#Drake X Mc

[cordonianroyalairlines]

Staking a Claim

Series: Cordonian Royal Airlines

Fandom: The Royal Romance

Pairings for series: Various

Pairing for this chapter: Riley x Drake

Word Count: 2,340

Rating: MA

Warnings for this chapter: Language mostly

A/N: This is for the @choicesholidays Valentine's Day prompts: "Be my fake date for a wedding."

The hair color is wrong for my Riley, but this image was perfect!

The copilot twisted around in his seat one too many times, craning his neck as if searching the cabin for something, jostling the pilot in the process.

Liam grunted in consternation. “Drake!”

Drake spun back around, “What?”

“What is your malfunction?”

“What do you mean?” Drake blinked at him in confusion.

“What do you mean what do I mean?” Liam grunted, “We haven’t made it through the preflight checklist because you keep turning around to stare into the cabin! What the hell is so interesting out there?”

“Nothing!” Drake rolled his shoulders, stared blankly out the cockpit window for a moment then turned back to Liam, “Can you see the guy in 12B?”

“What?” Liam’s head swiveled around and then back. “No. Why?”

Drake’s bottom lip protruded as he shook his head. “No reason.”

Liam watched him skeptically. Drake had been visibly agitated since he’d reported for duty. “There has to be a reason.”

“I…he just….he looks a little squirrely. You know what I mean? Untrustworthy.”

Liam’s eyes widened in alarm. “Is he a threat? Do we need to alert security? Did you see a weapon?” He whipped his head around quickly to try and get a good view of the man in 12B. “I can’t see anything. Riley’s blocking my view.”

“Is she talking to him?” Drake’s entire body moved just as Liam turned back around. Their heads collided with a resounding thwack.

“Ow! Fuck!” Liam grabbed his forehead.

“Sorry, sorry!”

“Seriously man, tell me what’s going on right now. I’m calling security!” Liam reached for the microphone but just as he got it to his mouth, Drake slapped it out of his hands.

“No!”

Liam watched in astonishment as the microphone flew out of his grip and hit the window then bounced off the dash. “Are you on drugs right now? Do I need to get another copilot?”

Drake gaped at him. “Seriously? When have I ever done drugs?”

“I don’t know man, but you’re acting really fucking weird.”

Hana ducked her head in to ask, “Are we almost ready? A couple of the passengers are getting antsy.”

“Which ones?” Drake asked.

Hana’s brows pulled together for a moment then smoothed out as she chuckled. “Oh. You know Riley’s ex is out there, don’t you?”

“What?” Drake’s eyes shot to Liam then back to Hana as he denied it. “I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

A relieved breath whooshed out of Liam. At least he now knew Drake wasn’t on drugs and there wasn’t a terrorist on board. He stifled a laugh. “Sure you don’t.”

“I don’t!” Drake glared at them both.

Hana giggled as she backed out of the cockpit.

They finished the checklist and got airborne, but Drake’s agitation quickly returned. “Do you think he’s better looking than me?”

“Who?”

“The guy! In 12B.”

“How would I know?”

“You’re bisexual, right? You can judge that kind of thing.”

Liam scoffed. “First of all, I haven’t laid eyes on the guy. Second of all, I thought you didn’t care.”

“No, I don’t! I mean….just objectively speaking, out of curiosity….I overheard Hana call him eye candy. He can’t be that good-looking, can he?”

“I dunno Drake, Riley is a ten, so I imagine her ex is no slouch in the looks department either.”

“Great.” Drake huffed as he spun around in his seat again.

“Oh, for the love of God, just go look!”

“I can’t do that!”

“Why not?”

“Because then she’ll know I care!”

Liam cocked an eyebrow at him, “So you do care?”

“I mean she’ll think I care!”

“You’re really an idiot sometimes, you know that?”

“I don’t follow.”

“Of course you don’t.” Liam shook his head. “The only person you’re fooling is yourself. Put the rest of us out of our misery and just tell the girl that you like her already!”

“I’m not going out there.”

“Okay.”

Drake tapped his fingers on his knees for several seconds before jumping out of his seat. “I need to use the bathroom.”

“Sure you do.”

“I had a lot of coffee before we boarded.”

“Sure you did.”

“Fuck you. I’m going to take a piss.”

“Great. Tell Riley I said hi.”

Drake ignored him as he exited the cockpit and headed for the back of the plane where the restrooms were located. He slid his eyes sideways as he passed aisle 12 and scoffed to himself. The guy wasn’t that good-looking.

He was clean-shaven with a strong jawline, and raven hair swept back and gelled to perfection. Was that an Armani suit? How were his eyes that blue?

He slammed into the lavatory and locked the door to glare at himself in the highly polished silver surface of the mirror as he regarded his deep copper-colored eyes and messy, fly-away hair that barely saw a brush, much less hair gel. He ran a hand across the stubble dotting his jaw. It was a strong jawline, wasn’t it? Should he shave?

The guy in seat 12B looked like a CEO or something. Did she like that type? Drake was far more likely to be found in a tent than a boardroom. Did he even own a suit? He owned uniforms. Didn’t women like men in uniforms?

He made pretty good money as a first officer for Cordonian Royal Airlines.

Not CEO money.

“Fuck!” He spun and lashed out at the toilet. His foot connected to the stainless steel sending a sharp jolt of pain shooting up his leg.

There was a knock at the door. “Everything okay in there?”

Shit! It was Riley! “I’m fine. Dropped my…. Wallet…” Fuck, Walker! What the shit is wrong with you, man? Your wallet really?

“Are you sure because that didn’t sound like—”

“I said I’m fine!”

“Okay. Just let me know if—oh, excuse me what?”

From the other side of the door, a man’s voice murmured something he couldn’t make out then both people moved away.

Was that the ex talking to her? He forced himself to count to twenty so he didn’t just barrel out of the bathroom after them. He took several deep calming breaths like Max had tried to show him last time he had been upset about something. At least he thought it was what Max had done. At the time, he had mostly ignored him.

With an air of calm he most certainly did not feel, he exited the lavatory. His eyes went straight to seat 12B. Empty. He backtracked and ducked into the crew area.

Sure enough, there was Riley standing in the middle of the empty inflight catering kitchen talking to Mr. CEO.

All his jealousy evaporated in an instant as he took in her demeanor. Her arms were folded defensively across her chest and her face was furrowed into a frown. She was shaking her head as she leaned forward, her voice lowered but her entire body radiating her discomfort with the conversation.

The guy reached out and grabbed her arm.

She flinched away.

Oh hell no.

Drake didn’t remember moving but he was suddenly next to them, his hand wrapped firmly around the man's wrist. He flung the other man’s arm away from Riley and through gritted teeth asked, “Is there a problem here?”

The man gave him a startled look then annoyance flashed across his face. “We were just having a discussion.”

“Doesn’t look like the lady’s enjoying the conversation.”

“Mind your own business,” he shook his head dismissively and reached for her again, “Riley, if we could just talk privately—”

Drake intercepted the motion before he could touch her. “If you’re attached to that hand and wish to keep it, then I would strongly advise you against touching her again.”

He jerked his hand out of Drake’s grasp and rubbed his wrist. “Was that really necessary?”

Drake never took his eyes off the man as he leaned his body toward Riley, “Do you want to talk to this guy?”

“No.”

“But, Riley—”

“We have nothing to talk about, Nick!”

Drake angled his body so that he was blocking Riley from Nick’s view. He crossed his arms over his chest. “You heard her.”

Nick looked like he wanted to press the issue, but after taking in Drake’s stormy expression, thought better of it. He straightened his suit jacket with a sharp tug. “Fine. I’ll see you at the wedding. We’ll talk then.”

“You’re not coming to my sister’s wedding!”

“Oh, didn’t I tell you? I’ll be there as Clarissa’s plus one.”

Riley shook her head back and forth. “Seriously? When we were dating, you couldn’t stand her!”

A gloating smile crept across his face. “Jealous?”

“Why would I be jealous?”

“Because you’re not over me, Riley. If you were, you’d have bothered to line up a date for the wedding.”

“I—”

“She has a date for the wedding.” Drake cut in as he casually slung his arm around her shoulders.

Nick turned his gaze to Drake for a long, evaluating moment. “Are you the new boyfriend then?”

“Yep. And I’m only going to ask you once to return to your seat. If you don’t stop harassing the flight crew, I will land this plane and have security escort you off of it.”

Nick’s eyes widened slightly as he huffed out, “You wouldn’t dare!”

Riley ran her hand down Drake’s arm as she smirked at Nick, “He would. He’s very protective when it comes to me. I wouldn’t test him if I were you.”

“Whatever,” Nick bumped Drake’s shoulder as he shoved past them and exited the kitchen.

Drake’s arm was still around Riley as he turned his head to watch Nick leave. “Let me know if he bothers you again and I’ll—”

Riley spun on him in fury, her fists raining blows on his chest. “What the fuck did you just do, Drake?”

His hand flew to his chest. “Ow! What the hell, Riley? I just rescued you from that guy!”

“I didn’t need rescuing, Drake. I can handle Nick. He’s an asshole, but he’s not a serial killer or something!”

Drake scoffed with a shake of his head, “I think the phrase you’re looking for is thank you.”

“Oh yeah? Really?”

“Yeah, really!”

“Do you know what you just did? Do you?”

“Um…got the asshole ex-boyfriend to leave you alone?”

“No, you fucking jackass.” She slapped his arm. “You just told him that you’re my boyfriend and my date to my sister’s wedding!”

“So?”

“So?” She threw her arms up in the air. “So when I show up at the wedding with no date and no boyfriend he’ll know that was a lie and I’ll be humiliated!”

“Oh.”

“Yeah…oh!”

They stood in silence for a long moment, Drake rubbing his chest and Riley fuming. Then Drake quietly said, “I’ll go to the wedding with you.”

“What?”

“I mean….if you want me to.”

“I…”

“I did get you into this situation. Let me make it up to you by getting you out of it. One fake boyfriend slash date for sister’s wedding coming right up!”

All the fight went out of her as she took in the hopeful smile on his face. “I can’t ask you to do that, Drake.”

“Why not?”

“Because the wedding is on Valentine’s Day and I’m sure you already have plans. I can’t ask you to cancel—”

“Pfffftttt.” He waved a hand dismissively in the air. “I do not have plans for Valentine’s Day!”

“You don’t?”

Did she sound hopeful?

“No, I do not. No girlfriend, no friend with benefits, no romantic entanglements at all.”

Except with you.

A delighted smile broke out across her face. “Okay, then.”

“So, we’re good?”

She gave him a flirtatious smile as she flipped her hair and turned to leave. “We’re good.”

“Okay, good.”

He watched her walk away with a contented smile on his lips then followed her out of the kitchen and back to the front of the plane. He glowered at Nick as he passed aisle 12.

Nick returned the glare as he adjusted his headphones and slid down in the seat.

When he stepped onto the flight deck Liam greeted him with smug satisfaction. “That was the longest piss in the world.”

“Shut up.” He slid into the copilot seat without looking at his best friend.

“So how’d it go? Did you get a good look at her ex?”

“Um….yeah… he’s a pushy bastard. I had to tell him to keep his hands to himself and….”

“And?”

Drake released a long-suffering sigh knowing Liam was going to find out sooner or later. Riley would tell Max and Max would tell everyone else. “I’m going as her date to her sister’s wedding.”

“Wow! That’s quite a jump from ‘I don’t like her like that’.” Liam chortled gleefully.

Drake kept quiet but his foot started tapping nervously.

“Oh, shit, there’s more! What is it?” Liam prodded.

“Ah…”

“Don’t make me call Max and find out.”

“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath.

“Come on, what else?”

“It’s on Valentine’s Day,” he answered with a resigned sigh.

Liam practically danced out of his seat. “This is amazing! This is epic! Mr. I will never take a woman out on Valentine’s Day because that’s far too much pressure and it’s all about commercialization anyway is taking a woman out on Valentine’s Day. To her sister’s wedding!”

“Why does this make you so happy?”

“Because I get to say I told you so forever!”

“It’s not even a real date.”

“Sure it’s not.”

“It’s not!”

“Does she know that?”

“Yes! I just said I was her boyfriend so that Nick guy would stop—”

“Wait! Wait! You played the pretend boyfriend card to back off her ex?”

“Yeah…so?”

Liam threw his head back and belly laughed. “You are such a goner!”

Drake pressed his lips into a tight line and returned his attention to the control panel. He wanted to argue, he really did. But he couldn’t.

He was absolutely a goner.

And he was going to have to buy a suit.

Shit.

#cordonianroyalairlines #trr au #the royal romance #drake walker #drake x mc #cfwc fics of the week #choices fic writers creations #choicesholidays #liam rys

[angelasscribbles]

My Lonely Valentine (The Agreement) A One-Shot

Series: The Agreement

Fandom: The Royal Romance

Pairings: Riley x Liam, Riley x Drake

Rating: NSFW 🍋🍋🍋

Warnings for this chapter: Lemons, or should I say almost lemons? Lemon adjacent?

Word Count: 3,269

A/N: This is a prequel one-shot. Occurs before the events in the main series.

Submission for the @choicesholidays Valentine's Day prompts.

My other stuff: Master List.

Riley walked into the informal dining room of Balymore, her estate in Valtoria, to find the table draped with a red silk cloth, flames flickering from wrought iron candelabras, and gleaming silver cloches gracing the tabletop.

Her mouth fell open and she turned to her husband in name only in astonishment. “What is all this?”

“Oh…ah…” Drake stuttered over his words as his brain spun frantically trying to find the right thing to say that would make his romantic gesture less romantic and not awkward. “I…um…I know you were disappointed that Liam had to cancel your plans for today, so I just wanted to do something to cheer you up.”

Disappointed was an understatement. It was Valentine’s Day and Liam had cancelled their plans. She shouldn’t be surprised. She should be used to it. But it hurt. A good cry and a hot bath had helped, but after a long nap, she’d found herself ravenous. Her quest for food had led her downstairs where she’d followed her nose to find the source of the delicious aroma wafting up to her.

Confusion pinged through her as she took in his demeanor. “What about your plans? Didn’t you have a date?”

“Yeah, well, that fell through.”

“Oh, Drake, I’m so sorry!” Her voice was full of so much sympathy that he felt like an ass for lying.

“It wasn’t anything serious anyway.” The truth was, he had canceled the date when he’d realized Riley would be left home alone. He had only asked the girl out so that he wouldn’t be home when Liam arrived. Not out of jealousy, but fear of discovery. He was sure his best friend could read his love for his supposedly in-name-only wife all over his face.

It was getting harder to fight his feelings for her. The more Liam fucked up and neglected her, the harder it became.

He wasn’t jealous of Liam per se. He loved the guy, and he was fully aware of the myriad web of circumstances that had led to him having to marry for political alliances and not love.

Still.

The effect it had on Riley was the same and it hurt him to watch her suffer. He had agreed to marry her to keep her at court and near Liam. A marriage of convenience. A favor for his friends. An act of service for the two people he loved most in the world.

The problem was that the longer they lived together, the closer they became and the harder he fell. He had tried to fix it, put distance between them, but his stupid, traitorous heart wouldn’t let him move on. And he had tried.

The first year they were together had been so full of turmoil that he had just focused on getting her through it. Once they had moved to Valtoria and she had settled into her new position as Duchess, she had encouraged him to find a relationship of his own.

“You shouldn’t have to suffer just because I am.”

The full truth of the situation was that he had only half-heartedly dated so that she would stop worrying about him and his happiness. Because he would do anything for her. Even date other women. But his heart had never been in it.

Every relationship he had entered had ended before it really began. Two or three dates at most. Several of the women had dumped him citing with confusion that he seemed to actually love his wife.

Everyone on the planet could see that, apparently. Everyone but her.

Because she was too busy letting Liam break her heart over and over.

“Still. I’m sorry your date canceled. I know what that feels like.”

“I’m fine.” He brushed her concern off with a twinge of guilt but telling her that he had been the one to cancel would just open up questions he wasn’t ready to answer. Or more to the point, questions he wasn’t sure she was ready to hear the answers to.

He would confess his feelings right then and there if he thought she returned them. But she was in love with Liam. He knew that.

“Stop worrying about my love life and come eat before it gets cold.”

She inhaled deeply as she stepped toward the table, “It smells so good! What is it?”

“Deep fried chicken and cheese stuffed avocado.” He told her as he pulled her chair out for her.

Her face lit up as she sat. “Really?”

“Yes,” he affirmed as he took his own seat. “I know it’s your favorite.”

“But…how? I gave the kitchen staff the night off!” Neither of them had planned to be home.

“Oh, ah…” a flush spread across his face as he rubbed the back of his neck, “I made it.”

She pulled the cloche off the plate then turned her head to him in bewilderment, “You made this?”

He scoffed while shaking his head. “Don’t act so surprised. I can cook. You know this.”

“I mean yes but this is next level!” The avocados were browned to perfection and served with a beautifully roasted Mediterranean vegetable medley, garlic mashed potatoes, and piping hot Ciabatta bread.

He tried to lighten the mood. “I’m offended that you’re this impressed, Riley. I have mad kitchen skills.”

“I know. I just can’t believe that you did all this for me.” A single tear slid down her cheek.

He leaned forward in concern, wiping the tear away. “Hey, hey, hey! What’s that about?”

“Nothing,” she smiled at him through the wetness pooling in her eyes. “These are happy tears. I didn’t think this day could be salvaged, but you somehow managed it.”

“Yeah, well, what are husbands for?” He gave her a disarming smile as he sat back in his chair and turned his attention to his plate.

She laughed at their shared joke. He always said that when he did something nice for her. It was funny because he wasn’t really her husband.

But he kind of was, wasn’t he?

She dropped her eyes to her plate to cover her sudden flush. He was always doing sweet things like this. He was always there when she needed someone to talk to. Though she would never tell Max or Hana, Drake had become her best friend.

He had left his job as a member of the King’s Guard to move to Valtoria with her. He had been there for her when her grandmother passed away. The last time Liam had stood her up, Drake was ready with her favorite pizza and a movie she’d been wanting to see.

What are husbands for?

It was beginning to feel less and less like a joke because it had become the truth.

How true?

She suspected Drake’s feelings for her. How could she not? She had pushed him to date others. It wasn’t fair to let him waste his life taking care of her when she was in love with another man.

Yet here he was, on Valentine’s Day, taking care of her once again.

She stole a surreptitious glance at him as they ate. Maybe he had deeper feelings for her than she initially suspected.

No, she was imagining things. He was just being a good friend. Because that is what he was. Her friend. And Liam’s.

Liam.

Guilt swirled through her at the thought of her supposed boyfriend. Annoyance followed the guilt. He had stood her up. Again. Why should she feel guilty for anything? He married another woman for the love of God.

Not because he wanted to.

The guilt was back at the reminder of the impossible situation Liam had been placed in, but it was mingled with hurt, embarrassment, and a fair amount of anger.

She knew everyone thought she was an idiot for waiting around on scraps of the king’s time and affection. For uprooting her entire life to chase after him to Cordonia in the first place, for staying even after his rejection, and for continuing to believe that she was a priority to him.

Everyone but Drake.

He never judged her.

She lifted her eyes to his face as he regaled her with tales of Max’s misadventures from when he had tagged along on Drake’s latest fishing trip with Bastien.

“… And then he tripped over the side of the boat and fell in the water!” Drake shook with laughter at the memory.

Riley forced an obligatory smile, but she had missed most of the story, her mind occupied with an entirely new idea.

Her eyes focused on his mouth hoping he didn’t notice the flush on her face as her mind refused to stray away from imagining what his lips would feel like on her neck, on her mouth…other places….

She forced her eyes down to her plate and focused on eating her dinner. The dinner that her husband in allegedly name only had taken the time to prepare with his own two hands.

When the meal was over, she tried to clear the table, but he wouldn’t let her. “No, no, I’ve got this! I’m just going to clear the table and rinse the plates real quick. Why don’t you go pick something to watch? Whatever you want.”

“You sure? You did all this work. The least I can do is let you pick the movie.”

“Nah.” He waved her offer away. “As long as you’re happy, I’m happy.”

A multitude of emotions swirled through her as she watched him walk out of the room with the dishes. If you’re happy, I’m happy. He meant that. He was always saying things like that. He was always going out of his way to do little things to make her happy.

She made her way to the media room and flipped absently through the streaming selections as a million images of Drake fell through her mind. Drake, making her laugh when she was sad. Drake, holding her when she cried. Drake, always keeping himself between her and the reporters. Drake, scrambling eggs in their kitchen at two a.m. because they’d stayed up late watching stand-up comedy specials again.

When had he become such a huge part of her life? Yes, she had married him, but that had been on paper only, so she could stay near Liam.

And yet it was Drake who had attended her grandmother’s funeral with her. It was Drake who had taken care of her when she had the flu last year. And it was always Drake who picked up the pieces after Liam shattered her heart time and time again.

Why was she keeping him at arm’s length?

He showed up in the media room with her favorite blanket, a steaming cup of hot chocolate, and a small box tucked under his arms.

She accepted the cup and the blanket while trying to peer at the box. “What’s that?”

“Oh, this?” He teased, holding it out toward her but up out of her reach.

Her eyes widened as she glimpsed the label. “Are those dark chocolate truffles?”

“Maybe…”

“Drake!” She laughed as she deposited her cup on the end table and made a grab for the promised treat.

