“It’s me. Open the door,” I say.
The door swings open. I’m greeted by Dirk, whose scraggly brown hair falls over his eyes in disarray. His shirt is half undone and I see a woman’s feet dangling from beneath the covers on his bed.
“This couldn’t wait?” he asks. “I was sleeping off a night of training. This poor little virgin was utterly inexperienced.” Dirk yawns, stretching luxuriously. “I felt it was my duty to the kingdom to train her for the men that will come after me.”
I sigh. Dirk is a little older than me--in his mid thirties maybe--and he has an unquenchable appetite for virgin women. Unfortunately for the virgins of the city, he seems to have a great talent for convincing them he’s not a self-absorbed prick.
“I don’t need a reason to wake you,” I say.
“Yeah, yeah. Chain of command bullshit. You may not need a reason, but you must have one to interrupt the thing of natural beauty that is my lovemaking.”
“Looks like you two were sleeping,” I say.
“Recovering,” he corrects, raising a finger and an eyebrow.
“Right. Well I need you to look into a legal matter for me. And I need you to keep it quiet. Am I clear?”
He pushes his hair out of his eyes, watching me closely. “Since when do you have secrets, Roark?”
“I’ve always had secrets, Dirk. You were just too blind to see them,” I say.
“Bullshit,” he says. “For all your reputation, you’re transparent as river water to me, brother.”
I grin. Though you would have to trace our lineage back hundreds of years to find a link, I feel more warmth at being called brother by Dirk than I ever have from Titus.
“What do you need me to find?” he asks.
“Any legal measures for a Prince to intervene in an arranged marriage.”
His eyebrows climb up his forehead. “I’m sure there’s precedent. It will just depend how high up the royal food-chain the man is.”
“One rung from the top,” I say.
Dirk frowns. “Are you talking about stopping your brother from marrying Elizabeth?”
“No. I’m asking if there’s any legal way to do it.”
“Right,” says Dirk. “Well, I’ve got another round or two in me.” He glances back toward the sleeping form of the woman in his bed and bites his lip. “Maybe three. Then I’ll look into it first thing in the morning. But it could take some time. The fucking royal library is all print. Maybe his royal highness, prince of taking his fucking time, could look into that sometime.”
“You’re an asshole, but thank you,” I say, clapping him on the shoulder. “This stays between you and me, Dirk.”
“That goes without saying.” He takes a step toward the girl and then pauses, turning toward me again. “Be careful. I know you’re the elder brother here, but it’s no secret that your mother favors Titus. If you make an open enemy of him, there’s no telling what lengths those two would go to.”
“Careful who hears you talking like that,” I say quietly.
“You think me wrong?” he asks.
“No, you’re not wrong.”
He scoffs. “When are you going to decide to stop letting your brother maneuver? He’s clearly trying to weasel his way into the throne. The throne that’s rightfully yours.”
I grip the front of Dirk’s unfastened shirt, advancing until his back is pressed to the wall. “You forget yourself, brother,” I say.
“I don’t want to see that man named king. I know you don’t give a shit what happens to this city, but I happen to know there are still countless virgins out there for the taking. If Titus gets his hands on the scepter, he’ll land us in a war we can’t win. Or worse. By the time he’s done, there won’t be any virgins left because we’ll all be fucking dead.”
I let Dirk go, teeth still clenched. “Your concerns have been heard. You remember what I asked of you? Don’t fail me.”
He gives me a mock salute before closing the door. “Wake up,” I hear him call cheerily through the door. “It’s time for round three. Or is it four?”
7
Elizabeth
I wake with a gasp, sitting upright and blinking away the sleep. It’s my first morning in Burkewood palace, and the sunrise from this high tower is dazzling. I move to the window, still wearing the gown from last night--the gown I raised for Prince Roark. My cheeks color at the memory of him, the way his hands held so much power, like he could dominate me with the slightest effort, with just the slightest thought he could make my will his own.
