Her Mountain Baby Daddies

by Madison Faye

“You did that on purpose!”

  I smirked, wagging my brows at her.

  “A little.”

  Call it payback for the rough love she’d shown my hair twenty minutes before. Now, granted, I had a lot of hair, but she’d downright manhandled it into the elaborate twists and piles currently sitting atop my hair. My scalp was still smarting, but I had to admit, the long, golden locks held in place by an army of bobby pins, and of course my tiara, did look gorgeous.

  My littlest sister stuck her tongue out at me in the mirror as I finished lacing up the back of her gown and stood back.

  “Well, you can thank me now, because you look hot.”

  I stood next to her in the big, gilded mirror, both of us decked out to the nines for the evening — for the suitor’s ball, of course. Our father, King Lucian, regent of Avlion, had finally decided it was high time for his three daughters to start finding proper suitors. In keeping with tradition, he’d set up a “suitor’s ball,” inviting single and eligible princes and princesses from all around the various kingdoms and countries together for a night of gowns, tuxedos, string quartets, and ballroom dancing.

  Think of it like a themed prom, I guess.

  The whole thing was “so incredibly dated and old fashioned!” as Isla kept reminding me. She wasn’t wrong, either. I mean, considering we lived in the twenty-first century, with iPhones, and social media, and Instagram and all that, it was pretty old-fashioned to throw a ball in order for younger royalty to dress up and mingle.

  I think part of us knew it’d be fun to dress up and dance the night away with some handsome princes. But that hadn’t stopped all three of us from grumbling about this whole ball thing for weeks. Isla and Imogen bitched about it because it was old fashioned and antiquated. I just knew it was going to be dumb and pointless.

  The thing was, I kind of liked old-fashioned. Our mother, Queen Jessica, had always told me I’d been born in the wrong century — that I was an old soul meant for another time. She said this out of love, smiling at me when I was younger and nuzzling my cheek as I demanded to know why we couldn’t travel by carriage to various functions like princesses in the movies did, rather than a helicopter.

  It was why I think I’d had less of a problem with our father’s whole “no dating” thing than my younger sisters. Yes, it was maybe a little silly that now was the first time we were going to be allowed to actively seek out members of the opposite sex, with my being twenty-one, Imogen twenty, and Isla recently eighteen. And yes, maybe Dad was a little old-fashioned too, but I knew it came from a place of love, and that he just wanted the best for us.

  Trust me, I knew this a bit more than both Isla and Imogen.

  You see, two years before, when I was nineteen, I’d decided I was done playing by my parent’s rules concerning boys. At a dinner party thrown by our Uncle Lorne in Berne, I started chatting with a handsome young prince named Henry from another, neighboring kingdom. He was charming, and witty, and gorgeous, and his eyes had never left mine the whole night.

  He’d even persuaded me to take a walk with him after dinner through the gardens — chaperoned, of course. But he’d whispered all sorts of wonderful things to me nonetheless. He’d promised me the moon, basically, telling me it was love at first sight, and that he’d been waiting for a girl like me.

  You know, all sorts of things that now sound like complete and total lines. Because they were.

  Days later, heart pounding, for the first time ever, I’d snuck out of my father’s palace and into the old carriage house to meet Prince Henry. My whole body had tingled when he kissed me, and even if I wasn’t entirely sure I actually wanted to, I let him put his hands under my dress. His fingers had been rough, and cold, and not that nice actually. But, the movies I watched and all the books I’d read said this is what princesses did. Awkward and uncomfortable or not, giving in to the ravishes of the handsome prince under the moon in a royal garden seemed exactly like what I should be doing.

  So I’d let it happen.

  It was fast, and awkward, and there hadn’t been one bit of the passion you read about in books as he’d climbed on top of me and just sort of pushed it in. It hadn’t hurt, so that was a plus I guess. But after around a minute of frantic thrusting, Henry had grunted and gasped before rolling off of me and telling me I’d “done great.” Two minutes later, he’d left with a brief goodnight.

