Double Dirty Royals: An MFM Menage Romance

by Parker Grey

  He whirls and glares at me.

  “What do you think—”

  I hold up one hand, trying to calm him. He’s furious and wild-eyed, and even though I feel the exact same way, I’ve got a little more practice in subduing myself so I can make good tactical decisions.

  “I think we should keep surprise on our side,” I say, keeping my voice as low as I can. “Sven always has all those guards around him, and now that he’s taken Katarina, I’m sure they’re still with him. It’ll be easier to handle them if they don’t know we’re coming.”

  To be honest, I’m not completely sure we can handle them — there’s two of us, only one with real military training, and probably ten guards.

  Dom closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and nods.

  “You’re right,” he says. “Of course.”

  We make our way down the wide stone hallway, quietly. The cells are creepy as hell, and even though I look into one of the doored-off cells, the inside is completely dark, of course.

  Easy to let your imagination get out of control here, even if the place hasn’t been used for a long time. I’m sure plenty of people suffered and died here.

  We come to an intersection, then wait until we hear another noise. This time it’s a grunt, like Katarina’s in a struggle, and we follow it to the left.

  The passageways twist and turn. I think I’ve kept track of where we are, but I could be completely lost — I’ve got no idea. I just know we’re getting closer and closer to saving our princess, and that’s all that matters.

  At last, we turn a corner and see a rectangle of illumination up ahead, a doorway spilling light out onto the hallway floor, and we stop.

  “I said no!” Katarina’s voice echoes off the stone. She sounds like she’s speaking through her teeth, breathing hard.

  Dom growls and starts, but I grab his shoulder with one hand, shaking my head quickly.

  I want to run in there and punch everyone too, I think, and dear God do I want to punch everyone.

  But that’s not likely to save our princess, that’s likely get us punched in return by several people at once, and we’re not going to be much use if we’re knocked unconscious, bleeding on the floor.

  “Tell me!” we hear Sven’s voice command.

  “I’m not saying it,” Katarina growls.

  Despite myself, I smile at her spirit.

  Fuck yes, that’s our princess.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Katarina

  I didn’t even know until today that the palace dungeons had a chapel. Even though I grew up in this palace, I’ve only been down here a couple of times.

  They’re creepy. People used to be tortured here. People died here, usually because my ancestors ordered it. I’m not particularly keen to think about that.

  But somehow, Sven knew not only that we have dungeons, but that there’s a tiny chapel in them.

  I guess it’s where condemned people used to come to pray one last time, and the thought sends a shiver down my back.

  “You’re going to say it,” Sven says as he shoves me down the aisle. I nearly stumble onto my face, my hands still bound behind my back, my feet tied together by a length of rope that barely lets me walk.

  “I’m not,” I hiss.

  At the front of the chapel, behind a big stone slab that must be the altar, is a grave-looking older man in a priest’s uniform. His face is perfectly, completely somber, and his hands are folded in front of him. There are two flickering candelabras on either end of the altar, as if someone actually tried to make this romantic.

  The room is dimly lit by a few lanterns Sven and his retinue of guards brought — a retinue that only includes four men, instead of the usual ten-or-twenty. I don’t know what happened to the rest.

  Maybe they’re guarding the entrances. Maybe they’re revving the getaway car. I have no idea.

  “Good,” Sven says, looking him up and down. “Glad you decided to cooperate, Father.”

  The priest doesn’t say anything. His face doesn’t even move.

  “Are you ready to proceed?” he asks, his voice as stony and grave as the dungeons themselves.

  “Yes!” Sven practically yelps. “Yes, God, of course I am, what the hell do you think we’re here for?”

  The priest looks down at his bible. Slowly, he thumbs it open, taking his sweet time to flip the pages. Finally, he marks the page with one finger and closes the book around that finger, looking back at the six of us, gathered in this tiny, claustrophobic underground stone room.

