Charlotte, a Princess Royal, has been living in America for years, cut off by her sister, the queen, when she went against the royal court and married William, a man unsuitable for a royal. She left behind her titles, wealth, family, and the man she truly loved, Lord Rothwell. His dominance frightened her, as she was very young at the time.

Now, several years have passed. Charlotte has been a widow for seven years and her sister is on her deathbed. When Lord Rothwell shows up in her garden to take her home, she realizes she is still in love with him. But going home means she will be the new queen. Can she do it? Can she go back and reclaim what is rightfully hers after living in exile all this time?

Publisher’s Note: This steamy royal fantasy contains a theme of power exchange and second chance love.

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Charlotte did as she was told and felt the acute difference in how her bottom was presented. This is not going to be good, she thought. And it wasn’t.

“Do you have any doubt as to why you’re here, my love?” he asked, smacking something against his palm as he paced a bit back and forth.

She had to look up to sneak a peek at what he had in his hand, also noting that he had rolled up the sleeves of his dress shirt. It turned out to be exactly what she didn’t want to see there—the solid mahogany, paddle-sized hairbrush that she had inherited from her mother. It was an antique, yes, but it was built to last, and there were no cracks or chips, nor was there any kind of damage she might wish for that might have lessened—or eliminated entirely—its effectiveness.

“N-no, Sir.” She whispered her answer, but he heard it in the quiet room.

“Oh, yes. I forgot one thing.”

It was the first time he’d ever gagged her. She’d been restrained quite a bit, but never gagged. It was something thick that held her mouth open quite widely and would absorb any noises she might make, he hoped.

“Now, just because you’ve got a gag in your mouth doesn’t mean that you can just scream, because that won’t absorb all sound. So throughout this, I’m afraid you’re going to have to try to be as quiet as you can, although I can promise you that I’m not going to make that easy for you to do.”

Her position had worked out perfectly for him; she was just tall enough for him to smack that bottom without having to reach too far down. As he took his place to one side of her, he said, “All right. I’m going to begin. Remember that I love you, Charlotte Eleanor, an awful lot, or I wouldn’t be able to do this for you. I hope that the next time you get a wild hair up your ass to do something like that, you’ll remember exactly what your ass felt like once I got ahold of it.”

In her experience with him, the first few smacks weren’t all that bad. It wasn’t until territory that had already been singed previously was covered again that it really started to hurt. This was not that. Every single swat hurt tremendously, from the first to the last, and he was giving her absolutely no quarter. It only took until the fourth cracking of that horrendous thing down onto her nates that she lifted her foot off the floor, which was breaking position. She got the backs of her thighs scourged for that, until that foot found its way back down. And then he began to paddle her behind.