Punished by the Prince

by Penelope Bloom

  Punished by the Prince

  Penelope Bloom

  Contents

  1. Elizabeth

  2. Roark

  3. Elizabeth

  4. Roark

  5. Elizabeth

  6. Roark

  7. Elizabeth

  8. Roark

  9. Elizabeth

  10. Roark

  11. Elizabeth

  12. Roark

  13. Elizabeth

  14. Roark

  15. Elizabeth

  16. Roark

  Epilogue

  Bonus Content

  Prologue

  17. Liam

  18. Aubrey

  19. Liam

  20. Aubrey

  21. Liam

  22. Aubrey

  23. Liam

  24. Aubrey

  25. Liam

  26. Aubrey

  27. Liam

  28. Aubrey

  29. Liam

  30. Aubrey

  31. Liam

  32. Aubrey

  33. Liam

  34. Aubrey

  Epilogue

  35. Single Dad’s Virgin Extended Epilogue (bonus!)

  36. Join my Mailing List

  Also By Penelope Bloom

  1

  Elizabeth

  My eighteenth birthday is shaping up to be completely and totally average. Unfortunately, average for me is probably a lot more like garbage that smells so bad you can practically taste it if you breathe through your mouth.

  My parents make decent money and they love each other. My little sisters get along great and they’re well-adjusted at school. The only problem is for as long as I can remember, they’ve all treated me like a wet rat that just landed on the table in the middle of Thanksgiving dinner.

  I make the best out of it, though. It’s become a hobby of mine to keep a running tally of all the different ways they find to hurt me. There’s the small, everyday neglect like cooking enough breakfast for everyone but me, or the fact that no one else in the house has chores except me. There’s the way I always got punished for getting a “B” on my report card, but my sisters didn’t. Then there’s the big stuff. The whoppers. Like the time I learned that my parents used up my college fund to pay for beer runs and vacations--but hey, at least I had a college fund at some point. There was also the time they “accidentally” left me at a rest stop in Florida on a ninety degree day with about three thousand percent humidity; the worst part was they didn’t even come back right away when I finally bummed a stranger’s phone to call them. They stopped to see Carl’s Alligator Farm first, and I’m pretty sure they even grabbed dinner because they all miraculously claimed they didn’t need to eat when I asked where we were going to stop.

  So when I say my eighteenth birthday has been an average, par-for-the-course kind of eighteenth birthday, that’s exactly what I mean. It’s not that I’m ungrateful. Don’t get me wrong. I guess my family could take their neglect of me to an entirely different level and leave me home while they go celebrate my birthday without me. So, you know, at least I was invited to my own birthday party! Hooray for me.

  The restaurant is my family’s favorite: Jasper’s Alehouse. The booths are oversized, the portions are oversized, and even our waitress must be at least six foot two. Country music plays over crackling loudspeakers, but it’s barely audible over the drunks at the bar who wear flannel shirts, cowboy hats, and sunglasses even though we’re inside.

  “They said they would be here by seven,” I say, sneaking a glance at my phone. I laugh a little nervously. “Which means they have minus thirty minutes, but I know they’ll come.”

  Erica sighs dramatically, adding a roll of her mascara framed eyes for emphasis. She’s two years younger than me, but she’s the daughter my parents wish I was. She has silky black hair that falls straight past her shoulders. Everything about her screams perfection, but it only takes half a brain and a few minutes to see past that. “Your friends ditched you, Elizabeth. Wake up and smell the rejection.”

  “So should we break into the cake?” asks my dad. His eyebrows are pinched in a permanent expression of scrutiny, like he just can’t quite believe what he’s looking at. The only time his expression softens is when he looks at my mom, Erica, or Anise, my other little sister. To be fair, he has been known to look pretty lovingly at hot wings too, but I don’t think that counts.

  Anise claps her hands together excitedly. “We should’ve broken into the cake thirty minutes ago.” Anise has my sister’s black hair and the same can-do-no-wrong reputation with my parents, but where Erica is thin as a rail, Anise has my mom’s genes and wears her curves proudly.

  My mother laughs, not even glancing my way before half-standing to start cutting the cake. The first slice--and the biggest, goes to Anise, who digs in right away. Erica gets the next slice, which is just a touch smaller than Anise’s slice, even though Erica will probably only take a bite or two. Then my dad is served, then my mom serves herself, and then she cuts a sliver of cake only a little bigger than a mouthful off and serves it to me.

  “It looks really good,” I say, eyeing the cake. I know it’s hopeless, but I hope if my mom sees me enjoying it enough, she might give me more than a hamster’s portion.

  “Most cakes do,” snaps my mother. “Sit up straight, how many times have I told you?”

  I do as I’m told because that’s the only way to survive in this family. For me, at least. I pick at my portion of cake, trying to drag it out and savor it as much as I can. I also try not to think about Kerry and Angel, who promised they would be here. My gut tells me they went to Kyle’s graduation party instead.