I breathe out, trying not to think of him. If I’m going to survive in this strange, absolutely crazy place that might just be my new reality, I have to be careful. I’ve already learned enough to know anything involving Prince Roark is far from careful. He’s a dangerous man, even if he is mouth-wateringly handsome and darkly mysterious in exactly the right ways.Just thinking of the sharp lines of his jaw and the subtle way his lips curl up when he’s amused make my legs feel like they might give out. And those eyes… A shudder runs through me. Prince Roark is dangerous for me. Very dangerous.
The city bustles with activity below, but from this height it’s like watching a cross section of an anthill. Red light from the rising sun bathes everything in view, from the rounded roofs of buildings to the criss crossing streets choked with people going about their morning business. There’s a distinctly modern feel to this place, but the lack of cars adds a charm I can’t quite describe, as if there’s a hint of the past here. A hint of simpler times and simpler lives. I can almost imagine I’m living back in medieval times, but with proper plumbing and air conditioning.
If nothing else about the Shrouded Kingdom appealed to me, I can at least get behind the idea of simple.
The sound of footsteps echoes up from my staircase. I step back involuntarily, clasping my hands in front of myself and breathing hard, at least until I think back to the slow, steady pace of Prince Roark’s breath and I force myself to his speed. Calm. I may not be able to control much here, but that’s how life has always been for me. I can control myself, and I can make sure I’m calm and composed. This may be a new place, but eighteen years of misery shaped and prepared me for this.
I let out the breath I was holding when I see Marcella, Kadene, and Niera come gliding up the stairs. They all pause to look at me like I have three heads when they see me.
“You slept in your dress?” asks Marcella with a disapproving tone.
“Last night was… difficult,” I say.
The women waste no more time, swooping in on me like a flock of busy birds, stripping my clothes without embarrassment and unpacking equipment that looks like a portable makeover set. Niera fills up a tub at the edge of my room, keeping her shy eyes down as she works. Kadene is chattering my ear off so quickly I’m only able to catch bits and pieces.
“...will look so good blonde,” she says.
“Thank you,” I say quietly, still nowhere near used to being stripped naked in front of three women, not to mention in full view of the circular windows in my room that would give any bored city goer with binoculars quite a show from below.
“Princess, did you fall on your bum?” asks Marcella. “It looks a little red.”
My cheeks immediately burn. The memory of Roark and the paddle come back to me. I can still hear the smack of leather against my skin. “Y-yes. I sleepwalk. I tripped on the stairs.”
Marcella makes a sound of disapproval. “That will not do. We’ll have to have a door or a gate put in front of those stairs to keep you safe.”
“Prince Titus is hardly going to be able to keep his hands off you,” says Kadene, who is openly admiring my naked body, despite my futile attempts to cover myself.
“Kadene!” snaps Marcella. “You’re speaking to the Princess!”
“It’s okay,” I say. “So, um, what is the protocol on that anyway? The touching part, I mean.”
“If you want to get technical,” says Kadene. “You’re not to be touched by any
one, including your groom-to-be until the wedding ceremony. If any male but Titus touches your skin, he has the right to a blood challenge or they will be thrown in the dungeons to rot.”
“That sounds a little extreme,” I say. “What is a blood challenge?” I ask.
“Kadene!” hisses Marcella, who this time sneaks a look at Niera.
I follow her eyes, and notice that Niera looks on the verge of crying, but she’s trying to hold herself together.
Kadene winces and mouths “sorry,” to Marcella.
After a few moments pass, Marcella leans close to me, speaking in a low whisper. “Niera’s parents were killed because of a blood challenge, which is how she wound up here working as a servant. A blood challenge is issued when certain laws are broken--justice isn’t met until blood has been drawn, but more often than not a blood challenge ends in death on one side.”
A chill runs through me. “Even if the touch is innocent?” I ask. “It still means all that?” My mind goes back to yesterday when Calian walked me into the palace. Surely he touched me at some point, didn’t he? What if someone saw and he’s in danger now?
