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  Her King

  Kingdom of Raultshire, Book 1

  M.K. Moore

  Flirty Filth Publishing

  Her King (Kingdom of Raultshire, Book 1) By M.K. Moore

  © M.K. Moore 2021 Flirty Filth Publishing.

  All Rights Reserved

  By the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, the scanning, uploading, and electronic sharing of any part of this book without permission of the publisher is unlawful piracy and theft of the author’s intellectual property. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author except for brief quotations used in a book review.

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, locales, or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  The use of actors, artists, movies, TV shows and song titles/lyrics throughout this book are done so for storytelling purposes and should in no way be seen as an advertisement. Trademark names are used editorially with no intention of infringement of the respective owner’s trademark.

  This book is intended for adults only. Contains sexual content and language that may offend some. The suggested reading audience is 18 years or older. I consider this book as Erotic Adult Romance.

  Created with Vellum

  Dedicated to every queen I know…

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  Other books by MK Moore

  About the Author

  Blurb

  Ladies and gentlemen,

  You are formally invited to bear witness to the loves and lives of the royal family surnamed Parry.

  Keep in mind, they are not above a little crime to get the job done. These stories take place between 1875 and the present. They are set against the backdrops of both war and peace.

  Amor Vincit Omnia. Love Conquers All.

  Book One Christofur

  Book Two Jarryd

  Book Three Denton

  Book Four Richard

  Book Five Gustav

  Book Six Moira

  Christofur

  Becoming king was not easy for me, but I managed.

  Then I met her, and I could not manage without her, so I took her.

  Braya

  When I met him, I knew he was mine. He took me to save me and I love him all the more for it.

  This is a safe, historical novella with all the passion you can handle.

  Welcome to the kingdom of Raultshire, where love knows no bounds. This will set your Kindle on fire and maybe a few other things as well...

  Prologue

  Christofur

  England

  May 1870

  "My lord, a messenger from Raultshire," Carlisle, next in line to be the earl of Haluria and my oldest friend, says, coming into my rooms. I am currently studying at Oxford, and no one ever writes to me, so this is surprising.

  "A messenger? Whatever for?" He hands me the message. I tear through the seal to read it. "My father is dead. As are my brothers," I say without emotion.

  "Coughing sickness?" Carlisle asks.

  "That’s what Giles says.” I suppose I should be upset, but I find that I am not. The three of them made my life a living hell, so much so that I jumped at the chance to study in England, far from the shores of Raultshire.

  “Your Majesty?” Carlisle says, startling me. Never in my lifetime did I think that title would be addressed to me.

  “Yes?”

  “We should leave at once. Your people will need you now.”

  “You are right, of course, you are right.” When I look up, he is kneeling in front of me. “What the hell are you doing?” I ask.

  “My king, I swear this solemn oath of allegiance to ye. I vow to protect king and crown from this day until my last day. My sword is your sword. Your fight is my fight, forevermore.”

  “I am honored and humbled by such loyalty,” I reply awkwardly. I am not even sure if that was the right response, but Carlisle smiles and stands.

  “I will have the stewards pack; we should just be on our way.”

  The journey home takes ten days altogether. When I arrive, I am greeted by my father’s chief minister, Ronin. I hate this man, but do I really want to rock the boat as soon as I arrive home?

  “Lord Christofur,” Ronin says.

  “That is Your Majesty,” Carlisle says, interjecting.

  “Of course, forgive me, Your Majesty,” he says with a sneer.

  “Where is the protocol officer?” I ask, wanting to be done with this man.

  “I am here, Your Majesty,” an older man says, coming forward.

  “I am sorry I do not know your name.”

  “No apologies necessary. I am Gavin Leedon.”

  “Gavin, please join me in the study; there is much to discuss. You may go, Ronin,” I say dismissively.

  “But…”

  “That will be all. I will let you know when and if I need you.” I do not give him a chance to answer.

  “What can I help you with, Your Majesty?” Gavin asks as soon as we are in the throne room.

  “How do I get rid of my father’s men?” He pales. “Not you. I do not know you, which is working in your favor, trust me.”

  “Very well. You ask them to leave. You do not owe them anything; if anything, with a regime change, other changes are expected. I would advise meeting with the heads of the military branches. They could assist if anyone should choose not to heed your dismissals.”

  “Very well. Gather them for me.” He nods.

  “Sir, we held off on the funerals. They are lying in wait in the main hall. We should not wait longer than three more days for your coronation. I took the liberty of setting everything up in anticipation of your wishes.”

  “Today. We will do it today. We should not hold up the business of the country.”

  “Excellent, sire. You should be seen in the great hall, though. I do not presume to direct you in that manner, though. I heard a great many rumors about you and your family.”

