Of Royal Blood: Part One (Courting Magik Series Book 1)

by Michele Barrow-Belisle

  “No thanks,” I snapped. Be nice. Be nice. I dragged in a breath. “I mean, that’s really not necessary.”

  His eyes locked on mine. “I insist,” he said, pushing it back before I’d lifted my finger from the paper. A shock wave tripped up my arm as his hand brushed mine, and I jerked away from him. My face flushed with heat, which added to my irritation.

  I dropped my voice, hoping Mum wouldn’t hear. “Do you actually think you can buy me? With a fistful of bills? Just because you’re a prince doesn’t—”

  “Wait.” He whipped off the beanie, a deep frown lining his forehead. “You know who I am?”

  I glared at him, palming my hands against the counter and leaning toward him. “Of course we do.” Was that a crack about our intellect now? Everyone in the free world knew who the Royals were because they controlled the free world. Some say with black magik, some say with fear and force. I’d say likely a combo of both. It was no secret they’d long ago outlawed the use of magik by commoners, swearing that they, too, had let go of the demonic practice. But if the hot, reckless prince standing here before me was anything to judge by, I’d say they couldn’t be trusted to stick to their word.

  He mirrored my actions, which brought his face dangerously close to mine. For the briefest second, I actually considered biting his nose. Or kissing him. Both of which made me stand down.

  “So, you think I’m trying to buy you?” His perfect brows arched. “Wasn’t aware you were for sale.”

  “I’m not.”

  “Then I’d say someone thinks rather highly of themselves, don’t they?”

  “Uh, yeah,” I folded my arms, “they do.”

  A wicked spark of amusement danced in his eyes. “Look, if it must mean something, then think of it as hush money." He pressed a finger to his lips.

  God, he has great lips.

  "Since I’m not really supposed to be here.”

  Of course he wasn’t. “Then why are you slumming it?”

  “Long story. Just do me a massive favor and don’t mention it.” He glanced down at the cash between us. “Is that not enough? How much then?”

  “What?”

  “How much for your silence?”

  My arms dropped to my sides as my hands fisted. “Oh, my god, you are such a pompous ass—."

  “Extra special customer! And so very generous!” I felt my mother brush against my arm as she bustled past.

  “Here, dear.” She handed him yet another box over-stuffed with donuts. “This one’s on the house. We’re just so honored you graced our humble shoppe, Your Majesty, and of course we wouldn’t dream of breathing a word of it.”

  She threw me a scathing look before rounding the counter to his side.

  “Now, you enjoy these as my treat. We won’t breathe a word of you, but you are more than welcome to tell all your friends about us,” she said, ushering him briskly to the door. Likely before I could do anymore damage to her precious company name, or fracture anymore Royal Rules. She stood there a moment longer, discussing something in a voice too low for me to hear. But during her one-sided conversation, the prince glanced up at me numerous times.

  She limped back to the counter to retrieve his other boxes and piled them into his arms, then held the door open. “Here you go, dear. Thank you so much for coming, and please do come again.”

  Then she bowed. I nearly puked all over my shoes.

  He spared a quick glance in my direction. “The pleasure was all mine,” he said with a wink, before he slipped back out into the darkness.

  Wow. He was unbelievable. Britannia's notorious Prince dubbed His Royal Badness…and clearly, he’d worked hard for that reigning title. I leaned against the register, glaring at the wad of bills still littering the counter.

  “Well, don't just stare at it,” my mother snapped, “put it in your wallet before someone else does.” She pinched my arm lightly.

  I leaned back against the counter, suddenly feeling weary. So tired of all of this. Tired of the grease that clung to my hair. Tired of the rude and demanding customers who treated us like dirt. Tired of being so poor that even the arrogant prince’s cash seemed too tempting to pass up. Almost, too tempting.

  “There is no way I’m keeping that money. But please, feel free, Mum. I’ll shove it in the register. It’ll be the most cash that’s ever been in there." I pressed the buttons and the till sprang open. "Or better yet, let’s put it in the tip jar. We can change take a penny leave a penny to take a hundred leave a hundred.” I slammed the cash drawer shut.

