Once Upon A Scandal: Royally Screwed: Book 6

by Faye, Madison

  “I mean holy crap!”

  “Yeah, seriously.” Emilia said softly, almost wistfully. “Too bad we don’t have invitations, huh?”

  Looking back, I don’t even know where the idea came from. I definitely don’t know where the craziness came from for me to even humor it, but suddenly, there it was, burning a hole in my thoughts.

  What if we did have invitations? I mean, we had the dresses, after all. So, why not? So, I said it out loud.

  “And if we did?”

  Emilia turned sharply, her brow furrowed. “What do you mean? We don’t. Only Marta, Portia, and Renata are listed on the invitation that came to the house.”

  “Yeah, well what if we had our own invitations?”

  She rolled her eyes, shaking her head like she was humoring my craziness, which admittedly, she did a lot.

  “Well, then we’d get to this ball and pretend to be fancy, obviously.”

  I grinned as I started to undo my dress and peeled it off.

  “Say no more, lady.”

  Emilia was silent as I changed back into my kitchen whites, and when I turned, she was chewing on her nails.

  “Wait, Hang on. What are we really saying here?”

  “I’m saying say no more,” I winked. “Look, I have to go prep for tomorrow. Keep the dresses somewhere safe though, okay?”

  I hugged her goodbye before I skipped back up the stairs. I hadn’t been lying. I did have kitchen work to do, but there was something else on my to-do list for the night, and I knew if I’d said it out loud, my more nervous friend would have freaked. So, I decided I was going to surprise her.

  After all, I’d been painting my whole life. After all, I was great with tiny, detailed brushwork.

  …After all, how hard could it be to make two counterfeit invitations to King Rian’s ball?

  ****

  That night, I dreamed of dancing, and fancy palaces. I dreamed of champagne and white gloves, and not sweating my butt off cooking for Marta and her girls every day.

  I dreamed of handsome princes coming over to waltz me around the castle. And slowly, faces took shape. First it was King Hayden, and then Duke Xavier. Rian himself made a brief appearance in the dream, but I brushed them all off. After all, none of those men were my type at all, and I knew it was just because we’d been talking about Rian and his friends, or because I’d been thinking about it earlier.

  But then, two more faces bloomed into view. Two princes striding towards me in the dream and taking my hands, swirling me around the room — both of them, together.

  …Adam and Shane McDermott, the prince brothers of Nessa.

  Even in the dream, I knew it was wrong. Even in fantasy, and even just dancing, I knew there was something scandalous about dancing at a ball with two men at the same time. I could feel eyes on me from the crowd, and I blushed. But, I kept dancing. I didn’t walk or — hell — run away.

  Two princes twirled me around, and slowly, the dream turned darker, and deeper, and into something more feverish. Suddenly, the ballroom was gone, but they were still holding me. Suddenly, hands weren’t just twirling me, they were peeling my dress away, making my pulse thunder and my breath catch as they stripped me bare between them.

  I panted, twisting and writhing between them as four hands slowly moved over my skin, making me shiver in pleasure. I moaned for more, even if I knew it was wrong. Or maybe because I knew that. Mouths found my skin, and I was gasping, and about to scream for more, when I awoke.

  I gasped, my eyes flying open as I lay twisted in my sheets — my skin hot, my mind racing, and a slick, aching, needy heat pulsing between my legs.

  I wish I could say I went and got a glass of water and went back to bed, but, that’d be a lie. No, there was no putting out that fire. I moaned softly, twisting and burying my face into my pillow as I raised my hips up high. My hands slid beneath me, pushing down between my damp skin and the soft sheets, lower and lower until they slipped under the waist of my panties.

  I whimpered, my fingers pushing through my slick, sticky, dripping wet lips and rolling over my clit. I moved both hands over my pussy, the dream still very much alive in my mind as I let myself fall into the darkest places of my fantasies. Dark, forbidden, and scorching hot.

  My eyes squeezed shut as I used both hands to tease my clit, pushing two fingers into my opening and moaning into my sheets. In my waking dream, it was them — from my dream. In my fantasy as I touched myself, I imagined it was the ruggedly hot, bad boy princes Adam and Shane McDermott, touching me.