  A week later, at another dinner party thrown by another king, I walked in on him in a side hallway with some other princess on her knees in front of him.

  And that was when I decided my mother had been right. I had been born in the wrong century. Sure, I loved having a cell phone, and Netflix, and all of that as much as the next girl. But when it came to love, and giving my heart away, I longed for a time when princes were noble, and when love was something true.

  My sisters thought that ball that night was going to be dumb because they thought it was old-fashioned. I thought it was dumb because I knew it was only pretending to be old-fashioned. Even with the gowns and the ballroom dancing, it was still going to be full of crude, spoiled, arrogant princes who only wanted one thing from princesses like me.

  “You two ready to go yet?”

  Imogen poked her head into the room and stepped in, her chartreuse green and gold dress shimmering and bringing out the green of her eyes and the red-gold of her hair. Somehow, the three of us had managed to look totally different, and yet unquestionably like sisters when we were all lined up together. Isla with her dark hair, dark eyes, and enviable curves, Imogen with her long legs, fiery red hair, and green eyes. And me, with my crystal blue eyes, slender, petite form, and long blonde hair. And by “long”, I mean I hadn't cut it since I was seven.

  “Can’t we just skip this, go lock ourselves in the media room, and watch movies and stuff our faces with ice cream all night?”

  Imogen and I burst out laughing at Isla’s pouting words.

  “I am so down for that,” Imogen groaned, sinking onto the corner of our youngest sister’s bed. “Tonight is going to blow.”

  “Don’t tempt me,” I rolled my eyes at Isla with a groan. “I would totally blow this off if I didn’t think Mom and Dad would kill us if we did.”

  “I won’t tell if you don’t.”

  Imogen snorted. “Isla, I think Dad would notice if we weren’t there tonight. Besides, on the bright side, this is Dad actually letting us date.”

  “As if it’s the seventeen hundreds, sure.”

  I snorted out a laugh. See? Like I said, old-fashioned.

  “It could actually be fun, you know,” I said, not really believing my own words. “Yeah, there are some douchey princes out there—”

  “Some?”

  I grinned. Oh did I know that.

  In the end, of course, we finished primping in the mirror, took a final moment to grumble about the ball, and then headed down to the festivities.

  In movies, and books, and in my dreams, the Prince Charming who swooped in and swept the princess of her feet was perfect. And it wasn’t like I was jaded or something. I mean, I’d been burned once, sure, but it wasn’t like I’d sworn off men or sworn off the feelings that came with it. I just hadn’t found one yet that did anything for me.

  I just had no idea how much that night was going to change that for me. In so many ways…

  2

  Cade

  “You ready for this?”

  I rolled my eyes at Caspian as we stepped through the formal front entry-way into the palace.

  “Sure,” I sighed, heading immediately to a bar set up by one of the immense windows overlooking the countryside of Avlion around King Lucian’s castle. My brother followed, wordlessly nodding as I ordered us both a bourbon, neat, from the middle-aged bartender.

  “Thanks.”

  I tossed two $100 bills on the bar and turned to give Caspian his drink.

  “Oh, sir, the bars are open for the ball.”

  I glanced back at the man.

  “That’s fine, co
nsider it a tip then.”

  I liked being generous with money. And not in an obnoxious flaunting way, but in meaningful ways. Both of us were, actually. Twins think alike like that. I liked rewarding hard work, especially when it probably wasn’t being appreciated. No one appreciated a good bartender.

  I donated to charity, often. I supported a wounded warrior fund back home in our kingdom of Marland. Caspian supported a non-profit that made sure single, destitute mothers and their children were clothed, fed, and housed. And yes, we both tipped ludicrously well. Because in the end, it was just money. But by the same token, money was everything when you didn’t have it by the truckload like we did. Our father had raised us to appreciate that, and in our world of royalty and privilege, that was a rare lesson to learn.

