Praise Me: Princess (Praise Me Daily)
Praise Me: Princess: Chapter 11

It takes every iota of willpower in my body to appear unmoved while observing Greta waltz on the other side of the room. This is the hour of her dance instruction, and the rate at which my heart pounds cannot be safe. Fucking besotted is what I am. She’s wearing an actual ballgown and heels in order to learn the steps while dressed in the heavy fabric, her hair pinned in a crown of curls on top of her head. I don’t know what to do with myself when she looks this beautiful. Problem is, she looks this beautiful all the goddamn time.

Morning.

Noon.

Night.

My sweat glands work overtime now, my skin uncomfortably tight as the princess is twirled by the female instructor, her movements graceful and delicate. The afternoon light streams in through the windows of the room, burnishing the crown of her head like a halo. Her chin is raised, proudly, her shoulders on display, the way she’s liked having them recently. If her instructor noticed the love marks left by my mouth, she said nothing about them. Or perhaps she chalked them up to heat rash.

I’m dealing with my own heat rash now, forced to tug the collar of my shirt to allow some air to cool my hot neck…and then Greta smiles at me, and nothing short of jumping in an icy lake could lower my temperature now. God, she’s extraordinary in everything she does. Riding, dancing, shooting. Caring for the animals at her sanctuaries, which we’ve been visiting more and more now that she’s comfortable leaving the palace grounds.

As if that isn’t enough, she fucks like a horny fairy tale.

I might be in charge between the sheets—or wherever I happen to get ten minutes alone with her—but I’m irrevocably wrapped around her pinkie finger. She slips deeper into the role of my little girl every time we’re intimate. Last night, she sat on my lap in her nightgown and shyly asked me to teach her how to kiss, her tongue teasing and hesitant, her hips gradually starting to rock in my lap. We made out for hours, Greta gasping and blushing every time I tried to lift the hem of her nightgown higher than her knees, telling me that her pussy felt funny, but she’s too good of a girl to let me see it.

By the time she quit playing games, all I could do was whip my cock out and come on the innocent white cotton, grunting like a bull in heat. She made up for her teasing this morning, however, letting me rail her face down over the bathroom sink, her harsh breaths fogging up the mirror, crying for Daddy through her teeth.

I’d be shocked if she isn’t pregnant by now.

Christ, that possibility makes my pulse slam violently in my temples, my stomach muscles hardening with pride. With hope.

A week ago, I had no use for the royals.

Now, I can’t fucking exist without the princess. I will suffocate without her—it’s as simple as that. She’s vital to my survival. I’m vital to hers, too. She tells me so with every touch, every smile, every spreading of her thighs. Every whisper in the dark. Every secret she tells me. Every time she clings to me in sleep.

I’m in down and desperate love with Princess Greta.

“Commander, do you dance at all?”

I’m so deep in a fog of Greta’s making, I don’t comprehend the instructor’s question at first. “I’m sorry, what? Do I dance?”

Greta giggles at my utter incredulity. “I believe someone has finally succeeded in rendering the commander speechless.”

“I only thought it might help to dance with someone taller. With sturdier shoulders.” The instructor clasps her hands together beneath her chin. “After all, you’ll be dancing with a prince soon.”

A snake coils dangerously in my chest, rattling its tail. It’s easy when we’re alone to pretend the real world isn’t preparing an attempt to tear us apart, but the inevitable trip to meet Greta’s potential match is always smoldering in the back of my head, scorching my temper whenever I think about her marriage to another man.

Hearing it spoken about out loud is insufferable.

My instinct is to take Greta and run. Start a life with her somewhere far beyond the palace walls. Never allow another man within ten feet of her as long as I live. But the more I consider that plan, the more I see it for what it is. A selfish fantasy. Wishing to take her away from this safe, leisurely life, one which leads to her becoming queen someday.

Maybe she wouldn’t want to run away from that. With me.

Maybe she wants to marry a prince, not a bodyguard.

I’m afraid to ask her and find out.

I’m also very sure that I will kill this prince if she goes through with a wedding, which could lead to me being put to death, in which case I won’t be able to be with her, either.

What the hell do I do?

Ignoring the fire raging out of control in my esophagus, I cross the floor in Greta’s direction. “I’ll dance with the princess.” I take Greta in my arms, lowering my voice so only she can hear it. “I’ll do anything for the princess.”

“Perfect,” says the instructor behind me. “His height makes your posture even more perfect, Princess. Now.” She begins to clap a beat. “Lead the way, Commander.”

It’s a good thing I’ve been watching these lessons for a full week or I would have no fucking clue how to proceed here. But not being capable of tearing my eyes off Greta has paid off, because I lead her in a sweeping box step, our hands clasped tightly, my left one meant to be resting in the center of her back, but I slip my fingertips inside of her dress, instead, watching her pupils dilate in response.

“I did not see this coming,” Greta laughs breathlessly. “You’re quite good. Did you learn as a child?”

