by Nikki Chase
I open the door and step into the hallway.
This is fucking bullshit.
The crown is my birthright. I grew up knowing that one day I’d become the king, and I’ve been planning my whole life based on that assumption.
I’ve dedicated myself to the people, working tirelessly to improve the bureaucracy at Malvern so the whole province could be run more smoothly.
I’ve been asking for a chance to work on the other provinces, but I’ve never had the clearance from the capital to do that. I’ve already come up with so many ideas about how the whole kingdom could be governed better.
But Priscilla wants me confined to Ardglass Palace, and my father is too weak to go against her.
If only the people could see how hard I’ve been working for them, I’m sure they’d know I’d do a better job than my father. I’d be a better king. I’d be a good king.
Honestly, the people need me more than I need them.
I’ll be fine even if I don’t become the king. As a prince, I can live an easy life forever.
I don’t really know Philip, but I’ve seen how his mom coddles him. He’s going to grow up into a selfish spoiled brat, for sure.
It doesn’t matter what he’s like, though, because his mother will be the real ruler, the one who pulls the strings behind the curtains.
But if the people don’t want me, I don’t know why I care.
Why should I fight so hard for them, when they reject me?
What Priscilla’s doing isn’t right, and I’m sure she’ll continue to use her dirty tactics against the people’s interest for as long as she can. She’s bad for the kingdom, but if the people are happy with her, then what do I care?
And sure, I’ve made a promise to my mother. But do dead people really care what the living do with their lives?
That crown is rightfully mine. But I’ve learned from a young age that I can’t always get the things that should belong to me.
As I walk down the hallways of my father’s palace, people move out of my way and stare at me. I don’t know if it’s because I look angry, or if it’s because I’m the beast who gets his kicks from beating up innocent, young women.
That reminds me of something else that’s rightfully mine.
I’ve wanted to contact her for days, but I’ve been careful to not rock the boat. I thought it was best to lay low, considering all the uproar around this latest thing.
But now everything’s different.
If I don’t have the crown anymore, then I can do whatever I want without paying any attention to what strangers would think about it. That’s a fucking silver lining if I ever saw one.
I pull out my phone and start to type an email.
So what if she’s talking to the press? I’m going to see her and remind her that she belongs to me. She’s going to do as I say and keep those luscious lips zipped.
And if she doesn’t, who cares? Let the nosy gossipers of the kingdom talk. Let’s give them a good reason to wag their tongues.
Rosemary,
Meet me at The Alcove.
J.
Rosemary
Where is he?
And what kind of an email is this?
I stare at the short message that I got three days ago, even though I’ve read it over so much that I’ve already memorized it.
Rosemary,
Meet me at The Alcove.
J.
That’s it.
No date. No time. Just the location.
Not exactly the hardest thing to memorize.
I know someone might be keeping an eye on my emails, now that my face has appeared on various newspapers and TV stations. But can’t he give me some indication of when I’m supposed to meet him?
Sure, I’ve been spending most days at The Alcove anyway.
Since the whole kingdom thinks I work here, Wanda, the owner, has kindly allowed me to hang out here. I’ve even asked her for a few tasks to do to fill my time, and she has been giving me daily wages.
It turns out she’s so old that there are a few maintenance issues that have gone unfixed for years. I’ve grown up with little money and a father who is always away for work, so I’ve become quite handy.
I guess I’m actually working here now. I have a room at the attic and everything.
But that still doesn’t excuse how rude that email is. It’s as if he thinks I don’t have anything better to do, than to wait around for him.
Despite my irritation, I have to admit that every time a tall guy walks through the old, creaky door into the inn, my heart jumps and I forget what I’m doing for a minute.
But it’s never him.
It’s been three days. For someone who has grown up with the Internet like me, three days is a really long time.
Just as I reach for the switch of the table lamp on my nightstand, my bedroom door clicks open. No knocking. No warning.
“You have a few things to explain, sweetheart,” says a familiar voice from the doorway. It’s the same voice that I’ve been hearing in my head lately when I’m alone with my thoughts.
But this… This is real, right?
I stare at the tall, dark figure pushing the door shut behind him. That broad chest, those strong arms, and most of all, those intense blue eyes, with the magnetic gaze that pulls me in and doesn’t let go.
“Well?” James asks, one eyebrow cocked.
“You’re really here,” I say, my voice coming out squeaky for some reason. I realize I’ve been holding my breath.
“I told you I’d be here, didn’t I?”
“Yes, but I—”
“But you thought I’d say one thing and do another, just like you did,” he says.
“I did no such thing!” I get up from my bed and stand up to him.
“You told them where the palace is!” he exclaims loudly.
My breath hitches at my throat. He’s scaring me.
“Why did you do that?” the prince asks, a little more softly this time.
“I did everything the way we’d planned it. I told them the story that we’d agreed on.”
“Yes, at first,” he says.
“Would you listen to me?” I ask in frustration, throwing my hands in the air. “I can’t finish my story if you don’t even let me talk.”