He lifted them easily out of her reach with a teasing smile. “What? Did you want these?”

“You know I do!” She tried to pout but the smile tugging her lips upward made that difficult to maintain.

“I don’t know….” He pretended to think deeply about it. “Maybe I should keep these for myself.”

With a joyful laugh, she launched herself off the couch, her fingers touching, but not completely grasping the elusive chocolates. The impact of her body colliding into his, combined with his misstep as he tried to dodge her, sent him toppling backward onto the couch where he landed in a slightly reclined position. Her momentum carried her forward so that she landed on top of him, laying on his chest, looking up into his face.

They were both laughing as their gazes met. A sudden silence descended on them as they stared into each other’s eyes. The smiles faded as lips parted and breath caught.

She moved first, bringing her lips to his. Her kiss was tentative. His response was not.

His arms went around her, the box of truffles dropped and forgotten on the floor. He pulled her tight against him as his tongue deftly took control of her mouth. One hand tangled in her hair as the other slipped under her shirt to caress the smooth skin of her back. A plaintive whimper escaped him as he pressed his rapidly growing hardness up into her.

Riley responded, melting into his embrace, no longer tentative. She pressed herself against him as their kisses became more passionate, almost frantic.

She broke the kiss to gasp for air. “Drake…should we—"

Drake froze for a moment, and then jolted upright, gently moving her off him. “Shit, Riley!” He raked a hand through his hair as he pushed himself back away from her. “I shouldn’t have done that. I’m sorry!”

“What are you sorry for? I kissed you!”

“It was just the heat of the moment.”

“Is that all it was?” She asked him softly.

“Yeah…” He responded unconvincingly.

“Are you sure it wasn’t more than that?”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know…” her fingers twisted the hem of her shirt nervously. “You made this whole romantic dinner…”

“I wanted to cheer you up. Because we’re friends and—"

“You went out of your way to get me my favorite candy.”

“No, I didn’t. I just….” He closed his eyes with a shuddering sigh before pushing through with the lie. “I was already in the store, and I saw it…”

“You’re a bad liar.”

His eyes flew open, and he fixed her a look that was almost pleading. “What do you want from me, Riley?”

“I think the question is, what do you want from me, Drake?” She scooted closer to him taking in the way he watched her warily. Like a rabbit watching a coyote approach, his face full of fear, longing, and a guarded passion.

He swallowed thickly and tried for a normal tone of voice. “The movie…”

Her hand slid up his thigh to the bulge in his pants. “A movie? Is that really what you want right now?”

“Fuck…” he breathed out in defeat as a shudder ran through his body. He grabbed her wrist to stop her but instead of pushing her away as he had intended, he found himself pulling her into him as he leaned forward, and then they were kissing again.

Lips and hands explored bodies and pulled at clothing. His heart thundered in his chest as a small part of his mind screamed at him to stop, to put the brakes on this.

That part was overruled as she pulled her top off and dropped it on the floor next to them. He stopped breathing for a moment as he drank in her naked form. He yanked his own shirt off and dove back in.

Riley arched her back as she gave herself over to the sensations cascading through her body. Drake’s hands on her bare skin were calloused, rough. The friction was a sharp contrast to the smoothness of her bare flesh. It felt good, forbidden, delicious. She shivered as goosebumps erupted along her spine.

His hot lips on her throat sent ribbons of white-hot desire shooting through her and coiling in her center.

She cried out in protest when he withdrew that touch. “Why are you stopping?”

“I…we shouldn’t…”

“Don’t you want me?”

A self-deprecating laugh slipped out of him. “I want you so fucking bad….you have no idea….. but not like this.”

“Like what?”

“You’re upset…vulnerable...”

“I was upset.” She drew his hand back to her body; he didn’t resist as she placed it so it was cupping a pert breast. “That’s not what I’m feeling right now.”

He was struggling mightily to keep his voice even as he gasped for breath. “…don’t want you to regret…”

“I won’t…”

“You’re in love with Liam…”

“I am…” She dropped her hand and pulled back a little. “We can stop if you want.”

“If I want?” His gaze searched hers, unsure exactly what he was looking for.

“Yes, you. I don’t want to stop.”

“But Liam—”

“I don’t want to think about Liam right now, Drake. I don’t want to think about tomorrow or what any of this means. But…” She moved away from him reluctantly. “I understand if you do.”

He instantly regretted the distance between them.

Before he could decide how to proceed, there was a knock at the door.

Drake’s eyes closed as frustration, relief and a smidge of anger pinged through him.

There was only one person it could be this late.

Talk about timing.

He quickly pulled his shirt back on and tossed her blouse to her. “I’ll go answer the door. You might want to fix your hair, it’s a little mussed.”

“Drake—”

“No, it’s okay,” he told her as he pulled her to him and dropped a quick kiss on the top of her head before pushing her gently away. “Go make yourself presentable. I’ll show Liam in.”

“Right.” She redressed and hurried over to the closest mirror to smooth her hair back into place.

Drake combed his fingers through his own hair on his way to the front door. Pulling it open, he greeted his best friend with, “Thought you couldn’t get away, Your Majesty?”

“Some last-minute things came up, but I finally managed to slip away.”

“It’s a little late. Valentine’s Day is pretty much over.”

Liam glanced at his watch as he stepped through the doorway. “Not really. Where is she? And why are you home? I thought you had a date.”

Drake shrugged. “She canceled on me. Sick pet or something.” He was only a little horrified at how easily the lie rolled off his tongue. “Riley’s in the media room. We were just about to watch a movie.”

Liam started down the hall. Looking over his shoulder, he asked, “Are you coming?”

“No. I’m going to turn in early. You two have fun.”

He needed a shower. A cold one.

He sprinted up the stairs, taking them two at a time. He slammed his bedroom door behind him and then leaned back against it, gently banging his head into it several times before muttering to himself, “The fuck did I just do? Stupid, stupid, stupid!”

He shed his clothes as he walked across to the room and into the ensuite. He needed relief.

The water pounded down on him as he wrapped his hand around himself. His head tipped back and his eyes fell closed as he remembered her half-naked form in front of him, the feel of her skin under his fingers, the taste of her lips…..

He groaned out loud as streams of milky whiteness pulsed out of him and splashed onto the tile. He placed both hands on the wall and leaned forward, letting the water run over the back of his head as he watched the detritus of his desire swirl down the drain.

It wasn’t the first time that his ardor for her had landed him in this position, but he knew it was different this time.

They had crossed a line tonight. A line that couldn’t be uncrossed. Even though they hadn’t done the deed, the genie was out of the bottle-- his feelings for her, their obvious sexual attraction to each other, all of it.

He just had no idea what to do about any of it.

#the royal romance #trr #trr fanfic #drake walker #riley brooks #drake x mc #angelasscribbles #the royal romance fanfic #choices fic writers creations #cfwc fics of the week #choices stories you play #choicesholidays #valentinesday2024

[karahalloway]

(Less Than) Noble Intentions: Chapter 19 - Field Day

Fandom: TRR

Pairing: Drake Walker x F!OC (Harper Gale)

Series Summary: The social season may be over, but Harper Gale’s problems are just beginning. With everyone at court a potential suspect, can she and Drake survive the engagement tour and get to the bottom of the plot against her and clear her name? An AU take of TRR2 featuring my OTP - Harper & Drake.

Masterlist: (Less Than) Noble Intentions

Chapter Summary: It's off to the bridal boutique, but Harper and Olivia have a secondary agenda...

Word Count: 6,200

Rating/Warnings: M (royal bitchiness, possible emotional abuse, kidnapping, threats of murder)

Chapter theme song:

A/N: So, I have tried to keep everything as realistic and accurate as possible in terms of the locations that are touched on in this chapter. The only thing that is made up is the antique store. As usual, translations for the French and Italian are at the end.

Chapter 19 - Field Day

The five-minute drive to the bridal boutique is every bit as excruciatingly awkward as can be expected.

"What part of we are already running late is so difficult to comprehend?" derides Madeleine before the limo door even shuts. "When I tell you to hurry, I expect you to do exactly that!"

"I'm sorry, Lady Madeleine," stammers Penelope tearfully. "The heel of my shoe became caught on—"

"Save it!" the Countess of Fydelia snaps. "If you cannot do something as simple as totter down a corridor without breaking your neck, then frankly, I do not see how you are supposed to be of use to me."

Penelope's face turns whiter than a sheet. "I—"

"As lest you forget, I took you on as a lady-in-waiting as a favour to your family, given the historically close personal relationship between our fathers," Madeleine reminds her with a steely edge to her voice. "But that does not mean that I cannot send you packing just as easily. And if you do not get your act together, then that is exactly what will happen. Am I clear!"

"Yes," Penelope whimpers, lowering her gaze.

"What was that?" demands Madeleine imperiously.

"Yes, Your Majesty."

"And the same goes for the rest of you," adds Madeleine, casting the haughty gleam of her gaze over the limo. "One misstep — proverbial or otherwise — and you are gone. Not just from my employ, but from court as well."

Shifting my gaze over to Hana, I see that she is just as perturbed as I am about this borderline psychotic power-trip.

Talk about being a queen bitch...

Olivia scoffs from her seat in the corner. "How about you try making a threat you can actually carry out..."

Madeleine bristles. "As Queen I will have the authority to—"

"Do exactly what Christian permits you to do," Olivia interjects flatly, examining her nails. "As lest you forget, you will only ever be a queen consort — not queen regnant."

The Countess of Fydelia's eyes narrow. "That is but a technicality."

"I still wouldn't overplay my hand," Olivia cautions with a smile. "Wouldn't want to get caught out on a technicality now, would you?"

Madeleine glares down the length of the limo like a viscous viper.

"Didn't think so," smirks the Duchess of Lythikos as the driver pulls the vehicle to a stop...

...and the paps immediately descend on us like a swarm of black flies.

"What the—?" I blurt, catching the flash of the cameras through the blacked-out windows. "When did they get here?"

"Five minutes ago," replies Madeleine tartly, slotting a pair of shades on.

My jaw drops. "You... told them where we were going?"

"Of course," she affirms as the Royal Guard who had been riding shotgun manages to squeeze his way through the human press to open the door. "Royal patronage elevates the esteem and profile of any institution. It is only right that the press should be invited to cover the visit."

"Like that's the only reason..." I mutter as Madeleine steps out of the limo and the roar of the crowd becomes deafening.

"Contessa!" several people shout. "Contessa Maddalena! Quaggiù, per favore!"

"It's horse shite, by the way," Olivia advises as she slides past me. "The only thing she is looking to promote is herself."

"Well, she definitely seems to be succeeding..." I admit, watching the Guards struggle to hold the photographers back as Madeleine sashays her way towards the doors of the boutique.

Olivia scoffs. "It's an act of desperation. Nothing more. She knows she is on thin footing with Christian... and the public."

"Great..." I groan, pulling Drake's blue aviators from my clutch as I, too, exit the limo.

Rather than being an unfortunate one-off, it seems like yesterday's altercation at the Apple Harvest Festival was actually the opening salvo in a concerted campaign of media brinksmanship that Madeleine is determined to win.... at my expense.

Yet, I'm just not sure I have it in me to play her contrived publicity game. The paps have already up-ended my life more completely than I would've ever thought possible, so the last thing I want to do is pander to their voracious appetite for scandal.

"Duchessa Harper! Duchessa Harper!" the photographers shout as I step out onto the sidewalk. "You made it to Italy! What do you think of the city so far?"

"You did not travel with the King and future Queen! Were you forced to make alternative arrangements because of your argument?"

"Will you attend the opera tonight?"

"When was the last time you spoke to your family? Is it true you cut all ties with them?"

Gritting my teeth, I force myself to keep my head down and my feet moving forward as the invasive questions zing over my head like bullets. Camera bulbs flash in my face as the photographers press in, trying to get that front page close-up...

...and that's when I spot him.

My heart skips an uncomfortable beat as recognition hits me like a punch in the chest.

Oh, my God, the photographer from Applewood!

He's standing in the second row, regarding me almost casually, like a tourist at a zoo, faded red baseball cap slung backwards over his head, just as in the picture Ana de Luca had saved on the flash drive.

Our eyes meet and I stumble to a stop, unable to tear my gaze away, my morbid curiosity overpowering my senses even as the paps close in around me...

...but then I feel the warmth of a hand on my back and the sound of a familiar voice brings me back to earth.

"Nous vous tienons, Demoiselle," Allard assures me, appearing at my side to shield me from the press invasion.

Glancing up, I see that Schweitzer has taken up position in front of me, using his body like a blocker to force a path through the crush.

Curling into the safety offered by my Guard's no-nonsense attitude, I let them whisk me into the boutique.

"Thank you..." I say sincerely as we pass through the doorway into the foyer.

Allard relinquishes his hold on me with a nod. "Certainement. Vous allez bien?"

"Yeah..." I reply, heart pounding as I try to recollect my bearings. "I just—"

"Oh, my gosh!" gasps Hana, stumbling into the boutique behind us. "That was horrible!"

"C'est le bordel!" agrees Kiara as she and Penelope manage to squeeze themselves through the press before the Guards shut the door. "Qu'est-ce qu'elle croyait?"

"She wasn't," Olivia replies flatly, shooting an accusatory glance over her shoulder at Madeleine, who is already being given a queen's welcome by the boutique's owner.

A tense silence descends as we all process this assessment.

"I... I suppose we should go through," Hana suggests eventually.

"Oui," Kiara affirms with a huff, smoothing the front of her dress. "Sa Majesté expects our assistance."

Penelope glances uncertainly towards the fuss being made over Madeleine. "I don't think she's expecting mine..."

"Don't be silly!" Kiara admonishes, looping her arm through her friend's to tug her forward. "She just had a petite éclat. Every bride gets nervous and she is under a lot of pressure to maintain constant perfection. But that is why we need to help her, non?"

Penelope looks like she's about to disagree, before finally acquiescing with a sigh. "I just miss Merlin and Morgana..."

"J'sais..." consoles Kiara, patting her reassuringly on the back of the hand. "Hopefully once the tour is finished, Madeleine will allow you to send for them."

"I doubt it..." Penelope mutters meekly as they join Madeleine in the store proper. "She said she hates yappy little dogs. You don't suppose they have anything here with poodles on them, do you?"

"I don't think this boutique specialises in that type of lingerie..."

"Oh..."

"I'm sure they have some pretty floral designs, though!" Hana offers encouragingly. "Italian lace is known around the world for its intricate rebrodè detailing."

"Yes, because that's what men care about on the wedding night..." Olivia mutters dryly, turning towards me. "You coming, or what?"

"Huh?" I ask, snapping my head up. "Umm... Yeah. Sorry."

"You better be," she snips disdainfully as she starts down the foyer as well. "I refuse to be the only sane participant in this clown show..."

I glance warily back towards the front of the boutique, where the paps were still battling each other, trying to snap a shot of us through the tastefully curated window displays.

"What?" Olivia objects after a beat. "No snide comment? No wry clap-back? You're not conveniently coming down with a sudden fever, are you?"

"I... I saw him," I admit, tearing my gaze away from the feeding frenzy outside.

Olivia grabs my wrist to yank me to a stop. "Saw who?"

"The photographer," I say tightly, pulling my arms around myself in a bid to stop myself from shivering, despite the record-breaking temperatures outside. "From Applewood."

"Dion Guillard..." clarifies Olivia, staring at me intently. "Are you sure?"

"Yes," I nod.

Olivia purses her lips. "He could be here on his own volition, or because someone invited him. Either way, we should make use of this opportunity."

"How?"

"By making him an offer he can't refuse," she replies slyly, pulling her phone out.

My eyes widen. "You mean right now? But Madeleine—"

"Has enough sycophants coddling her already," she counters flippantly as she quickly types up a text. "We only have one chance to do this. Do you want the truth, or not?"

I swallow down the lump in my throat. "I do."

"Good," she nods, slotting her phone away again. "You don't mind if I borrow your hunks, do you?"

"Umm..."

"I'll take that as a 'yes'," she responds, clicking her fingers authoritatively at Allard and Schweitzer. "Meet me in the back in fifteen minutes."

Before I have a chance to respond, Olivia has already spun on her heel and is striding towards the rear of the store, my two Guards in tow.

"'Kay..." I mutter under my breath.

I have no idea what Olivia's plan is... much less how she thinks to arrange a clandestine meeting with the photographer under Madeleine's nose while there's an entire army of paps parked outside watching our every move.

But I've learned during the course of the social season that the Scarlet Duchess is as enterprising as she is resourceful, having pulled a number of successful ploys in a bid to advance herself in the competition. And Drake seems to trust her implicitly, otherwise, he wouldn't have asked her to keep an eye on me while he's off in Dubai.

So, it looks like I'm just going to have to trust her, too.

Taking a deep breath, I move towards the other end of the shop floor, pretending to peruse the various items on offer while I wait for the allotted time to tick down.

Luckily, Madeleine is busy loudly shooting down each and every lingerie option that is presented to her by both the boutique staff and her increasingly frazzled ladies-in-waiting, so nobody really notices when I announce a pretend visit to the restroom.

Slipping back out into the foyer, I move as casually as possible towards the back of the store, knowing that the paps are still watching me like hawks through the windows.

Rounding the corner, I allow myself to speed up a bit, casting my gaze left and right, looking for Olivia...

...when I'm suddenly yanked into a dimly-lit storeroom stacked with cardboard boxes and plastic-wrapped veils and dresses.

"Hey! What the—?" I protest as the door is shut promptly behind me.

"You're late," Olivia informs me dryly, clicking the lone light bulb on above us.

"Sorry, I had t—"

I reel back in horror as my eyes land on the bound and gagged form of Dion Guillard perched on top of a box of lingerie.

"Oh, my God!" I gasp. "When the heck did this turn into a kidnapping?"

"Ten minutes ago," she replies breezily.

I drop my head in my hands. "I am going to jail... I am literally going to jail..."

"Oh, ye of little faith..." Olivia admonishes, stepping over to the photographer.

He shrinks instantly back from her.

My brows shoot skywards. "Jesus Christ... What did you do to him?"

"Nothing," she shrugs. "Yet..."

A chill runs down my spine. Apparently, Olivia's reputation is more than well deserved...

"I presume you know who we are?" she asks Dion levelly, coming to a stop in front of him.

The man nods tightly, brows bunched together beneath the line of his baseball cap.

"And your current circumstances leave you under no illusions as to the lengths we're willing to go to obtain — by force, or otherwise — the clear and unvarnished truth?"

His gaze slips to meet mine for a second before sliding back to Olivia's to give her the barest of nods.

"Good," she smiles, reaching towards him. "Then this will go that much faster."

In one quick motion, she yanks the scrunched-up handkerchief from the photographer's mouth, making him wheeze.

"Sa mère la pute de—"

"Who are you working for?" Olivia demands, folding her arms.

Dion spits on the floor next to her feet. "I'm a freelancer. I work for—"

"We know who you are," Olivia interjects with a wave of her hand. "You're a lowlife slug who's willing to do anything to make a name for himself. You demonstrated as much when you sold compromising photos of my friend here to the press. The question is, who hired you?"

Dion scoffs. "Nobody hired me. I work for myself! That is what I've been trying to—!"

"Liar," Olivia accuses. "We know you didn't just stumble upon this by yourself. Who's your client?"

"Nom de dieu..." he disparages under his breath. "I told you already, I—"

Olivia is suddenly up in his face, knife pressed to his throat. "And I didn't like your answer."

Dion jerks back instinctively. "Your petite friend is correct... You are going to jail..."

"They'll have to find your body first," she tells him silkily. "What little will be left of it, anyway... Because no one here is going to the police. And I'm sure that your so-called friends out the front will secretly be glad for your unexplained loss. The freelance photography business is oh-so cutthroat, after all..."

"Tu es une salle grace..." he snarls through clenched teeth.

Olivia presses the knife tighter. "Then you should know that it's not in your interest to test what's left of my patience..."

Dion laughs bitterly. "À quoi ça rime? You say already that you will just—"

"What if we paid you?" I interject, stepping forward.

Olivia's head snaps angrily around. "Harper, stay out of—!"

"Paid me?" the photographer cuts in, eyes swirling to meet mine with interest.

"To give us the information we're after... voluntarily," I clarify, in a bid to avoid the impending bloodshed. "And to sell us the photos from Applewood."

Dion frowns. "I already sold the pictures to the papers..."

"Not all of them," I correct, hoping against hope that my gut instinct is correct and I haven't just torpedoed Olivia's interrogation for nothing. "You only sold the ones you were told to sell — the ones that fit your client's narrative."

Dion seems to assess me in a new light. "You come prepared... Fine. I'll do as you ask... for five million."

"Ducats?" asks Olivia.

"Euros."

I very narrowly catch my jaw from falling to the floor at the sound of the obscene price tag.

"You've been paid once already," counters Olivia. "The highest we can go is one million."

"Four," insists Dion, somehow managing to find the balls to negotiate even with a knife pressed to his throat. "There are a lot of pictures."

"Which no one else is willing to buy, so two is our best and final offer."

"Three," declares Dion. "And I'll forget this conversation ever happened."

Olivia purses her lips for a moment, before whipping the knife away with a flourish. "Fine. Start talking."

Dion lets out a low exhale. "I received a call some days before the Jamboree. The person had a tip on one of the Prince's suitors, and said it would make big news if it got out. Naturally, I was interested."

"Who was this person?" I ask.

