by Nikki Chase
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.
The top and sides of this secret door align with the edges of the artwork, with the frames of the paintings and the lines of the decorative plaster panels on the wall.
I should probably get some source of light so I can see what’s inside the room.
I quickly grab a candelabra from a nearby shelf and push the door all the way open.
With the warm, flickering candle flames and the light spilling inside from the bright office, I can just make out the shape of the room, and the screens on the wall.
What is this place?
It looks like one of those surveillance rooms I see in action movies, or even control rooms at TV studios.
There are just so many screens. More than I can count. They’re almost covering a whole wall.
Most of the screens are turned off, but a few are glowing almost blindingly bright in this room.
I stand frozen in the doorway, not sure if I should get any closer.
All I wanted was Internet access so I could sneak in sometimes, play some online game, and maybe even read a few chapters of my romance e-books.
But this is… I didn’t expect to stumble upon this.
I can see people moving on the screens, and I recognize some of them. These videos are coming from cameras installed in Malvern and Willowdale.
What is this? Some kind of a spying command center?
I know he’s a prince, but is this legal? Can he really just watch people without their knowledge like this?
“There you are,” says a deep, stern voice from behind me.
I jump from the shock, my hands instinctively letting go of the secret door. I twist around just quickly enough to see the tall figure in the office before the door swings back and hits me on the head.
Rosemary
“Are you okay?” James asks with concern, although he’s not quite succeeding at hiding the amusement in his voice.
“Yeah,” I say as my cheeks heat up with embarrassment. The door is light enough to not hurt my head when it hits me, but it does hurt my pride.
“It’s time for dinner,” he says, “but I see you’re more interested in my personal things than food.”
“I was just… I heard some noises.” My heart beats furiously inside my chest.
I curse myself. How could I have been so stupid, so oblivious to my surroundings? I should’ve heard James coming in here—and then maybe there would’ve been enough time for me to pretend I was doing something innocent.
“Of course you did,” he says with a small smile that tells me he doesn’t buy my lie.
And so, defeated, I start to follow the prince out of the office.
Abruptly, he stops and turns around. “Do you want to take that candelabra to dinner, too? I mean, it’s skinny as hell, but I think that’s just the way it’s supposed to be.”
Quietly, I put down the golden three-armed candelabra back on the shelf and walk behind the prince down the long hallways.
As I watch his back, I wonder what he needs all that surveillance equipment for, and why he lives here, so far away from the capital. If I were him, I’d spend my time traveling and doing exciting stuff in big cities—not waste away in a quiet castle in the middle of nowhere.
I’ve never been one to follow celebrity news, and I’m cursing myself right now for that. I’ve always preferred romance novels; they have more interesting storylines.
Also, I didn’t think the information in gossip tabloids would ever become useful or relevant in my life… Ironic, huh?
And now that I don’t even have Internet access, I can’t do any research about him.
All I know is Prince James is the king’s firstborn son, so he’s technically the crown prince and the future king.
But after he got implicated in a scandal a few years ago, with his ex claiming domestic abuse, he fell out of favor with his own father, the king. Since then, he’s rarely been seen or heard in public, especially after his mother’s death and the king’s second marriage.
I wonder what the prince’s life is like. His mother died, and his own father doesn’t care about him. It must be lonely, especially here, in this big, empty castle surrounded only by the royal family’s employees.
Is he always alone here? Does he have guests? Does he eat alone most nights?
I often eat alone, because my sisters have finished eating by the time I usually get home from work, and my father is away for work so much. But sometimes we do have meals as a family.
Today, I had my breakfast at the garden and Albert served me lunch in my bedroom, where I was hiding from the prince. I was planning to also have dinner in my room so I wouldn’t have to face the prince, but there’s no escape now.
James seems to have a talent for trapping me in impossible situations, making me do things outside my plans. I’m not used to it. And I don’t like it.
But all my embarrassment and annoyance evaporate when we reach the dining room.
This is another cavernous room with dark, rich paneling on the walls, decorated with big paintings. Most of this room is darkened, except for a long table, over which hangs a brightly shining chandelier.
The sight of the food takes my breath away.
Plates and bowls stretch from one end to the other end of the table, while waiters wearing white gloves wait to serve us. Two tall, golden candelabras are placed on the table, letting me see the white steam rising from the food.
My mouth waters as the tempting aromas reach my nostrils. I smell meat, cheese, and some kind of a smoky scent.
“Dinner is served,” Albert says as he gestures toward the table. His proud expression tells me he knows how impressive this spread is.
“Thank you,” I say absentmindedly, my attention still mostly focused on the food while I approach the table. One waiter pulls my chair back for me and slides it back in as I take my seat.
The lunch I had was good, but it was one plate of spaghetti.
This, though?
I’m almost glad I came out of my room for this—and that Prince James found me snooping in his office.
I cast my glance at him and catch him staring at me. He seems unfazed by the fact that I know he’s watching me, but he quickly tries to hide the smile he’s wearing.
He clears his throat. “Albert doesn’t often have guests to serve, so he tends to go a bit overboard,” he explains awkwardly, obviously trying to draw attention away from the strangely tender expression he was wearing just a few seconds ago.
Under the flickering candle-light, everything looks magical. It’s hard to tell what’s real and what’s not. Maybe I just imagined that smile, or that gentle gaze.