“Okay.” He folds his arms across his chest and leans back against the wall. “Go ahead.”
“I gave the press a statement, just like I said I would. And I thought that was it. I thought it was just a matter of time until the whole thing blew over.
“When I woke up the next morning, I saw you on TV, and they were talking about this secret door that they found, using clues given by me. That’s when I realized the compact had gone missing.
“Then I spent the next few days biting my nails as they camped out there by the secret door.” I hold up my hands for him to see the damage for himself.
Things have quieted down over the past couple of days, but I think some people are still trying to open that door.
“Wait, you mean you lost the compact? In the woods?” James asks with a frown.
“No, I had it in my hand the whole way until I reached Willowdale, and I know I still had it when I got home.”
“So you… lost it at home?”
“I think…” I drag air into my constricted lungs. I know my family sucks, but it’s still a difficult thing to admit to someone else. But I have to tell him the truth. “I think my sisters took it.”
I stop myself from telling him I suspect they also gave my father and me some crushed-up sleeping pills in our food that night. I don’t have any proof, though.
It would also be a serious accusation—the kind that would ruin their precious chances of attracting wealthy, eligible bachelors as their husbands. Even if my suspicion were true, I don’t have the heart to do that to them.
“Your sisters, the ones who have been showing up on talk shows and gossip news?” he asks.
“Yeah. They’re not bad people. They just… l
ike attention,” I say lamely.
“I think that makes them pretty bad people, Rosemary,” he says, his gaze softening.
“Yeah,” I admit. “I don’t know. I guess.”
“Jesus.” James runs his fingers through his hair. “I’ve always tried to stay as anonymous as I can because I don’t want to drag people into the spotlight if I don’t have to. I know first-hand how cruel the media can be. I try not to subject people to that. But some people actually like all that crazy stuff, huh?”
“Yeah.”
“They’ve been telling people that you gave them the compact and you told them there was a palace behind that door,” he says.
“I know,” I say, wincing. “They’re careless with their words.”
“I think you’re giving them too much credit. I think they know exactly what they’re doing to you, but they just don’t care. They knew you didn’t want to reveal the location of the palace, didn’t they?”
“Yeah. I guess you’re right.”
Of course I know that I don’t have a normal relationship with my sisters. They don’t treat me like they treat each other. It’s almost like they hate me.
But we still live under the same roof at least some of the time, so it’s not like I can just steer clear of them.
I don’t even feel right telling my father about what my sisters get up to while he’s away. He has such little time to spend at home, and I’d rather not fill it with negativity.
I guess it’s easier to tell myself my sisters are oblivious rather than accept the fact that they just hate me.
“What is it?” I ask when I notice the prince smiling to himself as he stares at me.
“You’re kind,” he says. “You see the good in people.”
“They’re my sisters.” I change the subject. “I tried to email you, but it bounced.”
“You did?” James’ smile widens. He walks across the room and sits on my bed. Patting the empty space on the bed beside him, he says, “I always burn my email addresses after use. It’s a… security measure.”
I sit down beside the prince. Looking into his impossibly blue eyes, I can’t help but admit, “I thought I was never going to see you again. I thought you were angry with me, and for good reason. I’m so sorry I didn’t take better care of your mother’s compact.”
“It wasn’t your fault,” he says as he raises his hand to caress my cheek. I lean into his palm.
“I was so relieved when I got your email,” I say as my eyes start to fill with water. “And then I didn’t hear anything from you for three whole days, and I was getting worried. I thought maybe that email wasn’t from you, or maybe it was you but you were standing me up because you hated me so much.”
“Hey, I’m here now, aren’t I?” he asks as his fingers wipe away the tears streaming down my face. “Everything’s okay. I’m not angry at you. I thought you’d betrayed me and you didn’t care if you ever saw me again. I thought you weren’t going to show up.”
“I’d always show up for you. I was always planning to see you again, to go back to the palace someday.” I grab the tissue on my bedside table and wipe my face.
“You wanted to go back to the palace?”
“Of course.”
“To stay?” he asks, a little too quickly.
“No.” I smile at his enthusiasm. I’m relieved that he believes my story and forgives me. I know how he feels about me now, but I can’t move into the palace just like that. “I just wanted to see you again.”
“You’ve already seen me again. Come stay with me at the palace. We can go this very night.”
“No, I can’t be your prisoner. If we’re going to see each other again, I need you to see me as an equal.”
“I do see you as an equal,” he says.
“No, you can’t. Not if I’m a prisoner. And that’s all I’ve been, the whole time we’ve known each other.”
“You’re not going to be a prisoner this time. You’re never going to be a prisoner again,” he insists.
“I don’t know if I’m ready for us to live together.”
“But it’s something you’d consider?”
“If it turns out that we can have a healthy relationship, despite our sexual dynamics, then yes, I’d consider it,” I say.
“What if I tell you it’s an order?” he asks in a low, seductive tone that speaks right to my feminine core.