"I don't have a name," he replies. "The tip was anonymous, and the call came from a hidden number."

"Was it a man or a woman?" Olivia queries.

"A man."

Olivia and I exchange a glance. Tariq or Godfrey.

"How did you get into Applewood?" I ask, turning back to Dion.

"A security pass was delivered to my apartment. No return address," he adds before either of us can ask.

"And that didn't seem suspicious?" I press.

"Demoiselle," he scoffs. "I am a paparazzo. I am not going to... How you Américans say? Count the teeth of a dog?"

"Look a gift horse in the mouth..." I correct dryly.

"Once on the estate, I took some pictures of the Jamboree — in the event, you know... nothing came of the tip — but then I received a message on my phone that the suitor in question was on her way back to her room with her paramour, andI should make myself ready."

"How did you know which room to go to?" I cut in.

"There was a blueprint of the manor included in the same envelope that provided me my security pass," Dion explains. "It was your room that was marked."

His words hit me like a kick to the guts.

It's been clear for a while that my run-in with Tariq has been anything but chance. But to learn the malicious extent of the planning that had gone into setting it up makes me want to actually puke.

Who was sick enough to even think up something so twisted?

"What then?" asks Olivia, diverting Dion's attention from my momentary muteness.

He shrugs. "I took the photos, and left."

"How?" I croak in disbelief. "How could you just stand there while—?"

"I am a journalist," he shrugs apathetically. "My business is to be impartial..."

"You watched me get assaulted," I hiss through trembling lips. "There is nothing impartial about that!"

He shrugs again. "Affairs are messy. Maybe you should choose your lovers more carefully."

I feel my fists clench at my sides as I take a step forward. "He is not—"

Olivia's hand pulls me back. "How did you deliver the photos?"

"There was no delivery," Dion counters with the same level of nonchalance that he's exhibited since he started talking. "I selected the best pictures and put them out to offer to the newspapers. The Sun offered the most for them, so I sold to them the exclusive rights to publish."

"That's it?" queries Olivia. "No one else was given copies?"

Dion scoffs. "Absolutement pas! Selling copies to anyone else would violate the license agreement with the most influential tabloid newspaper in the country! Why would I put myself out of business? I am not an idiot..."

"You didn't send any samples to the person who tipped you off?" I press, having finally managed to regain my composure somewhat.

"Non," he insists. "I said before — he was not a client. I have no obligation for him. And even if I did, I have no way to contact him because—"

"—the conversations were anonymous," I finish wearily.

Apart from lending credence to our suspicions that Godfrey may have had a hand in the set-up, this conversation has confirmed literally nothing.

The people involved in the plot have been too careful in covering up their tracks.

Which means that all our hopes now rest with Tariq... and Drake's ability to find him.

Dion nods. "C'est correct. And I told you everything you asked. We still have a deal, yes?"

"On the condition that you hand over all the remaining photographs — including any digital and backup copies — and disappear off to a godforsaken island somewhere," Olivia clarifies.

Dion nods eagerly. "Naturellement. I always desired early retirement."

"Good," she approves, cutting the bonds from his wrists with a cold smile. "Otherwise I will personally ensure that you don't live to spend a single Euro of your newly acquired millions."

The flash of the wicked-looking blade so close to his groin causes the photographer to blanch involuntarily. "Je le jure."

Olivia flashes him a cold smile. "We'll be in touch..."

"You're just letting him go?" I hiss into Olivia's ear as Dion pushes himself up.

"Unless you would prefer to dump him in the Tiber?"

I reel back. "What! No! I just—"

"Your instinct was right," she advises softly, as Dion gathers his bag and Allard escorts him back out. "He is an opportunistic shark. He just had to be made to believe that he was fleecing us."

My eyes widen. "So, you played bad cop deliberately."

"As you said, this is my area of expertise," she smirks. "And I knew you would not be able to keep your sentimentality at the door."

"Umm, thanks... I think..." I mutter. "But where are we supposed to get three million Euros from? We may both be aristos, but neither of us is Jeff Bezos..."

"The Palace has a designated slush fund set aside for these sorts of expenditures," Olivia assures me breezily, slotting her knife away. "Since you are now a member of the royal family, we'll just send the bill to Jonathan."

I slant her a wry look. "I'm pretty sure that's not what either he or Christian had in mind when they decided to clean up my image..."

"Oh, please!" she admonishes, stepping back out into the corridor as well. "As recently as last year, Constantine was authorising expenditures of five to ten million Euros to stop pictures of Leo shagging B-list actresses on top of various vehicles making it onto the front pages. Three million Euros is trump change for the Rys."

"If you say so," I concede, my mind still reeling from astronomical sums of money that had been so casually bandied about. "Let's just hope Dion doesn't screw us over..."

"He won't," she assures me. "Nobody is stupid enough to cross a Nevrakis."

"The people who blackmailed you did..." I remind her cautiously.

Olivia's mouth tightens as we reach the end of the corridor. "Which was their first mistake. And one that they will pay for dearly."

"You never actually told me what they threatened you with on the night of the Coronation Ball..."

Olivia glances at me sharply. "The less you know the better."

"But—"

"It is for your own protection," she insists. "You haven't played this game long enough to know how to handle something so... explosive."

My eyes widen. "What? More explosive than—?"

Olivia clamps her hand over my mouth. "What did I tell you on the plane?"

"Sorry..." I mumble through her fingers.

She withdraws her hand. "If — on the very slim chance — I require assistance, I'll ask for it. In the meantime, you should rejoin the bridal parade."

"Why? Where are you going?" I ask as Olivia moves towards the back loading doors.

"None of your business," she ripostes, disappearing outside.

"Bye to you, too..." I snip as the door slams closed in her wake.

Olivia may now be on my side, but she is still as caustic as ever.

Turning back towards the main part of the boutique. I barely make it four steps before Madeleine's shrieks of outrage — and the sound of breaking glass — echo down the hallway.

"How many times do I have to tell you, no thongs! They are ribald and tasteless!"

"Yeah, no..." I mutter under my breath as I promptly spin on my heel to head back towards the rear of the store.

I don't care what Kiara may have said earlier; I have no interest in spending the rest of the morning being trapped in a bridal boutique, being screamed at by Madeleine. I have much better things to do with my time... and sanity, especially given that I'm still trying to mentally and emotionally process what the photographer had said. And after everything else that's happened in the past twenty-four hours, a small break would definitely go a long way in diffusing my pent-up stress.

Admittedly, a part of me feels bad for leaving Hana behind to suffer the full brunt of Madeleine's tirade, but trying to pull her away as well would only jeopardise my chances of making a successful getaway. I'll just have to think of some other way to make it up to her.

Not wanting her to get into any unwarranted trouble on my account, I decide to pull out my phone to send her a quick text letting her know that I'm not feeling well, and that I'll hopefully see her at the opera in the evening.

Slotting my phone back into my clutch, I push the back doors of the boutique open with a decisive shove, and step out into the sunshine.

Letting my eyes adjust to the brightness outside, I find myself in a small courtyard. On a whim, I turn back towards my Guards.

"Which way to the Trevi Fountain?" I ask, pulling my sunglasses back down over my face.

Allard and Schweitzer trade glances, clearly uneasy with this request.

"Demoiselle, that is not a prudent—"

"—way to get lost in the crowd?" I counter. "I can't think of a better one. If I don't advertise myself, no one will know I'm even there. Especially while the paps are tied up on the other side of the building."

My Guards don't seem convinced. "Commandant Walker left specific instructions to—"

"I'm not planning on disappearing on you," I assure them. "I just want to make a quick detour to grab some pastries, and check out the fountain. So, which way is it?"

Perhaps seeing that I'm not going to be swayed by any cautionary counter-argument, Schweitzer gives Allard a one-shouldered shrug of acquiescence.

Allard pulls a face before finally resigning himself as well. "Par ici," he says, indicating the far side of the courtyard.

"Thanks," I chirp with a smile, setting out across the cobblestones...

...and promptly get the heel of my stiletto pumps stuck in a crack between the stones.

"Eugh," I grumble, as I manage to wrench myself free after a brief battle. "I really didn't think this through..."

"Would Demoiselle require a taxi?" asks Schweitzer as he helps steady me from behind.

"I was hoping to walk..." I admit sheepishly.

"Via Borgognona is nearby," Allard suggests. "It is a well-known shopping street, though quieter than the more famous Via Condotti. Demoiselle might find more... comfortable footwear there."

"Not to mention some more appropriate clothes in general," I gripe, already feeling the tight fabric of my pencil dress start to stick to me. "How far away is it?"

"Just around the corner."

I flash him a bright smile. "Perfect!"

With Allard leading the way, and Schweitzer holding my hand, we manage to cross the courtyard without further incident, and sneak past the paps still thronging the front of the bridal boutique without getting spotted.

Crossing the pedestrianised thoroughfare, my Guards usher me down a narrower street that is lined on either side by cream-coloured buildings casting some welcome shade in the midday heat.

We pass a smattering of tourists and locals, but luckily everyone seems to be too absorbed in their phones or personal conversations to pay any specific attention to me.

And — more importantly — as Allard promised, the street is composed entirely of fashionable-looking independent boutiques.

"Let's try this one," I suggest, indicating the arched entryway of a store with an Italian name that I do not recognise, but which nevertheless seems to have several options for sandals on offer. And — given the scalding nature of the weather — an open-toe option is definitely appealing right now!

Stepping into the air-conditioned entranceway, I am immediately greeted by an immaculately made up woman with a severe ponytail, who starts questioning me in rapid-fire Italian.

"Umm..."

Luckily, I am saved from the embarrassment of trying to cobble together some kind of inappropriate response with the very limited — and wholly unhelpful — Italian that Bertrand had managed to teach me on the plane by Allard, who steps deftly up to my side.

"Lei è alla ricerca di alcune nuove scarpe."

"Che tipo de scarpe?"

"Sandals," I say, having understood the gist of the question. "No heel."

"Prego," the assistant says, flicking her hand towards some minimalist shelving.

"Gracia," I acknowledge with a smile.

Moving over to the indicated section, I quickly assess the options...

...and nearly die when I lay eyes on the price tags.

"Almost a thousand Euros...?" I gripe under my breath "For a few scraps of leather...?"

But then my eyes land on a pair bejewelled, gladiator-style sandals.

Given my limited window of opportunity to sneak in some sight-seeing before people start to question my absence, I don't have the luxury of being able to hunt for a bargain. And if I'm going to end up forking out this much money on a pair of shoes, I'm at least going to spend it on something that I like the look of.

And these sandals definitely fit the bill.

Decision made, I pull out my phone to quickly find out how my normal US shoe size converts to the vastly different European sizing, and turn back to the patiently waiting assistant.

"Size 36, please."

With a nod, she disappears 'round the back.

While she's gone, I take the opportunity to look up the location of the little pastry shop that the President had mentioned.

Since I'm heading towards the Trevi Fountain anyway, and Madeleine had pulled us out of this morning's meeting before the refreshments could be served, I had been serious when I told my Guards of my intent to tackle two birds with one stone. Especially since it's nearly lunchtime, and chances are I won't otherwise see food until the opera this evening.

The assistant reappears with my selection, and after a quick try-on, I give her a nod to ring up the extortionate purchase, being excessively grateful that I still have cash left in my US account, given that I don't actually have access to my new Cordonian accounts yet.

Stepping back out onto the street, I change out my shoes, slotting my pumps away into the high-end bag that I've been given, and dumping the shoebox in a nearby trash can.

My toes flex gratefully in their newfound freedom as I cross the street to the clothing boutique, wondering how much a top and pair of jean shorts is going to set me back...

In the end, however, I am pleasantly surprised to emerge back onto the street in a simple, white wrap-dress, a straw Panama hat, and a matching straw bucket bag in which I've stowed my old dress and shoes, all for under two hundred Euros, which means I was able to make recourse to the money Drake had given me, and still have plenty of cash left over for other potential emergencies.

"Thanks for the suggestion," I tell Allard sincerely. "It has definitely saved me from melting into the pavement!"

"De rien, Demoiselle," he acknowledges with a smile. "Are you ready to continue?"

"Lead the way, Monsieur!" I tell him with a grin.

Taking up poll position with a scoff — with Schweitzer bringing up the rear — Allard takes us left at the next intersection to zig-zag us down various side streets, presumably in a bid to avoid both the ferocity of the midday sun, and the chances of me being recognised on the busier avenues.

But, the back route pays off, and within ten minutes, I find myself standing on the edge of the crowded plaza that serves as the gateway to the romantic monument.

"Wow..." I breathe, taking it all in. "It sure is busy!"

Allard and Schweitzer exchange a tense look, no doubt worried about the prospect of being able to keep tabs on me in the press.

"I'll be fine," I assure them. "Just a quick peek and then we can get moving."

Neither of them look convinced, but they don't try to dissuade me as I plunge into the crowd.

Skirting around wedding parties, tour groups, and other miscellaneous sightseers, I manage to work my way to the front of the throng, and my mouth parts with a gasp at the sight spread out before me.

The four-storey monument rises up from the base of the fountain, framing the dynamically positioned statues from under whose feet the water gushes into the aquamarine pool.

It's like a Renaissance painting brought to life.

But, while I'm glad to have made the trip out here to see it in person, I can't help but feel my chest tighten morosely as I gaze up at the beauty of the world-famous landmark.

I didn't necessarily realise it at the time, but part of the reason why I enjoyed my outing in the Cordonian capital so much was because I had Drake to share the adventure with. And it was the same in Avignon — his wry quips and local knowledge had definitely brought the whole experience to life, making me see the city through different eyes than I probably would have had I been by myself... like I am now.

Eugh... I miss him...

Reaching for the ties of my bag on impulse, I pull the fastenings apart just enough to plunge my hand inside. Finding my purse, I snap it open and extract a Euro from the coin pouch.

Squeezing my fingers 'round the warmth of the metal, I clench my eyes shut with a heartfelt wish as I turn back towards the fountain...

...before sending the coin flipping through the air to land in the water before me with a soft plop.

Blinking my eyes open, I am somewhat disappointed to find myself still standing solo by the railing, and Drake has not magically appeared before me like the hot Italian guy did in The Lizzy McGuire Movie.

"Worth a shot..." I console myself somewhat dejectedly as I reach back into my bag to extract my phone so I could snap a couple of pictures to send to my mom.

Mission accomplished, I turn away from the fountain to make my way back to the edge of the square, Allard and Schweitzer falling into step behind me as I scan the various store-fronts clustered around the fountain, searching for the bakery with the pistachio croissants.

My eyes suddenly land on something in one of the window displays...

...and without really thinking about it, I let my feet carry me inside.

The little brass bell above the door jingles as I step into the cramped confines of what appears to be a shop selling a motley collection of antiques and touristy knick-knacks. A wizened old man sporting glasses and a thick head of white hair looks up at the sound of my arrival.

"Buon pomeriggio, signorina," he greets. "Posso aiutarla a cercare?"

"Umm... sì," I say hesitantly. "Hai avo... in the window?" I point at the item that had caught my eye with an embarrassed flush.

The man's face cracks into a grin. "Ah, certamente!"

Stepping out from behind the counter, he ambles his way over to the window display, to pull back the protective glass. Reaching in, he lifts up the silver chain and holds it out to me.

I run the tip of my finger across the edge of the pendant with a smile. "It's perfect."

"For you?" he asks, lifting the chain up to my neck indicatively.

"No," I laugh. "It's a present... Por mi amore?"

His eyes light up. "Ah, bellissimo! Lo avvolgerò in su per voi!"

"Gracia," I say as he scuttles excitedly back behind the counter in search of a box.

Pulling one out with a conspiratorial flourish, he sets about packaging up the piece as if he were swaddling a precious child for a hazardous journey, even managing to dig out a slightly dusty ribbon to tie on top.

"Cento euro," he declares, presenting the completed ensemble to me.

Pulling my wallet out, I extract my card. "Visa?"

"Sì! Ovviamente!" he proclaims, slapping a brand new Square card machine onto the counter, that was starkly at odds with the otherwise Ollivander-esque décor of the place.

Slotting my card into the reader, I complete the purchase, and am just about to reach for the box to stow it away in my bag when I feel a sudden presence behind me.

"This is becoming a bad habit with you..."

I freeze at the sound of the familiar voice.

No way...

The story continues in Chapter 20 (Coming Soon!)

A/N: As per usual, translations below:

At the bridal boutique: Contessa! Contessa Maddalena! Quaggiù, per favore! - Countess! Countess! Over here, please!

Nous vous tienons, Demoiselle - We got you, m'lady

Certainement. Vous allez bien? - Certainly. Are you alright?

C'est le bordel! Qu'est-ce qu'elle croyait?" - What mess! What was she thinking?

Sa mère la pute de— - Your mother is a whore of a—

Nom de dieu - Oh, my God!

Tu es une salle grace - You're a real bitch

Absolutement pas! - Absolutely not!

Je le jure - I swear

Out and About Par ici - This way

Lei è alla ricerca di alcune nuove scarpe - She is looking for some new shoes.

Che tipo de scarpe? - What kind of shoes?

Prego - Please

Gracia - Thanks

De rien, Demoiselle - No problem, m'lady

Buon pomeriggio, signorina. Posso aiutarla a cercare? - Good afternoon, miss. Can I help you find anything?

Por mi amore?* - For my love? *This is a completely butchered attempt at Italian. The grammatically correct way to say it would be 'È per il mio amore'. However, Harper is improvising, so she's not going to get things completely correct 😇

Ah, bellissimo! Lo avvolgerò in su per voi! - Ah, lovely! I will wrap it up for you!

Cento euro - One hundred Euros

Sì! Ovviamente! - Yes! Of course!

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(Less Than) Noble Intentions only (let me know if you want to be added!)

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#harper gale #drake walker #drake x mc #the royal romance #less than noble intentions #olivia nevrakis #hana lee #penelope ebrim #kiara theron #madeleine amaranth #trr fanfic #Spotify

[dutifullynuttywitch]

Replaying TRR but romancing Drake this time around. I am here for the cynical, sarcastic guy with a fluffy marshmallow heart 🥰 but also, what does he do all day at court?!

#playchoices #choices trr #drake walker #drake x mc #olivia nevrakis

[sillyboards]

drake walker - the royal romance - choices

#drake walker #royal romance #choices #choices stories you play #pixelberry #aesthetic board #aesthetic #moodboard #liam rys #drake x mc

[twinkleallnight]

False truth

Book: TRR AU

Pairings: Drake x Riley, Drake x Olivia, Liam x Riley .

Word count:1020

Disclaimer: All characters belong to pixelberry.

Rating: Mature

Warning: mental health

A/N: Thanks a ton @lizzybeth1986 for holding my hand and bringing this to reality. This is a mini series of 6 chapters loosely weaved around themes for the days of drake-walker-appreciation week.

Prompt: Day 1: Appreciation for @drake-walker-appreciation week

"Good morning!" Her soft whisper and sweet kisses were the things Drake cherished the most.

He stretched his arms up in the air and then turned to her, taking her in his embrace. She giggled as he peppered kisses all over her face.

"I love you." She said with a kiss.

"I love you too." He replied and asked, "What are we planning today?"

" I am going to treat you to some of your favourite foods."

"And what's so special to recieve this treat?"

"Just cause I want to celebrate, us." She waved her finger between both of them. "You know what, being with you every moment is a celebration." She added.

"You flatter me. What did I do to get all of this?" He spread out his arms and threw himself back in the softness of the plush mattress.

She placed her hand on his chest and rested her chin on it. Looking into his eyes, she started, " You Drake Walker, you are the most wonderful person on this earth. You have been a loving son, a caring brother, the most loyal friend anyone could ask for."

He raised his brows. "Well, thank you but all these things don't relate to you and me. Tell me something exclusive about us."

She chuckled, "That list will be never-ending. You know how much I love you. You are the warm hearted person I always dreamed of."

Drake smiled listening to the praises. She cupped his face and continued, "You can read me so well. I don't have to utter a single word and you know what I want. You know it all. You are so devoted that I feel blessed. You never leave my side come hell or high water. You give courage, you give hope, you make living possible. With you around I am so carefree. You are always watching my back. I can be myself and I am who I am, because of you."

Drake covered her mouth with his fingers, "Enough! Do you want me to drown in the sea of these praises?"

She shook her head and moved his hand away to speak, "No, I want you to shine like a star in the nightsky."

"A star? I am not beautiful like a star."

She got up to kiss his head. "Sadly, you don't even know."

"Know what?"

"That you are beautiful inside and outside. . Your chestnut hair that falls over your forehead." She ruffled his hair and he chuckled. "Your twinkling brown eyes, this smile of yours that only I get to see. When you say my name in your rough and heavy tenor, my legs go jelly."

"Riley." He called out her name to tease her.

"Oh, please don't start it again."

"Riley! Riley! Riley!" He repeated with a kiss each time.

She started laughing. He responded with a hearty laugh. He didn't realise his voice was loud enough to cross the barriers of the wooden doors.

There was a knock on the door. "Drake? Are you awake, Drake?" The sharp female voice from the other side of the door sounded concerned.

Drake lost his grin but Riley kept smiling. He got up to open the door. He didn't want his rendezvous with Riley to end. If only…

The moment he unlocked the door, Olivia rushed in.

"Good morning, Drake. How are you today? Did you sleep well?" She asked in a single breath, scanning the room.