  “Well, Miss Sass, you’ll be needing the money more than I will.”

  My mother was not subtle when she was up to something… all of nature knew it. It was as if the skies went black and locusts rained from the clouds.

  Remember when I had mentioned that her quick shift in temperament was a sign that something was coming? This was that something. A volcanic eruption in the midst of a hurricane. That was the cataclysmic scale of events she’d unleashed. I could just feel it.

  My eyes narrowed. “Why?” I drew out the word.

  She puttered around behind the counter, refilling napkin holders and collecting coffee stirrers. “For your new wardrobe.” She said it offhandedly, like purchasing a new wardrobe was something we routinely had cause to do. “You’ll need to buy some proper clothes for your new job. Well, interview, first, naturally.”

  “Interview?” My arms folded across my chest. I’d been putting out feelers all over the island, desperate to find something, anything other than what I was doing now. I’d paid off some of my student loans with the small inheritance Father had left me. But for a girl with a teacher’s degree and no experience, or social status, my options were limited. An interview should have been great news, but I couldn’t get rid of the knot swelling in the pit of my stomach.

  “Yes, love,” she said casually, “two days from now.”

  “An interview where?”

  “At the Chateaux Valois in Westingham.”

  And there it was. An eruption of eight-point-five on the Richter Scale, in the midst of a category five hurricane. Cue the locusts.

  “With a bit of luck," her scarred hand shook a little as she spoke, "you’ll be next in the family to work at the Royal Palace.”

  CHAPTER 2

  Flames licked at my cheek and I sprang upright, strangling a scream.

  Darkness swathed the room.

  “Dream?” My sister’s voice traveled through the shadows between us.

  “Nightmare,” I whispered groggily. “Another one.” I rolled onto my side. “Didn't wake the little one, did I?”

  “You know he can sleep through anything.” I heard her yawn, the springs of her bed squeaking as she repositioned herself. Lincoln had slept through my nightmares, thunderstorms, and the epic hollering matches between Tina and Mum when she’d come home at three a.m. from a night out with some guy or another. She was always hooking up with guys at the fair. Always pretending they’d be better than the trailer-trash they were. That they’d somehow rescue her from the life she’d created for herself. Part of me wondered if she really wanted to be rescued. Or if she really only wanted to be punished.

  When I woke up again, sunlight was streaming through my window, and my sister’s bed was empty. Lincoln had his own room, but like most little kids, he often crawled into bed with Tina, or with me on the nights she didn’t come home. Which were frequent. Not tonight it seemed.

  Scrubbing a hand over my face, I stumbled out of bed. I’m sure my mother’s grand revelation had something to do with my restless night. We had our differences over the years, but for her to go behind my back to secured me a job at the very place that had contributed to destroying my sister’s life… that would be a hard one to get past.

  I tried to put it behind me and focus on my day. Meeting Hannah to work on the set for the Royals theater company. I stared out at the bleak skies, still unseasonably cold. In all the turmoil last night, I'd left my only scarf at the shoppe. I tipt
oed past my nephew’s room. Lincoln would be sleeping for a few hours yet. Knowing Mum would be sleeping in, too, something she sorely needed, I threw a cover over my pj’s and padded down the road to the donut shoppe to grab my scarf.

  I liked this part of town early in the mornings. The air seemed cleaner, crisp. The streets were empty, and it was the only time I could hear myself think.

  I strolled past three shop entrances decorated with pumpkins and another six with black-and-white candles in their windows before I remembered the date. Samhain started today. A time when storefronts changed their signage to “Welcome to Samhain,” with adorable little black cats painted next to it, or fierce looking jack-o-lanterns propped up beside. It was once my mother’s favorite season. For years we went in on all the traditions, leaving offerings for the Goddess of Hecate. She was considered the wise and powerful ruler over the Crossroads... the transition point from one realm to the next, which the Samhain period was known for. The start of a new year was marked with the ritual Feast of the Dead.

  On the opposite side of town, zealots and firm believers shunned the celebration, since magik, and all things remotely paganistic, were rooted in demonic energies.

