His Forbidden Princess (Dirty Royals Book 3)

by Vivian Wood

  My father grinds his teeth. “It’s not my fault that your mother left, okay? And I was just trying to scrape by.”

  I level a look at him. “You made enough money. That’s never been the issue between us.”

  My father takes a swig from the bottle and narrows his eyes at me. “I’m not saying you was at fault then. You was little. But when I told my troubles to King Goran… and he offered to take you off me hands… well, I never expected him to turn you into that little prince’s shadow. I thought…”

  He trails off, wiping his chin with the rag. I fold my arms across my chest. “I didn’t come here for this.”

  My father looks up at me, his hazel eyes pinning me in place. “What did you deign to come all the way down here for? The royal palace is only five minutes away, but it must be too comfortable to leave. Even to visit your own flesh and blood…”

  Taking a deep breath, I brace my fingers around the bridge of my nose. “And why would I not visit more? I can never get enough of your gruffness.”

  My father narrows his eyes at me. “I’m just telling the truth.”

  My hands form fists. I want to hiss with rage and turn this fucking table over on its side. But I don’t.

  Instead I school my expression into a bland mask. “Let’s change the subject, dar.”

  He shakes his head, looking down at the bit in his hands. “I imagine when you find a girl and settle down, you two will just move away and leave me here. Won’t you? Better to start over, without an old man weighing you down.”

  His tone is self-pitying, an abrupt switch from his accusations just moments ago. I am ready for it, though. He usually vacillates between the two the entire time I visit.

  I turn my head, stretching my neck. “I don’t know, dar. That’s years down the road, if ever.”

  What I don’t say is that I’m absolutely certain that he screwed me up so badly that I’ll never be able to love another person. At least not anyone other than Stellan, who I feel a bittersweet mix of love and envy toward.

  He grunts. “Is this when you tell you’re a fairy, boy? I’ll tell you this right now, there’s no use in you pining away over that prince of yours.”

  My muscles tense. “We’ve had this conversation. I’m not gay. I am not in love with Stellan. End of story.”

  My father throws down the bit and the rag with a thunk. “Then why haven’t you got a girl? Hmm? When I was your age, I was already married. Come to think of it, you had already arrived.”

  I notice that he just avoids talking about my mother altogether, as though I simply appeared on his doorstep one morning.

  I force a hard smile. “Romantic love just seems… messy. You should understand. You and mor couldn’t make it work— “

  He shoots to his feet. “Her leaving was your fault, Erik. Before you came along, she was happy. It wasn’t until you were born that she… she…”

  I stand up. “What? She couldn’t stand to be in this house, belittled by you day and night. I’m not surprised that she left, dar.”

  He turns red. “Get out of here, Erik. You don’t want to be here anyway. According to you, I treat you and everybody else so terrible. So, I’ll say it again, get the fuck out of here.”

  Shaking my head, I walk toward the door. “Gladly, old man.”

  He sits down, picking up the horse bit and resuming polishing. “No son of mine would treat me so bad, I’ll tell you that much.”

  I shake my head, pushing out the door of the cottage with a bang. This. This feeling right here, this ball of black hate right where my heart should be?

  This is why I don’t visit my father, even though he’s so close. Even though he’s the only family that I have left.

  As I storm up the little lane, the birds chirp and the sun still shines. But I’m far too wrapped up in my angst for them to make me feel any better.

  9

  Annika

  I stare at the tabloid newspapers spread out on the table before me, horrified. The headlines are a variation on the same theme.

  PRINCESS ANNIKA PIGS OUT (AGAIN)!

  Followed by pictures of me in an unflattering royal blue dress, about to take a bite of dessert. My eyes gleam like that bite of dessert is the apple of my eye. In the insets are half a dozen other photos from the same event, with me trying different desserts.

  What they don’t mention, of course, is that I was the royal assigned to attend a dessert competition. They also neglected to mention the fact that I went hungry for two days leading up to that to save up a bank of calories just for that event.

  All I had for forty-eight hours was unlimited water and a handful of my favorite hard candies. I wish I could scream that fact at the paparazzi that snap my photos… but they don’t really care.

  No one cares about the work that I put into being perfect except me.

  I tilt my head, surveying the photo closest to me. I’m wearing a shapeless dress with bell shaped sleeves in the picture, which isn’t really even that unflattering. I just look like a person who’s eaten thirty bites of cake, which is exactly what I was at that moment.

  Standing up, I grab a waste bin and sweep all the papers into it. Then I stomp to the door of my parlor, putting the waste bin outside of it.

  I breathe, trying to get the image of me and the words PRINCESS PIGGIE out of my head. But I just can’t. Later when I’m done getting dressed in my room, I still hear the words to a particularly cruel song in my head.

  A small choir of children happily croon: Princess Piggie, Princess Piggie. Eats her weight in toast smeared with figgie…

  Kids used to sing that old nursery rhyme when I was in earshot, knowing full well that it would make me die inside. Like everyone else in the world, I went through an awkward stage from age ten to fourteen. But unlike the rest of humanity, my awkward stage was caught on film and celebrated throughout Denmark.