  “Dearly Beloved,” he intones, his voice a slow deadpan. “We gather here today to celebrate the union of two people, two important, ancient royal houses of Europe. This day truly marks...”

  “We don’t need the sermon,” Sven snaps.

  The priest blinks. Then he raises both eyebrows. Slowly.

  “It was my understanding that you requested a formal marriage ceremony,” he says. “Traditionally, that does include a full mass, not to mention an outlining—”

  “Okay, well, I guess I lied about that part,” Sven says. He’s still got one hand locked around my forearm, his guards leaning against stone walls a few feet away, part of the shadows. “I want to make sure that this girl is completely and totally married to me, and I want it to happen as quickly as possible.”

  The priest considers this, and for just a moment, he catches my gaze, though his face doesn’t change.

  I have no idea who he is, but I wonder if he’s thinking the same thing I am: you legally can’t force someone to get married in Tomassia. A coerced marriage is completely invalid. My ancestors had reason to codify that into law long ago.

  “Then I’ll skip the parts that normally makee a wedding a beautiful, life-altering moment of love and connection and get on with it,” the priest says. “Prince Sven of Norograv, please repeat after me. I, Prince Sven of Norograv...”

  Sven starts repeating the priest’s words. For the millionth time, I flex my fists against their bonds, but it’s pointless.

  I haven’t told Sven that no matter what I say, this marriage is completely null and void. I’m pretty sure that once he thinks I’m legally his bride, his plan is to toss me in his car and make for the border — maybe thinking that if we’re married, he’s got a legal right to do that.

  I don’t think Sven is very smart, but he’s got force on his side. He’s got a lot of armed men, and from the screaming pain in my shoulders and back, it’s obvious that he doesn’t mind hurting me.

  Right now, my best bet is to do anything I can to stay in the castle. It can’t be long now until someone realizes that I’m missing and comes looking for me.

  But what if they don’t, I think. Your parents think he’s proposing, and they’re probably going to let him have several hours to get away with this before they realize that he’s not.

  I close my eyes and take a deep breath. It’s nearly impossible not to panic, but I’m trying.

  “Katarina!” Sven barks.

  I glare at him.

  “You may call me by my title,” I say, as haughtily as I can manage.

  Sven smiles nastily.

  “All right, Princess,” he says. “I’ll let you have that one last time before it’s Princess Consort. Or maybe I’ll demote you for un-princesslike behavior and you’ll have to live out the rest of your days as a duchess.”

  “So you’re forcing me to marry you, only to threaten that it won’t last?” I say as coolly as I can manage, though my heart is pounding in my chest. “Why bother at all?”

  “You KNOW why!” he snarls, getting in my face. “Because I will not have someone else taking what’s rightfully mine.”

  He addresses the priest without looking at him.

  “Continue,” Sven says.

  “Princess Katarina, please repeat after me,” the priest intones. “I, Her Royal Highness, Crown Princess of Tomassia...”

  “I’m not saying it,” I tell them.

  Sven nods at a guard, who comes over,
stands behind me, and jerks on the bonds on my hands. My shoulders scream in pain, and my vision swims as he pulls me backward, off-balance, his arm the only thing keeping me up.

  “Now,” Sven goes on.

  “No,” I say, my teeth clenched, my eyes tearing up.

  “Katarina,” Sven says, getting in my face, his breath terrible. “If you don’t say this—”

  Behind us, two loud thunks break the silence of the chapel, followed by a grunt. Sven whirls around, and I crane my head around, ignoring the pain, trying to see what’s behind me.

  It’s Dom and Bruno, holding a shovel and a rake, just inside the door to the chapel, two unconscious guards in front of them.

  My heart leaps, but right away the other guard, who was lurking in the shadows, attacks Bruno. He’s got a stun gun or something, a device that sparks dangerously, and Bruno backs away a bit, swinging the rake.

