Page 36 of Royally Drawn

His erection pressed against me. I wanted him again—so badly—but I was paranoid.

“I’ll have you again,” Keir promised. “I’ll get much more out of you. We’ll meet again, and I will once more make you scream my name.”

“I… I’d like that,” I admitted.

These were terrible choices, but I needed more. He was so good at unwinding me. He unleashed this sexual side of me I didn’t even know I had. I never doubted I was capable of shagging someone—that level of denial and doubt was Odette’s thing—but to know I was capable of being so demanding and assertive was powerful. I wanted every bit of him again and again. I was addicted to this devotion to the pleasure he gave.

PART TWO

Sketch

Adaptation

INGRID

Norfolk was picturesque. Horses grazed in lush green fields. Adorable stone houses dotted the landscape. The Georgian house Cici’s family owned was what you expected—ample, a bit cold, and perfect for a big family of equestrians. While the house was grand in places, it was unfussy in most ways—built for practicality. Every entrance had boot brushes. Boots littered the “mud room” at the back of the house. A dog sink occupied one corner of this room. Dogs greeted you immediately in the morning, hoping they might get to run down to the barn with you.

The decor looked less like a British period piece and more like a house reclaimed by Scandinavians and brought into modernism. Rick would have approved, and Alexandra would have deemed it “too sparse.” They differed in decor preferences. Alexandra joked Rick would have preferred an IKEA showroom to Versailles.

“The place is elegant and simple,” I said over breakfast with the rest of the riders.

The place came with an entire staff—as you’d expect—but Breakfast was relaxed.

“It’s typical for us,” Cicisaid.

“So, did your father win the decorating wars?” I joked.

“Oh, no, this is all Mor,” Cici said of her mother.

“Aunt Kiersten wears the trousers,” Betty giggled. “Uncle Olav defers to her on most things.”

“Pappa is a sap,” Cici said. “He loves Mamma endlessly and lets her do as she pleases ninety per cent of the time. He manages the rat race—now often with me—and Mamma is the public champion of everything. He doesn’t tell her what to do, though. She does as she pleases. The women in our family aren’t doormats.”

“It takes a man willing to put up with that,” Isak joked.

“Yes, but a wonderful one.” Cici gave him a quick kiss as she rose to get more eggs. The woman atesomany eggs of all kinds. She said it was what powered her on cross-country.

“What is the plan today?” Betty asked.

“We’re going to hack down to Sandringham.”

“We can just… do that?” I asked.

“Mamma has carved out a bridle path most of the way there. There are some quiet lanes. The horses love it. We’ll ride over for lunch with Auntie.”

She meant Queen Natalie. Well, that was unexpected! I’d make sure to put on my most matchy-matchy kit. Our horses were getting a nice rest before we headed to Badminton. It was my international debut—no pressure—and they’d only landed a week ago. We’d skipped the Kentucky Three-Day this year to focus on international competition. Unlike the British and American teams, we didn’t have nearly the depth in our house to have horses on two continents just waiting. I supposed Cici could have had that if she wanted, but she tended to alternate each year where she began the big international competitions. This was a major weekend for us.

“Have fun,” Isak said. “We’re about to dip into training for the day. Go play with your ponies.”

They were adorable together. If they were anyone else, I’d have found them cringe.

“We’ll go have a nice day. Auntie decided to stay here for a couple of days—inconveniencing everyone so she could see Betty and me and welcome you, Ingy.”

“Me?”

“Yes. Now, get dressed, and we’ll take the horses out.”

It flattered me that Her Majesty even cared to greet me. I wore a tailored pair of slate grey breeches, my teal and brown field boots, and a long-sleeved teal blouse. I figured I’d look presentable enough. Back home, Alexandra and Odette always perfectly matched, and I’d turn up in almost anything. Riding was about being productive and pretty astride a horse—not in a barn aisle.

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