"Yes, whatever." He muttered and walked in behind her. He looked at his bed and frowned. Riley was gone. Again. As always.

"Were you talking to someone?"

" None of your business!" He snarled at her and stomped out of the door. Riley was gone, so there was no point to stay there.

Olivia's shoulders slumped in defeat. She looked at the tiny study table in the corner of the room. The letter she left last night was still there. It was out of the envelope. That means he read it. Then why would he not respond well? She walked down to it with heavy steps. She picked it up to check if she had made a mistake. She started reading her handwritten ode.

'Dear Drake,

I love you. And I have some plans for tomorrow. I am going to treat you to some of your favourite foods. Nothing special. I just want to celebrate, us, although being with you every moment is a celebration. Because, you Drake Walker, you are the most wonderful person on this earth. You have been a loving son, a caring brother, the most loyal friend anyone could ask for.' Her eyes welled up. She tried to peer through her watery eyes.

'And if i start talking about us, the list will be never-ending.'

A stray streak of water spilled out of her eye to land on the letter and blotted the ink. She turned away with a sigh. Her head hung low. She crumpled the paper in her hand.

She looked up at the mantle. Photos of them together in happier times looked like they were mocking her. She picked up one she had clicked of him, standing alone in the lythikos snow with the eggnog she had made for him. He was beaming at the lens. He looked so happy. She wiped the wetness from her cheeks, reminiscing about that moment. She touched his lips in the photograph and moved her fingers over his brown eyes. "I did as I was told. I poured out my heart to you Drake Walker in a hope that you will remember what we had. But you are still dreaming of a woman who doesn't exist. I wonder how long I will have to fight this lonely battle to get you out of your hallucinations.This struggle seems like never-ending. I miss you Drake. I miss you!"

She cradled the photo frame in her bosom and let the welled up emotions loose till she could do it no more. She won't give up though. She had decided she wouldn't. With a fresh resolution in her mind,she got up to go after him.

"Drake? Drake!..."

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Chapter 2 here

#drake walker appreciation #drake walker #riley brooks #olivia nevrakis #drake x mc #Dralivia #pixelberry #playchoices #the royal romance #trr fandom #trr #choices fanart #twinkleallnight

[bayleedraws-sometimesx]

#Drake x Mc #bayleedrawsx #trr #trr fanart #drake walker

[xxrainbow-princessxx]

Wishful Thinking - Drake x OC (Isabella)

Tagging: @lorirwritesfanfic @lorircreates @kimmiedoo5 @mom2000aggie @drakewalkerfantasy @secretaryunpaid @twinkleallnight @kingliam2019 @havenroyals @choicesprompts

Warning: When life gives you lemons…. 🍋 🍋 😏

Prompts: Sweet and Slow, We shouldn’t be doing this and I can make you forget him

“What are you doing here, came to gloat?” Isabella sucked in her cheeks, raising a delicate wine glass to her lips, the red nectar almost overflowing over the sides. There was no savouring the taste, nor allowing the bottle of Malbec she had already drank most of to aerate, wanting to taste the bitterness as she sat quietly alone in her Cordonian Townhouse’s kitchen on the cold marble counter. “Sánchez…” the figure standing in the door frame pushed himself up, moving closer toward her, “Nah, I’m not here to gloat… just checking in, haven’t seen you around campus for a few days y’know?” The Laurentian Princess’ chocolate brown eyes immediately looked upwards towards the man who stood in front of her, “I don’t need your pity Drake…” she spat angrily, “I knew what I was getting into…” causing the Texan to laugh as his attentions turned to her liquor cabinet. He poured two crystal tumblers of brandy before handing one to the petite brunette. “You wanna drink the pain away… drink this… wine just gives you a shit hangover…” Isabella raised her glass towards him, tilting it ever so slightly to clink both glasses together, “To being fucked over yet again…” she forcefully smiled before downing her drink, wincing as the liquid burned her already delicate throat from all the crying and screaming she had done hours beforehand.

With a slight cough she sat down her glass, staring up towards Drake knowing he pitied her. The expression on his face didn’t give it away but she could tell from how his onyx eyes filled with a sadness that she herself felt. “You don’t have to come check on me Drake…” Isabella gently spoke, “I’ll do as I normally do, pick myself up and get on with my life…” Drake took a step closer to her, his broad, muscular frame barely inches from her as he placed both hands either side of the Crown Princess’ body. His dark eyes locked onto hers as he stared directly into her soul, “You fucking deserve better and you know that!” Drake hissed, his whole body tensing. The smell of the sweet, smoky brandy from his breath mixing with the deliciousness of his cologne was intoxicating even more so than the wine. The Laurentian beauty felt her heart race in anticipation. Leaning forward, her lips crashed upon Drake’s and for that moment, she let herself melt into him. Her kiss was hungry, almost pleading him not to reject her. Drake placed her hands carefully against her delicate jaw, cupping her face gently as he purposely slowed down the kiss, savouring every moment as his tongue massaged hers, revelling in the taste that he had been craving for so long.

Separating for a breath, Drake stepped back as he bashfully ran his fingers through his hair awkwardly, “We shouldn’t be doing this… shit…” Isabella reached out, grabbing his shirt to bring him back closer to her, “No… it’s ok… I want to…” her perfectly manicured fingers trailed against his chest, Ruby red lips pouting, “Please Drake?” The Texan’s calloused rough thumb danced against the Crown’s Princess’ bottom lip as he whispered, “I can make you forget him if that’s what you want… but you and I both know it’ll only be in that moment…” Drake patiently waited for the reassurance from the petite brunette that she wanted this too, there was no pressure. “Tell me it’s ok Sánchez… I ain’t going to do anything unless you tell me it’s alright…” Isabella took a deep breath in, was she sure this was what she wanted? Drake was someone she trusted, someone she loved dearly. “I’m sure…” she whispered against his lips, kissing them once more. This time, Drake’s hands did not rest on the counter, but around her waist, pulling the petite brunette closer to him. His hands slowly moved upwards until they were entangled in her long cascading curls. Each movement was perfectly orchestrated, sweet and oh so slow. Drake would take his time, allowing his teeth to ever so slowly drag against Isabella’s bottom lip, nipping her playfully as she blushed.

Effortlessly, the Texan picked Isabella up from the counter, her legs wrapped around his waist, his hands cradling her backside as he carried her to her room. It was a strange feeling for Drake being in her room for such an intimate moment, but he had no urgency to go any faster as he carefully placing the petite brunette onto the duvet. Isabella’s chocolate brown eyes looked up at the King’s Guard lustfully in awe of him. For someone perceived so rough around the edges, Drake Walker certainly understood the delicacy of the female body. His hands softly caressed her frame as he peppered kisses along her neck and exposed décolletage, all accepted as a gentle moan escaped the Laurentian beauty’s mouth. Drake looked up towards her as his hands began to pull her dress above her thighs, “Tell me to stop and I’ll stop ok?” he gruffly spoke to reassure her once more as he pulled the material from her body carefully being conscious that one piece of clothing probably cost more than his salary before removing his own shirt. Isabella’s eyes widened in delight as she took in the view of Drake’s sculpted body that he always kept hidden under those denim shirts he always wore, his jeans hanging low on his hips emphasising his six pack.

His fingers carefully unclasped her bra, exposing Isabella’s ample bust causing her to blush slightly as she bashfully tucked the loose tendrils of hair that framed her face behind her ears. “Fuck you’re beautiful…” Drake muttered under his breath before leaning over her to kiss Isabella once more. The Crown Princess could feel her body yearning for him as his hardening length pressed against her, straining in his jeans. “Drake…” Isabella moaned into his mouth seductively, “Please touch me…” with a coy grin, Drake began to kiss down her torso, his hands following the shape of her hourglass figure until he reached her black lace thong. Hooking his fingers around the material, he took a deep breath as they cascaded down her thighs and legs to expose the Laurentian beauty fully to him. Drake didn’t need alcohol to feel drunk as his tongue cautiously began to taste the Crown Princess, savouring in her sweetness before he allowed his lips to tease her already sensitive nub. “Drake…” Isabella called out again in pleasure, her hands getting lost in the Texan’s shaggy dark dark as he explored her body further. Pressing one of his fingers against her entrance he groaned at how tight she was as he slowly entered her core, allowing her to relax before entering another finger. The petite brunette felt her thighs and legs pressing against Drake’s shoulders keeping him in the same exact spot, “Yes…” she softly moaned, “Right there…” her eyes rolling back as he continued to please the Crown Princess.

Feeling the walls of her warm core begin to tighten around his fingers, Drake kept his pace, coaxing the Laurentian beauty to spill over as her body tensed. As they caught each others gaze for a brief moment, the petite brunette rolled her eyes back once more as she came; Drake lavishing in his spoils as his tongue entered her heat causing Isabella to shudder at how sensitive she felt. “Drake…” she tried to catch her breath, “That was…” bringing a smirk to form across his face after licking his lips, “Only the start Sánchez…” He unbuckled his belt with one hand, popping open the buttons on his jeans to finally release his strained length. Isabella couldn’t help but stare as she took in the sight of him. His dark rugged looks, was a complete opposite to what she normally found herself attracted to but her eyes followed his chest hair towards his happy trail and then lower again. There was no denying that Drake Walker was genetically blessed. “You done staring?” He snorted playfully as he crawled up the bed, illiciting a giggle from the petite brunette as he stared into her chocolate brown eyes, each muscular arm on the other side of her body as he began to kiss her softly once more as she lay nestled underneath him.

Pressing his body against hers, Drake enjoyed the softness of her petite frame and the smell of her jasmine perfume as he breathed deeply, taking in her scent as he hovered above her. Feeling a slickness between her legs rubbing against his length, Drake groaned in satisfaction whilst the Crown Princess began to wrap her legs around his waist. “Do you need an invitation?” Isabella teased, but her taunting didn’t last for long. Pressing the tip of his member against her entrance, Drake smirked as he slowly made her feel every inch of him nestling inside her, stretching her to accommodate his size with every stroke. “God…” Isabella called out, reaching and grabbing onto the sheets around her much to Drake’s satisfaction, “What were you saying Sánchez?” he chuckled as their hips finally met, “It’s worth the wait I promise…” the petite brunette hissed as Drake began to thrust back and forth with a steady pace. She was much tighter than the Texan had imagined as his lips and fingertips found her already puckered nipples. The Laurentian beauty’s moans as the King’s Guard caressed her breasts made Drake want to claim her as his own.

Straightening himself up, both of his calloused strong hands gripped onto the petite brunette’s thighs as her feet brushed passed his ears. This time, Drake didn’t hold back as he began to thrust once more. The pace was quickened as Isabella’s breath hitched, feeling herself wanting to let go all over again. “I’m going to cum…” Drake groaned through gritted teeth, continuing to slide in and out of the Crown Princess’ warm, slick core, his hips slapping against her ass. “Yes…” Isabella purred, “Cum for me Drake…” before her chocolate brown eyes rolled back in ecstasy with a satisfied moan. As her walls began to tighten around his cock, Drake no longer could contain himself and with a groan filled the Laurentian beauty with his seed. “Isabella…” her name fell quietly from his lips only for Drake to open his eyes and find himself in his room, his pre cum covered hand squeezing his hardened length tightly. Closing his eyes again once more, he thought of the petite brunette calling his name, coaxing him to cum for her over and over again before he exploded ribbons of hot semen onto his stomach; the only thing he wished for was that she was there to help him clean up - unfortunately Drake knew deep down, that was wishful thinking.

#choices #the royal romance #playchoices #choices fanfiction #drake walker #drake x mc #Smutember2023 #Drake x OC #Drake x Isabella #drake x reader #🍋.txt

[somewillwin]

Request for Drake with @aussiegurl1234 Mc ♥️

Kofi

#kofi event #drake x Mc #playchoices #sketch #myart #trr

[txemrn]

Pour Two Glasses

Chapter 5: "... Wake Me Up When It's Over..."

Need to catch up? Masterlist

✨ Have you checked out this teaser video yet? Pour Two Glasses Teaser✨

Word Count: 3935 (+/-)

Series Synopsis:In the midst of a violent political war, Queen Riley Rys’s life is dismantled overnight, forcing her to flee Cordonia to live in hiding as a commoner with a loyal, best friend

Series Song Inspo: “Pour Two Glasses” by the Movielife

Chapter Song Inspo: "Wake Me Up" by Tommee Profitt ft. Fleurie (Avicii cover)

Series Warnings: 🔞 For Mature Audiences Only 🔞angst; profanity; major character death; grief and mental health discussion; discussion of violence & war; alcohol use; NSFW material

A/N: Characters and some plot references belong to our friends at Pixelberry. Big projects like this often takes a village of cheerleaders, barnstormers, listeners and readers. I am so blessed to have such a supportive village--huge thanks to y'all for making this story come to life! This was not beta'd, so please excuse my errors.

A/N 2: It's been a while, so how about a quick review? *clears throat* Previously on Pour Two Glasses... Sensing her need to be close to her husband, Drake coordinates for Riley to sleep each night of Liam's Royal Wake next to his closed casket; he also gives her a necklace to wear that holds Liam's wedding ring and signet ring; Riley and Drake have a heart-to-heart, which included the intimate story of the promise Liam and Riley made to each other: a promise to "pour two glasses"; after the funeral, a member of the 'Les Combattants de la Liberté' (the same coups that shot down Liam's plane) opens fire during Liam's funeral procession in an attempt to assassinate the queen. Despite Drake's efforts, Riley is shot.

~🖤~

"Ahhh! Fuck!" Drake grimaces, holding pressure to his left arm as blood seeps violently from his fresh bullet wound. Sucking in a sharp breath from the pain, he glances to his right where he had pushed Riley down, and hopefully out of the way.

Her body lies completely still as a pool of deep rouge grows from under her petite, lifeless frame.

"Brooks?" He stretches his neck in hopes of a glimpse of her face, but the abrupt shock of sharp torment in his shoulder knocks the air from his lungs. Anxiously panting, he glances back at Riley, realizing she remains motionless to the sound of her name. “Fuck,” he mutters. “Riley!” He frantically searches for a way to get closer to her. He peers at his injured shoulder and his crimson-stained fingers, weighing the options that don't exist on borrowed time that has already expired.

He grabs the collar of his shirt, bunching up the material in his palm before biting down on it. He rolls onto his stomach, his screams of torment muffled into his makeshift gag as he gnashes his teeth. With his good arm, he army-crawls on his side, pulling himself across the pavement with his elbow. The balls of his feet push to propel him, all the while he moans in agony.

His body finally gives out from the misery. "Brooks? Brooks?" He gruffly pants. He lays flat on the ground, reaching to her sprawled out hand with his unaffected arm. He nudges against her skin, but she doesn't move. His fingers find her wrist; he feels a weak, slow pulse.

"Goddammit!" Drake cries out in pain as he sits himself up. "No–no–no… Riley!" Groaning in anguish, he single-handedly pulls her body to himself, propping her head up in his lap. He tenderly peels the blood-drenched wisps off of her cheeks and forehead. Her head suddenly lolls back, her neck extended across his thigh with her pale lips agape. "Riley!" Tears flood his eyes, "No…" Surveying her body, he notices two bullet wounds to her left shoulder near her chest. 

Near her heart.

Drake turns to the other guards that are tending to a few critically wounded people in the otherwise desolate courtyard. "We need help over here!" He cradles Riley's head as he watches the color drain from her face. "Don't do this, Brooks,” he growls, “Don't you dare fucking do this.” He sobs angrily, gripping firmly to the fabric of her dress. "You can't leave me, too…"

------

A crisp gentle breeze catches her brunette waves in a delicate waltz of silk and sunshine. The softness of the evergreen grass tickles her toes as she ventures through the fragrant blooms. Somewhere amongst the fresh harvest of Cordonian rubies, a handsome melody echoes across the meadow, a deep baritone that Riley instantly recognizes.

“Liam?” Her steps begin to quicken as she searches behind the bark and the bend. “Liam?” Her voice is earnest and hungry as her widened, ocean-blue eyes survey the area for even just a glimpse of his beauty. She grips the sides of her skirt, lifting the hem to her hips as her feet become more swift amongst the uniform rows of bountiful trees.

As she approaches a knoll, a large shadow grants her body brevity from the warm sun. She brings a hand to her forehead, shielding the brightness from her eyes. She strains to make out the broad shapes and chiseled lines of the man standing before her, but she knows it's him. His eyes shimmer with the brilliance of the Mediterranean, his skin like the soft sands of Nissi.

“My love,” he smiles endearingly at her; he cups two filled wine flutes in one large hand as he extends his arm out towards her, his open palm ready to take her into his arms.

“My king,” she breathes, her heart swelling at the very presence of him. She drops her skirt. She draws closer to him as a smile brightly bubbles across her lips. It’s him; it’s really him.

But as their fingertips almost touch, Riley missteps. She trips over an imperfection in the terrain as she falls to her knees, her hands catching her on the ground. As she looks back to her husband, he is gone.

“No,” she whispers as she frantically scours the rolling hills around her. Empty. Not a single trace of life. Riley is alone. “No–no–no… Liam?”  She spins wildly around, searching for him. But suddenly, she hears an ear-piercing crackle like thunder.

And then another. 

A searing pain abruptly burns deep into her shoulder and chest, knocking her off her feet. The impact of the fall robs her of the air in her lungs. In a state of panic, she begins gasping for air, but the rise and fall of her chest makes her whimper, tears collecting in her eyes. 

"Liam?" She tries to scream, but can only muster a rough whisper. "Someone? Please?"

Riley tries to sit up, but an intense scorch of discomfort stuns her to lay back amongst the long blades of grass. Her mouth falls open from the sensation, but only silent sobs pour from her lips.

With a trembling hand, she carefully touches her fingertips to the painful area of her chest. Biting her lip to stifle her screams, she feels a thick oozing of warm fluid escaping her shoulder, flowing between her fingertips.

Blood.

"Help," she strains, but her words falter as her eyelids fall heavier with each blink. 

She hugs her body with her other arm as the breeze suddenly feels frigid against her pale skin. Her breathing becomes more rapid, each inhale growing laborious, more challenging than the last.

'Anyone?' Riley mouths as she grows still. The light in her eyes falls dim, her lashes fluttering as they begin to close.

Stillness.

Darkness.

Suddenly a large, calloused hand squeezes tightly to her petite weak fingers.

"Brooks," a deep, trembling whisper calls to her, "it–it's going to be okay, baby. Hang in there." A sense of relief rushes over her; hearing the familiar gritty voice comforts her, grounding her back with reality.

Riley can hear a soft shrill of metal on metal from squeaky wheels underneath her. She feels a light current of air swishing across her body as if she is being moved rapidly. The pungent smell of medical-grade antiseptic with the slight undertone of decay hits her nostrils, reminding her instantly of the night she had to identify her husband’s remains.

She tries to speak, but her mouth refuses to move; even her whimpers fall silent, unable to get anyone’s attention. She tries to grip onto the hand that is holding her fingers, but despite her effort, nothing moves.

As she relaxes her body, an excruciating pain suddenly penetrates through her torso, an inexplicable affliction of torment tearing through every last nerve, leaving her senseless, breathless, motionless.

An abrupt alarm of rapid analog chimes begins to whistle.

"Heart rate 152. We need to move, people…"

Riley's eyes flicker open to blurred fluorescent lights, flashing obnoxiously into her field of vision. She hears a twisted garble of concerned voices around her, but can barely make out the faces of the strangers surrounding her.  

"Hang another liter of NS. Go ahead and draw up fifty of hydromorphone…"

"...BP 88/42…"

"... prep OR six…"

"... order four units of O neg…"

The swift movements around her makes her stomach turn as the searing discomfort ravages throughout her chest. She grimaces, her eyelids shutting at the furrow of her brows.

Suddenly, she feels a pinch, like a tiny sharp prick of pressure pushed into the swell of her thigh.  A warming sensation follows, infiltrating through the area before finally swimming briskly through her body.

"Hydromorphone with Phenergan 25 in…"

The room begins to swirl into nothingness, the chatter falling into silence. Her hand falls limp, no longer able to feel Drake's tight grip on her fingertips. No more background noise; no more strange smells. Like falling into the deep end of the ocean, a single, high-pitched shrill rings incessantly in Riley's ears as she flails her arms and legs into the blackness. She finally clenches her eyes shut, terrified of the loneliness, terrified of the struggle, terrified of the emptiness.

Stillness.

Darkness.

Until a warm glow grazes her skin.

A gentle caress of her cheek leads to a tender stroke of a thumb across her full bottom lip.

Riley's eyes cautiously flit open.

And she gasps.

"Liam?"

------

"Sir, this is as far as you can go."

Though he understands hospital safety protocols, Drake scoffs as Riley's hand is pulled away from his grasp. An abrupt loneliness tugs at his heart as he watches the gurney rapidly wheel down the white sterile hallway. As his left arm hangs limp, Drake drags his fingers down his face, swallowing a sob. Will this be his last memory of her alive?

He feels his chest begin to dramatically rise and fall, his breathing becoming quicker as his expression contorts into remorseful anger. He was supposed to protect her. He promised her–shit, he promised Liam that he would look after her, and now Riley is fighting for her life.

As Drake's jaw trembles, a petite hand tenderly pats his unaffected shoulder. He jerks around to find a familiar raised eyebrow, her piercing jades sympathizing instantly with his downcast stare. “Liv,” he whispers, a crooked smile flashing across his lips as his face twists with emotions. “You’re�� here. You’re… you're okay,” he chuckles into a choked cry.