  For most, they saw it as a time of new beginnings. In our house, it was opposite. It was all nonsense, but the tourists and fair goers ate it up. So did the Royals, and that was all that mattered.

  Biting cold nipped at my fingers as I fiddled with my keys. I shoved the key into the lock, turning hard until it clicked open. I'd expected to be greeted by the smell of fry oil as I unlocked the door. Instead, there was an envelope. I opened to find a foreclosure notice inside. My stomach fell. I knew the shoppe was struggling, but Mum had been hiding how bad things really were. This place was all that remained of my father. All that my mother had. I couldn't let that happen.

  I retrieved my scarf and hurried to the register to grab the prince's wad of money from the till, before heading back home.

  The door squeaked open, startling me. I spun around. “Sorry, we’re not actually open yet because…”

  “Man, I need some donuts. I'm craving a cream-filled right now. I've been seeing them in my sleep.”

  “It’s your subconscious talking. It’s telling you, you need to get laid.”

  Oh. My. God. I blinked, staring at Prince Ethan, and some guy next to him.

  This time he seemed steady on his feet, and fully sober. His friend on the other hand, that was questionable.

  “Isn’t that the donut shoppe girl?”

  He said it in a voice that was supposed to be a whisper, but that everyone could hear. My brows arched. “Donut shoppe girl?”

  Ethan’s gaze roamed over me as he pulled the door shut, taking in my trench coat carelessly tied over my black Kitkat pajamas. My sister’s idea of a joke.

  “Sorry.” The hint of a smile touched his lips. “Guess you really aren’t open yet.”

  “Nope.” Why was it every time I saw this man, I wanted to run and hide? “I pointed to the back. “We don't have any fresh donuts ‘til ten. You’re welcomed to come back then.” In crossed my fingers behind my back hoping they wouldn’t take me up on that. But then I remembered, I wasn’t actually working today, Jeremy was…so yeah, this would be the perfect day to come back.

  Ethan pushed on the door to leave, but his friend had other ideas.

  “Nah, man. We need sustenance now. They wore me out last night.”

  Ethan turned back, rolling his eyes. “We’ll take last night’s then. Whatever you have.”

  I folded my arms, feeling an inkling of irritation at being forced to work when I only came in for my scarf. But then I remembered the foreclosure notice burning a hole in my pocket. A customer was still a customer and this one tipped particularly well. “All right. Fine.” I walked back behind the counter to prepare a box for him. Mum would have had my head if she knew I was selling day-olds to the prince, but hey, I was making lemonade here.

  “Anything else?” I folded the lid closed and set the box on the counter.

  “Not that you can give me, but there's something I need to give you,” the prince said.

  I frowned, waiting for the next pathetic pick-up line.

  “An apology. I'm sorry for my behavior the other night. Truly.”

  “Okay. Think you said that last night.”

  “Yeah, but I get the feeling you’re still pissed.” He took a few steps toward me. “I can’t leave here until you say you forgive me.”

  “I forgive you.” I said it quickly, nearly before he'd finished speaking.

  His friend burst into laughter. “She really wants you gone mate.”

  His mouth quirked. “Touché. I'll leave, then. I have what I came for.” He left another massive bill on the counter. “Please don’t be offended by my tip. It’s my way of saying thanks for letting us put you to work, when clearly, you’re not.” He offered a smile and headed for the door without his donuts.

  I didn’t complain about the money this time.

  His friend staggered after him, but then stopped. “Hey, man, what about my sugar fix?”

  Ethan sighed, glancing back in my direction. “This played out so much cooler in my head.” He gave me a crooked grin, a dead-sexy crooked grin, that nearly had me tripping on my own feet as I walked back to the till to gather his box.

  I passed the donuts off to the prince's friend while we stood in a silent standoff, gazes tethered. I released a breath I hadn't realized I was holding. “Well, now you really got everything you came for.”

  “Not quite.” He smiled. “Have a good day, Katriana.” He pointed to the fryer. “Don’t work too hard.”

  I managed to bend my head just enough to avoid the silent lecture from my mother in my mind. “I’m not actually working today. I just came in for”—I reached for my striped scarf and held it up—“This.”

