Royal Beast: A Dark Fairy Tale Romance

by Nikki Chase

  “You spilled again,” the prince says. With his neck so close to me, I can feel the vibrations of his vocal cords.

  I stand up straight and look down, only to see that he’s right; I’ve spilled a little more tea on the grass. The gladiator sandals that I found in the wardrobe are wet. Good thing they aren’t mine, I guess.

  But I don’t really care about the sandals. All that matters is these strong, powerful arms wrapping around my body.

  The prince has rolled his sleeves up to his elbows, and I can see the veins running up and down his forearms. Every time those arms move, the muscles beneath his skin ripple.

  “Keep those hands steady now,” the prince says darkly as he moves my hair over my shoulder, out of the way. Then, his lips make contact with my neck, sending electricity crackling within me.

  As my breathing grows heavy, I struggle to keep the cup balanced. I want to let it fall and focus on the prince’s lips and tongue, his rough stubble grazing against my skin.

  But I know he’ll stop if I just put the cup down on the table. And I don’t want him to stop.

  So, even as my senses are claimed by the sinful sensations the prince is causing, I dedicate what little brain power I have to keeping the cup balanced.

  It gets harder and harder.

  The prince’s hands are starting to roam. He grabs my waist and hips. His fingers trace my curves. Then, possessively, he grabs my breasts as he licks and bites my neck.

  I part my lips and a small moan escape. My cheeks heat up—usually, I’d blame it on embarrassment, but right now that would be hypocritical.

  As a light breeze cools my skin, I remember we’re outside. I know we’re surrounded by tall hedges, but anyone standing in the right place can see us right now.

  Should I tell him to stop?

  I should, shouldn’t I?

  Otherwise I’d just be confirming his belief that I’ll be begging him to take my virginity before the month is up. This royal asshole doesn’t need yet another reason to be cocky.

  But his big hand is on my thigh right now. I can feel the heat of his lust over the flimsy fabric of this dress I’m wearing, and the excruciatingly slow rate at which his hand is creeping up my thigh.

  Suddenly, he flips the hem of my dress. I gasp when his fingers touch my thigh, making me realize I’ve been holding my breath. The prince runs his hand up my inner thigh until he reaches the top.

  He gently rubs his fingers over my panties, feeling and exploring the outer shape of my pussy. I have to bite my lower lip to stop myself from screaming. This feels wicked, frustrating, sinful, and dirty. And I’ve never felt more alive.

  The prince’s breath feels hot on my neck, and it’s all I can hear. I’m sure there are leaves rustling in this big garden, maybe even animals calling… but none of those other sounds matter.

  I freeze in place. My body is losing strength and going limp, yet some of my other muscles have tensed up. It feels like I’m keeping precarious balance between all the different parts of my body, and that’s hard enough to do without also holding this damn teacup in my hand.

  “Somebody’s getting wet,” James whispers in my ear. His breath tickles, and it makes me squirm.

  A moan escapes my lips when my own movement makes the prince’s fingers rub harder against my pussy.

  The prince chuckles. “I bet that felt good. You can move your hips if you want to. I’ll allow it.”

  Allow it?

  He may be a prince, and I may be his prisoner. But he doesn’t own me.

  Really, I’m outraged…

  But my outrage can wait.

  Everything can wait.

  Because Prince James is slipping his hand into my panties, where no man has ever touched me. And it feels so good.

  The prince runs his fingers along my lower lips, sliding back and forth, aided by my wetness. My mouth hangs open, and my breath grows ragged.

  He presses one digit at my opening and pushes in. Now he’s literally got me wrapped around his finger. His arm across my waist and his finger in my pussy keeps me in place. There’s no place for me to go, and there’s no space for me to move.

  This feels dangerous. Taboo.

  I can feel the sun and the breeze on my skin.

  I’m not supposed to do this. I shouldn’t do this here. And especially not with him.

  But even though those thoughts try to tell me to stop, they remain in the back of my mind. Meanwhile, my animal instincts have taken over, and they’re screaming at me to submit.

  I’m in the hands of a strong, powerful man, who has also made me soak my panties with just his commanding voice. In his presence, I can’t help but want to surrender, to give in to his demands, to let him use my body for his pleasure.

  And I can tell he’s pleased right now. Because even though I’ve never been with a man, I know the thing poking against my butt right now isn’t a roll of quarters.

  For starters, it wasn’t there when James first started holding me from behind. It’s also way thicker than a roll of quarters would be. And it’s hot.

  I can’t help but imagine the prince’s cock at my opening right now instead of his finger. The thought excites me and scares me at the same time.

  I almost whimper when the prince pulls his digit out of me and takes his hand out of my panties. I bite my lower lip to stop myself, which hurts a little–but that’s exactly what I need.

  Is it over?

  Did I do something wrong?

  “Open your mouth,” the prince orders, in the kind of voice that doesn’t take no for an answer.

  Without even thinking, I part my lips for him.

  “Suck on my finger,” he says as he brings his hand up, his middle finger coated with my desire.

  I’ve tasted myself before, just to find out what it’s like. But this is different. This is not just about the act of tasting my wetness. It’s more than that.

