair.

—You have blood here—I said.

—I know.

—Let me clean you up.

She didn’t answer. She only inclined her head slightly. It was permission enough.

I went to the vanity, wet a cloth, and returned to her. When I moved her hair aside from her neck, she shuddered. I cleaned her temple first, then her cheek, then the line of her jaw. Her skin was hot. Her pulse beat rapidly beneath my fingers.

—I thought I was going to die in front of everyone—she whispered.

—You didn’t die.

—Not me.

Her voice cracked only slightly. I left the cloth on the table and, this time, placed a hand on her waist. I felt her tense, then immediately settle into my touch, as if my palm were exactly the weight she needed to keep from coming undone.

—Look at me—I repeated.

She turned very slowly. Her eyes were bright, her lashes clumped with smeared mascara, and her mouth was slightly open. So beautiful it made me furious. So broken it burned in my chest.

—If I kiss you now—I said, leaning in until our breaths brushed—I won’t be doing it out of pity.

Her fingers gripped the fabric of my jacket.

—Then kiss me out of hunger.

I didn’t wait for another invitation. I grabbed the back of her neck and kissed her with all the tension I’d been carrying for months. Her mouth was warm, rough from the wine, and as hungry as mine. She answered instantly, opening to me, seeking me with an almost furious need. We kissed as if the shot had broken something inside us both and there was no point denying it anymore.

I bit her lower lip. She moaned. That low, husky sound made me press her harder against me. I slid one hand up her back, caught the ruined fastener of her dress, and pulled the fabric down. One shoulder, then the other. The garment gave way just enough to expose half her breast, rising and falling rapidly.

—Maia...—my name left her lips like an order gone out of control.

—Say it clearly.

—Take it off.

I obeyed. I pushed the dress down her body impatiently, kissing her neck as I undressed her. She did the same to my jacket, tearing it from my shoulders. I let it fall to the floor along with my blouse. When our breasts brushed, she let out a short gasp and shamelessly pressed herself against me, needing friction, heat, something stronger than fear.

I sucked her neck slowly, marking her. I wanted to see her lose control. I wanted to hear her stop speaking like a queen. My hands seized her tits firmly, squeezing them just enough to draw another moan from her.

—Fuck...—she murmured. —Don’t treat me gently.

I smiled against her skin.

—That was never what you wanted from me.

I pinched one nipple between my fingers and she arched her back. I took the opportunity to push her toward the bed. She fell into a sitting position, looking at me with that blend of authority and disorder that drove me crazy. I removed her shoes, pushed the dress aside until it tangled around her thighs, and knelt between her legs.

She was wearing thin panties, already wet at the center. I ran my knuckles over the fabric. Her knees opened wider.

—So it was hunger—I said.

—Stop teasing me and eat me already.

The rawness of her tone made my cunt throb. I hooked my fingers into the fabric and slowly pulled it down her legs. She wasn’t wearing stockings. There was only hot skin, open for me. When I saw her completely, wet, swollen, and trembling, I had to restrain the urge to dive in headfirst.

First I kissed the inside of her left thigh. Then the right. I heard her curse under her breath.

—If you keep teasing me, I swear I’ll...—she began.

I didn’t let her finish. I spread the lips of her cunt with my thumbs and thrust my tongue inside her at once, long and firm. The moan she gave was so loud it made me want to repeat it until she had no voice left. I held her by the hips and licked her from bottom to top, savoring her wetness, feeling her melt and stiffen at the same time.

—Yes... like that...—she gasped, throwing her head back.

I sucked her clitoris, then circled it with the tip of my tongue, refusing to let up. Her fingers sank into my hair, not to pull me away but to push me closer. I loved that mixture of desperation and command. I slid two fingers inside her without warning. She was tight, slippery, and so hot it hurt my hand.

—Fuck, you’re so wet.

—Because of you—she said through her teeth. —Put in more.