Noticing the sincerity of his tone, Olivia Nevrakis’s typical stone-cold presence melts into something more human and warm.  She smirks, holding her arms outstretched. "Come here, big guy," she snickers, waving him into her embrace. “You know that even rogue militant coups can’t get rid of me that easily.” The longtime friends squeeze each other more snuggly; though they might not always see eye-to-eye, they silently gesture in agreement that life is better together.

“Christ on a Kraken! Riley is never going to believe this.”

Drake turns towards the cheerful, flamboyant voice. He casually tosses his head to the side, his chestnut fringe cascading out of his field of vision. The corners of his mouth curl, grateful to see the youngest Beaumont brother alive and well with no obvious injuries.  

"Hey, man," Drake reaches out to take Maxwell's hand, pulling him into a brotherly embrace.

"We were so worried. I thought you were dead," his breath hitches in his chest, "and–and Riley…" The young lord succumbs to his tears, unable to speak. Drake endearingly pats his friend on the back as he flashes a knowing look to Olivia.

"I'm fine, Max," Drake mutters, signaling for him to let go. 

"Have you even been seen by a doctor yet?" Maxwell looks at the crimson gore, dried across the guard's once pristinely pressed suit.

"Not yet. I–" he freezes as he peers down the now empty corridor, the last place he saw her, the last place he touched her. The last place he felt her life in his own hands. A large lump forms in his throat as the horrific scene plays in his head.

The definitive cocking of the chamber of a glock; the smell of smoke and blood in the air; the unraveling of fearful screams of hopeless onlookers… 

"Riley! Look out!"

He tried to shield her; he tried to protect her. He tried to save her.

Was he too late?

The queen's guard shakes his head, staggering away from his friends, willing the sting of his tears away. He already lost his very best friend almost a month ago; he can't lose Liam's wife, too.

"She's strong, Walker–"  Drake stops in his tracks, turning to the fiery red head that fell into step with him walking down the hallway. He leans up against the wall, shoving a hand in his pocket as his head falls forward in anguish.

"I just… I feel so fucking guilty, ya know?” he mutters under his breath. “I was supposed to be there for Liam–I should’ve been there with him, and Riley?" He looks away, blinking away tears. “It should’ve been me–"

"No," Olivia interjects sternly. "Don't go there. You are not responsible for his death. And Riley?”  She takes Drake’s face between her palms, commanding his attention to focus on her words. "She will survive this–'

"I should've been there–"

"And you were," she interrupts. "Drake, she would've been killed if you hadn't intervened when you had."

"You saved her life, man," Maxwell tearfully steps forward, holding out a cup of coffee for the guard. "She's been through a hell of a lot worse." They all chuckle knowingly with one another. "She's going to survive this," Maxwell states encouragingly as he dabs away his tears.

Olivia nods in solidarity, looking towards Drake. "She will."

Drake stares at his styrofoam coffee cup before bringing it to his lips. "She has to," he breathes before taking a sip.

"Cmon, buddy," Maxwell's mouth begins to curl as he slaps Drake on his wounded shoulder. "Let's get you checked out–"

"Ow!" Drake roars, "Limp dick motherfffff–!" Drake bites his tongue as he shields his arm.

"Oh, there he is," Olivia snickers to herself, taking a seat in the waiting room. "I was concerned he left his balls next to his snuff in the back pocket of his Wranglers."

—---

Tangled in sheets of silk, Riley cradles Liam's head against her bare chest. He kisses tender pecks along her velveteen skin, her fingers mindlessly combing through his golden waves. 

Coming down from their euphoric bliss of making love, the gentle warmth of intimacy saturates the air. A soft hum escapes Riley's lungs as she is overwhelmed with the desire to cry streams of joy. To be at peace again. To feel whole again. To be herself again.

This is perfect. Too perfect. Riley had craved for weeks now to have just one more moment, one more breath with her beloved. And now…

Is this really happening? 

She presses her lips into his disheveled, blond hair, breathing in his intoxicating scent. His fingertips graze across her shoulders and down the slope of her full breast, his familiar touch igniting a scattering of goosebumps across her body. But when Liam looks up at her with his hungry gaze, his crystal blue stare that rivals the Northern Lights, relief floods her senses.

I'm home.

Biting her bottom lip, Riley guides her husband up her body until he's lying face-to-face with her, their longing stares never breaking from one another. She delicately traces the angles of his jaw, the contours of his neck until finally resting her palms in the scatter of hair on his chest.   

She rests her head against his body, her fingers lacing with his.

"Liam," she exhales as she listens to the rhythmic pulse of his heart. "I've missed you." Her words softly shudder against her stifled sobs, tears coursing down the curve of her nose. She nuzzles her forehead into him, wanting to be closer, deeper with him, thirsty to drink every last drop of him.

"Please tell me this is it," she flutters her eyes close, his large hands draped across her back. "Please tell me this is where our forever starts."

Feeling his piercing stare on her, Riley instantly meets his mouth in a searing kiss. She slips her tongue between his full lips as the passion continues to burn between them. 

Riley guides him to lay on his back, straddling his broad physique as their tongues continue to caress in steady pulses. She nips at him, coaxing for more.  Gently rocking her hips, Riley sits up on her husband, his length pushing against her slick folds. Taking his large, rugged hands in hers, they cup her peaking breasts, fondling them together.

"I love you," Riley moans into the darkness as her desire builds for her husband once more. 

But then she stops.

She looks back to Liam's handsome face. And a sudden chill runs down her back.

He didn't say, 'I love you'...

"Love," Riley grips one of his hands, bringing it to her lips to kiss. "Is this okay? Are–are you okay?"

He doesn't answer.

An uncomfortable coldness floods her veins as a familiar burning sensation grows in her lower left shoulder.

"Liam?" She shakes his body. "Liam baby, please," her eyes begin to water, "please talk to me." 

Riley glances around the dark room; it looks like their royal quarters, but deep in her heart, she abruptly knows she's far from home. 

And far from Liam.

And like an old film reel, the fantasy around her begins to burn away, slowly at first as a blinding light pierces through the darkness.

"This… this isn't real, is it?" She trembles, bringing his hand to her heart. "Please, baby…" the room becomes stifling as Riley begins to gasp for air, her husband’s touch nothing but a phantom pain. "Please don't leave me again…"

Suddenly, Riley feels like she's choking as a soreness forms promptly in her throat.

"That's it, your majesty," the assured voice of a stranger calls out to her. "We're done with your surgery. Take some nice big breaths for us."

Riley barely peeks through her heavy eyelids, but her stormy blues are instantly met with the brazen shine of surgical spotlights. And she grimaces, discomfort etching across her delicate features.

"Good job. Take another breath."

The queen can feel something weighted and quite warm being folded across her frigid body. Suddenly, she feels soft fabric engulfing her toes, then her feet.

Where am I?

"Let's get you some Fentanyl and the rest of your Zofran for the ride, your majesty."

Abruptly to her arm, she feels a twinge of heat expanding in her veins, traveling first to her shoulder before dispersing across her body. The panic that was building in her nerves subsides as she relaxes into a subtle snore. And then into nothingness all over again.

—---

"Rise and shine, little blossom…"

Hearing the muffled, yet familiar whisper of her dear friend, Riley cautiously opens one eye. But in an instant, she closes it. Her eyebrows knit together, the burn from the bright sunlight too much for her right now.

“Max?” She croaks softly, her lips dry and cracked. “Maxwell?” She makes a small effort to move, but a sudden ache knocks her back onto her bed. She mouths the word ‘Ow’ as she slowly reaches up towards her injured shoulder with a trembling hand. 

“Shhh, Riley,” Maxwell tenderly pats her arm. “I’m gonna go get someone. I’ll be right back.”  With a squeeze of her fingers, Maxwell takes off to the nurse’s station.

Feeling the agonizing pulse in her left shoulder, Riley tries to open her eyes again.  Everything remains a blur as her eyes dart to the glass door. Two large men stand just outside the windows like perfect statues on either side of the frame, wearing what appears to be… guard uniforms?

“Drake…?” She tries to call out, assuming he's one of the men, but the hoarseness of her voice silences her attempt as she winces at her sore throat. Where am I? She frantically peers around her bed, noticing a collection of monitors and clear bags of fluids, all attached to her body with various cords and wires. 

What happened?

Riley’s head feels a bit swimmy, dizzy from the heavy medications she has been given, not to mention the anesthesia slowly dissipating from her body. She was trying to put the puzzle pieces back together, fact versus fiction. Each part played like a vignette in her memory. 

Laying in bed with Liam… The airplane crash… Giving herself a progesterone shot... Sneaking into the church with Drake…  Dancing at the award ceremony.  Gunshots…

Had it all been a dream?

Suddenly, her eyes widen with realization, wishful-thinking blooming across her face. It was a dream.  Noticing a big red button on the bed with the word ‘Nurse’, Riley frantically presses it. A jolt of hope bursts within her chest. 

It was just a dream– a terrible dream– but just a dream.

The sliding glass door to her ICU room hurriedly rolls open, an older nurse with peppered short hair hurries in with Maxwell hot on her tail.  “Well, well… look who’s finally awake!” She smiles kindly, her hazel gaze sparkling with genuine joy. “Your majesty, my name is Vangie, and it has been an honor to care for you through your recovery–”

“Recovery?” Riley looks to Maxwell with curiosity.

“You have two nurses that have been assigned to specifically care for you per the guard's protocol,” Maxwell informs as he takes a seat next to Riley’s bed, gently grabbing her hand. “Vangie here is your night nurse, and she has been incredible.”

Riley turns to the nurse, giving her an uncertain half grin before giving her attention back to Maxwell. “But… what is going on? Why–why am I here?”

Maxwell grips tightly to her fingers, a pensive-look crossing his features.  “You’re in the hospital, Ri. You had surgery–”

“Surgery?” 

“Yes, your majesty.” Vangie finishes administering medications into Riley’s IV before glancing back to her queen. “You’re quite lucky, actually.  You lost a lot of blood, and it was touch-and-go our first night together, but you have pulled through nicely–” her pager suddenly beeps, a slight annoyance flashes in her eyes. “My apologies, your majesty,” she bows, “I need to take this.”

Riley gently nods, offering a soft smile before turning back to Maxwell. He sweetly leans over her, resting his elbow on her bed as he pushes away stray hairs on her face.  “I’m so glad you’re finally awake. I've been so worried.”

Riley’s eyebrows furrow, an expression of confusion falls over her as she glances around the room. “Maxwell, I–” she cinches her eyes closed in frustration, “how long have I been out?”

“A good part of three days.” His words drip with worry, “They said the injuries you sustained were pretty severe, but thank God, one of the bullets missed your heart by two millimeters–”

“Bullets?”

Maxwell pauses inquisitively. “You don’t remember much, do you?” 

Riley chews on her lip, shaking her head.

“That’s honestly a good thing,” he sighs heavily.

“Max,” she softly pleas, “please… tell me?”

Maxwell sits up in his chair, combing his fingers through the relaxed style of his hair. “Ri, you just woke up. I think you should get some more rest before we dive into what happened. Heck, Olivia and Drake will be back in the morning, and we can–”

“--and Liam?”

Maxwell freezes, the color draining from his face at the mention of his dear friend and king.  He swallows thickly. “Wh–what about him?”

“Is he–?” She presses the heel of her hand against her forehead. “I must sound like a lunatic,” she chuckles anxiously, “but… it’s all bleeding together, these thoughts in my head spiraling and mixing reality with fantasy. I feel like when I’m awake, I’m dreaming, and when I’m dreaming, I’m awake, and–I mean, I just…” She tosses her hands on the bed, another titter escaping her throat as tears prick her eyes. “The airplane crash, the funeral, his casket… please tell me the truth.”

Maxwell’s breath hitches, causing a sobering chill to overwhelm Riley.  Of all the images flashing through her mind–the morgue, champagne in the orchard, his wedding ring on a necklace–she had hopes that maybe–just maybe– the worst of them all was actually a nightmare, that maybe Maxwell can ground her back into reality, that maybe—

“My husband… ?”

A wave of sorrow pours onto Maxwell's features as his ever-optimistic expression drains. And he shakes his head.

It wasn’t a dream. 

~🖤~

Tags (please let me know if you'd like to be added/removed)

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------

Thank you so much for your support! Every like, comment and reblog means the world to me! 🖤

#pour two glasses #the royal romance #choices fanfic #choices trr #choices the royal romance #liam rys #king liam #king liam rys #drake walker #riley brooks #liam x riley #drake x riley #liam x mc #drake x mc #maxwell beaumont #cordonia #choices fanfiction

[walkerismychoice]

Serendipity Master List

Serendipity is a collaboration between @deb-1106 and @walkerismychoice which follows Drake Walker X Ava (MC) from The Royal Romance and Bryce Lahela X Charlie (MC) from Open Heart. Whether you are a fan of TRR, OH, or both, we hope you'll enjoy the developing friendship between these couples and the crossover between the two worlds. We are using weekly prompts and posting on Saturdays to motivate us to stay on schedule (at least for now), and while each week relates to/builds on what we've posted previously, most parts can stand on their own if you just pop in here and there to read.

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

#playchoices #the royal romance #open heart #drake x mc #bryce x mc

[cordonianroyalairlines]

All I Want for Christmas Part 1

Series: Cordonian Royal Airlines

Fandom: The Royal Romance

Pairings for series: Various

Pairing for this chapter: Riley x Drake, Liam x Max

Word Count: 2,475

Rating: General

Warnings for this chapter: None

A/N: Listen. I had an idea for the @choicesprompts #rewritechallenge holiday edition. I had the whole scene in my head, but then I decided it needed a little lead-up. Then I decided the lead-up needed a lead-up and then these characters completely just took over, threw my script out the window, and took a whole detour to examine a little budding romance between Liam and Max when this story was supposed to be focused on Drake and Riley (and it still is, mostly).

Long story short, it got a little out of hand so I have split it into two chapters. I'm tagging all of the following:

@choicesprompts rewrite challenge, holiday edition TRR x Untamed Heart (one of my all-time favorite movies). @choicesficwriterscreations holiday prompt: Stuck together in the snow; @choicesdecember2023 Christmas and @choicesholidays: This is the worst Christmas ever.

“Goodbye, Mrs. Lassiter, have a pleasant stay!” Riley waved with a smile painted on her face as the last passenger debarked. The smile faded from her face as the guests disappeared down the jet bridge and her eyes took in the heavy snowfall blanketing the runway.

Max noticed her despondent expression. “You okay, Ri?”

She turned toward her best friend and coworker with a sigh. “Remind me again why I volunteered to work this flight?”

“Uh…because your sister is getting married in less than two months, and you needed the overtime to pay for the ridiculous over-the-top bachelorette party she wants.”

“Right. Amelia,” Riley nodded to herself, “I’m doing this for her.”

“I think you do too much for her, Ri,” Max clucked at her like a mother hen, “She takes advantage of your generous nature.”

“Oh, Max, it’s fine. You only get married once!”

He arched an eyebrow at her.

“Okay,” a giggle burst out of her, “Hopefully, she only gets married once!”

“Frankly, I’m surprised she found anyone willing to marry her. Is there something wrong with him?”

“Max!” Riley laughed as she thumped him playfully on the shoulder before turning serious. “I just hope we’re able to take off tomorrow as planned.” Tomorrow was Christmas Eve, and she had promised her mother she’d be home so she could spend Christmas day with her parents and siblings.

“I wouldn’t count on it.”

Riley turned toward the voice to find the pilot striding toward them. Captain Liam Rys stopped in front of the flight attendants to announce, “There’s a blizzard headed straight for us.”

“Maybe we could just fly out right now—” Riley started hopefully.

“That’s a negative,” Liam cut her off, “that would put me over my flight limit for the day. We’ll proceed to the hotel as planned and hope for the best but be prepared to spend Christmas here.”

“Remind me why you agreed to fly into Estonia, the blizzard capital of the world, two days before Christmas?” Max grumbled.

Liam’s eyes flicked to him in annoyance. “Because of the obscene amount of money Mr. Lassiter was willing to pay for me to do so. You’ll thank me when you get your next paycheck and there’s a substantial bonus on it, on top of the holiday bonus you just received.”

“It’s okay,” Max shrugged with a tinge of disappointment in his tone, “My brother is in Japan anyway.”

Liam’s expression softened a little. “I’m sure he wishes he could spend Christmas with you.”

“Well, he’s flying with Leo, which he loves. I’m just disappointed that we’re almost never assigned to the same flight.”

Liam averted his eyes, unwilling to tell Max that was on purpose. Bertrand had requested that Max not be on the same flight as himself after the younger Beaumont’s enthusiasm became embarrassing for him. Max had gushed to a passenger about his pride in his older sibling, proudly articulating that, “My brother’s the co-pilot. He’s really good at it. He’s almost good enough to be the pilot!”

Liam shuffled his feet awkwardly, then nodded at Max, “Yes, well…. See you at the hotel.”

“You will?” Max’s head whipped around in surprise. Liam had never expressed an interest in seeing him outside of work before.

“Well, he was a little snippy,” Riley observed as Liam disappeared down the sky bridge.

“But did he seem….I don’t know…interested in-“ a flush crawled up his neck and then flared across his face, “Never mind. Of course not.”

Riley’s brow furrowed. “Interested in what?”

“Nothing. Let’s just get this cabin cleaned up so we can go.”

***

Riley awoke the next morning to sheets of snow pouring from the sky, blanketing the city in white as far as she could see from her hotel window. Which wasn’t that far. The snow was coming down too fast and too thick for her to see past the parking lot.

“Shit!” She aggressively pulled the curtains closed and dove back under the covers.

***

“So, what have you two been up to all day?” Liam asked as the four-member flight crew sat down for dinner in the hotel restaurant.

“Well, I slept in, then I called my mom to let her know I wouldn’t be making it home today and probably not tomorrow either. Then I drown my sorrows in a steaming hot bubble bath.” Riley responded as she pulled the menu over to her.

“Yeah, but then we saw a movie,” Max reminded her. Turning to Liam, he rambled excitedly, “This hotel has a theater in it. There was popcorn and everything! And then we took a cooking class! Can you believe that? The hotel chef hosts a class here once a week, but they did an extra class today because it snowed everyone in.”

Liam smiled at Max’s enthusiasm. “That sounds like fun. Now I feel boring. I read all day. Drake, what about you?”

“What about me?” Drake was busy shoveling a complimentary roll into his mouth.

Riley laughed. “Have you not been listening to the conversation? He wants to know what you did to keep busy today, you dork.”

Drake grabbed his water glass and chugged the cold liquid down to cover the fact that he had not heard a word of the conversation since Riley stopped talking. He was still picturing her in that bubble bath. When he sat the glass down, he responded, “I did my usual morning workout. The gym here is excellent. Since I couldn’t go for a run, I hit the heavy bags and then swam a few laps.”

“How many is a few?” Max asked.

“Twenty.” Drake’s eyes flicked to Max as he answered before landing quickly back on Riley’s face searching for any clue that she was impressed, or at least interested in him.

Not that he cared. She was a coworker, and he didn’t date coworkers.

“All before lunch?” She raised an eyebrow.

He wasn’t sure if she found his morning activities impressive or stupid. Her expression gave away nothing. “I find it hard to sit still,” he answered.

Liam scoffed, “You sit in the cockpit for hours at a time.”

“First of all, that’s different. I’m doing plenty as you well know and second of all, that’s why I need more physical movement when I’m on the ground.”

“Makes sense to me!” Max nodded emphatically as the waitress arrived with the menus.

They ordered their food and ate while making companionable chit chat. After dinner, Max suggested they continue the night across the lobby.

The hotel bar was crowded. The four coworkers quickly parted in the crowd. Drake and Liam navigated to a small table in the back and ordered drinks.

“You don’t want to ask her to dance?” Liam nodded across the room to the dance floor where Max and Riley were laughing and twirling to the music.

Drake followed Liam’s eyes and froze as he watched her sway and shimmy to the thump of heavy base. “I don’t dance.”

“I’ve seen you dance.”

“Not well.”

“So, you’re worried about embarrassing yourself in front of her?”

“What? No!” Drake reached for the tumbler of single malt scotch as the server placed it on the table in front of him and took a long pull as his mind spun with ways to shift the conversation away from his nonexistent love life. “What’s going on with you and Max?”

Liam startled so hard that bourbon sloshed over the rim of his glass. He stared at Drake in a blind panic. “What do you mean?”

“I mean….you usually pay no attention to what the flight attendants are doing when we have layovers. Yet you invited everyone to dinner tonight and you’re the one that was watching them dance. I’m pretty sure you’re not into Riley because if you were, you wouldn’t be pushing me toward her. So that leaves Max. Tell me I’m wrong.”

He lowered his glass to the table with a sigh. “It’s that obvious?”

“To me, but I’ve known you for a long time, Li.”

Liam blew out a long breath. “Shit.”

“Why don’t you just tell him you’re interested?”

“No,” Liam shook his head vigorously, “I can’t do that!”

“Why not?”

“So many reasons! Starting with the fact that I’m his boss and that’s a sexual harassment suit waiting to happen.”

“Not if he likes you back,” Drake countered.

“That’s not likely.”

Again, Drake asked, “Why not?”

