Praise Me: Princess (Praise Me Daily)
Praise Me: Princess: Chapter 5

I woke up in my bed this morning for the first time in a year.

I’m…rested.

I didn’t jolt awake and reach for my dagger, as I usually do.

All because I fell asleep in the arms of my bodyguard. Highly unusual behavior. Not befitting of a princess whatsoever. But it was my best sleep in recent memory.

Don’t get used to it.

Come hell or high water, the commander is leaving today. I’m not going to keep him at the palace against his will. I won’t be any more of a burden on him than I already have been. Resolved to make my mother believe I’m recovered enough to dismiss Conrad, I walk through the great hall of the palace, the nape of my neck warm and tingly, thanks to the man himself walking directly behind me.

A glance over my shoulder confirms he’s surly as ever, giving disgusted once-overs to everyone we pass on the way out the door, into the fresh air, where two SUVs are waiting to bring us on an excursion outside of the palace. To the horse ranch. Up until now, I was relatively calm, but seeing how many people are lined up and waiting, watching me approach with an air of skepticism, makes my legs feel like jelly.

“Really, this didn’t need to be such a production,” I say, my voice sounding embarrassingly thin. “I’m sure you all have much better things to do with your day than watch me tend to the horses.”

“We’re more than happy to be accompanying you on your transition back to the real world, princess,” says Rolf the footman, beaming at me as he opens the door to the idling vehicle and comes forward to guide me toward it.

Conrad steps between me and the Rolf before he can get within three feet. “The princess doesn’t require your assistance.” He rests a hand on the small of my back, shuffling me closer to him and I look up to replace him frowning at the gathered group. “Why are there so many of you coming with us? This isn’t a fucking birthday party.”

Several members of staff flinch over his choice of language. “Well,” says Rolf, his face pinkening slightly. “We have our medical response team in case an emergency should arise, additional guards, the official palace social media documentarians…which mean we obviously require hair and makeup—”

“No,” Conrad clips.

Rolf backs up a pace. “No?”

“You heard me.” He lowers his voice. “This is going to be hard enough for her without an audience. She needs security. And I suppose the medical response team. But nothing more. Everyone else can go practice lipstick somewhere else.”

“But, sir—”

“Commander,” Conrad corrects him, urging me forward. “I’ll ride with Greta. Everyone else can go in the other car.”

I hold my composure until we’re seated in the middle row of the SUV, seatbelts engaged, then a breath of laughter bursts out of me. “Apparently you’re not the least bit interested in making friends.”

“I don’t need friends.” He tests my seatbelt, then grunts at the driver to let him know we’re ready to go. “Friends are obligations. Obligations are annoying.”

Message received. He’s reminding me I need to succeed today, so he can go home.

As the vehicle rolls forward, bringing us toward the gates to leave the palace, my fingers clutch and twist in my lap, my mind bombarded with visions of rebels converging on me, enflamed hatred in their eyes. “You d-didn’t have friends in the service?”

I’m heartened when his features go slightly softer. “I consider them brothers, but yes.” He raises an eyebrow at me. “And they know I don’t like obligations. If there’s a party, they don’t invite me. They accept my antisocial nature.”

“Were you always like this?” My tone of voice has risen to an unnatural pitch, my chest growing tight. So tight. We’re almost on the other side of the gate.

“No.”

I can feel him looking at me. The entire right side of my face is warm.

He sighs, reaching over to take hold of my chin, so I’m looking up at him and not at the approaching exit. “You want to hear a story?”

“Okay,” I whisper.

“I’m going to tell you why I’m antisocial and you’re going to focus on me and not what’s happening outside the car, Greta.” His fingers splay on the side of my face, ever so slightly brushing my hairline. “What do we say when you’re scared?”

“Nothing gets through you. Not bullets, not acts of nature.” In need of comfort, I turn my face into his palm and swear I hear his intake of breath. “Not shrapnel or blades.”

“Nothing.”

I nod, knowing full well I shouldn’t be rubbing my cheek against his calloused hand, but it feels too nice, too reassuring to stop. “Tell me the story.”