I curled my fingers, searching for the spot that made her convulse. I found it on the third try. Her body answered with a beautiful spasm. I sucked her clitoris while fucking her with my hand, faster and faster, listening as her sounds became vulgar, broken, nothing real or dignified or perfect. Just an aroused woman on the edge.

—Don’t stop... don’t fucking stop...

I inserted a third finger. She screamed. Her pelvis began thrusting against my face with open hunger, without elegance. I loved it. I gripped her harder, burying my mouth between her legs, eating her the way I’d wanted to since the first time she smiled at me in a closed-door meeting.

Her orgasm arrived in a violent shudder. She clamped my head between her thighs and came trembling, saying my name halfway, as if it were breaking inside her mouth. I kept licking her through the tremors, slowing at the end, until she tried to pull away because the excess made her moan too loudly.

I sat up with my chin wet. She looked at me as if she wanted to devour me whole.

—Come here.

I climbed onto the bed. She grabbed my trouser belt and pulled me toward her impatiently. When she tried to undo it, I caught her wrists for a moment, and she went still.

—Who’s giving the orders now?—I asked.

Her smile was small, tired, and filthy.

—Whatever you want, but don’t leave me without touching you.

I let go of her hands, and she helped me undress. Within seconds we were both naked on the sheets, the smell of sex mingling with expensive perfume and the old smoke from the attack. She lowered her gaze to my cunt and licked her lips without shame. Seeing her like that aroused me even more.

—Spread your legs—she ordered.

I did. She settled between them and kissed the inside of my thigh with a slowness that had tormented me earlier. When she finally ran her tongue over my clitoris, I had to bite my lip to keep from screaming. She knew how to use her mouth. She did it with precision and hunger, alternating broad licks with short sucks that made my hips lose their rhythm.

—Fuck...—escaped me. —Yes, like that.

Her answer was to push two fingers all the way inside me. She moved them slowly at first, gauging my reaction, and when she saw me arch, she sped up without mercy. Her hair brushed my thighs. Her mouth was everywhere. I felt wetness running down me and didn’t care. I wanted to grab her hair, command her, dominate her a little, but she looked up at me from between my legs with such a determined expression that she undid me.

—I want to see you come—she said. —I want to see you stop thinking.

The words, spoken by that mouth that had been trembling minutes earlier, struck me full force. I pushed against her fingers and she understood. She curled her hand, squeezed my clitoris with her thumb, and drove me to the edge in a brutal rush. I came moaning loudly, my legs trembling around her shoulders, my throat closed by pleasure.

When she rose to kiss me, I tasted myself on her tongue. We kissed wetly and messily, breathing badly.

—I’m not finished—she whispered.

Neither was I.

I made her turn around and put her on all fours on the bed. I liked the way she obeyed without arguing, looking over her shoulder with her disheveled hair stuck to her neck. I stroked her back, moved down her waist, and spread her buttocks with my hands. She was wet again. Truly wet. I ran two fingers over her entrance, and she moaned at once.

—Do you have anything in the drawer?—I asked.

—Left side. A black case.

I opened it. Inside was an elegant, discreet harness and a dark silicone dildo, firm and just the right size to make her mouth fall open when she saw it. I raised an eyebrow at her.

—So you didn’t want to be alone, huh?

—Don’t start. Put it on.

I laughed softly. Impatience poured from every pore of her. I fastened the harness while she watched me from her knees on the bed, with that delicious mixture of need and poorly concealed arrogance. Then I took lubricant from the same case, although she was so aroused that she barely needed it. I used it anyway, coating the tip and then my fingers.

I touched her with my hand first. One finger. Two. Three again, opening her, preparing her for every spasm. I heard her pant and push her ass toward me.

—Fuck me already.

I gave one of her buttocks a sharp slap. The sound bounced around the room.

—Ask more nicely.

She turned her face, surprised by the blow, and her nipples hardened even further.

—Fuck me, Maia. Fuck me hard.