  Teasing me.

  Using their hands to make me squirm and beg for more.

  I could’ve gone deeper, and filthier into my fantasy, but I kept it there — the place where I imagined them each behind me, using their hands to tease me higher and higher. I rolled my hips, pushing back as I sank two fingers deep inside my pussy. The fingers of the other hand toyed with my clit, and in my head, it was them — one curling his big fingers in and out, the other teasing my clit.

  I slid my hands to my mouth, tasting myself as I got them slick and wet before pushing them back down. I groaned, and this time, the fantasy was two tongues. My wet fingers slid over my lips and my aching clit, teasing and swirling and rolling, until the heat was impossible to ignore.

  Two mouths, making me come.

  And I did.

  I gasped sharply into my pillow as two fingers — one from each hand — swirled around my clit at the same time. Like two tongues. Two tongues belonging to two of the hottest, sexiest, most never-ever-in-a-million-years-going-to-happen men on the planet.

  But then, we’re all only human. And humans are prone to being wrong. And just like Emilia was wrong about how improbable it was for us to go to that ball?

  Well, I was about to learn that I was wrong about something improbable too…

  Chapter 3

  Shane

  “Fuck, that’s hot.”

  Adam swore, his brow furrowing and his jaw tightening. Hell, so did I — my muscles clenching as the heat seared through… my mouth.

  …Fucking stuffed peppers, man.

  The both of us turned, discreetly moving to the trash can next to one of the buffet tables and spitting the mouthfuls away. Okay, Rian had thrown one hell of a party, but the food was, well… lacking would be saying it nicely.

  It sucked.

  Don’t get me wrong, we’re talking top of the line catering company, some chef flown in from Spain, and ingredients where I didn’t even know what the hell they were, and I liked food. But, yeah, yuck. Stuffed peppers were supposed to be edible. And I even liked hot stuff, but when all it did was burn my mouth up, no thanks.

  Adam made a face as he swigged back some of his scotch to kill the taste.

  “Well that was awful.”

  “Seriously,” I grumbled, letting my own drink cool the burn. We turned, surveying the room. “So, what are his chances?”

  Adam snorted. “Slim.” He turned, grinning. “Wait he was off on one of his tears earlier about how stupid an idea it was to let his advisors talk him into a ‘search for a queen ball,’ wasn’t he?”

  “At length.”

  My brother shook his head. “Fuck it then, less than slim. Nonexistent.” He sighed. “Poor bastard.”

  I’d called Adam my brother for my whole life, even before we actually were technically brothers. No, we weren’t blood relations. But really, we were closer than most actual brothers I knew. My father had been a Lord of Nessa. He and King Ned, Adam’s father, had always been thick as thieves. So when my parents were killed in a car crash when I was nine, it wasn’t really a question of where I’d go. The King and Queen — Adam’s parents — took me in as one of their own, no questions asked, and I was raised as a Prince of Nessa, now brother to my best friend in the world.

  Rian, King of Bandiff now, had been our third musketeer. We’d all gone to boarding school together, and the three of us had been little hellions. I think that's why we got along, actually. It wasn’t that we
were troublemakers, we’d just decided earlier on that the whole concept of “royalty” and all the bullshit that came with it was silly. And all those little lords and princes prancing around boarding school acting like whose dad was wealthier was some measure of character? Well, fuck that.

  They were much more fun to terrorize than attempt to make friends with anyways.

  That mindset had grown with us. We were men now, but still, we eschewed the concept of royalty as this sort of “better” person idea. We rarely wore our royal robes and shit like that. Only for special occasions to make sure dad was happy. Or hell, stupid balls like this one, where we were wearing tuxedos. Most of the time though, the two of us could be found wearing jeans and t-shirts — fucking around in the palace garages on our bikes or under the hood of a muscle car. That or working on our next tattoo designs.

  Yeah, not very princely, but oh well.

