Yeah, even I couldn't stop there; I told you things were getting real. And they are.
Sam stood by the tall windows overlooking the embassy courtyard, nursing a barely touched drink. His mind was elsewhere—on the tense conversation he'd had earlier with his father and the fleeting glimpses he'd caught of Mercedes throughout the evening. She was always just out of reach, surrounded by people who flocked to her like moths to a flame.
His father may have felt she wouldn't fit in with their people, but it was clear they both underestimated Mercedes. She was poised and genuine, and everyone wanted to either know her or align with her.
A sudden shift in the atmosphere caused Sam to look over his shoulder. Brody Weston approached, flanked by three men Sam recognized: Biff McIntosh, Will Schuester, and Carl Howell. All were lords under Brody's dukedom—wealthy, influential, and known for their inflated egos.
"Prince Samuel," Brody greeted, lifting his chin in a half-nod, half-challenge gesture. "Enjoying the evening, I hope?"
Sam turned fully to face them, his posture tense. "It's going as well as can be expected."
Behind Brody, Biff let out a low chuckle. "We were just admiring your father's... guest," he said, voice dripping with innuendo. "The American? She's something else."
"Smoking hot too." Will added, a predatory smile lighting his face. "Bet she's a handful in more ways than one."
Carl gave a pointed glance around the room, as though searching for Mercedes among the crowd. "I wouldn't mind discovering those ways for myself."
Sam's jaw tightened, anger flickering in his eyes. "If you have something to say, say it," he said.
Brody laughed, flashing a wide grin. "Easy, Your Highness. We were just discussing the, ah... possibilities. After all, a exquisite woman shouldn't go to waste, should she?"
Sam's breath hissed between his teeth, and he stepped forward. "Watch it, Weston."
Unfazed, Brody waved a hand, a mocking, casual gesture. "Now, now. I simply wanted to confirm something. Prince Samuel—are you finished with your 'American plaything'? Because if you are, I see no reason why a man like me shouldn't pursue her. She's quite the temptation."
Behind him, his three companions gave leering smiles. Biff chuckled under his breath, Will smirked, and Carl muttered something approving.
Sam felt heat rise in his chest. "Stay away from her," he ordered, voice dark with warning.
Brody shrugged as though unconcerned. "Your father mentioned she was fair game. Between you and me, I hope she keeps up that spirited act. It's been too long since I've had the pleasure of a woman who isn't tripping over herself to please me."
Biff sniggered, and Will chimed in with a smarmy grin, "Oh, I'm sure she'll come around. They always do, right, Duke Weston?"
"Exactly," Brody agreed with a wicked laugh, clinking his glass with Carl's in some silent, unsavory toast. "A little chase can make things… exciting."
Sam's knuckles whitened around his glass, and he nearly cracked the delicate stem. Father said she was fair game? The betrayal cut deeper than he cared to admit. This was all a setup.
Before his anger could boil over into something physical, Sam slammed the glass down on a nearby table, the liquid sloshing dangerously close to the rim. Without a second glance, he turned on his heel and stormed away, his rage pulsing in his veins. He'd heard enough—and every word solidified his resolve to protect Mercedes from these men, no matter the cost.
As Sam walked away from them, Brody wore a self-satisfied smirk painted on his face. Biff, Will, and Carl followed like loyal hounds, eager to see where their leader's ambition might lead them.
They paused near a quiet corner of the embassy hall, a spot where the music was muffled and the lighting more subdued. Brody placed his empty champagne flute on a nearby ledge, rubbing his hands together in anticipation.
"Gentlemen, we have an opportunity," he said, his voice low but filled with excitement. "Prince Samuel left in a hurry, and I don't believe he'll be keeping close watch on Ms. Jones right now. The King has made a request and I will gladly oblige."
Biff gave a predatory grin. "So we move in, soon?"