  “I shall. Do not worry, Gavin. I will provide the very essence of propriety. I will ready myself, and we can get a move on it. I should be king before kicking people out of the castle, correct?”

  “Excellent, your majesty,” he says, bowing. He turns to leave, then turns around and drops to his knees in front of me. “My king, I swear this solemn oath of allegiance to ye. I vow to protect king and crown from this day until my last day. My sword is your sword. Your fight is my fight, forevermore.”

  “I am honored and humbled by such loyalty,” I reply. It’s getting less awkward. I have a feeling this won’t be the last time I do this today. The great thing about Raultshire, though, is that we are an absolute monarch. I do not answer to anyone, and that is a great responsibility to have on my shoulders. I am only twenty years old, and I never learned how to be king.

  This should be interesting.

  After a bath, I dress and make my way down to the great hall. Three coffins are lined up in front of the fireplace. Walking over to them, my mind flashes back to a harsher time in my life, unbidden.

  “Fat boy?” Craigson had called in a singsong voice before kicking me square in the pants. He knocked me into the corner table, which sent everything on it and me crashing to the floor. My mother, who died giving birth to me, collected glass figurines of animals that were on the table. They shattered into a million pieces. Before I could get up off of the floor, my brothers were on me, punching
and kicking me. That was nothing to the beating I received from my father. He tanned my hide with a leather strap and sent me to my room for damn near a week with no food. If the chambermaid who cleaned my room hadn’t said something to the housekeeper, I am sure I would have been forgotten about. The black eyes and bruised ribs lasted much longer than the punishment did, though. The next punishment for something Clarke did was much worse. I slept in the barn for two weeks because “pigs do not belong indoors.” It was December in the middle of a blizzard, but I survived. I was twelve years old. The following year, I started at Eton and never went home for the holidays. I was doing my damndest to forget about this place.

  I have not been home for seven years now, and nothing has changed. It is oppressive and dark, something I hope to change now that I am king. Every room holds terrible memories, and I can’t fathom moving into my father’s bedchamber, but a king must do as he should.

  “Good riddance. May God have shown you mercy,” I whisper to the room.

  My coronation was not a lavish affair, but a perfunctory one as it should have been in a time of mourning, but at the end of the day, I found loyal men who aided me in the first days of my reign, and I have rewarded them handsomely.

  Now I just need a queen and an heir, but I vow to do things differently than my father did.

  Chapter 1

  Christofur

  Raultshire

  January 1875

  I have ruled over these lands going on five years now. I am surrounded by enemies that would see me dead, enslave my people, and pillage this land. I cannot allow that. After a particularly bloody battle with Caerleon, the godless bastards to our north, I am bone-weary and tired of riding my horse, Dread. These skirmishes take a lot out both sides, so why we do it, I will never know. I take the road home, my most trusted and thankfully still breathing allies flanking me. On the way, we pass through the small village of Baileymeena. It is little more than a tavern, a few houses, and a stable. We have been riding hard for days. On a whim, I decide to stop for the night. I signal to Carlisle to ride ahead to the Lyon and Thistle. He will know what we require for the evening. We are less than thirty kilometers from Castle Corlach, my main stronghold, but something is pulling me here. The residents are not prepared for a visit from the king, but they are accommodating. Though they will not say so, I am sure they are annoyed. I would be.

  After an ale and a surprisingly delicious hot meal, I seek my bed for the night. As I walk down the long hallway, many whores seek me out, never once bowing to me. The look on their faces says it all. Many commoners do not think of me as their king, and as much as I may want to have them thrown in the stocks, I can’t very well lock them all up. It really would not matter, since I have never been interested in that type of woman. They only want money or the position I can propel them to, whereas I want a queen. It’s better to avoid them.

  As soon as I open the door to the small, stale room, I am greeted by a nice round ass in the air. She’s bent over, looking for something underneath the bed.

  “Can I help you?” I ask, clearly startling her. She drops what she’s holding and turns around. Then she dips into a deep curtsey before staying down. “You may rise. What is your name, girl?” She stands up and stares at me. Usually, I see the disdain that crosses every woman’s face when they look at me, but I see no such look on her beautiful, pale face. Her long brown hair is a mess of loose curls, and she’s wearing a black dress with a white apron over it. She smiles at me, and my heart melts.

  “My name is Braya, Your Majesty.”

  “Braya,” I repeat. I am an educated man, but words are failing me right now.

  “I was, uh, getting some soap for you. I made it, you see.”

  “Soap?” I am having a hard time thinking about anything other than her.

  “My father, the proprietor, said you were in battle. I may have foolishly assumed you would want a bath. I have brought hot water up from the kitchen.” I look over at the large tub she has set up by the fire. It must have taken her twenty trips, at least to fill that tub.