  For Rian though, the sand in the counter was running out. We were still princes, but he was King of Bandiff. And a king needed a queen. Hell, even we understood that. You just did. The ball was at attempt to make that happen — a chance for all the eligible women of birth in Bandiff to come to the palace for a ball and see if anyone struck his fancy. Given, they were all wearing masks — I mean, so were we — but apparently Rian was going to suss out their “sparkling personality” from across a dance floor.

  I rolled my eyes as I knocked back the rest of my drink. This was stupid, but still. Rian was our best friend, and he needed us there for support.

  “Should we find the grump master?

  I chuckled. “Yeah. Let’s grab a fresh drink for him to ease the pain.”

  We made our way through the crowd, smiling and shaking hand when expected to do so. We might not have been into the whole royal thing, but again, we weren’t assholes. We understood that someday one or both of us would take over for our father as king, and it was something we were getting ready for. Nor was it something we took lightly. So, we shook hands, we spoke cordially to foreign dignitaries and lords. After all, this was the job.

  But, that job had its own ticking clock. We knew damn well the pressure was on for us to find brides too. A lot of damn pressure. We’d both been set up on countless dates over the last few months too, by our father, by relatives, by advisors. And not a damn one of them ever worked out. Neither of us had ever met a woman who really got to us, or inspired us. I knew for me at least, when I found her, whoever she was, it was going to hit me like lightning. There was no slow burn for me. The woman who stole my heart was going to hit me like a damn truck. And Adam was the same way.

  We’d come close. There’d been one girl who… well, she didn’t blindside me, but she piqued my interest. We had one formal dinner date, and I thought she was, well, nice. She’d been set up the next night with Adam, and here’s where it got interesting. You see, he felt the same way. Not blown away, but, a connection. But then, we both had. The same girl, two of us, and we didn’t know how to move forward.

  We’d drank, and had some more drinks, and pretty soon, we’d come to the only logical conclusion. Hell, we were closer than brothers. We were best friends. There was no bad blood or petty jealousy between us, and both wanted the other to be happy in life.

  …So, why not both date her?

  Yeah, go ahead and laugh. The plan had felt solid when we were tanked. It felt solid when we went to see her the next day, confident that she’d see our logic.

  …The plan fell to fucking pieces when she slapped us, horrified at the suggestion, and then threatened to go public with the scandal.

  Yeah, fuck that. It’d cost us a pretty fucking penny to make sure she kept discreet about it, and that was that. Now here we were, at our friends “bridal ball.” There weren’t any prospects on the horizon and neither of us had any clue what the hell we were going to do when it came to finding a bride. Or brides. Or, whatever.

  “There you are.”

  Rian grumbled, raising a brow at us as we dropped into the chairs on either side of him, up on the small stage looking out over the ballroom.

  “Your catering…”

  Adam trailed off and Rian smirked. “Try one of those peppers yet?”

  “The hellfire in my mouth says yes.”

  Rian grinned

  “Careful, you’re starting to look like you might be having too much fun.”

  He turned and glared at Adam.

  “Hilarious,” our sour friend muttered. The both of us just chuckled.

  “No, really though, if you keep smiling like that, your face might stick.”

  This time it was me who got his ire, Adam and I snickering as grumpy Rian glared at us both.

  “You know this whole thing is ridiculous.”

  “Maybe,” my brother shrugged. “But, you do need a queen. You know that.”

  Rian scowled. "I do not.”

  “Yeah you do,” I snorted, patting his shoulder. “Hell, if anything, you at least need to get laid.”

  “I can get laid whenever I want,” Rian growled. “I’m King after all.”

  “And yet…” Adam snickered.

  Rian waved a hand dismissively, and the both of us cracked up.

  “Oh wait, don’t say it…” I stroked my chin exaggeratedly. “Frivolous, right? That’s the word you kept repeating about this whole thing earlier, isn’t it?”

  “I could change it to ‘go fuck yourself’ if you wanted.”

  I hooted a laugh, taking another sip of my drink, glancing at Adam before I shook my hand at my friend. “See? That’s repression, man. You gotta let that out.”

  “Hey, you know you could just skip this whole ball thing and call up whatshername instead.”