Brody nodded, scanning the crowd to locate Mercedes. "She's been making quite an impression on everyone. I want a word with her—some private conversation."
Will rolled his shoulders, cracking his neck in anticipation. "Sounds like a plan."
Carl glanced around to see if Sam or Stevie was lurking nearby. "Just remember, we can't do anything to cause a scene. Dwight may have said she's fair game, but it won't look good on us if we push too far and scandal breaks."
Brody laughed under his breath. "Trust me, we'll keep it civilized... for now." He flicked his gaze toward a distant figure in emerald green. "There she is…Dammit she's with Evans.."
"So what do we do?" Will asked turning towards Sam and Mercedes.
"We wait." Brody groaned.
Mercedes had just finished a polite exchange with another dignitary when she sensed an uncomfortable presence—Brody and his men, watching her from across the room. Her pulse quickened, but she refused to show any sign of fear or hesitation. I won't be intimidated, she reminded herself, quietly stepping away.
As she moved deeper into the crowd, she felt someone grip her arm—not harshly, but firmly enough to halt her forward momentum. She spun around, ready to tell off Brody—only to find Sam instead.
"Mercedes," he murmured, worry etched across his face. "Are you okay?"
She yanked her arm out of his grasp and shot him a glare. "I'm fine," she snapped. "Why do you care?"
Sam's eyes flickered with hurt. "Because Brody and his friends... I saw them watching you. They looked like they wanted trouble."
Mercedes let out a disbelieving huff. "Trouble is exactly what I've been dealing with ever since I met you," she said, turning on her heel to walk away.
But Sam reached out again, gently catching her wrist before she could vanish into the crowd. "Wait," he pleaded, his voice tense. "Why did you come here, if... if you hate me so much?"
She pulled her wrist free, but stayed put, her posture rigid. "Your father invited me. Probably to prove to everyone that I don't belong in your precious royal world. But I don't back down from anyone—especially not him."
Sam glanced around uneasily, mindful of who might overhear. "My father is dangerous, Mercedes. He'll do whatever it takes to protect the crown—or his idea of it."
Her lips twisted into a bitter half-smile. "He can't hurt me any more than you already did."
Sam's expression fell, remorse shadowing his features. "I never meant to hurt you." He reached out, brushing his fingertips across her cheek in a tentative gesture. "Please, just talk to me. Let me explain, or at least—"
Mercedes stiffened, taking a step back. The memory of his lie—his deception—still stung, as fresh as if it had happened minutes ago. "Explain what, Sam? That you kept your entire identity a secret? That you thought it was okay for me to fall for a lie? That we couldn't be together because you have a whole-ass fiancee?"
He swallowed hard, his gaze dropping. "I was wrong. And I—I'm sorry. I'll say it a hundred times if it'll help."
"Words aren't enough," she murmured, her anger warring with the lingering affection she still felt. She hated the way his touch sparked old feelings.
Sam's eyes flicked past her shoulder, and he noticed Brody and his entourage starting to close in. His voice dropped. "Please, Mercedes, just step away from them. Let's go somewhere private—away from all these eyes. You have no idea how many threats are circling tonight."
She followed his gaze, seeing Brody's smug grin and how his men lingered like vultures. Her heart pounded with an uneasy mix of defiance and trepidation. I can handle myself, she thought, but she also recognized the hungry looks directed her way.
Still, she couldn't hide the slight tremor in her voice as she responded. "Fine," she said quietly, "but this changes nothing between us."
Relief briefly flashed in Sam's eyes, though worry still lingered in his furrowed brow. "Thank you."
In a corridor just off the embassy's main hall, where King Dwight and a few of his personal guards linger.
King Dwight stood with his arms folded, surveying the crowd through a large window overlooking the ballroom. His expression was stern; eyes narrowed in the calculation as he considered his next move regarding Sam's indiscretions.
Suddenly, Noah Puckerman approached with quick, deliberate steps. He glanced over his shoulder to ensure no one was eavesdropping, then cleared his throat.
