The return journey from the Island of Vows was organized with the same chaotic efficiency that defined the Empress's entire reign.
"The Gold Carriage for myself and the future Queen!" The Empress declared, hooking her arm aggressively through Victoria's. "We must discuss the reception seating charts immediately. The Duke of Westphalia cannot sit next to the Duchess of Eastphalia, or there will be a duel by the soup course."
Victoria looked as though she would rather discuss her own autopsy, but she curtsied perfectly. "It would be an honor to assist, Your Majesty."
"And Prince Beckett!" The Empress snapped her fingers. "You must come too. I need a neutral third party to decide between the dove-grey and the oyster-white napkins. Your brother has no taste for such nuances."
Beckett looked back at Kaia with the desperate eyes of a drowning man. "Napkins," he mouthed silently. "Help me."
"But—" Beckett started aloud.
"In the carriage!" The Empress commanded, shoving him gently but firmly toward the gilded vehicle.
She turned back to the remaining pair standing on the gravel.
"That leaves you two," she said, waving a dismissive hand at Aeron and Kaia. "You can take the Black Carriage behind us. Do try to make polite conversation. Discuss... weather. Or taxes. Try not to bore each other to death before we reach the palace."
Aeron bowed. His face was a mask of bored, dutiful obedience.
"As you wish, Mother."
He turned to Kaia. "Lady Kaia. After you."
Kaia swallowed hard. The Black Carriage was smaller, intimate, and lined with crushed velvet the color of midnight. It was a rolling confession booth.
She stepped inside, her lemon-yellow skirts filling the small space. Aeron followed, closing the door with a heavy, final click.
Outside, Caspian scrambled onto the rear footman's perch, wedging himself between two burly guards. He looked at the carriage, then at the sky, and whispered a prayer to whatever god protected valets from stress-induced heart failure.
"Move out!" the driver shouted.
The carriage lurched forward.
Inside, the air instantly turned thin.
Aeron didn't sit opposite her. He sat right next to her. His thigh, solid and warm beneath his black breeches, pressed firmly against hers. The carriage was narrow, but not that narrow. This was a choice.
He reached up and yanked the heavy velvet curtains shut, plunging them into a dim, twilight gloom.
"You enjoyed that," Aeron said.
His voice wasn't the smooth, melodic baritone of the Crown Prince. It was the low, gravelly rasp of the man who had wrecked her in the library.
Kaia gripped her reticule. "I enjoyed the lemonade. It had vodka in it."
"I'm talking about the grapes," Aeron growled. He turned to face her, his silver eyes flashing in the semi-darkness. "You let him touch your mouth. You let him breathe on you."
"He is my betrothed, Aeron."
"He is a boy," Aeron snapped. His hand shot out, gripping her chin and forcing her to look at him. "And you are not a woman for boys. You are a creature of appetites."
"And you are jealous," Kaia whispered, a thrill shooting through her chest. "Of your own brother."
"I am territorial," he corrected, his thumb pressing hard into her lower lip, dragging it down. "There is a difference."
The carriage hit a rut in the road. Kaia was thrown against him.
Aeron didn't steady her. He caught her.
His arm locked around her waist like an iron band. He pulled her onto his lap, his other hand tangling in the hair at the nape of her neck. He buried his face in her throat, inhaling deeply, growling when he caught the scent of her perfume mixed with the lingering sweetness of the fruit.
"You smell like him," Aeron muttered against her skin. "I need to fix that."
"Aeron, the guards—"
"Are outside. The wheels are loud. The road is bumpy." He bit the sensitive cord of her neck, hard enough to leave a mark. "Scream all you want, Kaia. They'll just think we hit a pothole."
He shifted his hips, and Kaia gasped. Beneath her bottom, even through the layers of her dress and his breeches, she felt him. He was hard. Impossibly, painfully hard. A ridge of steel pressing up against her softest parts.
"Open," he commanded.
He didn't wait. He shoved her skirts up, bunching the expensive yellow silk around her waist until her legs were bare to the cool air of the carriage.
Kaia straddled his lap, her knees hitting the velvet cushions of the seat. She was facing him, her dress acting as a tent around them both.
"Hold onto the window straps," he ordered.
Kaia reached up, grabbing the leather loops hanging by the curtained windows. The position arched her back, thrusting her chest forward and grinding her hips down against his erection.
"Fuck," Aeron hissed, his head falling back against the squabs as he felt her weight settle on his cock. "You feel good. You feel so fucking good."
His hands went to her thighs, spreading them wider. Then, he stopped.
He looked at his own right hand, still encased in the pristine white silk glove of the Paragon. He sneered at it.