  Kerry and Angel are nice to me, but I have no illusions about how deep our friendship runs. If it’s convenient for them, they will be nice to me. If it comes down to choosing between me and something more fun, then I know they will choose the fun. I can’t blame them though. My parents are always lurking around when friends are over, glaring and making everyone so uncomfortable that the thought of hanging out with me gives them the creeps.

  I’m just about to officially give up on the evening when I notice the two men who walk into the restaurant. Even from the corner of my eye, I can tell they are both beautiful--it’s not normally a word that comes to mind when I see men, but these men defy normal. The first man through the door has dusty brown hair that’s cut short on the sides and longer on top, where it’s carelessly pushed to the side. There’s a few days’ stubble across his chiseled jaw that I involuntarily imagine tickling my face as I kiss those perfect lips. But most noticeable of all are his dark eyebrows that make his blue eyes scream for attention. The clothes he wears would probably seem goofy or out of place on most men, but somehow this man’s athletic, powerful build helps him pull it off.

  His jacket is high collared and tapered at the waist, but it reaches down to his upper thighs. Beneath, he wears a collared shirt with some sort of subtle, embroidered gold pattern that stands out against the white of his shirt. There’s also a large, expensive looking ring on his finger bearing some kind of insignia.

  The man behind him is built like he rips tires in half in his spare time. He has blonde hair that’s a little long for my tastes, though I can see it driving some women wild. His eyebrows are the same shape as the other man’s, but slightly less dark and less arresting, and the gray eyes beneath carry a coldness that is absent in the man I assume to be his brother’s face. He’s stunning, though, but where the first man is breathtaking like sunrise in a warm forest, this man has the cold, harsh beauty of an icy mountain range.

  The blonde's outfit is similar too, but his jacket is red where his brother’s is black.

  My sisters don’t fail to notice the men--and even my mom is ga
wking. When both men turn to look directly our way, my sisters immediately break into an argument about which one of them the men were checking out.

  I nearly fall back out of my chair. The restaurant is packed and we’re near the back, but those men definitely looked straight into my eyes. My eyes. Not my sisters, not my parents. I’m sure of it, and the intensity of those eyes on me practically scorched my skin.

  After a short silence, Erica and Anise start a silent but intense shoving match to be the first to get up and walk toward the bathroom--which is coincidentally in the same direction the two gorgeous men just went.

  My dad turns to my mom with a grave look on his face. “It’s time, then, isn’t it?”

  My mom nods, eyes darting to me.

  “What’s going on?” I ask.

  My dad clears his throat and sets his napkin down on the table, grimacing. It’s not like him to stop eating, let alone pause for breath before he has finished.

  “Dad,” I say. “What is it?”

  “We’ve planned a little surprise for you, Elizabeth.”

  “Are you going to throw me in a dumpster?” I ask.

  My mom glares at me. “Elizabeth, don’t interrupt your father.”

  My dad holds up a hand to her, tilting his head. “It’s okay, Carol.” He sighs dramatically through his large nose. “We haven’t been kind to you, I know that,” he says.

  I frown in confusion. Hearing my dad even talk about anything remotely related to the way they treat me is alien. I replay his words over and over again as fast as I can, making sure I understood him correctly. I learned not to even bring it up from a young age because talking about fair and unfair always earned me a few weeks of the silent treatment.

  “But you’ll understand everything soon. There’s, uh, a car waiting outside for you. It’s part of the surprise.”

  “Do you want me to go outside now?” I ask, voice still quiet, as if I’m afraid speaking too loudly will break the curse. It’s the first time my parents have ever even talked to me like I was more than a nuisance.

  “That would be best,” says my dad, a little stiffly.

  “Okay…” I say, getting up and moving toward the front door of the restaurant. I look back at my parents once before I go, half-expecting to see them snickering because I’m walking into some elaborate prank. But they both look solemn.

  When I step outside, I don’t have a clear view of the parking lot because a huge, glossy black limo is parked right in front of the restaurant. I try to look around it for a car, even though I have no idea what kind of car I’m supposed to be looking for or what any of this could mean. A driver in a ridiculously classic tuxedo and top hat steps out of the limo and moves toward me. I step back before he can yell at me for getting too close.

  “Sorry,” I say. “I was just trying to look for someone in the parking lot.”

  “Miss, we’re here for you,” he says. “Please,” he adds, opening the back passenger door and motioning for me to get in.

  Feeling completely confused, I get in. I’m wearing a puffy purple dress that I’ve treasured since I managed to get my mom to buy it for homecoming two years ago, but now even my most prized article of clothing feels raggedy as I take in the limo and it’s luxurious interior.

  The seats are plush leather so soft it could be silk, and the space between the seats and the floor is wood that’s so polished it’s practically reflective. Golden trim surrounds everything from the inside of the doors to the mini-bar set in the center of the seating area. I only notice the man sitting across from me after an embarrassingly long time spent gawking.

  He tilts his head to me a fraction of an inch, not breaking eye contact.

