Royally Unexpected: An Accidental Pregnancy Collection

by Lilian Monroe

  13

  Damon

  When Dahlia comes back out of the washroom, I know something has changed. She doesn’t say much, but I can feel it.

  “I think I’d like to go home now,” she says, dragging her eyes up to mine before looking away again.

  “You don’t want to stay? I was going to show you the rose garden and the royal beehive. It produces all the honey in Farcliff, right here on the castle grounds. My aunt brought the bees back from Yemen when I was a kid.” I’m blabbing, but I don’t care. I’ll say anything to get her to stay.

  “I’m allergic to bees and I don’t have my EpiPen,” Dahlia blurts out.

  I chuckle, confused. “Okay, no beehive, then. Just a walk around the grounds?”

  Dahlia shifts her weight from foot to foot. With a deep breath, she lifts her eyes up to mine again. “Look, Damon. Tonight was incredible. I really like you—I do...” She pauses.

  “Sounds like there’s a ‘but’ in there.” I try to keep my voice neutral, but it trembles ever so slightly on the last word.

  “…but I don’t think it’s a good idea for us to get involved. Your family still hates mine, and neither of us really know what happened between them.”

  “We are not our parents, Dahlia. We’re allowed to do what we want.”

  “I know. I just…” She takes a deep breath. “I just can’t. I’m sorry.” She shakes her head, and my heart sinks.

  We walk in silence back the way we came, through the double doors at the castle entrance and toward the waiting car.

  Dahlia leaves the palace grounds without another word.

  Suddenly, I feel cold. My throat is scratchy as I watch the car drive away, hoping that she’ll change her mind. I watch the taillights disappear through the tall gates, standing on the castle steps like a fool. Then, I turn back to the castle with a slump in my shoulders.

  Trudging back to my chambers, I push the door open and sigh. My books are laid out ready for me on my desk, but I just don’t have the energy to study right now.

  I don’t have the energy to do anything except re-live every second of this evening over and over again.

  Dahlia, the proper lady at a royal dinner party, followed by Dahlia, the decidedly un-proper lady splayed out on the Throne of Farcliff for me. I can still see her lips falling open in a silent scream when she came, and I can feel her hands twisting into my hair. I can taste her skin. Her honey. Her kiss.

  But she’s gone.

  I stare at my desk full of notebooks and assignments, and I sigh. Is this really what I want?

  My father has been supportive of me giving up my royal duties to pursue medical school. I’m not the eldest, so it’s not like I have responsibilities as the heir to the throne. For the most part, I’ve done well. I’ll be starting my residency at Farcliff General Hospital in September, and I just have a round of exams to get through before then.

  I should be studying.

  But my thoughts keep circling back to Dahlia—to the way that she said goodbye. I stare at my desk, at my laptop, at my books, and my arms hang limply at my sides.

  I know this feeling. I call it the Darkness. The Darkness starts in the depths of my heart, usually on nights like tonight. When something throws me off emotionally, or physically, or mentally, I can feel it creeping into the corners of my soul. Before too long, it’ll consume me whole.

  When I was younger, it was overwhelming. It started right after my mother died in her bed. After I saw her—cold and rigid, her eyes glassy as they stared up at the ceiling—the Darkness started.

  When I saw the cup of tea that I’d brought her the night before, spilled on its side on the thick carpet below her bed, I knew I would never be the same.

  I’d stay in my own bed for days, unable to move or speak or do anything except lay there and wait for the feeling to go away. The Darkness was like a crushing physical weight sitting in the center of my chest.

  As I got older, I learned to see the warning signs. Sometimes, it was like a pendulum. If I felt too happy about something, it was only a matter of time before the pendulum swung the other way. The higher the highs, the lower the lows.

  Dinner with Dahlia was a high. Sex with Dahlia was definitely a fucking high. It was stratospheric. Having her naked in my arms was like nothing I’d ever felt before.

  Watching her drive away without looking back? That was a low.

