Royally Shared

by Madison Faye

  “Something big, people! I’m hungry!”

  I resisted the urge to snort as I rose from the table. Simone, to my right, did not.

  “There’s a headline,” she muttered under her breath. “Fat, sweaty, walking-sexual-harassment editorial chief is hungry. Stop the fucking presses.”

  I turned to grin at her, rolling my eyes.

  “We could not bring him something when he’s hungry. That’d be the real scandal.” I sighed as I gathered my stuff. “I mean isn’t anyone else getting tired of this ‘scandal’ crap? Wasn’t the whole point of this team to find stories that mattered when it came to royalty?”

  Simone shrugged. “Yeah, well, people don’t want ‘what matters’ apparently. They’re just interested in who’s fucking whom.”

  I shook my head as I shouldered my bag, and we started to head out of the conference room when Martin cleared his throat behind us.

  “Emma?”

  I made a face before turning and forcing a smile.

  “Can you stay behind for a second?”

  I glanced back at Simone, who gave me a half-smile, half-sympathetic look.

  “I’ll, uh, meet you downstairs?”

  She nodded, her eyes saying “good luck” before she headed out of the conference room.

  “What’s up, Martin?”

  “Just wanted to check in with my favorite team writer,” he smiled, his eyes firmly on my breasts, as usual.

  “Anything juicy for me?”

  I shrugged, pulling out my phone and bringing my notes up.

  “We’re following up on some leads about the rumors of the Countess of Vandim having had a baby in secret somewhere. Apparently the dad might be her husband’s personal trainer.”

  Martin grinned. “Nice.”

  Yuck.

  Crap like this was not why I’d become a journalist. It’s not what brought me to the Revania Post either. When word had gotten out that we were starting an internal special investigative team to look into hard-hitting stories around royalty and their families, I was so excited to be picked to be a part of it. I mean, that was why I’d gotten into this business — to write the stories that mattered and shed light on the things that people needed to hear about. Secret treaties, trade wars between kingdoms, allegations of corruption — these were the things I was excited to dig into and write about.

  Instead, our “special investigative team” was basically a gossip column. We were not writing about the things that mattered. Instead, every story was about who was sleeping with whom (allegedly), who was wearing what, and who was spotted at some exotic location with someone other than their queen or king.

  It was a joke. Instead of hard-hitting stores, I was following up on stories of scandalous affairs and royal celebrity sex tapes.

  “What else?”

  I paged through some more of my notes on leads. That was one thing about royals and the hints of scandal — it was always there if you just look a little deeper than the surface.

  “There’s a source that claims she has evidence that Princess Amalla of Krysto is actually Prince Amalla.”

  Martin beamed, still looking at my tits.

  “Good, good. Nice work, Emma.”

  “Thanks, boss.”

  “But I think we can go deeper. Get something that matters more.”

  I raised a brow. Well, this was new for Martin.

  “Yes!” I said excitedly. “I’ve been dying to do something hard-hitting that gets into the real stuff that matters!”

  He grinned, nodding his head eagerly. “Good! I like your fire, and I think you’d be perfect for this.”

  The smiled stretched across my whole face, excited to finally be moving past this scandal and rumor stuff and into something that really mattered.

  “So, what are you thinking?” I eagerly flipped to my notes of actual political news. “There are reports of Lumloria amassing troops at their borders, and there’s a ton of stuff to get into with the separatists insurgency fighting in Berne. Or, I know there’s—”

  Martin cut me off with a laugh and shake of his head. “Nah, not what our team is after.”

  My spirits sank.

  “Oh.”

  He rubbed his hands together, his eyes finally pulling back up to my eyes.

  “Ever heard of the Triple Crown Club?”

  The name gave me pause. I knew I’d heard the name before, but I couldn’t grasp it.

  “Maybe?”

  “Alleged members-only, royalty-only sex club? Ring any bells?”

  That was it. Yeah, I’d heard of it, as the completely bullshit urban legend it was.

  I smiled and started to roll my eyes at Martin, when he stopped me.

  “No, hang on. I think it’s more than a rumor.”

  “Got any leads or anything?”

  He shrugged. “None. But wouldn’t it be awesome if it was true? I mean, a secret club where princes and dukes and other royal elite men go to…fuck, I don’t know. Bang pricey hookers, or each other, or whatever the fuck they do there.”

  I’d heard the rumors, of course. The whispered stories, the urban myths of a secret sex club of the elite, like something out of Eyes Wide Shut. I, like most sane, rational people, was pretty sure it was as bullshit as it sounded though.

  That all said, if it was real, the story would be the holy grail of news stories. If someone was ever able to prove that the Three Crowns Club, or the Triple Crown, or whatever it was called was real, the story would be worth its weight in gold. And as much as I didn’t like Martin, or the tabloid-drama angle our special team had turned into, this was a chance at something big. Maybe not trade embargoes or troop movement, but still, much much bigger than just a simple who was sleeping with whom.

  “Here, this is all we have on the story.”

  Martin turned and grabbed a small folder, handing it to me.

  “It’s not much, but I want you to start looking into it. See what you think.”