  But Dad had taught us well. After all, he’d come from nothing — a chauffeur’s mechanic son who’d caught the eye of the Princess of Marland. One look, and he’d never looked away.

  That was another thing Dad had taught us — keep fighting for what you want, and never let someone else tell you that you can’t have it “just because.” Our dad knew what he wanted with our mom, and he fought tooth and nail for it. It’d been quite the scandal in Marland when the pure-lineage princess and only daughter of King Horace took a shine to her chauffeur’s son. I mean, princesses don’t date mechanics. And they sure as shit don’t marry them.

  But this one did.

  So yeah, Dad had taught us the value and in-value of money, because he’d had none of it and then more of it than he’d ever know what to do with. Mom viewed wealth and privilege the same way he did — that it was a responsibly, not a gift. Having it meant helping those who didn’t, not lording it over them.

  And this, to make a very long story short, was why I did things like tip $200 for two drinks at an open bar.

  “I assure you, sir, it's not necessary.”

  “I know,” I said with a smile. “But humor me.”

  “Sir—”

  “Please keep it.” I shook my head. “It's not charity, I just like rewarding hard work.”

  I sipped the bourbon. “Fantastic pour, by the way.”

  The guy grinned. “Thank you, Your Highness.”

  I turned back to my brother as we strode back down the gilded always of Lucian’s castle towards the sounds of crowds and music coming from the ballroom.

  Was I ready for tonight? Not really, but here we were.

  “The bourbon’s good, at least.”

  I snorted at my brother. As if the King of Avlion was going to be serving cheap shit. I hadn’t caught the label, but I had no doubt the bourbon we were drinking was nothing short of priceless — collector’s vintages, or a private label or something. The truth was, neither of us were ready for tonight. It’d been a hell of year, and that was putting it lightly. Twelve months ago, our father had finally lost his battle with cancer. Fuckin’ cancer — the fight even a guy as much a fighter as him couldn’t win. A few months after that, we’d had to step up hard in order to squash a power-grab for the throne from within the advisor’s council.

  Marland laws being what they are, our parents had ruled together — equal power as both king and queen. My parents had been loved as king and queen. People loved their love story, loved the way they ruled, and loved the way they’d been “of the people.” But of course there’d always been those who hated my father for not being “royal by blood,” and for “soiling” the bloodline.

  Fucking idiots.

  But some of those people had been on the royal council. With our father’s death, my mother took over as full regent and these dickwads had decided to act. Mom was a strong damn woman, but the internal betrayal hit her when she was still grieving and when she wasn’t expecting it. Caspian and I had stepped in and squashed that real quick. But shit, it takes a lot out of you to physically and legally defend your mother’s claim to her titles from some idiots waving arcane, ancient laws on “birthrights.”

  So, first a death, then fighting for our own legacy. And then, there’d been Emilia. The betrayal that cut the deepest.

  Twins are close. I know you’ve probably heard that, but let me tell you, it’s truer than you know. Caspian and I thought the same thoughts most of the time. We liked the same music, read the same books, and wanted the same things.

  Including women.

  When we were younger, it’d driven wedges between us. Back when we were teens, we’d squabbled over it more than once, when both of us had crushes on the same girl from school, or when some pretty young thing fell for both of us. We’d fought physically on more than a few occasions, before finally, something had clicked.

  Why, when we shared everything in life, were we fighting over which one of us got the girl?

  After that, things got a lot easier, and a lot more fun. And not to be vain, but we got it. I mean, we were fabulously wealthy, young royalty. We were blonde, blue-eyed, and handsome — the beauty from our mother and the brawn of our mechanic father.

  And we came as a package deal — believe me when I say there weren’t a whole lot of girls that said no to that.

  And I won’t lie, we’d had our fun. But as time went on, we got bored of it. We got tired of the meaningless. We started wanting something more. But “more” was something that was harder to share. Sharing just sex for an evening or two with the two of us was one thing. But asking a girl to share her heart with both of us? Well, yeah, good luck with that. We’d tried, once or twice, and it’d been disastrous. The girl either couldn’t wrap her head around having more than just something dirty and physical with two guys, or if she was looking for more, it certainly wasn’t with two men. No, that sent them running.