  Nowadays, I can usually stop the Darkness from taking over. Over the years, I’ve gotten better at keeping it at bay. The tingling in my fingertips, the loss of feeling in my lips. The thoughts circling in my mind like sharks.

  It all leads down the same road—to the deep, dark abyss of my own soul.

  I can usually stop that from happening. Sometimes I throw myself into my studies. Sometimes I work out. Sometimes I drink.

  But when things are bad, the only thing that keeps the Darkness at bay is pain.

  Tonight, it’s bad.

  I throw open my bedroom door and pull on a jacket. It’s the end of March, and Farcliff is still cold. It won’t be summer for another few months.

  I zip my jacket up to my chin and stuff my hands in my pockets. I cross a few people in the castle hallways on my way to the garages, but no one says a word to me.

  Not that I’d answer. There’s only one thing on my mind right now. I need to feel something. I need to get Dahlia out of my head. I need to keep the Darkness from taking over.

  When I make it to my car, my hands are trembling, and it isn’t because of the cold. It’s taking all my energy to keep my body together, as if some invisible force is trying to tear my body to pieces. The Darkness is overwhelming my heart and starting to cloud my vision. I put the car in gear and drive off the castle grounds. My heart thumps so hard it hurts.

  My jaw clenches and my teeth grind together as I make my way through the tree-lined, well-kept streets of Farcliff toward the other half of the Kingdom. Toward Grimdale.

  Grimdale is the only place where I can get what I need right now. I take my car down the familiar streets as the buildings get more run-down and the trees grow fewer. The transition from Farcliff to Grimdale is almost instantaneous.

  In Farcliff, the streetlights are bright, the sidewalks are swept clean, the storefronts are happy and prosperous. Grimdale, on the other hand, is… Well, it’s grim. It’s grey, the paint is peeling everywhere, the streetlights flicker ominously. Men with hoods pulled up over their heads wander the streets, ducking their faces away from my headlights.

  I taste blood in my mouth as I make the final turn and park my car behind a run-down warehouse. When I stop the engine, I can already hear the dull thumping of fists against flesh.

  My eyes are cloudy and my hands shake as I secure my wallet and phone in the glove compartment. I get out, casting a glance toward the huge warehouse. I lock my car.

  My feet crunch on gravel as I make my way to the building. It’s dark—the only light here comes from underneath the warehouse door. Muffled shouts sound from the other side of the door. I close my eyes and gather my courage.

  I have to do this. I have to be here.

  I push the warehouse door open.

  Inside, the light is low and the air is heavy. On the far end of the empty room is a makeshift boxing ring. Bloodthirsty gamblers scream out as two men beat themselves to a pulp inside the ropes. One fighter—a light-haired man—has a split lip and his eye is swollen shut. It’s not stopping his flurry of punches from landing on his opponent’s midsection, though. The other man’s eyes roll back. Blood pours from a cut above his eye.

  The knockout punch comes right as I step up to the edge of the ring. The blond man stands over his unconscious opponent, arms hanging by his side and his lip curled into an ugly snarl. He lets out a roar that sends a tremor through my body.

  The spectators salivate, screaming wordlessly at the fighters.

  I jump when a heavy hand lands on my shoulder.

  “Prince,” Nigel says to me with a grin. “Haven’t s
een you in a while.”

  I grunt and Nigel’s eyes flash.

  “Over here.” He leads me away from the main ring and through a doorway on the other side of the warehouse. We end up in a small, dark room with no windows. It has no furniture, and the floor has dark, rust-colored stains all over it.

  Blood—some of it mine.

  I open and close my fists and turn toward Nigel.

  He grins. “The usual?”

  I nod, pulling out a wad of cash. “Yeah. Not the face.”

  “Wouldn’t dream of it. Ravi!” Nigel calls through the door, and a mammoth of a man steps through. His forehead protrudes over his eyes and he lets out a low growl. Nigel nods to me. “This man wants a Farcliff Royalty special. Don’t touch his pretty, princely face.”

  Ravi grunts, and a small part of me regrets coming here. It’s only a small part of me, though, and when Ravi lands his first punch to my ribs, my regret is replaced with pain.