“Maybe you don’t appreciate my effort, Sir,” Albert says to Prince James, “but I’m sure Rose does.”
“I do, Albert. This is beautiful. Thank you for your hard work.” I give him a smile.
“You’re very welcome, Rose. I assure you, the food tastes even better than it looks,” Albert says proudly. “The special items tonight are beef ragout and cheese soufflé. When you’re ready for dessert, we have some puddings that we’ll flambé in front of you.”
“Dinner and a show. Albert, you’re an artist,” I say.
“Oh, thank you, Rose. You’re too kind.” The lighting is too dim to be sure, but I can almost swear that Albert is blushing from the simple compliment.
As both the prince and I start to eat, the presence of Albert and the two waiters help me feel more at ease. At least I’m not alone with the prince, and he won’t try to seduce me with all these people around.
I’m so relieved. Maybe it’s okay for me to come out at meal times after all.
If the food is always going to be like this, I probably should. Everything tastes perfect. All the colors, the textures, the rare ingredients… I’ve never had food this decadent in my life.
When my one month here is up, I probably won’t ever get another chance to enjoy this kind of food, so I might as well enjoy it while I can.
I glance at James at the other end of the table. The flickering candlelight casts warm light and dramatic shadows on his handsome features. With his tailored business suit and good looks, he looks like he belongs in this opulent palace.
Albert and the two waiters do too, of course, but in a different way. While the staff appears professional, the prince comes across as powerful. It only takes one look to see that he’s the master of this palace.
On the other hand, I’m still wearing the borrowed dress from this morning, and I have no idea what to do with the many silver forks, spoons, and knives lined up in front of me.
I’m far from graceful. I’m willing to bet that I look like a sore thumb in this palatial dining room.
So why does Prince James take an interest in me?
How did he know that I’m the daughter of the man who took shelter in this palace during the storm?
How did he know that I’d come here to take my father’s place? Neither one of my sisters would come, had the prince contacted them.
Has he been spying on me?
Was he looking for me, that night we first met at the club?
Was it even our first meeting, or did we ever come across each other before that?
Why me?
Did the prince engineer this whole scenario?
Was it ever about the rose?
So many questions are swimming in my head right now, but I can’t bring myself to speak them out and demand some answers from the prince.
On one hand, I feel like these are questions I should ask in private.
I mean, Albert is going through the list of ingredients of the beef ragout right now. This doesn’t seem like the right time to bring up something serious. Besides, I don’t want the entire palace staff to know I secretly want to be spanked and dominated.
On the other hand, the thought of being alone with the prince scares the hell out of me.
But this is only my first day here. There are twenty-nine left to go, and I’m sure I’ll get better at dealing with the prince as time goes by.
For now, I’ll just enjoy the food, the palace, and the friendly staff.
And I’ll keep as much distance as I can from the prince.
James
She’s been avoiding me.
It’s not that I haven’t seen her at all. We live under the same roof—albeit it’s a big roof—so we’re bound to cross paths.
Some mornings, I see her at the garden, but she always disappears as soon as I get there.
I also see her every night at dinner, but she always leaves as soon as she puts down her utensils—which she’s not using correctly, by the way—and wipes her lips.
Just watching her at the other end of the dinner table is torture. The way her full lips move, and the curves of her body that I know are hidden below the table… My imagination goes wild at dinner time.
It’s probably a good thing I’m usually too busy working in my office to also have lunch in the dining room.
I’v
e been letting her avoid me as much as she wants for the past three days.
She’s probably still disoriented from living somewhere other than her family home, so maybe she needs some time to adjust to her new life. Besides, I did tell her she could do as she wants while she’s here, and I’m a man of my word.
But I also told her that I’d claim her virgin body for myself, and I fully intend to make that happen.
She’s had enough respite from me. What happened in the garden on her first morning tells me that I can break through her defenses. Now the time has come for us to pick things up where we left off that morning.
I raise my hand up to the door. Albert has told me that she’s been hiding out in her room all day. Well, if she’s not coming out to see me, then I’m going in to find her.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
Waiting at the door, I hear some rustling inside. She’s definitely in her bedroom, which is great. This palace being as big as it is, sometimes it’s difficult to keep track of where everyone is.
How long is she going to keep me waiting, though?
Knock. Knock. Knock.
I hear footsteps, light and dainty, get closer. Finally, the door cracks open and her head pops out.
Her long, honey-brown hair seems a little messy, like she has just gotten out of bed and ran her fingers through her hair to make it presentable. Her eyes, which are already big, widen when she sees me.
“Morning, Rosemary,” I greet her.
“Uh, morning, Sir,” she says softly, obviously unprepared to see me, which is good. There’s no time for her to come up with a plan to escape my company when she hasn’t been expecting me.
“You seem surprised. Were you expecting someone else?” I ask, less because I actually think she’s waiting for anyone in particular, and more because I want her to know that I’ve noticed her unease.
“No, Sir. It’s just… usually only Albert knocks on my door,” she says as she pulls the door open a little wider. She’s wearing another dress—probably something she took from the wardrobe. The blue fabric hugs her curves beautifully. I should compliment whoever prepared the clothes in the guests’ bedrooms.