"Your Majesty," Puck began, keeping his voice low. "I've got news."
Dwight turned, arching an eyebrow. "This had better be important."
Puck's lips curved into a smug smile. "It is. Brody Weston just approached me. He's offering three million dollars... for Mercedes."
Dwight's eyes flickered in surprise before settling into cold disapproval. "Three million," he repeated slowly, as though weighing the gravity of it. "Interesting. And what was your response?"
"I told him I'd run it by you." Puck shrugged. "He wants to 'own' her, or at least ensure she's not interfering with Sam. Said if the price is right, maybe we'd all stay happy."
Dwight let out a slow breath, his gaze flicking back toward the ballroom. "The arrogance. But then again, that might solve a problem or two..." He trailed off, lost in thought. "Where is Brody now?"
Puck glanced down the corridor. "He's lurking around, no doubt looking for Mercedes." He took a step closer, voice dropping. "Speaking of which, I just learned Sam and Mercedes are currently headed to the elevator, together."
Dwight's brow furrowed. "Alone?"
Puck nodded. "Yes. I figured you'd want to know."
For a heartbeat, Dwight said nothing, his expression unreadable. Then he squared his shoulders, his voice icily calm. "Gather everyone in the great hall. Let them know I'll be making an announcement." He paused, narrowing his eyes. "I'll deal with Sam and Ms. Jones personally."
Puck gave a half-bow, lips twitching into a small, mocking smile. "As you wish, Your Majesty."
The embassy's clamor faded as soon as the elevator doors slid shut behind them. Mercedes stood with her arms folded, her posture rigid. She wanted to appear unbothered by Sam's intensity, but her heart drummed wildly in her chest.
Sam pressed the button for the bottom floor, his gaze shifting to her briefly as the elevator began its ascent. Silence thickened between them, the tension almost tangible in the confined space.
Suddenly, Sam reached out and punched the emergency stop button. The elevator lurched to a halt, causing Mercedes to stumble slightly before catching her balance. She glared at him.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?" she demanded, her voice echoing off the metal walls. She jabbed a finger toward the console. "You can't just—stop the elevator!"
Sam turned to face her, his eyes blazing with a mix of desperation and resolve. "I had to talk to you—really talk to you, without anyone interrupting."
Mercedes rolled her eyes, her pulse pounding uncomfortably. "Well, I don't want to be in here with you."
"Why?" Sam asked, taking a step closer, his tone dropping lower. "Because you're scared of what you feel?"
She scoffed. "Don't flatter yourself. I'm not scared of my feelings—I'm just not interested in dealing with your royal baggage," she snapped, stepping back as far as the small space would allow. "Besides, you're engaged," she spat, emphasizing the last word like it was a bitter pill.
Sam's expression tightened. "I didn't expect to meet you, Mercedes, let alone fall in love with you. But I did—and I still do love you, so damn much."
Mercedes's breath caught in her throat, her guard wavering briefly. "You don't get to say that," she murmured, eyes flashing. "You have a wife waiting in the wings—"
"I don't love her!" Sam cut in, his voice resolute. "I don't want Quinn. That arrangement was made long before I knew what real love felt like. I'm not pretending it's not complicated, but you have to know—I love you, Mercedes."
His words were so fervent and raw that Mercedes couldn't find an immediate retort. She pressed her back against the elevator wall, trying to steady the tremor in her chest.
Before she could muster a response, Sam closed the distance between them. Gently, but with clear intent, he cupped her cheek. "I'm sorry," he whispered, voice thick with emotion. "For everything. But I can't pretend anymore Mercedes," he murmured, his voice a low growl. "I can't stay away from you anymore."
Before she could respond, his lips met hers, a searing kiss that stole her breath away. It wasn't the gentle apology she had expected, but a fierce, demanding claim. Mercedes gasped, her hands instinctively reaching for his shoulders, holding him close.