  Beautiful, addictive, blinding pain.

  I let out a laugh, spreading my arms as Ravi punches me again, and again, and again. Agony explodes through my abdomen as I’m flung from one side to the other. I stumble, keeping my footing, and Ravi connects with my ribs again.

  They crack, and white-hot pain shoots through me. My feet wobble and I collapse onto one knee.

  “Stop,” Nigel says as Ravi steps closer to me. The big Neanderthal pauses, and I scrape myself off the floor and back to my feet. “Enough?” Nigel asks.

  I shake my head, wheezing. “I’m here to get my money’s worth.”

  The darkness in my soul poisons my veins. It turns my heart black and clouds my thoughts as the big man punches me over, and over, and over again. Every hit sends suffering shooting through me, and it feeds the broken part of me that thrives on hurt. My ribs crack, my organs scream.

  I don’t hit back. I don’t fight. I just feed off it.

  As Ravi hits me and Nigel watches, I think of Dahlia. I think of her naked body, and how I know I won’t get to touch it again. Her hair, her spirit, her carefree laugh. I don’t deserve her. There’s a part of me that’s rotten, and the only way to keep it down is to beat it out of me.

  I know she said goodbye forever. I know she won’t come back to the castle. I know that I’ll probably never love a woman who loves me back. How could I? Who could love someone who does this to themselves? Who could love someone whose darkness overwhelms them like mine does?

  I lean into the pain and laugh as I’m pummeled. I hurt… but at least I’m feeling something. I’ll wake up bruised and battered tomorrow. It’ll hurt to walk and move and breathe… but I’ll wake up. I’ll get up. I’ll move.

  Ravi beats me until the pain becomes too much and I pass out. I know that Nigel will drag me to another room, where I’ll wake up on a cheap cot with ice on my bruises.

  It’s the royal treatment. The Prince Damon special. The only cure for the darkness in my heart.

  14

  Dahlia

  I resist the urge to glance back through the rear windshield of the royal car as we drive away from the castle. I can’t feel the Prince’s eyes following me, just like I can feel where his hands marked me, where his tongue devoured me.

  But Prince Damon isn’t enough to make me stay. I saw the way Lady Malerie was looking at me, and I know I wasn’t welcome at the palace.

  Ever since I was a small child, I’ve been told that Farcliff—especially Farcliff Castle—is a dangerous place. I was sequestered far, far away from the Kingdom, living in a little forest town deep in the Rocky Mountains. I was safe there.

  My mother has always insisted that the Farcliff royal family was dangerous.

  After tonight, I don’t know what to think.

  I’ve met Prince Charlie, the eldest son and heir to the throne. He’s dating my roommate and best friend, Elle. I think he has her best interests at heart.

  Prince Damon seems like a good guy—and not in the ‘perfect prince who gives up his royal privilege to pursue medical school’ kind of way. He seems like a genuinely good person.

  But the rest of them? I don’t know.

  Massaging my temples, I try to shake loose the fears and worries that seem to gather just behind my eyes. A pulsing headache is starting to form.

  Lulled by the gentle movement of the car, I close my eyes. I can still smell Prince Damon’s cologne, and I sigh.

  This is what always happens with my love life. If I happen to meet someone that I like for more than one night—which is rare—something always comes between us. In this case, our families.

  As much as I’d love to be with him, I just can’t bring myself to betray my mother’s trust like that. She’s already hurt herself once this week. What would happen if she found out about tonight? I can’t risk my mother’s safety for my own love life.

  I know I can’t be with him.

  So, why do my thoughts keep drifting to what happened in the throne room? Why am I itching to ask the driver to turn around and take me back to the castle? Why is it so difficult to say goodbye to the Prince?

  I know what the royal family is like. I know what they did to my mother—exiled her and ruined our family name—and I know they wouldn’t hesitate to do the same to me. Dinner tonight went well, all things considered, but it has to end there.

  I wasn’t at the castle to redeem my family name, and I wasn’t there to fall in love with Prince Damon. I was there for Elle.