I swallow down my arousal. I can’t let my pussy do the thinking here. “See, that’s one of the things we need to talk about. You need to understand which things to confine to the bedroom. Like that voice. That’s just not fair. You know I can’t say no to that.”
“Seems like you just did.” Leaning closer and giving me a panty-melting smirk, he adds, “Maybe I wasn’t clear enough,” he says, grabbing the hair at the base of my skull into his fist, “I said it was an order.”
My breath catches, but I fight against my instinct to submit. “Can we save this until later?”
“Later tonight?” he asks, whispering in my ear.
“Yeah,” I say, ending the word with a long sigh when his breath falls on my sensitive skin.
“Okay,” he says, letting go of my hair. He drags his lips down my neck, kissing and nibbling on my flesh occasionally. “Let’s talk.”
“You know what,” I say as I put my hand on his hair, my voice hoarse with lust, “I think we’ve covered everything for now.”
Who am I kidding? There are no terms to negotiate. I’m his, and he knows it. Like the birds and squirrels in the palace garden, I can’t go back into the wild, after knowing what it’s like to belong to someone.
“I agree,” he says as he lays me down on the bed. Lying on his side, he frowns when his fingers touch the top button of my blouse. “What do you need so many buttons for?”
“It’s just something old I wear for cleaning.”
“I really need to get you back into those dresses,” he says as he climbs up on top of me.
I was about to say something about not actually being into dresses, but this is not the time for talking anymore. The sight and the feel of him on top of me dominates my mind, and I forget everything else.
Prince James grabs the collar of my blouse and pulls it apart, sending buttons flying all over the room.
Maybe I should protest, but I’m overwhelmed by the need to be taken. I want that same passion that has ruined my top to ruin me, too. I want it to consume me, to destroy me like it has done to my blouse.
The prince takes off what remains of my blouse and my bra. When he undoes my fly, I lift my butt off the bed to let him pull my jeans and panties all the way down.
I reach up to pull his suit jacket off, but he grabs my wrists with one hand.
“Did I tell you to touch me?” he asks darkly.
“No, Sir. I’m sorry, Sir,” I answer automatically, suddenly his sweet little Submissive again.
“We need to do something about these hands,” he says.
He fumbles with his belt and yanks it out of the loops in his pants. He pins my wrists over my head, then he wraps the belt around the posts in the headboard and my wrists. When he’s done, I pull on my hands and find them restrained by the cool, smooth leather.
“Now, what am I going to do with you?” he asks with danger glinting in his blue eyes. The one table lamp on my bedside table illuminates one side of his face, while casting the other side in sinister shadows.
I know this man, and I want him to claim my body, but my heart starts to race like I’m terrified.
It’s not that I want him to stop, though. I remember my safe word, and I don’t want to say it.
There’s just something about the prince that sucks me in. His eyes, darkened by lust, are like deep pools that pull me downward, threatening to drown me. Yet I can’t help but keep swimming down.
“Have you been missing me, sweetheart?” James asks as his knee forces my legs apart.
“Yes, Sir.”
“Do you dream of me when you fall aslee
p?” He lies down on top of me, pressing his hard-on against me. I can feel the heat and hardness through the fabric of his pants.
“Y—Yes, Sir,” I admit, my face growing hot with embarrassment.
“What do you dream about?” James caresses my cheek and studies my face, making me feel even more self-conscious.
“I dream about you… doing what you’re doing.”
“And what am I doing?”
“You’re on top of me.”
“So I was on top of you in this dream. Were you naked, too?”
“Y—Yes.”
“What did I do with your naked body?” James asks with a smirk as he runs his big, masculine hand up my side.
“You… Uh, you kiss my breasts.”
James trails kisses down my neck and into the valley between my breasts. “Like this?” he asks.
“Yeah.”
“This dream version of me sounds boring in bed,” he says as he sucks the flesh of my breast into his mouth, hard. Just when it starts to feel painful, he lets go.
I look down to find a deep purple mark on my otherwise creamy skin.
“Did I do that in your dream?” he asks.
“No, Sir.”
“How about this?” he asks before he takes a nipple into his wet, warm mouth. His hand grabs my other breast and kneads it.
Without even realizing it, I arch my back, offering more of myself to him. My breath grows heavier, and my fingers are grabbing at the leather around my wrists. I cry out when the prince takes my nipple between his teeth and bites down.
“Did the me in your dream do that?” James asks, cocking an eyebrow.
“No, Sir.”
“I’m going to fuck you better than you can imagine in your wildest dreams,” he promises, locking my gaze as he drags his lips down my belly and over my mound.
I sigh when I feel his lips, hot and firm, on my pussy. Actually, he did that in my dream, too, but this real version feels better already.
“Look at me,” he says as he sucks my lower lips into his mouth.
Obeying his order, I fight against the compulsion to close my eyes or throw my head back.
I glance down to see him staring at me. I’ve known him in person for a while now, but it’s still a trip to see his face—the same face I’ve seen on TV and newspapers my whole life—between my legs.