“This is my first time.”

“Impossible.”

“I might not be an expert at dancing, Princess,” I say against her temple, “but I know how to anticipate your body. How it moves. How to keep it close.”

“I see,” she murmurs, her chest rising and falling a little faster now against mine. “You’re an expert on my body.”

“Do you dare disagree?”

“Oh, no. I agree. Thoroughly.”

Holding her like this in the sunlight, out in the open, is flooding me with warmth. With the kind of contentment that I didn’t know was possible. Almost, at least. There is a prince waiting in the wings to take her away from me. “If we were just two people who met at a fancy ball,” I rasp, “what would you say to me?”

She purses her lips. “I’d say, thank you for your service, Commander. And then I would inquire about your hobbies, obviously.”

“Obviously.” I smirk against the side of her face, inhaling her perfect scent. “And I would say, chasing around an adorable princess. Hunting the palace for dark shadows where I can get a fix of her mouth.”

Her breath catches. “Is my mouth so addictive?”

“A life without your mouth is a life of poverty.”

“I suppose I should continue to donate to your cause, then,” she breathes, pressing closer, in a way I know will not be considered appropriate in front of the instructor, but I don’t have the willpower to keep us the correct distance apart. All I can do is fit her hips to mine and let her witness the results of her flirting—aka my stiff and heavy inches. “Would you please excuse us a moment, Millie?” she asks the instructor, who walks out of the room without a word. “Conrad?”

My name spoken in Greta’s voice is like a choir of angels. “Yes, Princess.”

“I don’t want to marry a prince,” she whispers, her fingertips digging into my shoulder. “I don’t want to meet him at all.”

My heart booms so severely, I miss a step, hope turning my legs weaker than I’ve ever felt them. “I know why I don’t want you to meet the prince, Greta. But why don’t you want to meet him?”

“You go first.”

“I’ve told you before.” I slide my hand up into her hair, gripping a section of her curls until she gasps. “Your marriage to another man will render me insane.”

“Yes. And…I think our reasons are very similar,” she gasps. “I don’t want to meet the prince because my heart already belongs to a soldier.”

Purpose and glory and determination harden inside of me like stone, but there’s still a terrible echo of worry in the back of my mind. Her happiness and safety are my first priorities and yet… “You do belong to me, Princess. All of you.” I choke on the rest. “But as you said, I’m only a soldier. I can’t give you this kind of life—”

“I don’t care.” She shakes her head. “All I need is you.”

Her arms are around my neck now and I can’t keep myself from sweeping her off the floor, rocking her in my embrace, absorbing the goodness of her. Reeling from the joy and relief of knowing I mean as much to her as she does to me. “I am sick with love for you, Greta. If you don’t need this life, I will steal you from these walls tonight. But please be sure, because once you’re committed to me, I will die before letting you go.”

“Don’t. Don’t ever let me go.” Her mouth is open against my throat. “I love you, too. I feel like I could drown from it.”

“We leave tonight,” I vow, gathering her tight to my body, wondering if she can possibly feel an ounce of the happiness coursing through my veins. “We start our life together tonight. Me and my princess.”

“Yes—”

Trumpets sound in the corridor. They can only mean one thing.

The arrival of the queen.

Greta kisses my throat, squeezing my hand before putting distance in between us. It’s everything I can do not to yank her back and make her tell me again—over and over—that she loves me and wants to spend her life with me. That she has deemed me worthy of her. But I hold on to my composure, standing at Greta’s side as her mother sweeps into the room with a pinched expression.

I know that look from the battlefield. It means danger. And somehow, I know our plans are about to be ruined.

“Mother, what’s wrong?” Greta asks, midway through her curtsy.

“It’s the rebels. They’ve bested us in the north.” It’s a rarity to see the queen so overwrought. “They’re moving south now. Though we’re doing our best to hold them, I fear our army will not be enough for long.” She squares her shoulders, takes a deep breath. “It’s now more important than ever that we form an alliance with Prince Kristof’s family. His father the king is very sick, which puts him in charge. Once you’re married, the prince will be obligated to lend us his forces.”

It’s a wonder I’m able to remain standing, my grief is so swift and severe.

Greta doesn’t look at me, but she pales, blinking rapidly to waylay her tears and I can all but hear the lid seal shut on my coffin. She’s going to marry the prince. The choice has been taken from us. She cannot run away with me, nor can I kill him as a last resort.

The safety of the country depends on it. She would never turn her back and allow lives to be lost. At the cost of my own sanity, I couldn’t ask her to live with that guilt, even if I’m being sentenced to a life of misery at the very same time.

“We must travel at once. Within the hour,” the queen adds, looking at me. “Will you accompany us, Commander?”

“Where she goes, I go,” I say, automatically—and as the words leave my mouth, I know a truer statement has never been made. No matter how this ends, they will have to pry the princess out of my cold dead hands.