Liam scoffed as he gestured toward the dance floor. “I mean, look at him! He’s fun and popular and hilariously funny. And look at those dance moves! He’s interesting and cool. What could he possibly see in me?”

“Hey, don’t sell yourself short, man.”

“I’m a stick in the mud and you know it. I was the president of my debate team. He was the lead in his school’s production of Beetle Juice.”

“How do you know- “

“Bertrand told me.”

“So, you’ve been pumping his brother for information?”

“Not the point. He’s amazing and fun and talented and I’m….me.”

“Liam, come on, man, you-“

“When I was twelve, I read law books for fun.”

“Geez, okay. Never mind. You’re definitely going to die alone.”

“Shut up,” Liam laughed, “I know you think I’m being dramatic.“

“You fly planes for a living,” Drake reminded him. “In my experience, a lot of people find that sexy.”

“Yes, well, I know your experience is quite extensive in that area but-“

“Are you calling me a man whore?”

“If the shoe fits….” Liam muttered into his drink.

“Insult me all you want, but it isn’t going to change the fact that you’ve got it bad. You should just tell him.”

“Oh, okay, Mr. I don’t like Riley.”

Fuck. Drake took another long drink. The conversation had come full circle. His eyes drifted across the room to find her again. She was still with Max.

***

Riley led Max off the dance floor and to a table as she flagged down a server for some water. “What’s up with you tonight?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, you’ve been acting squirely all night and you keep looking around like you’re searching for somebody. What’s that about?”

Max flushed, “Ah….I think I might have a thing for Liam.”

“Wait…what?” Riley shrieked, then clapped her hands over her mouth.

“I don’t know….” Max dropped his eyes to the table. “I mean, you know, he’s hot or whatever.”

“Max!” She slapped his shoulder. “Since when? And why didn’t you tell me?”

He shrugged. “Just recently I’ve started to notice him more, that’s all. He’s always being nice to me and- “

“He’s nice to everyone.”

“I know, but it’s more than that! I can’t explain it, okay? It’s just…the way he looks at me sometimes….”

“I have never seen you act shy before! You hit on that model last week!”

“Oh, him? Yeah, but that was just--”

“That man is an international star, and you had zero qualms asking for his snap.”

“I know, but- “

“And he gave it to you!”

“Sure, but Liam isn’t just a pretty face, Riley! He’s so fucking smart and serious. He’s sophisticated, and there’s just no way he’d be into a goofball like me.”

“Ah, Maxey, anyone with half a brain would be into you.”

“You’re just saying that because you’re my best friend.”

“Yes. But also because it’s true.”

“No, it’s not. I’m the general fuckup in my family. Just ask Bertrand. Or my father.”

“Max, you’re not a fuckup!” Riley admonished. “You’re just different from your brother and father, thank God! I’m sorry, I know you love him, but Bertrand is the most boring man alive, and your father is a dick, so please don’t judge yourself by his opinion of you.”

“Bert’s not boring. He just had to grow up fast. My father put a lot of pressure on him and he, unlike me, rose to the challenge. I mean, look at us. He’s a pilot and I’m a flight attendant. Do you remember what my father said when I told him I wanted to be a flight attendant?”

“Yes, but on the bright side, it was the first time he acknowledged your sexual orientation.”

Max snorted, “That’s not funny, Riley.”

“You laughed.”

He bumped her shoulder with his own with an amused shake of his head, “If your point is that my father is a homophobic, controlling, abusive asshole whose opinion should mean nothing to me or anyone else with a lick of self-respect, then point taken.” He lifted his glass to her.

She lifted hers and tapped it into his with a grin. “My work here is done. Now go over there and ask him to shoot darts or something.”

***

“All right, well, this has been fun, but I’m going up to bed now.” Liam pushed away from the table and stood up, stretching as he did so.

“You really are a stick in the mud,” Drake laughed as the server cleared their table and asked if he could get them anything else. “Yeah, an unopened bottle of what we’ve been drinking tonight.”

Liam turned to go but froze as a voice that sent heat shocking through him spoke, “Hey…Liam….you wanna…go play darts or something?”

He turned to find Max smiling at him. Trying to push down the rising panic in his throat, his eyes flicked to Drake, who just gave him an amused smile, then back to Max, who looked uncharacteristically nervous. “Uh…. sure.”

“Great!” Relief washed across Max’s features. Then he remembered himself and begrudgingly turned to include Drake in the invitation. “Would you like to join us?”

“Nah, I’m good. You two go ahead. I’ve got a bottle of top-shelf whiskey, and this hotel has steak on their room service menu. I’ll be fine.”

“Okay then, goodnight and Merry Christmas,” Liam didn’t meet Drake’s eyes as he waved bye and then followed Max to the dart boards lined up against the far wall.

Drake chuckled to himself as he took the bottle from the server and thrust a handful of bills at him. He started for the door, then thought better of it and backtracked to the bar, reaching across and grabbing a clean tumbler to take to his room with him.

He had to dodge a bunch of drunk people on his way back, causing him to veer off course until he was damn near on the other side of the room.

It wasn’t so much that he saw her as he felt her presence. His head lifted and his eyes somehow went straight to her despite the dozen or so people between him and the table she was seated at. Without making a conscious decision, his body angled in her direction, and he made his way over to her, reminding himself the whole way that he didn’t get involved with coworkers.

#cordonianroyalairlines #trr au #the royal romance #drake x mc #drake walker #liam rys #maxwell beaumont #liam x max #christmas 2023 #drake x riley #choices fic writers creations #cfwc fics of the week

[angelasscribbles]

The De Facto Queen Chapter 5: Come Together

Series: The De Facto Queen

Fandom: The Royal Romance

Pairings: Riley x Drake, Riley x Liam

Rating: MA

Warnings for this chapter: language, destruction of apple orchards

Word Count: 3,907 (approximately 30 minutes reading time)

Summary: Riley and Drake awake to devastating news about the orchards at Applewood.

A/N: I started this chapter thinking it would be the last chapter. Halfway through, I still thought that. Maybe three-fourths of the way through I was like...oh, no. This doesn't wrap up so neatly or so soon.

My other stuff: Master List.

The sun wasn’t even completely up when the shrillness of a phone cut through the early morning silence. Riley moaned in protest and scooted her body back, snuggling closer into the warmth of the man wrapped around her.

Drake’s arm tightened around her, and he drew her closer as his eyes blinked open, taking in the earliness of the hour. They weren’t scheduled to leave until after breakfast. There was no valid reason for anyone to be calling him at this hour unless something had gone wrong somewhere. “Sorry, babe.” He mumbled as he released her to roll over and grab his phone off the nightstand. One glance at the caller ID and he was wide awake. He sat up and swung his legs over the edge of the bed as he answered. “Bas. What’s wrong?”

Riley tried to go back to sleep, but the hard edge in Drake’s tone, despite his attempt to keep his voice low as he disappeared into the bathroom to keep from waking her, alerted her that something was amiss. She pushed out of the covers and reached for her robe. She had barely finished tying it when a knock sounded at the door.

Riley froze as her eyes tracked to the bathroom and back. Drake was still in there on the phone with Bastien. Whoever was at the door had to have gotten past her security detail, so she decided it was safe to open it.

She hesitated as her hand hovered over the knob. Something was clearly wrong, or the head of the Royal Guard wouldn’t be on the phone with her fiancé. The memory of being shot at engulfed her. The smell of gunpowder in her nose, the thunderous booming of the gun in her ears, the wet stickiness of Drake’s blood on her skin, and the crippling fear of loss all washed over her with incapacitating suddenness.

The knock sounded again. She jumped, jerking away from the door as if she’d been scalded. “Who is it?”

“Riley? It’s Liam.”

The brokenness in his voice obliterated her fear and spurred her into action. She flung the door open, her eyes widening in shock and concern as she took in his expression.

Liam stumbled into the room and, without warning or preamble, fell into her arms. His face pressed into her chest as a shuddering sob broke free.

Her arms wrapped instinctively around him. “What’s wrong? What happened?”

His arms tightened around her as he pressed his face harder into her body. Half-coherent words fell from his lips as his body shook with tears. “Terrorists…. the orchards…. burned….”

She understood instantly why he was in her room, in her arms. She might not understand yet what had transpired, but she understood that he could not, and would not, show weakness to the world.

Not that caring, tears or grief were weaknesses. No, she counted those things as strengths.

Nonetheless, his father had instilled in him a deep shame of those very qualities. But Constantine had never broken Liam, merely forced the better parts of him into hiding.

She was the safe place for him to show all of his vulnerability. She wouldn’t judge him; she wouldn’t question his fitness for the throne. She would support him; she would console him. That part of their relationship had never changed, and it never would.

Instead of questioning him, she did her best to soothe him. Her fingers ran through his hair, her hand patted his back as she murmured quiet words of comfort to him. Her eyes flicked to the door to ensure it was closed.

His emotions didn’t make him weak, but there was no point in having a servant or a guard witness their king’s most vulnerable moment. The people of Cordonia would need to see him strong and steadfast when he dealt with whatever had happened.

Crying was for private moments. Stoicism and strength were for the public. Unwavering surety in their next course of action.

They clung together, sympathetic tears streaming down her face. She didn’t need to know what had happened to feel his pain and that was enough to stir her own.

Terrorists…. burnt orchards…..it was enough for her to gather there had been another attack. Just days after Liam had confessed his insecurities about being a good enough ruler to her.

Liam, in tears in her arms, and Drake on the phone with Bastien before dawn, hinted at just how dire the situation was. Her jaw set with resolve. “Whatever happened, we will get through it together and we will fix it, okay?”

He nodded, his tears slacked, but he remained still and silent in her embrace.

Drake exited the bathroom with a grim expression. His eyes darted from the empty bed to the sight that greeted him at the doorway of the bedroom.

The king of Cordonian was wrapped in his fiancée’s arms.

Riley’s eyes met his over Liam’s shoulder. He nodded at her as he read everything he needed to know in her expression.

Drake made his way across the room and then cleared his throat to get Liam’s attention. “I just got off the phone with Bas…”

Liam’s head jerked up, and he stepped away from Riley guiltily. “I’m sorry…I just…”

“Hey,” Drake’s voice softened considerably as he clasped a hand on the other man’s shoulder. “Don’t be sorry for being human, Li. That’s a good thing. Unfeeling rulers are the dangerous ones.”

Drake’s eyes flicked up to Riley’s again, acknowledging to himself that she brought out the softer, more in touch with his humanity side of his best friend and that it was a good thing.

Of course, Liam was upset. It wasn’t just an attack on his country. Applewood was the seat of House Rys, his ancestral home. It was a strike at his very heart. Nothing represented Cordonia more than the apple orchards at Applewood. It was a clear message that Liam could protect nothing and no one.

It could not be allowed to stand.

Liam stared back into his friend’s eyes for a moment, then nodded. “Thank you.”

Drake’s jaw clenched. “Don’t thank me until we catch the bastards that did this.”

“Would one of you like to fill me in on what’s going on?” Riley looked expectantly back and forth between them.

Drake pulled out his phone and handed it to her.

She watched the video in horror.

The extensive and ancient orchards at Applewood had been razed. The terror group Sons of the Earth was taking credit.

“Oh…” tears streaked down her face again.

Drake looped an arm around her as he retrieved his phone from her grasp. “It’s going to be okay, baby, I promise.”

Her grief steeled Liam’s resolve. He pulled himself completely upright as he decided, “We’re diverting the unity tour. We have to go to Applewood. Get Katarina looped in. She can meet us there with the PR team. We need to address this publicly as quickly as possible.”

“On it.” Drake was already dialing the palace press secretary, Katarina Trakas, as he released Riley and stepped away to make the arrangements.

Less than half an hour later, they were in the back of a bulletproof SUV on their way to Applewood, joined by Max and Hana.

Riley sat in the middle, Liam on one side of her, Drake on the other. Max and Hana were across from her. Liam’s face darkened as he recounted all the information he had on the situation at Applewood. She reached for his hand without thought, instinctively comforting him.

He looked over at her in surprise, then gave her a grateful smile as he squeezed her hand. His gaze went to Drake, then back to Riley, indecision creasing his brow briefly before coming to some sort of decision. He went back to the conversation without releasing her hand.

She watched his face for a moment. Stress shown in the grim lines of his face, but there was a subtle relaxing of his shoulders, a slight but noticeable easing of tension in his body at her touch.

Riley’s head swung around to find her fiancé, anxiety gripping her as she anticipated his response. Drake met her gaze with equanimity. He gave her a reassuring smile as he reached for her other hand. There was nothing but love and acceptance in his eyes as his thumb stroked the back of her hand.

A little thrill ran through her, despite the gravity of the situation. She was suddenly and intensely aware of the proximity of both men. Their body heat, the smoothness of Liam’s palm in hers, the roughness of Drake’s. Her heart beat a little faster.

Riley’s eyes lifted to meet Hana’s. Her best friend lifted an eyebrow in question. Riley widened her eyes a little to convey her uncertainty about what was going on.

While she struggled to put her focus back where it belonged, Liam and Drake coordinated over secured lines with the head of the King Guard and the Royal Press Secretary. Liam wanted to hit the ground running the moment they arrived. Drake was determined to have as much information as humanly possible before Liam set foot in front of a podium.

“I’m just saying it would be safer to just televise the press conference from a secure location to ensure that—”

“No,” Liam cut him off, “I won’t hide. That would send the exact wrong message.”

“It wouldn’t be hiding—”

“We’ll do the conference on the west lawn,” Liam said firmly, with finality.

“Fine,” Drake grunted with a shake of his head. His best friend was about to risk an assassination attempt and all he could do was quadruple security and search every person who stepped foot on Applewood grounds and hope it was enough.

Even worse, Riley would be on that stage with him. He clamped his mouth shut with a great deal of effort. What was he going to say? He had encouraged her to accept this role. Some degree of danger would always be present. It came with the territory. He squeezed her hand tighter as his mind whirled with ways to minimize the risk. An idea seized him.

He leaned forward in his seat and turned sideways so he had a clear view of both Riley and Liam. “You’ll both wear body armor.”

Liam tried to protest. “I don’t think—”

“The ultra-light stuff. Under your clothes. Trust me, no one will know it’s there.”

Liam hesitated as he considered it.

“Do it so I can focus on the security.” Drake pushed the one trump card he knew would sway Liam. Riley’s safety. “I won’t be able to think straight if she’s up there unprotected.”

It was the thought of Riley being shot at again that convinced him. With a curt nod, the king agreed. His eyes cut sideways at her as he gripped her hand a little firmer.

He couldn’t…he wouldn’t risk her life.

Drake let out an audible sigh of relief as he released her hand and typed furiously into his phone. “Everything will be ready when we arrive.”

Two hours later, Riley was fidgeting nervously as she read over the notes Madeleine had thrust into her hands while Drake was strapping her into the bulletproof vest.

“Would you stand still?” He grunted in annoyance as he tugged one of her side straps a little tighter.

“Sorry,” she murmured as her eyes flicked from the notecards in her hand to the blond who was giving her instructions as if she’d never done a press conference before.

“And remember,” Madeleine chided as she shuffled the notecards in her own hands, “You are representing Cordonia up there so for the love of God, remember to keep your back straight, make eye contact with a few of the reporters, and don’t forget your facial expressions! You want to convey—”

“That’s enough!” The usually restrained and controlled Drake spun on the countess, the fury dancing in his eyes enough to cause her to jerk back in startlement. He released Riley and took a step in her direction as he fumed. “Could you lay off her for one goddamn minute? We have five minutes before they have to be on stage and I’m trying to save her fucking life!”

“I—” Madeleine gulped as she took another step backward.

Drake swiped the cards from her hands as he fixed her with a death glare. “She’s done dozens of these. She knows how to fucking stand!”

Madeleine’s already anemic pallor went even paler. “I just—”

“Drake!” Riley touched his shoulder. “It’s okay! She’s just doing her job. The one I asked her to do!”

Drake’s eyes fluttered briefly shut as he beat his fear, anger, and anxiety back. He blew out a careful breath before turning back to face her. “I’m sorry, baby. I just need you to focus on the thing that’s going to keep you alive before worrying about the rest.”

Riley nodded vigorously. “I am. I will! Please finish helping me with the vest. I’ll read the cards after we’re done.”

His shoulders relaxed as some of the tension eased out of his body. He resumed fussing with the vest as he told Madeleine without looking back. “Sorry. This is just stressful.”

“For all of us.” The countess sniffed. She looked down at her shaking hands then back up at Riley, watching as Drake strapped her into a bulletproof vest, knowing she was about to step onto a public stage outside in broad daylight where she could be the potential target of another assignation attempt. “I didn’t mean any disrespect. This is just…all I can contribute.”

“It’s fine.” Drake finished, stepping back to inspect his handiwork with a critical eye. “Okay, you can get dressed now.”

Riley hurriedly dressed as she directed her next remark to Madeleine. “Could you please go let Liam know that I need two more minutes?”

“But the press—”

“Can wait.”

Madeleine hesitated a fraction of a second, then nodded in acquiescence and retreated from the room.

Riley stepped into Drake’s arms and took his face in her hands. “I love you. I’ll be careful, I promise.”

“I’m holding you to that.” He whispered before pulling her into a long, lingering kiss. He poured all his love and fear for her into that kiss, wanting nothing more than to grab her, get back in the limo, and get her as far away from danger as possible. Instead, he released her and forced himself to step away. “Okay, it’s time.”

Applewood had been secured before they had arrived and swept again after they arrived. There were no buildings close enough to the manor for a sniper to hide in and, thanks to the orchard burning, no trees either. He was still a bundle of nerves as he watched her climb the steps to the stage.

Riley stood at the podium next to Liam, like she belonged there. It was becoming commonplace. Drake tried to remember the last press conference Liam held where Riley hadn’t been standing right beside him.

Perhaps when he’d announced the itinerary for the engagement tour. Madeleine had been beside him then and the stiffness in his posture had radiated his discomfort, at least to those who knew him well.

His body language when he was on stage next to Riley was different. More relaxed. More open. More at ease. Even in these exigent circumstances, a simple glance in her direction and his shoulders straightened almost imperceptibly. Confidence flooded back into his posture. Hope shone from his features.

Drake had to admit that Riley’s speech was well received by the public, perhaps even more so than Liam’s. They loved her. He didn’t blame them.

When the press conference was over, Riley joined Liam in the orchard to plant a new apple tree. A sapling. A symbol of Cordonia, of hope for the future. The area was cordoned off to keep the masses away from the royal couple.

Not that they were a couple, and only Liam was royal. Though the image they presented was very much one of a royal couple. A king and his beloved queen.

Drake shook his head to clear it of those thoughts as he circulated through the press of people, his eyes scanning the crowd for threats, his ears open for anything suspicious.

What he heard were hundreds of conversations about what Cordonia had lost by not having Riley as its queen.

“Would have been an amazing queen….”

“It’s a shame that scandal happened. I heard it was all a setup. She never…”

“They say that’s why the king ended his engagement with the countess….”

“The king still loves her…. “

“She’s so down to earth. Just want Cordonia needs…..”

“She should have been queen…”

The crowd cheered as Riley and Liam packed the dirt around the sapling. They stood and waved to the onlookers before the security team ushered them inside the manor.

Drake let out a long sigh of relief as the weight of the world lifted from his shoulders.

There had been no assassination attempt. Riley and Liam were safe inside Applewood.

His relief was short-lived.

The moment the last of the public was cleared from the property, Liam stepped out the front door with Riley on his arm.

“What the actual fuck?” Drake growled, taking a step in their direction. A firm hand on his arm stopped him.

He turned to find Bastien giving him a sympathetic shake of his head. “Let them be. The grounds have been cleared. Liam wants to see the damage up close. It’s his prerogative.”

Drake shook off his godfather’s touch as a shadow crossed his face, but he stayed put. Bastien was right. The grounds had been cleared and there was no immediate danger. He watched from a distance as Riley and Liam walked through the remnants of the once-verdant landscape.

Mere hours before, a vibrant, lush thousand-acre orchard had stood there. Living hues had painted the grounds. Deep greens and vibrant reds had delighted the eye. The crisp, apple-scented air had pleased the nose. Now charred stumps rose toward the sky, blackened husks dotted the scorched earth. The acrid scent of carbonized trees wafted on the breeze.

They walked cautiously across the blistered ground, tendrils of gray smoke curling around their ankles and rising into the late afternoon air.

Drake stood on the sidelines watching as his fiancée and best friend stopped walking and held each other in the middle of the charred orchard. Not in a sexual way. It was clear she was comforting him. What was even clearer was that it was working. Much of the tension had drained out of the king’s body as he returned her embrace. There was a genuine smile on his face as they pulled apart.

Drake himself had tried to make Liam feel better, but nothing he said had made an impression. He’d watched as Liam’s friends and family members had tried to offer advice, condolences, and comfort. No one had succeeded in that endeavor. No one but Riley. Because Liam was still in love with her, and his love for her was deep and it was true, and it was real. Just like his own.

Liam entwined his fingers with hers as they made their way back toward the manor.

Drake couldn’t stand still a moment longer. He charged across the grounds, intercepting them at the front door. “I need to speak to you both. Privately.”

“Oh, I…” Liam dropped Riley’s hand and stepped away from her. He shoved his hands in his pockets with a flush. “I hope I haven’t overstepped any bound—”

“That’s what I want to talk about.” Drake ushered them both through the entryway and into a small sitting room just off the main hall. He shut the door behind him and then turned to face his best friend. “You still love her.”