“It’s a little more complicated than that. It is up to the promised groom to make issue of a touch. He is the ultimate judge of innocence or guilt. Among commoners or lesser nobles, a royal representative is brought in to arbitrate, but Prince Titus would not have to answer to anyone. He could challenge or jail any man who touched you if he wished.”
Like Roark. Even though Roark said he was going to issue the punishment to the guard, I’m beginning to think he wasn’t acting purely out of my best interests or his brothers. He definitely put his hands on me. Or did he? I can't even remember now. Maybe he only touched me through my clothes and with the paddle? But even so, we were behind closed doors and I’m sure if Titus wanted to lay an accusation against him, he would have a case.
“There’s no one he has to answer to? Even his older brother or the queen?” I ask.
“Well, I suppose Prince Roark and Queen Korinthia could intervene, but it would be an immensely insulting thing for them to do. I doubt Prince Titus would be on speaking terms with either of them after something like that.”
I shake my head, trying to take it all in. “So this is normal here? Blood challenges and people being thrown in the dungeon over minor crimes?”
Marcella clears her throat, neglecting to answer me because Niera is approaching to help lead me to the bath. These women treat me like I can’t walk on my own, but I have to admit it’s nice to be fussed over. I used to watch my mom fiddle with my sisters’ hair or worry over their small cuts with envy. I’d imagine what it would be like to be in their shoes instead of my own, where I was left to figure out hair styling for myself and to find my own bandages.
I want to like it here. In so many ways, this bizarre world is an answer to everything I’ve ever hoped or wished for. I’m important here. I’m looked after. I’m not ignored. I’m wanted. But then again, that’s also the problem. Everything seems to tell me that being wanted by Prince Titus is more curse than blessing.
The women lead me to the bathtub and hold my arms carefully as I step into the warm water.
“This water smells amazing,” I say.
Niera nods her head slightly, cheeks flushing. “I’m glad you like it,” she says quietly.
“Now,” says Marcella. “We need to dye your hair. Make yourself comfortable, Princess. This will take a bit.”
I stand in front of a full length mirror, looking at a version of myself I never imagined I’d see. It’s like someone took the old me and made her more… just more. My hair is dyed platinum blonde and styled into curling ringlets that bounce with the slightest movement of my head. My makeup is done expertly to look like it’s not there at all, accenting my natural features. The green in my eyes pops against the new hair color, and they have me dressed in a slim, almost athletic dress that still manages to hold on to some of the elements of a regal dress while also feeling light and maneuverable. There are cute puffs of fabric that add a roundness and height to my shoulders. There’s the customary plunging neckline and an open back with crisscrossing straps. And though I haven’t seen anything but dresses that reach the ankle since coming here, this dress cuts off at mid-thigh and fits snugly.
“So women wear dresses like this when they play fielding?” I ask.
Marcella grins as she circles me, plucking at the fabric on my shoulders to fluff it more. “You don’t play fielding, Princess. You field. Or you go fielding. It’s a very well-respected sport among the nobility.”
“You’re sure he knows I’ve never played this game before?” I ask for the tenth time.
Marcella smiles reassuringly. Kadene and Niera have gone out to the fields to prepare my “tent”, whatever that means, but Marcella stayed behind to explain the rules. “It’s a dreadfully simple game,” she says. “They’ll give you a bat thingie and you’ll swing at the ball until you hit the target.”
“So it’s exactly like golf. But with a bat?” I ask.
“Well, no. The target is in the air. Like basketball? Except it’s not a hoop.”
I sigh. “I guess I’ll just figure it out. And is it really called a bat thingie?”
Marcella sighs. “I swore I knew enough to teach you the rules, but once I got to explaining it, I feel like I don’t actually know that much.”
Great, I think. Inviting me to play this game with him is apparently Prince Titus’ idea of an icebreaker, and I have to give it to him, I’ll probably feel more at ease outside playing a game than I would in some ballroom or over dinner, even if it’s a sport I’ve never heard of.
