Page 30 of Crowned In Sin

There’s something there between me and Prince Jasper. It may not be the same raw physical connection I shared with the man from the shadows, but neither of us could now deny that there is a physical connection that is equally intense. More than that, he spoke to me, and after I revealed the secret that could’ve ended our time together, the conversation flowed easily.

It’s a spark that could grow into something more. It is a connection that could be helped and supported by marriage, not stifled by it.

I like him. I’m attracted to him. I’m charmed by him, and I feel for both him and his family. I want to know more about him.

And that is why I must end things with the man from the shadows. Just thinking that…it pains me. I feel sick to my stomach and yet, it was merely a temporary arrangement. I do not even know his name. Surely, it could never have lasted.

I was naive to think that no one would ever be able to take his place. I was also naive to think I could plan my life based on a man I have never seen and who has made no promise to me. The man from the shadows does not owe me any promises—I know that—and he does not owe me his presence.

Above all, I do not think it is fair to him if I allow things to continue the way they have been if I am to be married, and I think⁠—

It is astonishing to feel this way, and suddenly, but I think I am to be married after all. I think I would regret not wedding Prince Jasper. I think I might spend my life wishing I had gotten to know more about him. Perhaps everything about him. And I will only be able to do that if I become his wife.

There have been signs all along that Prince Jasper is serious about me as well, though I did not care to see them as such at the time.

He asked for a week with no other suitors, and my father agreed, so even then he was thinking of taking his time to court me.

My honesty at tea is simply not enough to assuage my guilt. I need to make it clear to my lover—it is so strange and overwhelming to think that I must end things with my lover before I can go any farther with a betrothal to my future husband—that our arrangement is over.

“You look tired, Princess,” Alice says as she finishes brushing my hair and begins to braid it for the night. “Shall I have some calming tea sent up?”

“That would be lovely. Thank you, Alice. Thank you, Blanche,” I add, because I can see in the mirror she is going to the door.

Alice lowers the oil in the torches to dim the lights, checks to see if there is anything else I need, then retires for the night. A cupbearer brings a tray with a pot of chamomile tea and a cup.

I pour tea into the cup, but I’m too nervous to do anything but pace my room. I force myself to make my steps slow and relaxing, and I rehearse what to say. I decide I will be kind but firm. I decide I will handle this the way a princess should. I have the authority to end this, and I have the authority to move forward in my life.

The man from the shadows seems to want me to have what I wish, I remind myself as I go from lamp to lamp, lowering the lights the rest of the way. He came to me and gave me what I wanted. He will give me this, too. He will have known from the start that it could not go on forever.

When there is nothing left for me to do in my rooms, I go out onto the balcony to see if he will appear there.

He doesn’t. When I tire of standing, I climb into my bed and wait.

I do not think I will be able to fall asleep. I do not even think I will be able to close my eyes. But the intensity of the day catches up with me, and I find myself drifting off.

The bed dips, but it almost doesn’t wake me. I’m only vaguely aware of another in my bed. I only come truly awake when the silky blindfold covers my eyes. I sit up, feeling him next to me, and take a deep breath.

With my heart racing, I know what needs to be done.

“I have a confession,” I say. I cannot stop my voice from shaking. “There’s something I need to tell you.”

He does not answer.

“Let me see your face,” I try next.

There is nothing but silence. He does not answer me. I slowly reach for the blindfold, but his large hands grip my wrist and stop me. I do not wish to disappoint him and so I still and then lower my hands, which he allows.

The bed groans as he moves, slowly and carefully, then brushes a kiss to my neck. It is the tenderest touch I have felt from him, and it breaks my heart. I cannot let this go on another moment without telling him the truth, yet I do not want to say what I must. I attempt to push him away, but it’s of no use. He places a hand at my hip, pinning me down and then his other thumb brushes along my lower lip. When I made wild plans in my head at the ball, I did not think they would come along with such doubt and pain.

“I’ve been with another,” I say, as quickly as I can, because I fear I will let his kisses distract me and avoid the matter completely. “I… I…” My voice cracks and I’ve lost the words I’d practiced earlier. I wait for his response but I did not expect what came next.

He slips his hand between my thighs. I gasp and my hands press against his chest, only lightly, and I do not push him away. He strokes gently at my folds, seeming to wonder at the evidence of my arousal, and then he slides two fingers into me slowly, as if he is…checking. When his fingers meet no barrier to stop him, he lets out a low groan of what seems like approval.

I whisper, “I slept with another. And so I must…I must tell you…I can’t… I didn’t mean to⁠—”

He kisses me, silencing me as he does and pushing me onto the pillows. Still kissing me—even more deeply, but still softly, as if he thinks I may be fragile—he lifts my nightgown to my hips and spreads my thighs, then searches out my clit and rubs it in a gentle pattern.

It’s a far slower build than I am used to, but he is persistent. I feel the pleasure everywhere in my body by the time he dips his fingers into my opening and seems to be satisfied with what he finds there.