  I don’t mind the taste of myself. But it’s also not something I do for my own pleasure when I’m alone in the dark. So if I do this, I’ll be doing it for James.

  The thought should offend me, but as the prince puts his middle finger in front of my mouth, I lean forward and wrap my mouth around it. I lick it up—it’s thick, musky, and a little sweet. I run my tongue all over James’ finger, making sure to clean it up.

  “Good girl,” he says as he pulls his finger out of my mouth.

  “Thank you, Sir.” My voice is hoarse and my breath is ragged.

  “I knew you were a good girl.” The prince pauses, making my heart race as I wonder what he’s going to do next. He asks, “Now, do you want me to pick up where I left off?”

  I hesitate… but only for a few seconds, until James lazily rubs my pussy over my panties. When my mouth opens, there’s only one word that comes out: “Yes.”

  “Yes, Sir,” he says sternly, correcting me.

  “Yes, Sir,” I repeat.

  “Good.”

  The prince slips his hand back into my panties. My body is trapped now. His chest is behind me, his arm is wrapped around me, his hard cock is pressing against my ass, and his fingers are playing with my pussy lips. I’m surrounded by him.

  True to his words, he glides his fingers over my wet folds. My breathing grows heavy. Then, he finds it. My pleasure button.

  With the tip of a wet finger, the prince draws circles around it. Without even thinking, I push my hips forward. He’s so close to my clit, but he’s not quite touching it. It’s frustrating.

  My whole body tenses up as the circles he draws get tighter and tighter. Finally, he’s rubbing my clit, and it feels better than I thought it would. It feels so different from when I do it on my own.

  With my own fingers, it’s like a slow acceleration. Now, though, it’s like my engine has been hot and revved up for a while, and now suddenly the brakes are off and I’m going full speed ahead.

  I hear little moans and grunts before I realize they’re coming from me. Everything has faded away until all I feel are
the sensations between my legs. It feels like electricity is crackling throughout my body, jolting me awake.

  It feels so close. My brain has stopped coming up with objections. Right now, I have one objective, and I’m almost there...

  Without a warning, Prince James takes his hand away and lets me go. I grab onto the edge of the table and rest my palms on the surface to support my weight. My legs feel weak.

  What just happened?

  “I told you not to drop the cup, sweetheart,” he says.

  My gaze drops down to the grass, where the cup is lying, the tea already seeping into the soil. It must’ve hit the leg of the wrought-iron chair on the way down, because there’s a little chip at the top.

  Shit.

  That must cost a fortune.

  He’s not going to make me pay for it, is he?

  Is this going to make my sentence longer?

  “I’m sorry, Sir,” I say.

  Slowly, I raise my gaze to meet the prince’s.

  He’s watching me, waiting for a reaction. I can see the cocky anticipation in his darkened blue eyes.

  He nods quietly, then he says, “We can go back to what we were doing. I can make you come and scream out my name. All you have to do is beg for it.”

  “No,” I answer resolutely. He may have had me in a trance before, but now the spell is broken, and I can think clearly again.

  “Very well,” he says as he bends down to pick up the chipped cup. But instead of putting it back on the table, he curls a finger around the handle and walks away toward the entrance into the palace.

  I watch his broad back shrink as he gets further away, my mouth agape.

  He’s just going to leave me here, just like this, after what’s just happened?

  The prince suddenly stops and turns around. “Oh, I’m sorry. How rude of me to just leave.”

  Did he just read my mind?

  Is he coming back now?

  Is he going to touch me again?

  Do I want him to?

  A million different scenarios play out in my mind in this moment that stretches forever.

  But the prince just smirks and says, “I almost forgot to tell you to enjoy your breakfast,” before he turns around again and really leaves.

  Rosemary

  “Where have you been, Rose?” Clara screams into the phone, making me cringe away from the phone receiver. Even with the handset held a couple of inches away from my ear, I can hear her perfectly.

  “It’s a long story,” I say, “but could you tell Father—”

  “Father’s worried sick about you,” she cuts me off.

  “Yes, that’s why I’m—”

  “Honestly, it’s so selfish of you to leave when everything is already in ruins, Rose. But it’s just like you to drag this family into trouble and take no responsibility for it. I don’t know why I expected anything different from you.”

  “Clara, listen, I—”

  Don’t you care that Father has to leave tomorrow?” she asks.

  “That’s why I’m calling, Clara. Could you tell Father to stay?”

  “What are you talking about? All of us have been asking him to stay. The problem is he can’t. God, were you even listening when he told us, Rose?”

  “Clara, I got in touch with the man who owns the rose bushes that my flower came from. He told me I can take the punishment in Father’s place.”

  Clara goes quiet.

  “Clara? Are you still there?” I ask.

  “You mean Father doesn’t have to leave?”

  “Yes.”

  “Oh my god, that’s amazing!” she exclaims. “That’s great that you’ve decided to take responsibility for that stupid flower of yours. I’ll tell everyone the good news.”

  “Wait, Clara,” I say before she hangs up.

  “What else?” she asks.