  Until Emilia, better known as the Duchess of Ames.

  Emilia had started as a fling. We’d met her at some function, drinks had been drunk, and one thing led to another, which led to us tearing her clothes off and taking her together in the back of her limousine. But the fling had continued. It’d just kept going, until it wasn’t so much fling as it was relationship. And for a while, we thought we’d found it. It wasn’t perfect, but it was the closest thing to perfect we’d found yet. She wanted us both — all of us. She wanted the physical, and she also seemed to want the emotional too.

  We got close, she got deep, and then, the knife got us in the back, and we never saw it coming.

  We never did know if it was something she’d planned or if she’d just woke up one day deciding to stab us. But whatever the cause, one day she was our girlfriend, and the next, her lawyers were contacting ours with settlement agreement for her to keep quiet about the “sordid royal scandal” she’d been “forced to participate” in.

  Yeah, fuck.

  There’d been words, and shouting, and fury. And she’d sat there the whole time, quietly looking away as Caspian and I roared across the lawyer’s table at her. In the end, we’d paid, of course. It wasn’t worth dragging our mother’s name and our father’s legacy through the mud for. Hell if I knew why the fuck a duchess needed cash, but we paid and she didn’t go to the press.

  Caspian was still sure it was something we said, or something that happened outside of us that pushed her into that corner. Me? I just thought she was a heartless bitch.

  So that's where we were coming in here tonight. The wounds of that mess were still real, even though it’d been six months. After that, Cas and I had stepped the fuck back from seeing anyone, in any capacity. We stopped going out, stopped seeing girls at all. Cause fuck that. It wasn’t worth it, even if it meant celibacy.

  But tonight wasn’t “going out.” Tonight’s suitors’ ball was more than going to a club or something. It was a royal necessity, really. We needed to be seen actively looking for brides. Hell, it’s not like the populace of Marland exactly knew about our tendency to “share.” So that’s why we were at the ball that evening — to at least make a show of looking for something real. After all, Mom wasn’t going to be queen forever. And no one really knew what to do about twin first-b
orn heirs where the throne was concerned, but the rules about us being married before either of us could become King still stood.

  “Look, we don’t have to stay for the whole thing. Just long enough to make sure Logan and Magnus don’t do something fucking stupid like go after one of King Lucian’s daughters.”

  I snorted, killing the rest of my drink.

  The ball was for all sorts of single princes, princesses, dukes, duchesses, and all manner of young royalty. But the real belles of the ball were of course Lucian’s own three daughters — Isla, Imogen, and Ilana, the three virgin princesses of Avlion. Okay, it's not like they’d been advertised as virgins, but there were rumors about them never dating.

  Prince Logan of Torsund and Prince Magnus of Zale had been our best friends for, well, since forever, even if those two were wild cards when it came to acting as they should in public. Mags because of his proclivities for fucking anything and everything with a pair of tits, regardless of them being appropriate or not, and Logan because of his curse.

  And I don’t care what anyone else said, I believed my friend about that one.

  Four years ago, Logan had been our friendly, outgoing, life-of-the-party buddy. Then he’d been cursed by some sort of witch or sorceress or whatever, who he’d mistaken for some girl at a club looking for something fun and fleeting for just a night. I know, magic is bullshit and all that, but fuck, I knew what I’d seen. He’d been Logan the one day, carefree and laughing, and then something altogether different the next day, after that night.

  He’d become the “beast” people called him in whispers now. And magic or not, it meant he was moody, prone to anger, and pretty unpredictable these days.

  So basically, it was going to be Caspian and my job to make sure neither of our friends got themselves thrown into the royal prison tonight, or worse.

  “So have you guys found your Barbie Dolls for the evening?”

  I rolled my eyes as Magnus came up behind us, chuckling with a groan as I killed the last of my drink.