  I make a desperate grab at the guy holding me as he turns toward them. All I can grab with my arms tied like this is his thumb, but I grit my teeth together and squeeze that one digit as hard as I can, thinking that maybe I can dislocate it or bruise it or something.

  He just grunts, pulls it, then jerks it out of my grip, yanking me off-balance, and I stumble and fall to my side, hitting the stone floor hard and flopping like a fish.

  “Watch out!” I shout, like they don’t know.

  The guy who was holding me roars, and I see him raise his arm, swinging something at Dom and Bruno, and I can’t see them at all.

  I curl into a ball, my hands still behind my back. It’s about the only thing I can do right now, and the sounds of chaos and fighting fill the small, echoing room.

  I can’t see well enough to follow what’s going on, but the guy with the stun gun is going after Bruno, who’s fending him off with the rake, and Dom is swinging the shovel at the enormous guy who was holding me a moment ago. They’re getting backed into a corner, step by step, as the trained professionals advance.

  Then Sven grabs me by the hands. He pulls me up, excruciating pain whipping through me. It hurts so bad I scream and fall back to my knees, but his face is an unchanging, contorted mask of rage.

  “You will marry me or you won’t marry anyone!” he shouts.

  Then he closes a hand around my throat and lifts. I have no choice but to stand, unsteadily, my vision going gray at the edges, my throat constricting. I can’t even beg him not to, only try to keep breathing, try to keep my heart beating.

  Don’t let me die like this, I think. Please no. Please no.

  There’s another, louder, fleshy thunk right in front of me, and my eyes fly open, heart hammering so fast I’m afraid it’ll just give up.

  Then Sven’s eyes roll back, the whites showing. His hand relaxes on my neck, and he lurches forward onto me. I scream again, and something behind him clatters to the ground as I stumble into the pews, falling backward onto one as Sven topples over.

  At the last second, he stops, hangs in the air for a moment, and then sort of rolls off to the side, hitting the floor with a soft thud.

  The priest is behind him, gasping for breath, a heavy candelabra on the floor next to him.

  “Princess,” he manages to wheeze.

  But before he can say anything else there’s a loud, snapping, crackling sound to one side. I nearly fall off the pew with surprise, but the huge guard’s body jerks a few times, then goes limp, and he falls to the floor as well, revealing Bruno, stun gun out.

  The other guard’s unconscious at Dom’s feet.

  Everything is totally still for a moment, and we all look around, like there’s more coming, but nothing happens. No one else comes.

  I’m still bound hand and foot, and I’m in a dungeon, but I think it’s over.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Dominic

  I throw my shovel to the ground, jump over the unconscious guard, and lunge for Katarina. Bruno’s hot on my heels, vaulting over a row of pews.

  “I’m okay,” she gasps, struggling to sit up.

  I help her, as gently as I can. She winces when I touch her arms, and I feel awful, worse than awful.

  “Really,” she says.

  Bruno pulls out a pocket knife and undoes the plastic pull-tie bonds that are holding her wrists together, and she moves her arms in front of herself, leaning back in the pew and shaking them out. I take one hand and massage it, gently, trying to restore the blood flow into it, and on the other side, Bruno does the same.

  “Thanks,” Katarina whispers.

  “I’m sorry,” I say. “I’m so sorry, princess, I should have been there to protect you, I shouldn’t have let Sven—”

  “Dom, it’s not your fault,” she says, her voice still shaking. “Stop it.”

  “It was him who saw us, wasn’t it?” Bruno says, his voice low. “Or one of his retinue. That’s what he meant by if I can’t have you no one can.”

  Katarina sighs. She’s starting to tremble, her core shaking, and I wrap my arms around her, kiss her on the temple.

  “It’s okay,” I whisper. “You’re okay. You’ll always be okay.”

  Behind me, the priest clears his throat, and we all turn to look at him.

  “Could I borrow the stun gun for a moment?” he asks, very politely.

  “Why?” Bruno says, suspicious.

  The priest nods to one of the guards on the floor.