  I frowned, nodding as I opened the folder to the flimsy stack of notes and interviews.

  “Know any royals who might help us dig into this?”

  “Sadly, no.”

  Not anymore at least. I’d burned the last of my contacts to get the story a month back on the Duke of Leané having those sex parties involving men a third his age and bondage. Again, a totally lame, tabloid story, but Martin had insisted on chasing it. And it had made quite the headlines, despite being trashy gossip.

  “Your roommate just started working for Prince Snow, right?”

  I frowned and he chucked. “Overheard you telling Simone about it in the break room the other day.”

  Great, my pervy boss is eavesdropping on us now too. Wonderful.

  He was right though. Julia had just started as the personal assistant to Prince Luke Snow, of North Revania — a position she scored with the help of her cousin Anya, who worked with the royal family of Berne.

  I nodded slowly. “She did.”

  “Great, can we use it?”

  I didn’t even hesitate before shaking my head. “No, I don’t think she’s going to be working very close with the Prince at all.”

  Of course she was going to be working close with him, she was his PA. But then, it was a huge job for her, and there was no way I was going to step on that or jeopardize it for her. I wasn’t going to burn my friend to get a story. Contacts, yes. Snitches, maybe. But friends?

  No way.

  “I’ll look into it though,” I said with a forced smile at my boss.

  Sure, I’ll look into rumors, and bullshit legends, and fake stories sorority girls tell to make each other blush.

  Because I knew as scandalously tempting a story it was, that’s all it really was — just a story.

  …Right?

  2

  Emma

  “Oh. My. God.”

  I’d have said “so much for girl’s night,” but then, I had been the one to push my roommate Julia to go out that night in celebration of her new job. I’d even be
en the one to say “let's get wild”.

  For my more demure, quiet roommate and friend, I thought “wild” might entail a tequila shot or two, possibly flirting with some guys, and hopefully some late night karaoke.

  …What I hadn’t expected was for her to tell me — face bright red and eyes wide with excitement — that she was about to go home with two guys she’d met at the masquerade night club we’d walked into.

  Two. Men.

  Needless to say, my jaw was on the ground.

  “Are you seriously doing what I think you’re doing?” I hissed, my hand tight on her wrist as I glanced over her shoulder at the two guys. To be fair, they were gorgeous, but c’mon!

  “I have to go, okay?”

  “Julia!”

  “Emma.”

  My lips pursed, and even though I’m sure she could see that I was a little worried for her, and maybe a teeny bit scandalized, I knew she could also see something else there on my face: curiosity. Curiosity and maybe even a little jealousy.

  “I’ll call you tomorrow, I promise.”

  I took a quick sip of my martini, my eyes darting past my friend to the two dark, sexy, built-looking guys.

  “I’d tell you to have fun, but…” I felt my own face get red as I winked at her.

  “Something tells me that’s not going to be a problem.”

  Julia grinned, looking so nervous and so excited at the same time before she scampered away and out the door with her two guys.

  Well there’s a scandal for Martin.

  Though, I’m not sure my decidedly not royal roommate's sexual escapades were exactly front page stuff.

  The rest of my night was fairly uneventful. I finished my drink, I had one more, I danced a little with a fairly boring guy who had zero conversational skills and a terrible haircut. Eventually, I just called a cab and went home to watch a movie on my couch.

  My mind kept wandering to Julia though. Julia and the night she was having that I couldn’t even believe or imagine. I mean two guys? I took a big swallow from my glass of wine, tucking my feet underneath me as I ignored the movie in front of me.

  I mean, maybe it was something I’d secretly fantasized about. The idea of two men taking me together? Of dominating me completely and worshipping me with four hands and two mouths?

  Uh, yeah, I mean, it was a hot fantasy. But real life? I blushed, my mind going to all sorts of filthy things that Julia might’ve been getting up to that very night.

  I tried to concentrate on the movie, but I was tipsy, and distracted, and before long, my eyes drifted down to the folder from work — the one Martin had given me on the Three Crowns Club.

  No, Triple Crown Club, that was it.

  I finally muted the movie, grabbed the envelope, and started reading. I swallowed, my eyes going wide as I started to glance over interviews with people who’d claimed to have been to one of these clubs — a former chauffeur for a duke he claimed was a member. A social-climbing party girl who claimed to have gone and been the center of a foursome with three men she swore were members of the Holtonian Parliament.

  And I wanted to roll my eyes and say it was clearly all total crap, and that these were all just people looking for attention, and validation, and a quick buck for making up a scandalous story. But the more I kept reading, the more something dark started to creep over me, and the more the truth started to dawn on me.

  Because the truth was, the more I read, the more I realized that this club might actually exist. There were too many similarities in stories from multiple different people for it to be bullshit. Each story and interview — however totally fake sounding — had the same small details that kept repeating. That the members wore black masks. That the members were all royal elite, and marked with members-only triple crown tattoos. That the venue constantly changed. That it was men only, and that the female guests were invite-only.

  That it was a place where three royals shared one woman.

  I felt my face go red as I glanced over another story from another woman who claimed she’d gone to one of these meet-ups. In fact, it was one of the “rules” of the club, according to this interview: “you must be willing to be shared.”