His tongue thrust into her mouth, a bold invasion that ignited a fire within her. Her body trembled a mixture of shock and an unfamiliar yearning. All thoughts of propriety, of consequences, vanished. She responded, her hands tangling in his hair, pulling him closer, deeper.
The elevator swayed, and the metal walls were forgotten as Sam groaned, his hands sliding down her back, exploring the curves of her body. Mercedes arched into him, her senses ablaze.
He found the sensitive skin below her ear, nibbling and sucking until she whimpered. His hands moved lower, tracing the outline of her hips, his touch sending jolts of pleasure through her. She gasped, her nails digging into his shoulders.
He whispered against her skin, "Tell me, Mercedes, what do you want?"
Her voice was a breathless moan, "You."
With that, he deepened the kiss, his hands moving with practiced ease, exploring every inch of her body. Mercedes clung to him, her body trembling with anticipation. She could feel the heat radiating from him, feel the thrum of his desire against her own.
"I need you, I need to taste you," Sam whispered against her lips. "It's been too long."
Mercedes nodded, kissing him hungrily. "Take me, Sam; I need you too."
Smiling, Sam kneeled to the ground, lifting her dress and practically ripping her panties and shoving them into his pockets. He could have slowly taken her, given her slow, tortuous thrusts, but he didn't want to waste any time.
Throwing her thigh over his shoulder, he teased her clit with his tongue, and within minutes, he had her screaming out just the way he loved.
"Oh God, yes!" Mercedes screamed out as her body twisted and thrust up to meet the awaiting tongue. "Fuck just like that!" She encouraged as the man currently between her legs lifted one to his shoulder while the elevator rocked. He was indeed very good with his tongue. She closed her eyes as stars burst in the darkness, cumming hard and fast; the man didn't let up, and she didn't want him to. Sam was definitely a man who knew his way around a woman's body and how to make the most of their time.
"I love making this side of you come out." He praised as he swirled his tongue around her core.
The lights flickered on as the elevator rocked, but she didn't care; Sam was making her scream and scratch at the walls, wanting him to let her breathe but wanting that second orgasm.
"Can I have you, Mercy?" Sam asked through hooded lashes, ones far too long for a man but seemed to work for him.
Coming down from her second orgasm, she nodded. "Yes! Take me now."
If she had the sense God gave her, she would have realized that they were still in an elevator and didn't know when it would start moving. However, she didn't care, and as Sam wrapped her thighs around his back and pushed into her in one swift motion.
With Sam thrusting hard inside of her, neither noticed the elevator move. Sam gripped her thighs as she wrapped her arms around his neck, screaming his name as he cried out hers. Had either of them looked anywhere other than at each other, they would have realized the elevator had reached the top floor and the doors were opened.
The central foyer of the embassy, where a grand staircase sweeps up to the upper levels. An ornate elevator rests to one side.
Dwight strode toward the elevator, flanked by four guards who eyed him warily. He gestured for one to activate the call button, and the elevator began rising from the lower floors.
"Bring it here," Dwight ordered, his voice echoing off the marble walls.
One of the guards stepped forward, pressing a key into the elevator panel on the wall—a security override that forced the elevator to return to the ground floor. After a moment's hum, the doors slid open with a quiet chime.
As soon as the doors parted, Dwight's gaze landed on Sam and Mercedes, entangled in each other's arms. The air crackled with tension. Sam put his hands on her thighs, and it was clear, from the heavy breathing and the fact that Sam's pants were around his waist, just what had happened.
Their eyes widened at the sudden reveal.
Without waiting for either Sam or Mercedes to speak, Dwight held up a gloved hand. "Step out. Now."
Sam bristled removing himself from Mercedes and pulling his pants up, as she smoothed down her dress. Sam guided Mercedes gently past the threshold, his fingers still laced through hers wanting to show a united front.