  “Could you tell Father that I’m doing okay and they’re treating me well here? I don’t want him to worry,” I say as nicely as I can, gritting my teeth. I want her to deliver the message, and that means I have to play the good, long-suffering sister.

  “Sure,” Clara says before the connection dies with a click.

  I take a deep, frustrated breath. I don’t know why talking to Clara still drains me so much.

  When I dialed the home landline phone number, I knew there was a chance one of my sisters would pick up the phone. I also knew they weren’t going to understand what’s happening from my perspective.

  So when the phone call went exactly the way I thought it would, I really shouldn’t have been upset.

  If Father had picked up his cell phone, I wouldn’t have had to go through that. But oh well, at least he’ll get the message now.

  I lean back in my chair, the same chair where I sat last night when I first got here.

  This office looks so different now when Prince James isn’t here. It feels smaller. Less intimidating.

  Like the rest of the palace, the interior in this office is excessively luxurious.

  Soft rugs cover a few patches of the beautifully warm parquet floor, while the walls are covered with artwork, from floor to ceiling. There are carvings of golden plants and animals native to this kingdom and portraits of rulers from a different era.

  Statues and candelabras have been carefully placed, with dramatic spotlight overhead. The crystal chandelier provides ambient lighting.

  There’s a marble fireplace with golden accents. On top of it, a mirror stretches from the mantel, all the way up to the high ceiling.

  Considering the grandness of the space, the prince’s desk seems small. It has thin, delicate legs and golden metal accents. Despite the lack of drawers, there’s nothing on the surface. Nothing except for a cup.

  Yes, that cup.

  The one with a chipped edge from me dropping it in the garden this morning.

  Damn it. I can just imagine the prince sitting on the big chair in front of me, fingering the cup with a smug expression. Maybe he’d even smirk as he fantasizes about making me beg for him to fuck me.

  The thought irritates me, but I can’t deny the growing pressure at the juncture of my thighs when I think about him sexualizing me like that. And the fact that it turns me on only irritates me even further.

  As my finger traces the carvings on my armrest, I hear noises. Electronic noises.

  They sound out of place, and not just because this palace is hundreds of years old.

  Throughout the palace, I haven’t seen many electronic gadgets. Of course there are TV screens and kitchen appliances. But considering the size of this place, I would’ve expected more.

  Albert told me that communication devices like cell phones are useless here, and even computers don’t have access to the Internet. Apparently, some kind of a high-tech thing blocks all signals coming in and going out of the palace.

  This is so nobody from the outside discovers this palace by accident, and nobody from the inside reveals the location by accident.

  With some apps and devices automatically adding geographical tags to pictures and videos, it’s too easy for one of the housekeepers to carelessly post a status on Facebook with a geo tag attached.

  But I’ve been thinking about how James manages to get online. He has a phone in his office, so it makes sense that he’d also have a laptop with Internet access, at the very least. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have been able to email me.

  So, these electronic noises… I wonder if they’ll lead me to his secret computer.

  I don’t even know what I’d do with Internet access, but there has to be something to do here, other than gardening.

  Honestly, I’m going crazy with boredom, and I haven’t even been here for twenty-four hours!

  When I’m at home, I’m always either working or sleeping. I never have time for anything else.

  I’ve always wished for some free time so I can just do nothing for one day, maybe read a book or take a day trip to the city.

  But now that I have all the time in the world—at least
for one month—I don’t know what to do with all this time. Maybe I’ve been so ruined by hard work that I’ll never be able to enjoy a life of leisure.

  You know what the problem is with having too much time? Your mind wanders. You think too much.

  I could be talking to customers who are looking for bouquets at Mrs. Greene’s flower shop, or even learning more about botany from Mr. Taggins.

  But instead, all I have is a garden that’s already in perfect shape and nothing else. There is absolutely nothing to focus on, except for the persistent, almost painful throbbing between my legs.

  So those electronic noises? They sound pretty damn interesting right now. I need some kind of a distraction.

  I wonder where they’re coming from, those low hums and high beeps. They sound too close to come from outside, but too far away to come from inside this office.

  I get up from my chair and take a few tentative steps toward the wall opposite the fireplace. Like all the other walls, it’s covered by beautiful artwork.

  There are so many intricate designs on it, so many different things that attract the eye, that it would be easy to miss something that looks just a little off. Something like this thin vertical line on a large mural that stretches from the floor to the ceiling.

  I reach out my index finger and trace the line. To my surprise, it moves.

  The wall moves!

  Okay, now this is getting interesting.

  I rub my palms like villains in action movies do.

  I don’t want to damage a multi-million-dollar piece of art, especially one that’s hundreds of years old and belongs to the royal family.

  If taking a single rose gets me one month as the prince’s personal prisoner, there’s no telling what kind of a punishment I’d get for damaging this mural.

  So, gently, I put my index finger back on the line and push.

  Again, the wall moves—at least a part of it does. And it moves quite easily. This is actually as easy as pushing a regular door.

  A rectangular piece of wall, a little smaller than a regular doorway, breaks away. It swings open into a dark room.

  When I look up, I realize why I didn’t notice this opening before. I was anxious and confused when I got here last night, but this doorway is also well hidden.