  The Farcliff royal family is dangerous. They’re power-hungry, single-minded people who are used to being at the top of the food chain.

  … Right?

  Isn’t that what I was always told? Isn’t that what my mother taught me?

  And who am I? I’m just the daughter of a woman who was thrown out of the Kingdom almost fifteen years ago. I’m a nobody.

  No, I’m not a nobody. I’m a Raventhal, and that’s even worse than being nobody.

  With a deep, shaking breath, I try to ease the tightness between my shoulders. Reaching back into my hair, I pull out the thousand and one hairpins that are keeping my mane under control. When I run my fingers through my locks, I breathe a sigh of relief.

  The castle is behind me, and I don’t need to see Prince Damon or the King at all anymore.

  When I get home, I thank the driver and slip back inside my old house. I hear Elle shuffling around, and I know she wants to hear about my evening.

  Her relationship hinges on the King’s opinion of me, and whether we fooled him into believing that Prince Damon and I are an item. Of course she wants to know how it went.

  But right now, I don’t have the energy to talk to her about it. I don’t want to tell her what happened in the throne room. Not that Elle would mind—she’s used to my sexcapades—but this… It’s different.

  What happened between Damon and me is private. It’s my little secret—one that I’ll keep locked in a corner of my heart for the rest of my life. It would feel wrong to tell Elle.

  Crawling under my blankets, I huddle in a tight ball and try to move on from this evening. I went to the palace to help Elle, but I don’t know that I’d have the heart to do it over.

  I don’t think I’d be able to walk away from Prince Damon again.

  But walk away, I must. My loyalty has to be to my family. I can’t turn my back on them for the sake of mind-melting orgasms. I’ve never been a selfish person before, and I can’t become one now.

  This is the way it has to be. Or at least, that’s what I keep telling myself.

  Beneath it all, there’s a teasing heat that curls at the pit of my stomach. When Prince Damon looked at me with his bright, blue eyes, it made me question my past, and my future.

  It made me wonder if maybe my mother was wrong about the Farcliff family. All this talk about curses and danger—how much of it is true?

  Then, I shake my head and bring the blankets up to my chin. I focus on my breath, and I try to fall asleep.

  “So, how was dinner?”

  Elle is up and awake, a
s usual. She always wakes up before dawn to go to rowing practice every day with the Farcliff University crew team, so she’s guaranteed to be up when I wake.

  I pour myself a mug of coffee and nod. “It was good!” My voice goes up a couple octaves.

  “Did the King buy it?”

  “Buy what?”

  “That you were dating Prince Damon.” Elle frowns, grinning in confusion. “You know, the whole reason you went to the dinner in the first place?”

  “Oh, right. Yeah, I think so.” I sip my coffee and avoid her eye.

  Elle’s eyebrows draw together. I know she’s worried about her relationship with Prince Charlie, but right now I just don’t have the energy to think about it. My best friend keeps looking at me and I force a smile. She’s used to seeing me bubbly and carefree, and her forehead is creased with concern.

  “Did you see much of the castle?” She takes a seat next to me at the kitchen table.

  I saw some of it.

  I force a grin. “Not as much as you did during your first romp through the castle.”

  “It was definitely a romp,” Elle laughs. She shakes her head. “But seriously, was everything okay?”

  With a deep breath, I try to smile wider. “It was fine. The King seemed fairly uninterested in me. Prince Charlie seemed happy. I think he really likes you.”

  She blushes and her eyes get a faraway look. Diverting the conversation to her secret boyfriend works like a charm, and she doesn’t ask me too much else about the castle—or about Prince Damon.

  It’s a great trick. If you don’t want to talk about something, just get the other person to talk about themselves. Conversation tricks 101—works especially well with men.

  Except, not with Prince Damon.

  Conversation with him is deeper. I close my eyes and start thinking of him again. His broad, strong hands sinking into my hips. His chest, his shoulders, the way his hair fell across his forehead. His tongue, lapping me up as I lay splayed out in front of him.

  He’s gorgeous.