  “Evening, Miss Dowry,” says the man with a strange accent I can’t quite place. The vowels are emphasized a little more than usual, and there’s an eccentric, almost aristocratic lilt to his words. His clothing gives me the strangest pang of familiarity too, which is a surprise because I’m sure I’ve never seen anyone wearing clothes like his. The collar rises straight up from the open, zipperless and buttonless jacket. The shirt beneath is fastened with a series of drawstrings in the shape of little crosses, all the way to the base of his neck, but has no collar. It’s only when I see the small insignia pinned to the collar of his jacket that I realize why his clothes look familiar.

  They are the same style of clothing I saw the two gorgeous men from the restaurant wearing, even though these seem to be a little less embellished and less expensive versions of those clothes.

  “Okay. Hold on,” I say, raising my hands. “Somebody better tell me what prank show I’m on soon or you’re going to have to bleep out a lot of words.” My pulse pounds in my ears. Neglect I can handle. I’ve had eighteen years to develop thick skin for that. But someone going out of their way to embarrass me and make me feel stupid? That’s another level of low, and it’s one I’m not going to lie down and take. Not on my birthday.

  “I’m here to explain,” says the man. “My name is Calian, and if it pleases you, you may think of me as your concierge. As the matter at hand is somewhat delicate, I think it would be best if I start small.”

  “You can drop the accent and the whole fancy act, Calian,” I say, “If that’s really your name. There are hidden cameras somewhere, right? You’ll explain some crazy thing and the editors will cut this so it looks like I believed every word. That’s how this works, so let’s just open the door and let me out.”

  He clears his throat and it doesn’t seem like he plans on acknowledging what I just said. “How much have your parents told you?” he asks.

  I sigh with mounting frustration. “My parents didn’t tell me anything.” I tug on the door handle but it won’t open. “Okay, seriously. I want to go.”

  “Well, this all may come as something of a shock to you then.” For the first time since I’ve entered the limo, he fidgets, pulling the slack out of his pants and looking away while he gathers his thoughts. “You are extremely important to my people,” he says slowly.

  “Your people. Like… gay people?” I ask, frowning with genuine curiosity.

  Calian’s jaw flexes and he closes his eyes for a few seconds, obviously trying to choose his words carefully. “No. When I say my people I’m referring to the Burkewoods.”

  “So you’re like a butler for rich people?” I ask.

  “The Burkewoods do have considerable wealth, but to diminish my role so far as to call me a butler,” he says, pausing after spitting the word out like a curse, “well, it’s fortunate you are so valuable to my employer, because I would normally not suffer such an insult.”

  I roll my eyes, feeling the last shreds of my already worn patience giving way. “I’m giving you thirty seconds to explain what the hell is going on or I’m going to leave, even if I have to use my shoe to break a window out.”

  “You are Elizabeth Dowry, are you not?” he asks.

  “Yes,” I say with exasperation.

  “That means you are Princess Dowry, one of the most highly sought after brides in all of the Shrouded Kingdoms. The year you were born, Prince Titus Burkewood was promised your hand in marriage after you turned eighteen. By your parents. I’m collecting you on behalf of the Burkewoods to honor that promise.”

  I watch him for a few seconds before I burst out laughing. “Okay, you earn some bonus seconds for that. At least the BS story you’re feeding me is entertaining. But you really went too far when you said I was highly sought after. I don’t know if you know this, no one has ever sought after me, except maybe to clean a clogged toilet. So this whole prince thing? That’s pretty funny.”

  “Pardon me for saying so, but you’re wrong, Princess.”

  “As fun as it is to hear you call me that, please, knock it off.”

  “As you wish, Prin--” Calian suddenly looks like he swallowed a fly and apparently can’t think of anything else suitable to call me, so he just falls silent.

  “Seriously though, how do you expect me to believe these imagi
nary people in this imaginary land would want to marry me when they’ve never met me?”

  “Because when your parents died, they left one of the most substantial estates in all the Shrouded Kingdoms to you--once you turned eighteen.”

  “I think you’ve got the wrong parents. My parents’ house is a pigsty. They’re also very much alive. You can poke your head in the restaurant if you want to see.”

  Calian narrows his eyes like I’ve just said the dumbest thing he has heard all night. “Not your foster parents. Your real parents. Emery and Verian Dowry.”

  “I don’t have foster parents,” I say with confidence, even though it feels like the limo is closing in around me. “You know, I think I’ve had enough crazy for one night. I’m done.” I reach for the door and yank on the handle but nothing happens again. I try again a little more forcefully. “Let me out.” My voice is calm, but my heart is pounding now. My parents wouldn’t let me get in a limo with someone who was going to hurt me, would they?

  Foster parents, chides a small voice in my head. The idea sends an icy spear of uncertainty through me. “Let. Me. Out,” I say again, voice quivering now.

  “I’m afraid I don’t have the power to do that, Princess. You were promised to Prince Titus long ago, and I have strict orders to see that you arrive at Burkewood castle. Intact, and before morning.”

  I cross my arms, glaring for all I’m worth, but feeling totally helpless. “Why are you doing this?” I ask. “What is the point? I don’t buy your ridiculous story, and if there are cameras in here somewhere, they are recording what is going to be a very boring video. Just let me go and we can both try to salvage our nights.”