“Story. Right.” He seems fascinated by my mouth. I knew red lipstick was a bold choice to visit the horses. I thought the boldness of the color might make me braver. He’s probably wondering if I did my makeup in the dark. “I was raised by a single mother and she loved parties. She was a good sort. A big talker. Loved to laugh. She was always the last to leave a celebration and that meant I was the last to leave, too. Parties were too loud for my taste, too messy.” He shook his head, as if to banish the concept of parties forever. “Most of the time, she didn’t drink so much that she couldn’t see us home, but one time when I was thirteen, she did. It was a New Year’s Eve party and she drank her weight in champagne. She couldn’t drive in that condition, so we walked home in the pitch-black countryside and she was singing so loud that neither one of us heard the river. Both of us fell straight into an icy cold current and got carried a full mile before I could grab a branch and pull us out. The whole time we were being carried down the stream and I was struggling to keep my mother above water, I vowed I would never attend another party as long as I lived. I just wanted to be home. Alone. In the quiet. And that never changed.”

I must be positively gaping at him. “Is that really a true story?”

“I don’t tell lies to my princess.”

There’s a suspicious tug between my legs in response to him calling me his princess. The kind of tug I’ve never felt before. It’s followed by a hot, liquid squeeze.

Oh my.

How silly to focus on his phrasing. I’m everyone’s princess, technically.

That’s all he meant.

“Where is your mother now?”

“Still in the countryside. Still likes to party.” He rolls his eyes, but there’s a layer of fondness there. “I suppose I’m due to visit.”

“You’ll be able to go see her soon. Very soon.” I glance outside the window and see rolling hills, the city in the distance, and realization dawns, but I try not to make a big deal out of the fact that I’ve officially left the palace. “Look at me, I’m outside the palace walls. You’re one step closer to—”

An explosion rents the air and I’m tackled sideways onto the seat, Conrad on top of me, his hard body pinning me while his breath rages raggedly in my ear. I’m freezing cold in a split second, shivering like I’m the one being carried down an icy river, my legs wrapping around his hips, my shaking hands creeping up around the wide breadth of his back to pull him closer. As close as possible.

“The other SUV backfired,” he says, dropping his face into my neck, his immense relief evident in the way he shudders. “False alarm, princess. I’m sorry.” I hear him swallow and sense an internal struggle taking place, before he nuzzles the crook of my neck. “You’re okay, baby. Shhh. Just a loud noise.”

I’m desperate to ground myself, for the world to stop spinning too fast. “Can you tell me another story?”

He shifts slightly on top of me, in order to look me in the eye, our foreheads pressing together and…I gulp over the rugged muscle that rides over my softness when he moves. In places where I’ve never experienced a man’s body in such an intimate fashion. His hips are large and thick, opening my legs inappropriately, his chest crushing my breasts, but not in an unpleasant way. No, that liquid melt is happening again between my legs and it reddens my skin, makes me feel swollen and achy in odd places.

“A story,” he repeats, his breath hot on my mouth, enough to moisten my lips. “Have you heard the one about the princess’s bodyguard?”

“No,” I whisper, trapped in his gaze. “Tell me.”

His chest begins to move faster, both of us sucking in a breath when our lips brush once, twice. “He came to the palace hell-bent on hating the princess, but he couldn’t do it. She’s too sweet. And he doesn’t even like sweet things, but he…” His lips twist over mine now. Not a kiss. A writhe. “He wonders about all the places she’s sweet.”

I gasp at his forwardness but do nothing to stop or chastise him.

I can’t. I like it too much.

My mother would have a seizure if she could see me spread out for my bodyguard on the seat of the SUV, his hips pressed in tight between my thighs, our mouths tangled in the beginning stages of a kiss…and now Conrad’s hand is dragging down the valley of my side to take my knee in its grip, slowly draw it higher, allowing his lower body to grow heavier, pressurizing a whimper out of me. But I whimper for an entirely different reason when his thumb brushes lightly over my brand. He doesn’t break our intense eye contact while he circles the painful mark.

“Who the fuck did this to you, Greta?”

“You know who.”

“I want names. I want locations.” He searches my eyes and I’m taken aback by the rage I see in his, though it’s tempered by…affection? For me? “What happened, baby?”

The pressure he’s applying to the juncture of my thighs combined with that rasp of baby is making me feel funny. Heavy and uncomfortable…in an enjoyable way? Does that even make sense? “About a year ago, I traveled north for a summit. The rebels were ready to negotiate an armistice. Or so they said. My mother thought it was time I represent the palace, but…I let her down. I didn’t recognize soon enough that we’d been duped. It was a trap. They intercepted our convoy as we crossed the border.” I’m breathing so hard, his mouth just above mine. Focusing on his vengeful eyes is all I can do. “They kept me for two weeks, demanding my mother set their prisoners free. She couldn’t. Not without jeopardizing our troops. Not right away. And…”

“They hurt you.”