That was a request made to be obeyed. I held the harness, positioned the tip at her entrance, and began to penetrate her slowly. Her cunt swallowed me inch by inch. She moaned with her forehead buried in the sheets, opening for me, wet and hot. When I was fully inside, I stayed still for a second just to watch her tremble around the fullness.

—Shit...—she gasped. —Move.

I withdrew almost completely and thrust back in harder. The scream she gave sent heat through my blood. I began fucking her with a firm rhythm, deeper each time, gripping her hip with one hand and her hair with the other. The sound of wet impacts filled the room. Each thrust made her thighs tremble.

—Yes, like that... fuck...—she repeated. —Don’t stop. Harder.

I released her hair and brought my hand to her clitoris, rubbing it while I penetrated her. That undid her. She began moaning without restraint, thrusting backward in search of more. I gave her more. More speed, more force, more pressure. The bed creaked beneath us.

—I thought you were going to die—I said through my teeth, leaning over her back while I kept thrusting.

—So did I.

—And now look at you.

I bit her shoulder and fucked her deeper. Her answer was to come again, shaking violently, clutching the sheets in her fists while she spoke obscenities in a broken voice. I didn’t stop. I kept driving through her trembling, using her exactly as she had asked, until the orgasm loosened her arms and she nearly collapsed onto the mattress.

I withdrew slowly. She fell onto her back, panting, shining with sweat. I removed the harness and climbed back onto the bed. I thought we were finished, but the moment I came near, she grabbed the back of my neck and kissed me with renewed avidity.

—Again—she murmured against my mouth.

—Still?

—The fear still hasn’t gone away.

Her answer tightened something inside my chest. I brushed her hair away from her face and kissed her more gently. Then I lowered one hand between us and began rubbing her clitoris patiently, watching pleasure rise again over the exhaustion. She slipped one leg between mine and began rubbing herself against me. Our cunts met, wet and hot, sliding against each other as we kissed and panted softly.

That simple, animal movement held something more intimate than everything that had come before. I felt her seeking not only release but something to hold on to in me. I embraced her from behind, squeezed one of her tits, and sucked her earlobe while we kept rubbing against each other hungrily.

—Don’t let me go—she whispered.

—I’m not going to.

I slid two fingers inside her again, and she answered by thrusting her pelvis against my hand and my sex at the same time. We came almost together, in a tangle of broken breaths, open mouths, and trembling muscles. Her orgasm tore a long moan from her that ended hidden against my neck. Mine left me seeing lights behind my eyelids.

We lay there, pressed together and sweaty, for several minutes. Outside, the operation, reports, and orders must have been continuing. Inside, all that could be heard was air entering and leaving our lungs.

***

She was the first to speak.

—I don’t want this to become a casualty of war.

I turned my head to look at her. She still hadn’t let go of my waist.

—And what do you want it to become?

She took her time. The queen had returned somewhat to her face, but not completely. Thankfully.

—Something I don’t have to hide from you with lies.

Her answer surprised me more than the sex. I smiled faintly, still catching my breath.

—That sounds dangerously honest.

—I was just shot. I’m not in the mood for diplomacy.

I let out a short laugh. She did too. It was incredible that laughter could exist after a night like that, but there it was.

Then someone knocked on the door. A guard announced from outside that the wounded man was stable and the attacker was still at large. The queen closed her eyes for a moment, relieved. I kissed her temple.

—He’s alive—I reminded her.

—I know.

—And so are you.

This time she really smiled, small and exhausted. She stroked my face with her fingers, still trembling slightly, but no longer from fear.

—Stay until dawn.

I looked at her, naked amid the tangled sheets, with the mark of my teeth on her shoulder and power still clinging to her skin even after she had come three times. I didn’t need to think about it.

—I’ll stay.

We turned off the last lamp. In the darkness, the palace was still a dangerous place. Her room, on the other hand, no longer seemed like a fortress, but a shared trench. And when she pressed herself against me in search of warmth, I knew it hadn’t been merely a night of panic and sex. We had crossed a door that would never close again.