  Ethan nodded. “Can I offer you a ride back home in the limo?”

  Panic. The idea of him knowing where I worked was bad enough, but seeing where I lived? “No, I’m fine.”

  “It’s freezing out there. Might even snow.”

  I held up my scarf. “I’m good.”

  His friend leaned against the wall. “Has a massive back seat.” He leered. “Perfect for banging one’s brains out.”

  I disliked this one.

  “Seriously. You two could be fucking already. And I could be shoving my face into a cream filled.”

  “Ignore him. He’s an ass and not worth your time.”

  “Was that an order or a request, Your Majesty?”

  “It was an apology.”

  I splayed my hands on the counter. “See, it sounded nothing like an apology.”

  “But you will forgive me, won’t you?”

  “Again. Not a question.” I frowned at him. “Do you always get your way?”

  “Not always.” He cocked his head and leaned in conspiratorially. “If I had things my way, we'd be fucking already.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Are you for real?”

  “Real as they come.”

  He dragged his thumb across his bottom lip as he sized me up. My breath left my lungs in a rapid whoosh.

  “Are you married Katriana?” he asked.

  “No.”

  “Boyfriend? Girlfriend?”

  “No. No. Why?”

  “Just trying to figure you out.”

  I pushed off the counter and folded my arms. “Trying to find a solid reason why I won’t hop into your limo to bang your brains out?”

  “Yes. That, and why you seem so familiar.”

  Oh, god, maybe he’s remembering. Had he actually seen me that night, spying on him in the hall? I tried my best not to look at him because every time I did, it reminded me of the way he'd looked at me that day. No. Not looked at me. Looked at her. I’d only dreamed it was me. The fact that I wasn't asleep at the time had nothing to do with it. Apparently daydreaming could be just as potent as night dreaming.

  My arm tingled, and I rubbed my hand ov
er the burn. “Well, we met the other night. You were pretty wasted so, I won't take it personally that you forgot me.”

  “Oh, there is no way in hell I could forget you, Kat. You're…memorable.”

  Gorgeous blue eyes were staring deep into me, pulling me into him, until I couldn't remember how to breathe.

  I heard his words, heard everything he said, but I couldn't answer him. Ethan was still holding my gaze, and I couldn’t look away.

  “It’s weird. I have these memories of us…together. But we’ve never actually—was that real or imagined?”

  I was already shaking my head vigorously, feeling my insides twist into knots, but it was his friend who decided to answer.

  “Don’t be a bloody arse, of course it wasn’t real. What did you think, girls offer themselves to just anyone? Oh right, you would you’d think that. You're the future king of fucking Britannia.” Then he burst out laughing.

  Ethan washed a hand over his face, looking annoyed. “Christ, would you stop throwing that in my face? And while you're at it, stop shouting, too. You’re in public.”

  His friend groaned. “Sorry, man. But look, the girls are desperately waiting for more sugar, and so am I. Can we just go?”

  Ethan looked at me, trying to hold my gaze, but I turned away. “Better get moving.” I slammed the register shut. “Don’t want to keep horny, I mean, hungry girls waiting.” Then I walked to the back of the trailer.

  Ethan didn’t say anything else, but I heard the door squeak open and then close. And then they were gone. Just like that, the trailer dimmed, and the temperature cooled, like when the clouds passed over the sun.

  I'd heard about as much of their little exchange as I could stomach. Ethan had probably gotten totally wasted, again, and bedded the first, second, and possibly third girl he'd met on the yacht last night. Sickening.

  While I stormed back to the house, remembering the way his stubble had felt against my inner thighs, well, in my head…and the way he'd made that blonde moan, I wasn't entirely sure if I was appalled or envious. What would it be like to feel that in real life? Instead of just imagining it in a crazy dream. Vision? Hallucination? Whatever it was. Who cares? Not. Gonna. Happen. Get over yourself and focus, Kat. Ethan was a danger zone, and one I had to steer clear of for too many reasons to count. Only the first being, that weird shared encounter we’d never actually shared.