  I swallowed thinly, my skin tingling as I re-read that and let what it meant really sink in.

  A sex club, for wealthy royal men, where they shared girls.

  …If this was true, it was the scandal of the century.

  I forgot the movie entirely after that, instead reading every single thing in the envelope Martin had given me three times over. After that, in the darkness of my room, I shamefully let my fingers find my dripping wet slit, and I buried my moans in my pillow as I played with my clit until I came, thinking of one thing and one thing only.

  Three men. One woman.

  It was so filthy, and such a dirty fantasy, but there it was. Julia might’ve been living it up with two men that night. But in my fantasies as I drifted off to sleep, I had her beat.

  In my head, I was caught between three men.

  “Okay, I want details.”

  Julia yelped, literally jumping a few inches in the air as she whirled, clutching the towel from her shower around herself.

  “I thought you were at work!”

  Knew it.

  I was working from home that day, seeing as I’d been up late and we didn’t have any staff meetings on the schedule. That was one good thing about Martin: even if he was a pervert and had terrible personal hygiene, he was fine with his team working remotely.

  But, I’d been in my room, and when I’d heard Julia creep back in — clearly thinking and probably hoping that I was already at work, I’d grinned.

  Now I was going to grill her on her insane night.

  “I’m working from home today,” I shrugged before focusing my grin on her.

  “So?”

  “What?” she shrugged in a way that I bet she thought was casual. But really, the whole thing was written all over her face. She’d had fun the night before, and I wanted details. Immediately.

  “Hey, don’t you pull that ‘who, me?’ crap, lady.” I laughed. “You went home last night with two totally gorgeous men, and if you think I’m not going to press you for details, you’re actually insane.”

  My friend blushed deeply, biting her lip and looking away.

  “It was…it was good?”

  I rolled my eyes. “Good? Seriously? That’s the best you can do?” I grinned at her. “Two guys and all you’ve got is ‘good’? It sounds like very good to me.”

  Somehow, she blushed even deeper.

  “No, it was—”

  “Julia.”

  “Okay! I—” she swallowed, her eyes looking wild.

  “I had some fun.”

  “Some fun.”

  “Okay! Lots of fun,” she said quietly.

  “Those aren’t details!” I groaned. “C’mon, some of us went home last night with Netflix and half a bottle of rosé I might have found in the back of our fridge. Let me live vicariously through you and your wild night!”

  I knew Julia wasn’t the kiss-and-tell type. But then, I also knew she wasn’t really even much of the kiss at all type, so I was hoping maybe her crazy night would spark some sharing. That, and I knew she knew me well enough to know she couldn’t just ignore it.

  “Let’s just say it was the single hottest night of my life and leave it at that?”

  “Details! C’mon!”

  “Now way!”

  “Prude,” I stuck my tongue out at her.

  “Nosy.”

  “Yeah, guilty. I am a journalist.”

  I let Julia get dressed, hanging out in the kitchen until she joined me for some coffee.

  “Fine, I’ll just wait until you decide we’re friends enough to share, jeez.”

  She laughed into her coffee, until her brow suddenly furrowed.

  “Hey, Emma?”

  She looked up at me, biting her lip.

  “Do you know anything about tattoos?”

  I
shrugged, turning my eyes back to my iPad to go over my schedule for the rest of the week. Some smaller pieces to write, some leads for the piece about the Princess Amalla.

  “No, not really.”

  Julia was silent, and when I looked up, I frowned, seeing the pursed, thoughtful look on her face.

  “What’s up?”

  “I—” her lips twisted, like she was thinking.

  “What does a tattoo of three crowns mean?”

  She turned away as she said it, reaching for the coffee pot.

  She didn’t see the way I froze as she said it.

  “What?”

  My pulse raced, every single detail in the folder of interviews that I’d read the night before blasting through my head.

  The members are marked with a Triple Crown tattoo.

  She shrugged, clearly not hearing the tone in my voice.

  “It’s probably nothing. A tattoo of three crowns over a little crest.”

  “Jules!”

  This time, she glanced back sharply at me, her look worried.

  “What?”

  “Nothing,” I said quietly. “It’s— it’s nothing, just this urban legend.”

  A chill crept up my spine as the worry played across her face.

  “It’s called the Triple Crown Club.” I shook my head. “But seriously, it’s made up. I mean it has to be. Someone would have found something out about it if was real. It’s totally a made up thing.”

  I wasn’t sure which of us I was trying to convince.

  “Well what is it exactly?” she said in a quiet voice.

  “It’s secret underground club. A sex club.”

  A red flush crept across her face.

  “Oh?”

  “Yeah, it’s allegedly this club exclusively for royal elite guys. You know, princes and that sort of thing. And the whole point of this club is…”

  I shook my head but she reached out, her hand grabbing my wrist.

  “And the whole point is?”

  “The whole point is, women get picked to go there and get…” I giggled nervously, biting my lip and thinking about the sexy dreams I’d had the night before after reading the file.

  “Emma!”

  “Okay! They go there and get shared by these guys.”

  “What.”