  “I believe he’s waking up,” he says.

  Bruno shrugs and hands the device over, and the priest gives the man a quick zap, then hands it back.

  “Nice shot with the candle-holder, by the way,” Bruno says.

  The priest inclines his head slightly.

  “I was an army chaplain for a quite a while,” he says. “I learned a few things. I doubt they realized that when they forced me to come along.”

  “Are there more guards?” I ask.

  “I’m not sure,” he says. “But I know there are at least three at Saint Christopher’s Orphanage.”

  His mouth forms a thin line, and right away, I understand how they convinced him to come here, and nod.

  Out in the halls of the dungeon, I can hear shouting and footsteps, the clattering of weaponry. The priest folds his hands, and I hold Katarina tighter, because now she’s trembling so hard her teeth are chattering.

  The door bursts open. The priest raises his hands, and men stream into the chapel.

  “Tomassian Royal Guard! Get AWAY from the Princess!” A man holding a huge gun commands.

  Bruno and I stand, hands in the air, facing a forest of automatic weaponry.

  “It wasn’t them!” Katarina shouts, even her voice shaking. “It wasn’t them, they saved me.”

  They clap us in handcuffs anyway, even the priest, and haul us off, ignoring the Princess’s shouts that it wasn’t us. At least they tie up Sven and his goons as well, letting them wake up bound on the floor.

  The Princess herself they whisk away almost instantly. I ask where they’re taking her but I’m met with angry, stony silence, and I don’t press the issue. I’m more than certain that she’s being cared for and is in good hands, and right now, that’s all I care about.

  We’re marched upstairs, to a wing of the palace I’ve never been to. It’s a series of small, windowless rooms with a single table and two chairs in each. Bruno and I are separated and shoved into different chambers.

  I guess this is the modern dungeon, technically not as barbaric as the underground one, but I sit there for hours, not sure what time of day or night it is, but I don’t care.

  The only thing I can think about is Sven’s hand on Katarina’s throat, her face as she struggled for breath. The sickening, gut-churning feeling as the guard blocked my way with his fist, keeping me from getting to her.

  She’s okay, I tell myself. She’s okay and that’s what matters.

  But I can never let that happen again. I think I’d rather die.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Bruno

  Two men come into the room, bot
h wearing suits and business-like expressions. One sits opposite me and one stands. I don’t say anything, and they both look at me hard for a long moment.

  Then the man sitting down leans forward.

  “All right, Prince Bruno,” he says. “Let’s hear what happened.”

  I tell them, as simply as I can: the princess being absent, looking for her, following the noises in the dungeon, grabbing the unused garden equipment from where it was stored in a cell, fighting Sven’s men. I’m fully aware that, somewhere close by, Dom’s telling the exact same story.

  I can’t tell if they believe me.

  They ask minute, detailed questions about every aspect of it. I describe the same thirty-second period over and over until I feel like I might be making it up, and yet, they don’t stop.

  And then, at last, both men flip through their notes. They’ve both removed their suit jackets and are pacing around the small room, looking like they want a cigarette.

  “The only thing I don’t understand,” one says. “Is why all this happened. Wasn’t Sven going to marry the Princess anyway?”

  I stay silent, staring at the wall.

  “Why would he feel the need to do it now, by force?” he goes on. “And why were the two of you the ones to rescue her?”

  I keep staring.

  “You know what I think,” the other man says. “I think maybe they put Sven up to it so they could be heroes, and things got a little out of control.”

  “That’s not what happened,” I finally say, looking at them.

  “You sure?” the first man asks.

  I clench my teeth together. I take a deep breath. I look from one man to the other.

  Between Dom and I, I’ve always been the guy who does stuff. Who takes action. He’s the guy who knows what to say.

  “Because it sure seems like that’s what happened,” the second man says.

  I clear my throat.

  “Prince Dominic, Princess Katarina and I have a somewhat unusual relationship,” I start.