  I about snorted out my drink. I knew exactly who Adam was talking about. Rian, it seemed, had a stalker. We’d had a few ourselves. I mean, men of our means — and I say this without an ounce of narcissism — well, we attracted a certain type of women sometimes. There was the fame and glamor that came with us, and of course, the money. Rian’s latest fan, however, was flat-out nuts. She’d broken into his hotel rooms on business trips and left her underwear all over the place. She’d burned messages into his palace lawns. Hell, she’d sent him fucking vials of nail clippings and hair and shit. Psycho level for sure, but, it also kind of cracked Adam and me up.

  “Hey, is she here tonight?”

  Rian rolled his eyes. Yeah, he didn’t find it nearly — or at all — as amusing as we did. “Yeah she’s here as your date, Shane.”

  I laughed, downing the rest of my drink as Adam shot me a “don’t push it with him tonight” look. I was in the middle of doing just that — pushing it — when Rian’s annoying advisor, Tomilson, strolled up to the chairs, a stunningly good looking girl in purple in tow.

  “Highness, this is Princess Jin of —”

  And suddenly, Rian went stone cold. I frowned, glancing at Adam before we both peered at our friend. It was like he was looking through Tomilson, and through this Princess Jin. His eyes looked crazy — his jaw clenched tight. I frowned, following his gaze just as he suddenly stood

  “Pardon me.”

  And just like that, our friend just walked away.

  “What the fuck was that?” Adam muttered. Tomilson huffed, and the Princess with him looked pissed too, but we both ignored them. I stood, following Rian’s furious path through the crowd, and that’s when I saw her. It was impossible not to see — the girl he was after. She was standing in the doorway, this stunning green dress on and her dark hair tumbling over her shoulders. And Rian was going right for her, like a man possessed.

  “Well, that’s not something you see every —”

  Adam trailed off, going silent. Shit, so did I. I couldn’t think. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t blink. Because right there, I saw the girl standing next to the girl in green. And I’d never seen anything like her in my whole life.

  She was tall and curvy — gorgeous, with dark hair and these piercing blue eyes that matched that dress that fit her like a
second skin. Next to me, Adam growled. He’d seen her too. We’d both seen her, and I knew right then, neither of us ever wanted to see another girl as long as we lived.

  “Who. Is. That?” he asked quietly

  I just shook my head. With the mask? I had no idea. But I wanted to. I needed to. I had to, like an obsession. An instant addiction to this mystery of her.

  She said something to the girl in green, and suddenly, she was turning and walking away.

  “I — shit,” I whispered. And I started walking. So did Adam. The both of us just moved through the crowd toward her, like we were under a spell we couldn’t break. One we didn’t want to break.

  And I wanted her. We wanted her — I knew Adam well enough to know that. We said nothing, we didn’t have to. We were close enough that we could damn well read each other's thoughts anyway. And right there, our thoughts said one thing: she was ours.

  It was crazy. Insane. Impossible maybe, but also impossible to ignore.

  And we had to have her.

  Chapter 4

  Vi

  Technically, what we were doing was a crime. Actually, technically, I think it was kind of a big crime. I mean, sneaking into the royal palace, using forged documents? Yeah, that was probably pretty high on the “don’t try this at home” scorecard.

  But, I think we were both too excited to walk away.

  The invitations had been easier to fake than I’d expected. I snuck some pictures of the ones Marta, Renata, and Portia had received in the mail, and then spent the next night in my room with my paints. After all, I’d been doing art for years, and my cakes? Well, my cakes and the decorating work I put into them were on point, if I do say so myself. Really, that was what I liked the most about cooking anyways — cakes and baking. And I was damn good at decorating them.

  So royal ball invitations? Pssh. Piece of cake. Pun unintended.

  Painted, scanned into the computer, tweaked in Photoshop, and printed on nice cardstock, they looked every bit as legit as the real thing. We’d dressed in Emilia’s shitty stepsister’s cast-away gowns, snagged the 1976 Mustang from her father's old collection of muscle cars, and headed to the palace. Some smiles, a nice helping of cleavage, and a batted eye at the gate later, there we were.