Though he froze seeing Quinn standing next to the King.
Quinn's eyes flicked from Mercedes to Sam, her breath hitching at the sight of them together. Fury flashed in her gaze, and without warning, she raised her hand and slapped Sam across the face, the sound echoing in the marble corridor.
"How dare you?" she hissed, her voice shaking. "You told me this was just… I thought…" She trailed off, tears pooling in her eyes. Then her rage refocused on Mercedes. "I can't believe you would do this! Are you happy now?"
Mercedes, flushed from the sting of Quinn's accusation, opened her mouth to speak—but Sam positioned himself between them.
"Quinn," he began, his cheek stinging from her slap, "I'm sorry. You know I never wanted this arrangement—"
"Oh, spare me," Quinn spat, stepping back. "You made your choice, Sam. You chose to marry me and I will not be humiliated in front of the entire court."
Dwight's cold voice cut through the air. "Enough." He fixed Mercedes with a withering stare. "You have committed treason against the crown."
Mercedes blinked, confusion warring with indignation. "Treason? For what?"
Sam moved protectively in front of her. "Leave her alone," he snarled at his father. "I won't let you do this."
Dwight arched an imperious brow. "I don't believe you have a say. You know the law, Samuel. Any woman who lies with the current or future King while he is formally betrothed must answer for her crime."
Mercedes's face paled, her anger flaring. "I'm not part of your kingdom," she insisted, voice trembling slightly despite her attempt to sound strong. "You can't enforce your archaic laws on me."
A predatory smile tugged at Dwight's lips. "Ah, but you're on Cordovan soil, Ms. Jones. An embassy, by international agreement, is sovereign territory belonging to its home nation. Therefore, you stand in our land, under our rules."
Sam's eyes widened, and his heart pounded in his chest as the weight of that fact settled over him. He glanced desperately at the guards, Quinn, and anyone who might intervene. But no one stepped forward.
"Father, please," Sam tried, panic simmering in his voice. "This is insane. She didn't force anything—I'm the one who—"
"Your share of the blame will be addressed," Dwight replied coolly. "But for now, we need to deal with her. I won't have this kingdom's laws trampled on."
Two guards advanced. Mercedes fought the instinct to back away, determined not to appear weak, but fear flickered in her eyes.
Sam moved to block them. "No! You're not taking her." His voice shook with desperation.
Dwight's gaze hardened. "You will step aside, or I will remove you as well."
Sam stood rooted, but the guards were quick and well-trained. Two guards grabbed his arm, yanking him away from Mercedes, while the other two seized her by the wrists, twisting it just enough to force her compliance.
"Sam!" she gasped, pain and panic mingling in her voice.
As Sam struggled against the guards holding him, Dwight motioned for them to head to the great hall. "Take her there. We'll convene immediately."
Quinn stood nearby, watching the scene unfold with a conflicted expression—anger, betrayal, and possibly a hint of regret sparking across her face.
Mercedes tried to pull free, but the guard's grip was ironclad. "You have no right!" she shouted, voice reverberating through the vaulted corridor. "Sam—!"
Sam fought harder, but another guard came to assist, pinning him back. "Let her go!" His roar echoed, but Dwight merely turned and led the way, his posture radiating cold authority.
Slowly, forcibly, Mercedes was dragged after him, her emerald gown trailing like a banner of defiance in the polished hallway. Sam could do nothing but watch in mounting horror and despair, the guard's unyielding hands on his arms, Quinn's furious eyes boring into his back.
As they disappeared through the doors to the great hall, Dwight smiled. "Don't worry Son, I will not choose her fate, that wouldn't be fair, Quinn, the future Queen will chose the fate of your whore. Now, straighten up and walk in with your Queen, we can't show discourse now."
The Guards let Sam go and Sam realized just how fucked up all if this was. Knowing Sam couldn't stay away from mercedes, his father laid a trap, and he gave his father just what he wanted.