  “A bath sounds lovely,” I tell her. She smiles and bows. She turns to leave the room, but I grab her arm, bringing her close to me.

  “Your Majesty?” she gasps.

  “Stay. Assist me. I have no valet.” I will do anything to keep her here.

  “This isn’t appropriate, Your Majesty.”

  “I decide what’s appropriate,” I answer simply, smiling at her. She shivers.

  “That is not fair,” she whispers. “You’ll ruin me.”

  “Not that long ago, it was an honor for the king to bed a woman, any woman.”

  “I am not that kind of woman,” she says quietly, and I believe her.

  “Then again, that king was far more handsome than I.” She frowns and lifts her tiny, soft hand to my bearded cheek. The touch is refreshing. No one touches me. It is just not done, but she has no regard for proper protocols if she even knows them.

  “My king, who filled your head with such nonsense?” she asks the question a genuine one.

  “Everyone,” I say. No one cares about you when you are the spare's spare until you are needed. The transition has been a bloody one, but I am managing. While my sainted brothers were learning how to be kings, I was at school setting fires with my friends. It was never supposed to be me. Colossal, awkward me, a fact my father made sure to remind me of every day until the day he died. A coughing sickness swept through the realm and left nothing but devastation in the aftermath.

  “That's not true. You are the most handsome man I've ever seen; however, I cannot lie with you. I must remain pure for my husband. It is only right.”

  “You are not married?" I ask, wondering why her father hasn't married her off. Her beauty alone would bring a high bride price.

  “Not yet, but I should not be here with you. I thought you would drink for a while, and I could get everything ready for you and be gone before you got back. This is my room. We are booked full.” She takes her hand off of my face, and I miss her warmth.

  “Where will you sleep?”

  “On the floor in the kitchen, of course.”

  I do not like the idea of my future queen sleeping on the cold floor. As soon as I saw her, I had to have her. I must talk to her father quickly; otherwise, the Parry line will die with me because not being with her will surely kill me. Which is just as well because no other woman would ever do. Ever.

  “Is there someone on staff who can assist me?” I ask, gesturing to the tub. Of course, I could do it myself, but I want her to help me.

  “No, ‘tis late. I will help you, your majesty.”

  “Thank you, Braya.”

  She removes my overcoat and sets it on a chair before leading me to a different chair close to the tub. She has me sit, and then she drops to her knees to pull my blood-soaked leather boots off of me. Oh, how I wish she would linger, but she is fast and efficient. Something I both admire and loathe right now.

  “I trust you can handle the rest. I shall turn around so you can undress and get into the tub.” She moves to get the bar of soap she dropped earlier and places it on the tub ledge. “Go ahead,” she says, turning to face the wall. She's adorable, I think, as I do what she asks. As soon as I sink into the hot water, I groan as the lavender-scented water surrounds most of me. "Too hot?" she asks, sounding concerned. She pivots to look at me, and our eyes connect.

  “‘Tis perfect," I reply, making her smile.

  For the first time, maybe ever, everything is perfect.

  Chapter 2

  Braya

  What am I doing? God preserve me. Boldly, I stare at His Majesty, the King of Raultshire, while he is in the tub. I do not know who I am right now. He is a big man, so tall and broad. He has a bit of a belly, but that doesn’t bother me one little bit. His long and thick cock is not wholly covered by the water. My mouth waters, and if I am honest, I am wet between my thighs too. Everything feels heavy. My limbs, my breasts, the air between us.
/>   I would like to say that I feel this way just because he is the king, but it is more than that. It’s a gentle giant of a man, which I realize is a contradiction. He’s covered in blood, hopefully, none of it is his, and dirt from battle, but he has been nothing but kind to me. He also somehow managed to resist the temptations of my father’s whores to come to bed alone. Having lived and worked in this tavern all my life, I’ve learned more than other young ladies my age. I am well on the shelf at twenty-two, but my father tells me he has plans for me. My mother died years ago, and since then, it’s just been my father, my older brothers, and me. I learned things here most women never would, and I believe that I am better for it.

  Unbidden, I walk over to him. It is as if I am floating on air. I am inexplicably drawn to him. Dropping to my knees next to the tub, I take the cloth hanging off the side and dip it in the water, avoiding touching him. I use the soap and lather the soap onto it. When I run it over his skin, the blood washes away, showing a small puncture wound.

  “Oh, my goodness, Your Highness. Are you alright?” I ask, more concerned than I ever have been before.

  “It’s nothing,” he says, looking down at his chest. “I did not even feel it.”

  “That is too large a wound not to feel it, my lord,” I say, continuing to wash him.

  “No one has ever done this for me before,” he says, placing a kiss on the inside of my wrist. That one little kiss rocks me to my core.

  “Done what?” I ask, after swallowing thickly.