Rock & Royalty

Chapter 2

Despite her questionable methods, Queen Helena had her children's best interests at heart. Mostly.

Her children weren't what propelled her to storm into Cyrus' room unannounced but that couldn't be helped. Her top lip curled in disgust as she took in the scene that met her eyes in her brother-in-law's room.

"Honestly, Cyrus, the snake in your pants should become a nocturnal creature," she muttered, watching the young man in Cyrus' bed shoot out of the king-sized bed and grab his clothes off the ground. "Can't you keep it in your trousers during the daytime?"

"Sorry, Your M-M-Majesty," the young man choked out to the Queen, trying to dash past her.

"Stop," she commanded, and he did, his eyes full of fear. Helena absently noticed that he was handsome, if you liked the just-climbed-out-of-a-cradle look.

She liked her men distinguished and with a certain air of authority, thank you very much.

Cyrus' lover held his pile of clothes in front of him, hiding his crotch from view. "Yes, Y-Your M-Majesty?"

"Did he blackmail you into crawling into bed with him?"

The boy hung his blonde head. "I-I'd rather not say."

"Poor, desperate Cyrus – can't get any action unless he blackmails the help," Queen Helena remarked, clasping her hands together. "Walk away, little boy, and don't ever set foot in this room again."

"Yes, Your Majesty."

He ran out of the room as if it were on fire, and after watching him leave, Helena closed the doors behind him before turning to face her brother-in-law.

Cyrus threw his arms behind his head and thankfully, the sheets covered his lower half. Helena didn't want to add to the nightmares that already plagued her in her sleep.

"Oh, if pots were black, the kettles wouldn't feel so lonely," Cyrus threw at her. "Who is the Queen of England's lover du jour, I wonder?"

Helena stiffened. It wasn't so much the words Cyrus spoke as it was the way in which he said them. She couldn't have cared less if he knew about the countless bodyguards, the wait staff, the drivers – they were inconsequential warm bodies – but if Cyrus knew about Alistair...

After years and years of being so careful...

"The King is my one and only lover," she heard herself say.

"And I'm a virgin nun from Scotland."

Helena's painted lips curled into a smile. "Fidelity is a lie," she said, "but you know that already, Cyrus."

"Indeed."

Helena cleared her throat. "I didn't come here to discuss who – or what – warms your bed at night, Cyrus. We have more pressing matters to attend to."

"You know, I knew you were cold, but to see how you behave with my brother – your husband – so gravely injured..." Cyrus' voice trailed off as he slid out of bed. Helena averted her eyes. "Well, one would be inclined to think you might have had a hand in – "

"Careful, Cyrus," warned Queen Helena, her head snapping in his direction. The man had had the decency to pull on his pants. "You're about to say something you might regret."

Cyrus simply rolled his eyes, making his way to his table of alcohol. He needed a drink if he was going to deal with Queen Helena in this mood so early in the day.

"Whiskey?" he offered, pouring a finger of the amber liquid for himself.

Helena ignored the question. "Liam is going to be king and we both know that he's going to sign that bill."