“Drake, I’m sorry I’ve tried—”

“There’s nothing to be sorry for,” Drake clasped, then released his shoulder quickly. “You love who you love.”

He would know. He had fought his feelings for her for months and failed abysmally. Turning to face his fiancée, he stated, “You still love him, too. It’s obvious.”

Riley’s lower lip started to tremble. This was exactly what she didn’t want. Her head shook back and forth. “We talked about this! I thought—”

He nodded impatiently. “We did talk about it, and I’ve realized something.”

“What?” she asked with trepidation.

“I don’t want to spend our lives together constantly worrying about you and Liam fighting these feelings.”

“Drake! I love—”

“I know.” He held a hand up to stop her. “I’m not questioning that one bit. I love you too, Riley, and I’m not breaking up with you. Would you just listen?”

Riley pressed her lips together with a fair amount of effort.

“There is a way for all three of us to be happy.”

Riley blinked. “What do you mean?”

Liam’s body froze as his head jerked up, his gaze suddenly penetrating and intense as he watched the exchange.

“I mean…” he took her hand in his and pulled her into his body, “What if you didn’t have to choose?”

Her brows pulled together in confusion. “I already chose—”

“You chose to marry me and to spend the rest of your life with me, and for that, I will be eternally grateful. But you also chose to close off a part of yourself and fight your feelings for Liam. Believe me, I have some experience with that. I’m telling you that you don’t have to.”

“Wait…” Riley’s mind spun. “Are you saying that you’re okay with me having…with Liam and I…. what are you saying, exactly?”

“I’m telling you that I would be okay with you continuing your relationship with Liam. I’m amenable to an open marriage. Well….” His eyes darted to Liam and then back to Riley. “Maybe not entirely open, but I’m willing to make room for Liam in a triad situation.”

Riley shot a sidelong glance at Liam before responding. “Drake. That’s incredibly generous of you…”

“But?”

“What would that even look like?”

He lifted his shoulders expansively. “We’ll figure that out together.”

Riley stared at him for a long moment as confusion turned into astonishment. “You’re serious!”

Drake nodded with equanimity. “Mm-hm.”

“May I speak?” Liam’s voice was quiet but filled with restrained hopefulness.

“Please do.” Drake gave a respectful nod as he stepped back and turned so that he was looking at Liam instead of Riley.

Liam moved closer to Riley, then hesitated, shooting a glance at Drake. When he found nothing but encouragement there, he reached for her hand. “Please give this proposal due consideration before you make a decision. I implore you not to dismiss it out of hand. This is something that I want…. you have no idea how much…. but I won’t pressure you and I won’t rush you. Take all the time you need.” His eyes flicked back to Drake. “Both of you. If we move forward with this, we must all be on the same page. I want no room for misunderstandings or resentment.”

Her resolve to reject Drake’s offer out of a sense of loyalty faltered in the face of Liam’s impassioned plea. Dropping her eyes from his, she nodded. Her voice was barely a whisper as she told the floor, “Okay, I’ll consider it.”

#trr au #trr poly #drake x mc #liam x mc #the royal romance fanfic #angelasscribbles #the royal romance #choices fic writers creations #cfwc fics of the week #choices #drake walker #liam rys #trr

[karahalloway]

Sleepless in New York: Chapter 10 - Darkfall

Series: TRR

Pairing: Drake Walker x F!OC (Harper Gale)

Synopsis: What if Drake met Harper on the first night of Prince Christian’s New York bachelor party? A stand-alone AU written from Drake's POV.

Masterlist: Sleepless in New York

Chapter Summary: Drake tries to navigate a rough night...

Word Count: 5,300

Rating/Warnings: E (swearing, angst, obsessive-compulsive exercise, sexual fantasy, masturbation)

Chapter theme song:

A/N1: Sorry this took soooo long to get out! As per usual, real life has been exceptionally busy, so I haven't had as much time to write as I'd like to.

A/N2: This is also my slightly belated submission for World Whiskey Day, hosted by @drake-walker-appreciation, and the prompt that this fits with (more or less) is 'The whiskey burns my throat like her absence burns my soul.'

A/N3: I just realised that this kinda (maybe?) qualifies for the @springfeverpitch event that was on this week (Apologies! There are a lot of events on at the moment!) In any case, this would count as domestic x home run I guess 😅

Chapter 10 - Darkfall

I kick the covers off with an irate growl.

Un-fuckin'-believable...

After the shitshow of a day I've had, I should be running on fumes.

And I am.

Yet for some reason, I’m not able to nod off. Despite the fact that I've been on the go since 6am and have barely gotten any shut-eye the night before.

Because my body’s apparently a sucker for punishment and doesn’t seem to know when to quit. And even though I know I desperately need the recharge, I also know that staying in bed’s gonna achieve nothing 'cept hypertension.

So, swinging my legs out onto the carpet with a tight-set jaw, I reach for my phone.

02:18

I run a heavy hand through my hair.

The hell am I gonna do for the next six hours?

My eyes land almost unwittingly on the ragged shirt-tail peeking over the edge of the trash can.

I rip my gaze away with gritted teeth.

No. Absolutely fucking not.

It’a bad enough that I walked out on Gale without so much as a half-assed explanation. I ain’t gonna compound my dick-like behaviour by showing up at her door in the middle of the night, demanding to pick up where we left off.

Especially not after everything I've already subjected her to today — getting her fired, burning her in front of her friends, pulling her into a fight, dragging her on a forced route march 'cross town, and then literally ripping the shirt off her back. And, if that isn’t bad enough, I topped off her night by dumping the proverbial clutch on her when I should've been taking her for the ride of her life.

I swallow painfully. No. That ship had definitely sailed...

Which means it’s high time to take my own fuckin' advice and get her — and this entire mess of a day — out of my head.

No excuses.

And since the overpriced mini bar had let me down, I’m down to my only alternative — running myself into the ground.

Pushing myself up with a resigned exhale, I trudge over to my duffle. Reaching in, I extract the exercise shorts and t-shirt that always forms part of my go-bag, no matter where I went. Because you never know when you’re gonna need to blow off some steam. And going for a run’s a damn sight healthier than disappearing down the neck of a bottle. Even if the latter’s a helluva lot more convenient.

Throwing the clothes on, along with some socks and my well-worn trainers, I turn back to the bedside table to grab my phone and gun...

...and catch sight of the shirt again.

Motherfucker.

Jamming the phone and the Sig into my pockets — it always pays be prepared then be left holding your dick when shit inevitably hits the fan — I march over to the bin and yank the accursed thing out.

Scrunching it up, I turn on my heel, and stomp out of the room, snatching the keycard up on the way. Wrenching the door open, I let it bang shut behind me as I head down the corridor.

I cannot catch one goddamn break tonight...

Reaching the lifts, I briefly contemplate calling one. But given that I’m already wound tighter than a two-dollar watch, I know I won’t be able to stand the wait, no matter how brief.

So, I divert instead to the fire exit. Pulling the heavy door open, I throw myself into a jog and take the stairs upwards two at a time.

I guess I could've just as easily gone downstairs. But I don’t trust myself not to wind up at Gale's brownstone again if I hit the streets. Which means that the only place I can conceivably go is to the top-floor gym.

Which — all things considered — is probably the better bet anyway. Because going for a jog in the dead of night around the City That Never Sleeps is a risk not worth taking. And even though Central Park’s less than a block away, it’s not actually an option, given that (a) it’s shut overnight, and (b) it isn’t the best lit, and I don’t particularly feel like getting jumped by a knife wielding yahoo, or twisting an ankle on an uneven path.

Plus, I'd have to be a monumental idiot to even think about leaving Chris unattended again. Not that I expect to him go anywhere at this hour — except maybe all the way with Hayley. But I’m not about to make the same mistake twice in one day.

Christ knows I paid for it hard the first time 'round...

I feel my legs start to burn as I continue to climb relentlessly. But knowing that this is exactly what I need if I’m to have any hope of catching some zzz's tonight, I ignore the discomfort and push myself on.

Arriving on the 25th floor, I pause on the landing to catch my breath. But the short burst of exercise has merely thrown me a second wind. I still have a long way to go if I want to waste myself completely.

So, moving over to the stairwell door, I pull it open and step into the gym. Given the lateness of the hour, there's not a soul in sight, and it's just me and the view.

But there’s one thing I need to take care of first.

Locating the changing rooms, I head inside. And before I can think too much on it, or change my mind, I stride over to the dirty towel hamper and chuck the ruined shirt in...

...and dump a few towels on top of it for good measure.

Dead and buried.

Spinning quickly around, I exit the way I'd come, focusing my attention on the row of TechnoGym treadmills that face out onto the distantly twinkling lights of Harlem in the north, and not on how twisted my guts feel all of a sudden.

Picking a machine, I pull my phone and sidearm out of my pockets and place them onto the console so they won’t bang against my thighs as I ran, but still remained within reach in case I need them.

Taking a deep breath, I step resolutely onto the belt and hit go on a program at random.

The pace starts off sedately, barely faster than a speed walk. Reaching up to the console, I tap the speed up impatiently, not wanting to waste time on a warm-up I don’t need and most definitely don’t want.

I’n here to burn rubber.

The motor kicks into a higher gear, but it's not enough. Even though I’m now at a steady jog, my heart rate's barely above resting and I've yet to break a sweat. Not to mention the fact that my mind’s still fixating on the very thing I need to flush out of my system.

Gale, legs spread and head thrown back, moaning my name...

Raising my hand with a growl, I slap the panel again... and again... and again... until the belt is a blur beneath my feet and I'm pelting it like a demented bat outta hell.

The sudden speed forces my body into overdrive. My chest expands, my focus narrows, and my blood begins to pump in earnest, trying to supply my body with oxygen faster than it was being consumed.

I fall into a breakneck rhythm, limbs pumping to the rapid beat of my breath in a desperate effort to stay on the treadmill.

In... In... In... In... Out... Out... Out... Out...

The minutes and the miles tick past on the screen in front of me, but I barely register the stats. I'm too busy chasing oblivion...

...which remains stubbornly out of reach.

Because even as I push myself to the limit and my lungs start to burn and my muscles start to cramp, I can't escape her. She's still there, hazel-green eyes dancing on the edge of my awareness, the honey scent of her hair tickling my senses like smoke on the breeze.

And even as my vision begins to swim and the relentless pace pushes me to the verge of puking, I don't let myself ease up. Because that would be an admission of defeat and I’m not the type to quite that easy.

Not when there’s so much on the line.

Because beyond the fact that I let myself become consumed by a girl I barely know — an unhealthy and unsustainable hang-up that I need to nip in the bud, pronto — my continued preoccupation also ended up endangering Chris' life tonight.

And that’s inexcusable.

Not only is the guy the heir to a fuckin' throne, but he is my best — and arguably only — friend. And I let him down, both personally and professionally, by allowing myself to get distracted, just because a pretty set of legs had walked by.

And while I somehow managed to salvaged my colossal fuck-up, and we all walked away tonight without any casualties, I probably won’t m be able to pull a miracle like that out of my ass every time.

Nor should I expect to.

Especially not during the social season, when Chris is going to be constantly in the spotlight, shaking hands, being interviewed, always in an exposed setting. All it would take is one moment of distraction, one second of lost focus, for someone to pull a gun, to slip through the crowd, for our worlds to come crashing down.

And I’m not gonna let Chris — my brother — down like that.

I can’t.

So, doubling down, I dig deep and continue to pound the vestiges of my frustrations, my failings, and my regret relentlessly into the treadmill, the hard and fast staccato of my feet against the machine echoing around the otherwise empty space.

I have no clue how long I run for. Minutes? Hours? It makes no difference. Every wheeze feels like my last, every exertion a desperate attempt to break free of the purgatory of mistakes I trapped myself in.

And still I push on. Until I hit the proverbial wall and collapse against it, my vision blurry, my limbs shaking, my clothes drenched.

I stand there for what feels like eternity, feet straddling either side of the machine, the belt still whizzing at breakneck speed beneath me while I cling to the console like a life-line, trying to catch my breath.

And eventually my heart-rate slows, the buzzing in my ears clears, and I regain enough coherence to lift a hand and slap the treadmill off.

Pushing myself up to a standing position as the machine whirls to a stop, I wipe the sweat from my eyes and glance at the screen in front of me.

10 miles. 56 minutes.

I scoff wryly. Well, fuck me if that ain’t a new personal best... Who knew that self-pity could be such a potent motivator...?

Exiting the menus, I grab my stuff and move to step off the machine... only to very narrowly avoid face planting into the floor.

Oh, shit...!

Grabbing the console, I shake my head to try and clear the sudden nausea.

Christ, I feel awful...

My eyes land on the water fountain and I lurch towards it like a drunk out of a bar. Because that’s exactly how I feel like — sluggish, light-headed and stumbling around like a newborn calf. Which is no surprise considering I've just run the best part of half a marathon as if the Devil himself had been after me, having consuming nothing but two bottles of beer beforehand.

Apparently I do hate myself.

Managing to make it to the far wall without any incident — just — I lean over the dispenser to inhale the cool stream of water, nearly making myself choke in the process.

But I know I need to rehydrate myself, otherwise I’m gonna be in a world of pain in a few hours' time. So, after overcoming the initial shock to my system, I force myself to loosen up on the pace and start taking longer and slower gulps.

Having finally satisfied my body's cravings, I let go of the dispenser button to run the back of a trembling hand over my water-soaked mouth.

Sweet Jesus, I’m a mess...

I can’t remember the last time I pushed myself this hard on a workout.

But then I've never felt this way before... Like I’m an idiot, like I missed the pass, like I’m stuck in a maze with no way out.

And even though the hard run had managed to clear my mind, that latent feeling of... something is still there, writhing just beneath the surface, like an unscratchable itch under my skin.

And maybe it'll never go fully away. But I’m not about to give up without putting in a damn good fight.

Pushing myself up, I turn towards the pool. And even though I haven’t brought any swim trunks with me, my feet are already pulling me towards the siren call of the water.

Because if there’s one thing that’a guaranteed to set me right, it’s a full-body dunk.

Arriving at the side of the pool, I peel my sweat-soaked clothes off, leaving only my boxers on for the sake of modesty in case someone happens to walk in.

Taking a breath, I step out over the edge and plunge straight in.

The sting of salt hits my nose — not the same flavour as the Med, but then no pool’s ever gonna compete with that — as the water envelopes me and I let myself sink below the surface.

I hit the bottom and the echoey silence settles like a blanket around me, soothing my senses, taming my pulse.

I've always loved the water. Even before I could walk, I'd make a butt-shuffling beeline towards the end of the beach where the waves crashed onto the shore, unveiling a treasure trove of crabs, seashells and shiny rocks.

Of course, Mom'd been terrified that I'd get swept out to sea, or drown. So, to appease her fear, Dad had started taking me to swim lessons — first at the local therapy pool, but graduating quickly to the higher classes in the lap pool as I learnt to float, hold my breath, and leap off the diving board, all by the age of three.

From there my obsession only grew. I joined the school swim team, the water polo team, and even got certified as a lifeguard over the course of one summer. In short, I spent almost as much time in the water as out of it.

And then Chris introduced me to sailing.

At first I couldn't see the appeal of drifting around the Med on a sofa-sized boat when you could be swimming in it. But I've never been able to say 'no' to my best friend, so when he insisted I join him for a spin around the marina in his new Wayfarer one evening, I'd begrudgingly said yes. And had become instantly hooked. The speed, the technical precision, the feeling of flying over the water — it was all addictive.

Jack Sparrow'd had it right when he'd said that a ship is not just a keel and a hull and a deck and sails. Because even though those things are integral to the make-up of any craft, what a ship — or yacht, or catamaran, or any other vessel — really is, is freedom.

And for a restless 14 year-old, there was nothing more attractive than ditching the world to hang out with your buddy in the middle of the ocean, free of worries or adult supervision, just enjoying the endless view while you fished and talked about nothing in particular.

Of course, being teenagers, we were bound to get ourselves into deep water — quite literally. Which is how we ended up deciding that it'd be a great idea to take out a much larger sloop one evening... only to end up paying for that mistake when a storm decided to roll in out of the blue, catching us off guard and capsizing our craft.

And while that particular misadventure had ended up turning Chris off sailing once and for all, it had made me even more determined to get back out onto the water and obtain my ICC license. Which I did, the following summer.

And even though I no longer have Chris to share my maritime adventures with, my love of sailing — and of being out on the water — never diminished.

Because the sea is — and always has been — my personal haven.

Feeling my lungs start to itch from the lack of oxygen, I reluctantly open my eyes and kick back up to the surface.

But I don't feel like returning to dry land just yet.

So, drawing a quick breath, I stretch myself out and dip into an easy freestyle. Half-a-dozen strokes and I reach the edge of the pool. Diving down, I flip myself around to kick off the wall, resurfacing into a backstroke.

I repeat the pattern for about ten laps, enjoying the rare sense of peace that comes with gliding weightlessly through the water, strokes moving effortlessly in time with my breath.

Eventually, though, I’m forced to call it quits as my body finally runs out of steam and my rhythm starts to falter.

Grabbing onto the edge of the pool, I pause to catch my breath, arms and shoulders tingling from the exertion...

...and I suddenly realise that I'm starving.

Which, all things considered, is hardly surprising. The last time I had anything to eat was at that Midtown stake-house at dinner-time, which was over eight hours ago. And since then I've probably burnt through 800 calories' worth of pure stress, not to mention all the physical exertion I've put myself through. So, my blood sugar levels are shot.

Pulling myself out of the water, I pad over to the other side of the pool to collect my gear.

I briefly contemplate having a shower, but quickly ditch the idea on the basis that (a) I hadn't brought a change of clothes with me, and (b) I can’t trust myself not to go rooting for the ruined shirt that I ditched in the changing rooms earlier.

So, brushing off the worst of the water, I head straight for the lifts.

I’m not expecting to cross paths with anyone at whatever time in the morning it is. And if I do... well, they can suck it up. It's not like I’m walkin' around buck-ass naked.

Arriving back on our booked-out floor, I make my way to my room. Fishing the keycard out of the pocket of my shorts, I let myself in and flick the door closed behind me.

Dropping my exercise kit by my duffle, I locate the 24-hour room service menu and do a quick scan of the options.

A couple of items jump out at me, but knowing that I'll probably have breakfast with the guys in a few hours' time, I don’t want to have anything too heavy.

But then my eyes land on the cheeseburger, and before I can think twice about it, I've reached for the hotel phone and I'm putting the order through.

And even though I tell myself that it's because I never got to finish the one back at the dive bar two nights ago, I know that I'm lying to myself...

...so, I add a bottle of whiskey to the order for good measure.

Because I don’t want to blow up all my hard work by falling back into the same emotional sink hole that I only very narrowly managed to drag myself out of just now. So, I need something to distract myself.

Hanging up, I quickly sort my sweaty clothes out and stow them in the duffle before making my way into the bathroom to have another shower.

Once done, I throw on my jeans and a t-shirt (not bothering with socks or underwear) and flick the wall-mounted TV on to find something to pass the time with while I wait for the food to show up.

Not seeing any movies or series that particularly interest me, I eventually settle on a rerun of an old Pats game...

...but I find my mind wandering.

And it doesn't take long for my treacherous sub-conscious to dig up the very images that have been stalking me all night.

Gale, up in my face out on the club balcony, testing my limits and my sanity with that sassy smile of hers...

Gale, head thrown back and ass pressed up against me as we move to the techno-beat on the crowded dance-floor...

Gale, legs wrapped around me as her nails rake over my skin, fighting to get my shirt off as my tongue invades her mouth...

I groan despite myself, shifting uncontrollably on top of the covers...

...and realise that I've already lost the battle.

Shit.

My eyes land ruefully on the tell-tale tent pole straining the front of my pants.

I huff out a tight exhale.

If there'd been one thing I wanted to avoid tonight, it’s this...

Because I know that as soon as I dip a toe in that particular Rubicon, I’m screwed. And not in a good way.

Because when you've been continuously pushed to the edge, only to be yanked back each and every time from the precipice of release, a plain ol' wank just isn’t gonna do it.

Sure, jacking one out relieved the immediacy of the pent up need. But it’s never gonna hold a candle to the real thing. In part because it’s over in minutes and in part because cumming into your own hand feels about as satisfying as throwing yourself a one-man pity party.

Because sex is a team sport. And trying to run a solo play — when you know what the real thing feels like — is always gonna fall short of expectations. Because when you’re on your own, there’s no one to share the thrill with. To kiss, to tease, to fuck to the limit before letting go so you can finally implode into each other.

Which is why I'd tried my damnedest to exhaust myself so I wouldn't find myself in this situation. At least not until we were back in Cordonia, and I could avail myself of some options...

...'cept now I don’t have a choice.

Not unless I want to greet the bell hop with a raging hard-on...

Because unfortunately for me, my dick has apparently decided that it'd had enough of being baited, and is now gonna bend me over the barrel to get what it wants.

Regardless of the fact that it’s gonna be a massive let-down for both of us.

So, even as I try to shift my focus back to the Pats game — and sideline my ever-growing erection — all I manage to achieve is an even more persistent itch in my pants.

Because despite my resistance, we both know that thanks to the missed opportunity with Gale, chances are good that I’m not gonna find anything resembling decent satisfaction until after the Masquerade Ball.