Slowly, holding Kaia's gaze, he brought his hand to his mouth. He bit the tip of the middle finger and pulled. The silk slid off, inch by inch, revealing his bare, tanned skin. He dropped the glove onto the seat like a discarded rag.
"No barriers," he whispered.
He found the slit in her drawers instantly.
His bare fingers brushed against her center, and Kaia cried out, her head falling back.
"Wet," Aeron growled, his voice thick with satisfaction. He pushed two fingers inside her, deep and fast. "Soaking wet. Was this for him? Were you dripping like this while he fumbled with a grape?"
"No," Kaia gasped, bucking against his hand. "For you. Only you."
"Good girl."
He began to move. It was a punishing rhythm. His fingers thrust into her, curling and claiming, while his thumb pressed relentlessly against her clit. But the real torture was the friction of his hips.
He bucked up against her, grinding the hard length of his erection against her swollen flesh through the fabric of his trousers. The friction was maddening. It was raw, dry heat against slick, wet need.
"Aeron," she whimpered, her hips snapping forward, trying to get closer, trying to get more. "Please. I need—"
"What do you need?" he demanded, his voice a rough scrape against her ear. He bit her earlobe, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin. "Tell me."
"You," she sobbed. "I need you inside me."
"Not yet," he denied her, withdrawing his fingers almost completely before slamming them back in to the hilt. "Not until you ruin this dress. Not until you make a mess on my lap that I have to explain to the Empress."
The carriage hit another bump. The jolt slammed her down onto his hand and his cock simultaneously.
Kaia saw stars.
"That's it," Aeron whispered, watching her face contort. "Ride it. Use the road, Kaia. Grind on me."
He held his hand perfectly still, his fingers buried deep inside her, his thumb anchoring her clit. He let the violent swaying of the carriage do the rest. Every rock, every turn, every lurch of the wheels ground her down onto him.
She was dry humping the Crown Prince of Arindale in a moving carriage, and she was going to lose her mind.
"Aeron, please," she begged, her voice breaking. "I'm close. I'm so close."
"Then cum," he commanded. "Cum on my hand. Cum on my cock."
He reached up with his free hand and covered her mouth, his leather-scented palm muffling her. "Let go."
He thrust his hips up, hard, grinding the ridge of his cock against her sweet spot with devastating precision.
Kaia shattered.
She screamed into his hand, a muffled, desperate sound that vibrated through her entire body. She clamped down on his bare fingers, her hips grinding frantically against him as the orgasm ripped through her. It was blinding. It was messy. She felt herself soaking his hand, soaking his breeches, completely undone.
Aeron groaned, a guttural sound of triumph and pain as he felt her release. He held her through it, his arm like a vice around her waist, absorbing every tremor.
Slowly, the world stopped spinning.
Kaia slumped against his chest, gasping for air. Her dress was a disaster. Her hair was half-unpinned.
Aeron slowly removed his hand from her mouth. He didn't remove his other hand from between her legs yet. He dragged his thumb over her slick, sensitive flesh one last time, making her shiver.
"Look at you," he whispered, his voice laced with dark pride. "A mess. My mess."
He pulled his hand free. It was glistening. He held it up in the dim light, showing her the evidence of her desire.
Then, slowly, maintaining eye contact, he brought his fingers to his mouth and licked them clean.
"Delicious," he murmured.
The carriage began to slow.
"We're arriving," Aeron noted, his voice shifting back to cool composure as if he hadn't just defiled her.
He looked down at his lap. The black fabric of his breeches was unmistakably dark with a mix of her fluids and his own pre-release.
"Shit," Kaia whispered, realizing the problem.
Aeron didn't panic. He reached onto the seat next to him and picked up his black silk top hat. He stood up in the crouched space of the carriage, adjusting his coat.
"You have thirty seconds to look like a lady who has been discussing taxes," he said, sliding his white glove back onto his hand to cover the sin.
Kaia scrambled off the seat, her legs shaking so hard she could barely stand. She frantically smoothed her hair and pulled her dress down.
"You are a devil," she whispered, her face burning.
Aeron opened the carriage door. He held his top hat casually in front of him, perfectly concealing the front of his trousers.
"And you," Aeron said, gesturing for her to exit first, "are going to have to walk before me so no one sees what you did to your future King."
Kaia stepped down onto the gravel. Her knees almost buckled.
"Your Highness," she managed.
Caspian hopped down from the back, looking windblown, pale, and deeply traumatized. He took one look at Aeron's flushed face, the top hat held suspiciously low, and the slight disarray of Kaia's hair.
"Good journey, Caspian?" Aeron asked pleasantly.
Caspian looked at the Prince. He looked at the carriage, which was still creaking slightly.
"Enlightening, sir," Caspian whispered. "Though I fear I may never look at a pothole the same way again."