When I step out on the field after the winding journey through elaborately decorated halls of the palace, I’m shocked by how beautiful it is. Burkewood Palace has a rectangular courtyard and the entire space is apparently the field for this game. In many ways, it looks exactly like a golf course, complete with rolling hills, rocky outcroppings, sand traps, and even a water hazard. I see what Marcella was failing to explain now, too. There’s a blue circle that looks a lot like a floating bullseye at one end of the field. Along one side of the field, there are half a dozen tents set up and teeming with servants who appear to be doing everything from setting out equipment to preparing cocktails. I spot Kadene and Niera under one of the tents--my tent, I guess--scrambling around with towels in their hands as they clean up an apparent spill.
A small group of beautiful women in dresses of a similar style as mine watch me as I’m led toward the princes and queen at the top of the main hill. Envy is clearly written in their eyes, while they look between myself and the princes who wait at the top of the hill. One of the women even pulls self consciously at the patch of her hair that’s not dyed blonde.
I feel guilty seeing their jealousy. These women likely spent their whole lives wishing they could be where I am now, and yet I’m just bumbling through it, probably too uneducated in the culture to even fully appreciate what kind of prize has landed in my lap.
The company at the top of the hill demands all of my attention, though. Not just Prince Titus, but Queen Korintha and Prince Roark. Titus wears a royal blue outfit that fits his muscular frame tightly. It has the same high collared style that is so popular here, but the sleeves are cut off to reveal bulging arms.
Queen Korinthia wears a dress of a similar style to my own, but with with so many frills and puffs of colorful fabric that I’m sure she couldn’t play any sport in it. When I saw her in the throne room last night, I was too overwhelmed to take in much more of her appearance than a general sense of regal pride. Now I see the way the sun blasts through her makeup, putting the fine lines in her skin on display and showing just how hard she tries to hide her age. I’d guess her to be in her late forties, maybe early fifties. Her platinum hair is done up so high and thickly that I wonder if any bees have mistaken it for their home yet.
My breath hitches when I look at Roark. He’s watching me while he leans on something that looks l
ike a hockey stick mixed with a tennis racquet. He’s also wearing a sleeveless shirt with a deep neckline that puts his tanned arms and chest on mouth-watering display. There isn’t an ounce of fat on him, and every muscle cuts across his skin powerfully. I nearly fall on my face as I walk closer, tripping over my feet while I gawk at Roark.
He wears black and it only adds to the aura of mystery that seems to follow him like a magnet. The way the sun falls on his skin makes him look like something out of time, like the subject of a painting you might see hanging in an art gallery--the kind of painting that would make you wonder if such a gorgeous person ever really existed, or if he was purely the figment of an artist's imagination. A beautiful dream so perfect it could never truly exist. No matter how much I blink, Prince Roark is still there, and he only looks better up close.
Prince Titus moves between Prince Roark and I with an irritated expression on his face. He half-turns toward his brother, obviously having caught the way I was staring. My cheeks blossom with heat and I know I need to say something--anything--and fast, but all I can do is open my mouth and close it like a fish out of the water.
“Uh-h-hello,” I stammer.
Titus seems to consider something before he spits to the side and leers at me. “My beautiful Elizabeth,” he says, moving closer and lowering his voice. “You’ll need to learn to control your fucking eyes,” he growls so low only I can hear before stepping back and raising his voice again. “Let me show you how the game is played.” He turns toward a scared looking boy in his teens whose holding the same kind of hockey stick hybrid Roark holds. “Boy! Give me the bat.”
Titus doesn’t wait for the boy to respond. He rips the bat from the boy and turns toward a grassy mound where I stand with Queen Korintha and Roark, who is still watching me shamelessly.
“Titus is one of the best,” says Queen Korintha, as if she’s confiding in me. “Watch him closely. You’ll find no better example of form.”
Bad for the Billionaires: A Bad Boy Billionaire Bundle Page 84