As even though we'll be arriving back to a Palace teeming with all manner of women — from maids to staff to nobles — that doesn’t mean I’m gonna be casting a net. In fact, just the opposite. I’m not the type to shit where I eat (it causes too much unnecessary mess) and I learnt my lesson about fucking aristos the hard way.

Which means that unless I’m planning to shell out for a call girl — hell'd have to freeze over first — a self-administered hand-job is gonna have to tide me over until there’s a big enough gap in my schedule that I can get away from the Palace for a couple of hours and find some stress relief.

I heave a low breath. Fuck my fuckin' life...

But knowing that I've backed myself into a corner, I reach resignedly for my belt. Unhooking the buckle, I fling it to the side to expose the top button of my jeans. Snapping the fastening open with one hand, I yank the zip down with the other.

The denim falls away and my dick springs free of its confines, its rigid length snapping to attention like an overeager hound that has just caught a scent.

And even though this particular outing isn’t gonna end in the long, hard run we both know we need, that doesn't stop the damn thing from drooling like a mutt in anticipation.

Setting my jaw, I shove my jeans down over my hips, half-heartedly wishing I had some lube or something to try and improve this runaway train-wreck as I reach south...

...and groan out loud as my hand wraps around the warm shaft.

Goddamn...

I’m apparently more deprived than I realised. Though, I guess that shouldn't come as a massive surprise. Especially after the near constant edging that Gale subjected me to tonight, combined with the fact that it's been a good two weeks since the last time I managed to eke out time for a fuck. And that had been mediocre at best.

As if to emphasise the point, my dick bucks against palm, and it's clear that I have a lot of mitigating to do.

Sliding my fist firmly down, then back up again, I set about stoking up a rhythm. And even though it's nothing different to what I've done hundreds of times before, something about the familiar friction sparks an instant fire in my veins.

Maybe it's 'cause I’m exhausted... Maybe it's 'cause my mind’s a mess... Maybe it's 'cause I've gone cold turkey for too long...

But whatever it is, it’s sending me into a tailspin.

I feel my head tip back against the headboard with a low moan as I'm pulled rapidly under by the throes of my self-gratification.

And as my eyes shudder closed in the face of the rising tension, I give myself up to the darkest depths of my desire...

...and in a blink of an eye, I’m back in that cramped apartment, gazing up at Gale from between her legs, the imminence of her climax written on her face, the slickness of her arousal coating my mouth and tongue.

I groan into her as she grips my hair, urging me on with her increasingly desperate pleas, her body quivering above me as she careers towards the edge...

...and I’m suddenly possessed by an all-consuming urge to have her.

Shooting to my feet, with her legs still wrapped around my shoulders, I send her sprawling back over the top of the kitchen counter.

Because I know that we don’t have much time, and if I’m gonna make this happen, we need to do it hard and fast.

And I’m not gonna let myself disappoint her again.

Grabbing her by the waist, I yank her towards me. Her hazel-green eyes widen in shock as her ass dips over the edge of the counter. But my grip on her is unshakeable and she's not going anywhere.

Not yet anyway.

Not until I've fucked her six ways 'til Sunday, and even then I probably won’t let her leave.

Because this girl sets me on fire like nobody else, and I need her to burn with me.

Bending down to give her decadent folds one more self-indulgent lick, I steady her with one hand while I rip my belt and jeans open with the other, not able to take my eyes off her as she writhed before me.

"Drake...!"

The sound of my name slipping off her lips like a fervent prayer unleashes something feral inside of me. Something I didn't even know existed in the dark recesses of my soul. Something that instantly swallows whatever vestiges of rational thought I have left, leaving only one, single-minded purpose:

To make her mine.

And in some corner of my brain I know I should be terrified. Of this rabid hunger that she's unwittingly awakened within me. Of the fact that I can’t control it... and don’t want to.

But I'm already past the point of no return. And I can’t give a rat's ass.

Because the only thing I care about is fulfilling that unspoken obsecration of hers until she’s ruined for all other men.

Shoving my jeans and boxers down with a growl, I grab her hips and ram myself into her in one, brutal motion.

Her wet heat engulfs me, taking me fully, causing my eyes to roll back into my head as I revel in the sheer euphoria of her, her deep-throated cry of agreement rising up around me.

Christ, she feels amazing!

And if the mere act of being inside her doesn’t already feel like pure rapture, she then decides to up the ante even further.

"Fuck me, Drake," she demands, arching her lower back forward.

A guttural sound rattles my throat as she rolls her hips against me, cranking up the torsion as she pulls me in even deeper.

And I could've lost it then and there.

But somehow — whether through sheer force of will, or by the grace of God — I manage to tamp down the rapidly rising swell in order to heed her command.

Because this isn’t about me. This is about her. And I’m gonna make damn sure that she gets what she wants before I let myself cum inside her.

Even if it kills me.

Opening my eyes, I meet her hazel-green gaze with an affirmative smirk. "Yes, ma'am."

She wraps her legs around me expectantly...

...and I slam us together roughly, loudly, unapologetically.

She gasps beneath me, hands flying to the edge of the counter to grip it like an anchor in a storm, her entire body reverberating with the impact of our collisions.

But I don't stop. I can't. I pound into her like a man possessed... because I am. All semblance of logic, of reason, of God-given sense has evaporated and I devolve into the basest version of myself, one that is driven purely by lust and instinct.

And even though I know I won't be able to hold out, that I'll cave in the face of her rhapsodic screams and the almost painful pressure she’s putting on my dick, I'm powerless to pull the e-brake. If anything, it makes me rev the throttle even harder.

Because she just feels too damn good, and I've been at her mercy from the start.

Lifting my head, I lock eyes with her. And in those lust-blown, hazel-green depths, I see more than just need... more than just passion.

I see complete faith.

And it undoes me.

I explode into her with a ragged, animalistic cry, my body jerking with the force of my deliverance.

"Holy... fuck!"

The long-coveted wave of release crashes over me, wiping away my thoughts and my vision, and I'd be convinced that I passed out were it not for the high-pitched ringing in my ears and the thundering of my heart.

A few more pumps, a shuddered breath as the last swell rises, and I’m left drained, floating.

I stay there, motionless, revelling in that all-too brief moment of calm before the chaos of the world spins back up around me.

Sweet Jesus, that w—

Her warm lips brush against my sweat-streaked forehead, her honey-camomile scent drifting over me like a drunken haze...

I move to lean into her. "Harp—"

...but she's already gone.

The story continues in Chapter 11 - Cold Light of Day

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Sleepless in New York only

@bebepac

Picture Credits

Insomnia - Dawn - New York - Run - Swim - Drake - Pool

#drake walker #sleepless in new york #world whiskey day #drake walker appreciation #choices fic writers creations #cfwc fics of the week #drake x mc #harper gale #the royal romance #trr au fanfic

[harleybeaumont]

Drake Walker Appreciation, Day 5 - Romance

Here are the pairings I've written for Drake! @drake-walker-appreciation:

The Other Nevrakis- Drake x Lilith Nevrakis (my OC) - these two start off as a snarky, cynical, whiskey drinking pair who don't believe in love. By the end, they're a snarky, less cynical, still whiskey drinking couple of smitten idiots in love 😍

Unintentional - Drake x Riley - though not the main pairing in this fic, Drake and Riley are amazing friends to Liam, who in this story, needs loyal friends more than anything! And we know Drake is devoted to his friendship with his childhood best friend!

Between Friends - Drake x Maxwell - this was a one shot I wrote where Drake explores his bisexuality with the help of his friend, Max. (Who turns out to be more than a friend by the end.) We all know Drake can be a bit serious, but sometimes it's good to have a partner to help bring you out of your shell and learn to have a little fun and relax!

Love Me The Way I Am - Drake x Liam - they are only a minor part of the story, but I see the two of them as a couple in this fic. Having to hide their love from the rest of the court, these two explore the old friends to lovers trope (which I LOVE). They are such an angsty pairing, and I adore writing and reading them.

#drake walker #drake walker appreciation week #drake walker pairings #drake x oc #drake x mc #drake x liam #drake x maxwell #trr drake

[flowerpowelltales]

Like Fall, Like Spring (Drake x MC)

PART TWENTY ONE - FINALE + EPILOGUE

A/N: don’t touch me, i’m not okay 😭😭😭 i’m going to miss my babies! please read till the end!

Drake ate in silence and Riley waited. He surely needed to address his storming out and then being MIA for almost a whole day, right?

When he was finished and still made no attempt to say anything, Riley sighed and began collecting empty plates. Just as she reached for his mug, he grabbed her arm and made her look at him. 

“Are you okay?” She asked.

“I should be asking you the same thing, actually.” He rubbed his temple with his other, free, hand. “I left without saying anything but Leona hurt you too. I’m sorry.”

“No, don’t be. It was a lot to take in. And she’s your family.”

“She should be yours too.” Drake let go of her arm and clenched both of his fists. “I needed time to think. It’s not easy… I mean, Leona was like a second mother to me. And then like a mother and a father, when mine died. It’s hard to see her becoming… this.”

“It’s okay Drake, you don’t owe me any explanation.”

“I do. You're my wife, you were directly affected. It felt like I’m losing someone all over again. First dad. Then my mom, to depression. I only half-have her now anyway. Then Savannah ran away. She came back but she has her family now. Then you… And now Leona. I don’t want to have her in my life if she treats you like this but it’s not easy for me.”

“You don’t have to cross her out of your life, Drake. She’s still your family,” Riley said softly, rubbing his back gently. 

“So are you, Riley. And if she doesn’t want to accept you, I’m sorry. I will always choose you anyway.” He looked at her so affectionately she thought she’d cry.

“I’m sorry I didn’t choose you when I ran away. I promise I will always choose you, too. Always, Drake. You are my family. My whole world.” She was crying and Drake stood up and pulled her into his arms. 

“Shh, it’s okay, baby, it’s okay.”

“I’m so– so– sorry,” she said through sobs. 

“I forgave you, a long time ago. Please, forgive yourself, too,” he whispered and kissed her forehead. 

They stayed like that, embracing and gently swaying to the music of their hearts, for a few minutes before Riley remembered something.

“Drake!”

“Hmh?”

“I forgot to tell you something! I– When Leona said those things about me, about the dog being still in the U.S., me having a job in New York, I–I do have my dog with Ellen, true, but only because she really likes him and wants to have someone around. And about the job…”

“You don’t owe me an explanation,” he repeated what she said just minutes before.

“I do. You’re my husband and you need to know. I declined the job in New York. Long time ago but it doesn’t matter. That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. I… I found a job, actually.”

“You did?” He pulled back a little to look her in the eyes.

“I had a crazy idea… I talked to Hana and… Hana and I are starting our own pastry shop! We found a place, talked to lawyers and owners and everything so it’s all legit and we have the green light! I mean, now that we’re no longer nobility we need to support ourselves and since I wanted to become a baker when I was younger I thought that was a great chance and Hana is an amazing baker so it could actually work and I know I never really asked you about your permission and maybe you had other plans and now I feel very stupid but I don’t want you to think I was hiding anything because–”

“Riley, hey, relax. Take a breath. Pastry shop, huh?”

“Yeah. Are you mad?” She asked.

“Mad? That my wife is fulfilling her childhood dream? That she starts a career of her own? That I’ll probably have lots of yummy things for free? Are you mad?”

Riley laughed, relief spreading through her body. “You can have anything you want. You’ll always be our most treasured customer.”

Drake smiled and leaned to kiss her. She melted into him, finally feeling like they were back together for good. Like they found back their missing piece and now they could be whole again. The familiarity of them overwhelmed her.

“Drake…” she moaned in between the kisses. “I…. have the best… idea… mmm.”

“What? Are we going to have dessert now?” He asked and she couldn’t help but roll her eyes slightly.

“No, but maybe later.” This time she pulled away. “I thought we could celebrate? If you’re up for this?”

“Mhmm, of course we can. Come here.”

“Not like this,” she laughed. “Okay maybe that too. I thought with Maxwell, Hana, Liv, Liam and the rest of ours.”

Drake opened his eyes and raised an eyebrow. “I was thinking only the two of us…”

“And I was thinking something like renewing our vows? A small ceremony? Since our wedding was a big one? Now that we’re no longer–”

“Nobility, I know. I actually think this is a nice idea.”

“Right? A second chance wedding!” She babbled on and Drake chuckled.

“Okay, okay. I get it. You can plan it if you want but now about that dessert you mentioned earlier…”

Riley burst out laughing. “So needy!” 

But she didn’t protest any further and definitely not when Drake was showing off his ‘dessert’ skills.

~~~~

The ceremony was just like Drake and Riley wanted. Small. Intimate. Romantic. Cozy. Only their closest friends were invited, Ellen came and brought Lasse with her while Bianca declined saying she wasn’t feeling too well. Leona, for obvious reasons, was banned from coming. Drake protested wholeheartedly against inviting Olivia but Riley couldn’t imagine that day without her. After all, it was Liv that helped them get back together. Even if unintentionally.

The vows were renewed, Drake and Riley kissed as a husband and wife and they moved to the Valtoria gardens where the party began. Even though she wasn’t a Duchess anymore, she really liked the gardens of her duchy and Liam helped her organize the ceremony there.

After a few hours of dancing, eating and talking, Riley stood with Drake and watched Savannah and Bertrand running after Bartie, who was trying to mimic Maxwell’s crazy dance moves. 

“How does he have so much energy? I’m beat!” Riley exclaimed, rubbing her back. 

“He’s still a kid.”

“No, not Bartie. Maxwell!”

“Well... Technically it applies to Max, too. Want a drink?”

“Oh yes, I think I could use a drink.”

“I’ll get it for you,” Drake said and Riley nodded. She was looking at him with a big smile on her face, until he disappeared. She turned around and noticed she wasn’t the only person following him with her eyes.

The woman was definitely not invited; at least Riley didn’t invite her. Silky blond hair, beautiful smile and a bump. When the woman turned to look at Riley and their eyes met, Riley swallowed hard.

Mary-Anne was even prettier in person.

Her face lit up and started making her way towards Riley. When she finally reached her, she extended her hand. 

“Hi, Riley!” Even her voice was attractive. Riley plastered a smile and shook Mary-Anne’s hand. How could she even compare to Drake’s ex?

“Hello.”

“I’m Mary-Anne, Drake’s friend from Texas by the way! You were probably wondering who’s that strange person bothering you,” she laughed and Riley fake-chuckled.

“Yeah, well, it’s a private party so I was a bit surprised. Drake invited you, I suppose?” She asked.

“Erm... Not really. Savannah did mention you were renewing your vows and since I couldn’t come to your wedding when Drake invited me I thought I’d come to this party. I--I’m sorry if it was a bad idea,” she added when she saw Riley pale. “I came to apologize, actually.”

“Really? What for?” Now Riley was interested.

“I... Um... Found out what Leona said about me to you. Sav called and asked if the baby’s Drake’s. Apparently that’s what Leona kept telling you. It’s not, by the way. The baby, I mean. It’s not Drake’s. It could never be.”

“Thanks... I mean, I knew it, Drake told me but thanks.”

“I felt really bad and I figured calling would be not enough so here I am. Listen, I’m sorry about Leona. She’s like that. She’s always had this vision of me and Drake married with ten kids on their family Ranch. We even tried to date to please her but we’ve always been more like siblings than lovers. And I love Leona.”

“Leona is lovable?” Riley raised a brow and Mary-Anne chuckled.

“Yes, well, I love her.   She’s the only mother I ever had. I have four older brothers and a clueless father. He had no idea how to raise a daughter. When I got my first period and stained my jeans he thought I was dying. It was Leona who taught me about those things. I know she loves me and I guess that’s why she wanted me and Drake to work out. But it’s not going to. Besides, he’s so happy with you! When you left him and he was super upset, he got drunk and I found him in a bar. You know what he did? He showed me every single photo of you on his phone and described when it was taken, where and why in so much detail I was afraid we were going to spend a week in that bar. I’ve never seen him so in love. It’s a good look on him. I’m happy you’re back together.”

“Wow, I... I don’t know what to say. Thank you for telling me, that... does make me understand Leona a bit better. But I still don’t like her,” Riley added.

“And I’m here to change your mind. I’d be mad at her too if she did this to me.” Mary-Anne shrugged.

“And the father of your baby? Leona doesn’t like him?”

“It was a mistake. My mistake. I was sad and lonely and it was a one time thing with a guy I met in a bar. I don’t even know his name but it doesn’t matter. I was actually kind of happy I got pregnant. My father never cared too much about me, my brothers have their own life and I thought I might finally have someone in my life. It was like my lil miracle. My bestie. My family.” She cradled her bump affectionately. “It’s the two of us against the world.”

“You know what?” Riley asked her suddenly, a brilliant (in her opinion) idea coming to her. “I’m so glad you came! Let me introduce you to my friends,” she said and watched Mary-Anne’s face light up. Riley took her arm and led her in the direction of Liam and Maxwell. To be fair, she only wanted to introduce her to Liam in hopes something could happen between those two but Maxwell being there too was for the best. She wouldn’t want to be too obvious.

Apparently she was too obvious though because when she turned to go back to her place, smirking, Drake was already standing there, watching her, his eyebrow raised. He handed her the drink when she reached him. 

“What are you trying to do?” He asked.

“Umm... Your friend came and I thought she was lonely so I introduced her to our friends.”

“Really? Just that?”

“Err... What else do you want me to say?”

“Riley, I’m not stupid. Are you trying to play a matchmaker? Because let me remind you, we needed therapy to work out.”

“That’s because you didn’t even know my matchmaking plan! I actually asked Liam to give us a month to work things out between us, it’s not really a legit--” she paused realizing she was about to confess to a lie. 

“I actually do know it was your plan, believe it or not.”

“What?” She asked. “How? When? Why?”

“From the moment the two of you announced it. I’m not stupid and I can think. There has never been a rule like this and will never be. Not within the Cordonian mentality.”

“And... You just went with it?”

Drake shrugged. “I was mad at you. But I did have a bit of hope that maybe it would help us. So I didn’t say anything.”

“Drake Walker! I swear you always find a way to surprise me.”

Drake smiled and pulled her towards him. “I hope I’ll never stop surprising you.”

“Mhmm,” she murmured as he kissed her cheek. “I might have to start thinking of ways to surprise you, too.”

Drake froze and pulled back. He looked at her intently for a few seconds before cracking a smile. “Maybe not. I think I had enough of your surprises in this lifetime.”

~~~~

EPILOGUE - ONE YEAR LATER

“One more!” Maxwell yelled from his seat and pointed to an empty plate.

“That would be your tenth!” Hana yelled back and Riley stifled a chuckle. She kept making coffee until she felt a pair of arms encircling her waist.

“Eek!”

“Hello, I missed you,” Drake's voice was muffled as he buried his face in Riley’s neck. 

“I missed you, too. Three days feel like three years without you,” she admitted. Drake kissed her and nodded towards coffee. 

“Got one more for your beloved husband?”

“Always. And I also put away an orange and bourbon flavored cupcake for you. Since Maxwell eats most of our supply.”

Drake laughed and the whole shop seemed to be positively vibrating with him in it. He sat down on a chair closest to the counter, ignoring Maxwell patting an empty chair beside him. 

Riley brewed Drake’s coffee (black, no cream, no sugar) and retrieved the cupcake, pretending she didn’t hear Maxwell’s gasp. She looked at her shop, her and Hana’s pastry shop and smiled. A lot of energy and effort went into their little venture but it was worth it. Hana and Riley were great partners and worked perfectly together. Riley learned a lot from Hana and Hana from Riley. Their business was flourishing, although it was to some extent thanks to Maxwell - he came every single day and ate at least seven pastries. How he kept in shape - that was the greatest mystery.

Drake also worked - he was a full time photographer now and even though he mainly took photos of different events in Corodnia, sometimes he had to go to other countries. If the job was longer than a week he took Riley with him - they didn’t want to be far from each other for too long. In between the jobs he also taught a photography course at the University of Cordonia and was considering switching to full time teaching and doing photography on the side. He felt he wanted to be home more often.

Her and Drake were also better than ever. They kept on going to therapy and worked through every single little thing together. Not only were they closer than before but also their marriage was stronger. 

There were also other changes in Cordonia. Mary-Anne and Liam were raising her almost one-year old daughter together (to Cordonian citizens’ outrage) and planning their wedding (to Cordonian citizens’ joy). Mary-Anne finally found a community that cared about her, although it wasn’t the easiest for Leona, who felt like she lost two children. 

As far as Leona was concerned, she reached out to Drake a few weeks prior, full of remorse. Drake didn't even want to listen to her but Riley insisted they work things out. They started talking, little by little. It still wasn’t a relationship Drake or Leona wanted but they were trying. 

And there was one last change. A change that no one but Riley knew about. She smiled at Drake blowing her a kiss while finishing his cupcake. She would tell him soon. She only just found out herself, but her little, approximately six-week old secret, still nestled safely in her womb, was ready to be shared with her husband. 

And she was sure it was going to be a whole different adventure.

 THE END. 

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Pssst! If you made it this far and also don’t want to say goodbye to Riley and Drake, let me know in the reblog/comments and I might have a little something for you 😏 

#the royal romance #choices #playchoices #drake walker #the royal heir #the royal finale #drake walker x mc #drake x mc #drake x riley #drake walker x riley brooks #trr #my fics #like fall like spring