Reign: A Royal Military Romance by Roxie Noir Page A

out tomorrow night.

11

Hazel
    W hen I get back to my bedroom I sit on the edge of my huge four-poster bed, still wearing Kostya’s shirt, and put my head in my hands.
    What the fuck are you doing , I think.
    I take a deep breath, grit my teeth, and remind myself that nothing actually happened. Yeah, we both got half-naked sort of in public, and now I’m wearing his shirt and my entire core is one feverish, hollow ache because he does things to me, but we barely touched each other.
    I take another breath.
    We didn’t do anything , I think. See? No international relations problems.
    Slowly, I lay back on my bed. I stare at the ceiling because every time I close my eyes, I see Kostya standing in front of me, shirtless, that massive bulge in his jeans.
    Holy hell .
    My eyes snap open and I stare at the ceiling, clenching and unclenching my fists.
    Despite myself, I think about Kostya leaning over me, one hand on the wall behind me. Still shirtless. So close that if I’d moved at all we’d have touched.
    Zloyushka , I think. The memory of his voice saying it low and slow sends a shiver down my spine, and the ache inside me deepens.
    I sigh and slide my hand under my shorts, unsurprised to find that I’m wet as fuck, my underwear pretty much soaked through. I squeeze my eyes shut and rub myself fast and hard, thinking of Kostya in the moonlight, until my toes are curling against the bedsheets.
    I come hard , and as I do, I wonder whether Kostya’s doing the same thing.

    * * *
    A fter breakfast — sardines, thick yogurt, and toast, which is actually much better than it sounds — I wander the palace halls for a bit. There has to be a library here somewhere , and that library’s going to have a Russian dictionary in it.
    I could probably just ask someone, but I have no idea what it means. I don’t think Kostya is calling me a stupid gorilla vagina or something, but I still prefer to find out from a book, not someone who can make a face at me.
    Zloyushka is a challenge, and I fully fucking intend to at least show Kostya that this loud, awkward, déclassé American can at least use a dictionary.
    Well, after I find the library.
    I walk around for twenty minutes, and start to wish that this place had a directory, like a mall or something. I’ve always had a good sense of direction, and I could find my way back to almost anywhere in the palace, but these doors aren’t labeled, and I’m not about to be the idiot American girl who just walks about opening doors in a foreign ruler’s house.
    At last, staring a big double door in a stonework arch, I hear someone clear his throat behind me, and I turn around.
    It’s Nikolai, one of the king’s aides.
    “Miss Sung, correct?” he asks very, very politely.
    “Yes,” I say. I walk toward him and hold out my hand. “Please, call me Hazel.”
    He doesn’t smile, but he does shake my hand.
    “Are you lost, Miss Sung?” he asks.
    Shit , I think. I’d been hoping he’s remind me of his full name, because it makes me feel like a dick that he knows mine and I don’t know his.
    “I’m actually looking for the library,” I say. “I wanted to learn a little more about Sveloria’s fascinating history.”
    And also find out what the prince keeps calling me , I think.
    He raises both eyebrows so slightly that I could be imagining it.
    “It’s on the ground floor,” he says, and points down a corridor. “Down the main stairs, to the hall on the right. Heavy wooden door with a stained glass inset.”
    I nod once, very slightly, and remind myself not to smile.
    “Thank you,” I say.
    He nods formally, and we walk in opposite directions.
    The library is exactly where he said, and unlocked to boot. There are high, iron-wrought windows set in all the walls, and the place is beautiful and sunny. I’m practically humming as I grab a thick Russian dictionary, an English-to-Russian dictionary, A Guide To The Svelorian Dialect For English Speakers , and a pencil and scrap