I nod.

“Badly enough that you sleep in a closet with a fucking dagger.” His voice is anguished, his face dropping into the crook of my neck, rubbing there. “And I was horrible to you. I am the worst kind of bastard. One who judges without having the facts.”

My fingers replace purchase in his hair, stroking, razing his scalp with my nails. “It’s okay. The details weren’t made public. You would have no way of knowing—”

“It’s not okay,” he growls, rolling his puckered forehead against mine. “Were you raped, princess?”

“No. No.”

He makes a sound that I can’t describe. It’s excess frustration and a downpour of relief, all at the same time. “I won’t rest until I’ve spat on their graves.” His mouth roams over mine, but it’s still not a kiss. It’s a reassuring touch. It’s our lips becoming acquainted, even if their acquaintance can only be brief. It’s comfort and neither one of us can help it, our breaths accelerating, my legs growing anxious around his hips. And God, when those hips shift upward, to the right and I feel something thick and large and stiff tuck my against the seam of my pants, I cry out behind my teeth. “I won’t rest until the nightmares are banished from your head.”

“That’s not your job, Commander,” I assure him, gasping when he moves again, the friction shooting static all the way down to my toes. “Your obligation to me will be fulfilled soon. Today. I promise.”

His eyes pinch shut. “I’m going to regret all that obligation talk, aren’t I?”

What does he mean? Why would he regret being truthful?

“I’m going to set you free of your obligation to me soon, but…” I arch my back a little, wanting to make the most of the moment before it comes to an end. There’s no other option. We have to stop. “My life is nothing but obligations.”

He reaches beneath me to cradle my backside, lifting and yanking me against his groin, his powerful body shuddering above me. “You don’t need to think about anything but this right now,” he rasps.

“If you were obligated to get married to a prince in a couple weeks’ time, would you be able to forget about it for a second?” I ask, squeaking when he pins me hard to the seat, his face a mask of denial.

“Married to…?” he bellows, the reality of the situation returning to him in a rush, him visibly remembering what lies ahead for me. “Nothing is set in stone. You could very easily hate him. I already fucking do.”

“If it’s not him,” I point out, “it’ll eventually be someone else.”

His stare is haunted. “Are you trying to kill me?”

Why would my impending engagement bother him? He’s leaving. That’s all he’s wanted since he arrived. “You’re confusing me, Commander,” I whisper. “You hated me yesterday, now you seem almost angry that I’m going to be engaged soon.”

“Almost? Almost angry, Greta?”

“What do you want from me?” I explode.

“Right now?” His mouth is suddenly pressed firm to mine, parting my lips, his breath moist and minty, his palm keeping my backside in place while he rocks into the notch of my hips and the stirrings of a kiss. “I want to know what it’s like to kiss a brave girl who lived through kidnapping. Torture. Then left the palace today because she’s selfless and wanted to do a kindness for someone else. I want to know what it’s like to kiss the most beautiful girl I’ve ever fucking seen. Sound all right with you?”

I wet my lips, overcome, tears swimming in my eyes over the praise. The way he’s noticed me, made note of my actions, appreciated them. “I’ve never kissed anyone.”

He groans brokenly, slanting his mouth—

There’s a knock on the door of the SUV. “We’ve arrived at the ranch, princess,” calls the chauffer through the window. “I’ll wait for the Commander’s order before I open the door.”

The physical pain represented on Conrad’s face almost alarms me. Based on the famished way he’s staring at my mouth, at first I think he’s going to kiss me, despite the interruption or the fact that we’ve arrived. Instead, he bites off a curse and sits up, raking both hands down his face. Taking several moments to gather himself.

“Stay beside me the whole time, Greta.”

“I will,” I say, sitting up in kind of a daze, my body still thrumming.

My thoughts are so scattered by what just took place—and the change in Conrad’s attitude toward me—I haven’t had time for nerves. They creep in now, however, when I look out the window and see the ranch I’ve not visited for a year, the stables looking different, new faces staring back at me. New, different, scary.

So many places the rebels could be hiding.

“Nothing gets through me,” he says in my ear. “Nothing.”

My pulse slows before it can spike.

And I wonder what exactly I’m going to do without him when he leaves.