  I can picture myself now, being twelve and trying not to eat in front of anyone, because I would feel judged later. My expression hardens as I march out to the huge three-way mirror in the corner of the parlor.

  Standing as straight as I can, lifting my ribcage and posing just so, I look at myself. The girl that looks back at me isn’t fat. If anything, she’s a little bit too skinny to really be what anyone would call beautiful. I turn and angle my body this way and that, reposing my arms dozens of times.

  If only I could control what people saw when they looked at me… but I’ve long since learned that I can’t.

  It doesn’t matter that I have a designer white lace dress on. It doesn’t matter when the last time was that I actually ate a full meal. It doesn’t matter to the paparazzi that I’m a real person with tender feelings.

  I take a deep breath in, my eyes filling with tears.

  A knock on the door sounds. I whirl, cursing my emotions for running wild. Carefully swiping at my eyes, I call out.

  “Just a moment!”

  I check the mirror, telling myself to lock those damn emotions away for now. After making sure that I look okay, I call out again. “Come in!”

  The door opens and Erik enters, his expression stormier than usual. He is wearing a dark suit that fits him like a glove. as though he was just called down off of a runway. He shoots his cuffs, running a hand through his neatly combed hair.

  “What is this?” he asks, waving a tabloid paper at me. He tosses the newspaper onto the table, pinning me with a glare. “When did this happen?”

  I flush but raise my head a little, running my hands down the front of my dress. “Months ago. It must’ve been a slow news day.”

  He folds his arms across his chest, starting to prowl the room. “This isn’t good, Annika. You aren’t supposed to be covering any papers. What did you do to get the attention of the paparazzi?”

  I give his words a little huff of disbelief. “I was born into the royal family, for starters. Do you know that when I was only two years old, a paper published photos of me and called me chunky?”

  He stills. �
�No.”

  I shake my head, turning back to the mirror to put my earrings in. “I have had a contentious relationship with the press since I had the gall to draw breath. The Danish people claim to love me. But they also buy every single paper that says nasty things about me so…”

  I shrug helplessly.

  Erik’s tawny green-brown gaze spears me when I turn around. He’s closer than I thought he was… almost close enough to touch.

  My gaze dips down from his face to his impressive physique, exceptionally showcased in that tight white button-up and his tautly fitted black wool jacket. He’s dreamy, I’ll give him that.

  “You can’t be doing anything to capture the attention of the paparazzi,” he says solemnly.

  I roll my eyes. “Like you know anything about it. You just got here. Give yourself a minute to settle in and see how insane it all is.”

  I walk past him, bumping his shoulder intentionally. But I don’t expect his reflexes to be so good that he catches me just as I brush against him.

  Erik’s hands clamp around my arms. Eyes widening, I look up into his elegant face with its savage expression. His body presses against mine tightly. His hands control my every movement.

  This close, he could kiss me. He could ravage me. He could even really hurt me. When he speaks, his deep voice slides down my spine like a chill.

  “I don’t think you understand the implications of what we’re dealing with,” he grates out.

  My gaze drops to his mouth. I bite my lip. “Oh, no?” I ask. My mouth curves upward, unbidden.

  He gives me a little shake. “Be serious, Annika.”

  I look him in the eye, raising a brow. “And if I am not?” I ask quietly. “What will you do with me then?”

  He bristles. His hands press into the flesh of my arms so hard that they may leave me bruised. It’s obvious from this close that Erik is so much bigger than I am, that his height and weight mean he can haul me around with ease or even genuinely hurt me if he really wants to.

  And though I don’t want to admit it, I think that’s what really turns me on about him. Lurking underneath that calm surface is something sleek and dangerous and calculating. It’s a little like going for a swim in a placid sea, knowing that just under the surface, a shark waits for his next meal.

  “You should be punished.” His voice is gone to gravel. The anger in his expression and the volatility in his eyes is nearly frenetic; there is something almost violent mirrored in his eyes.

  I open my mouth, my core clenching. “What will you do, Erik?” I look him square in the eye and toss off a haughty laugh. “What can you even do?”

  If my goal is to goad him into action, to push him to a breaking point, I get exactly what I wish for. He glares down at me, sliding a hand into my mane of fair-colored hair. Fisting my hair, he tugs my head back, exposing my throat to him. My eyes widen and I stop breathing for several seconds.

  “Someone should have taught you a lesson years ago,” he rasps, a cruel smile on his perfect lips. Then Erik bends his head down, placing a searing kiss on my throat.

  I gasp at the feeling of his lips against my skin. But when he moves up an inch and bites my neck hard, I just shudder. I’m turned on, confused, and a little scared all at once.

  Yes. Do it as hard as you want, I think.

  But I don’t say that. I find myself strangely tongue tied around this furious, sexual version of Erik. He’s so uptight and controlled that seeing this side of him is fascinating and frightening and arousing all at once.

  My hands come up to clutch at his arms, but he knocks them away. “Uh uh.”

  His lips touch shoulder, my collarbone. Flexing his hips into me, he leaves me with no doubt that his cock is rigid. Pressed against my belly, every time he moves his hips, his cock thrusts against me hard.

  I shiver as he trails hot, rough, wet kisses inward toward my breasts. He releases one of my arms and tweaks my nipple through my dress, pulling another gasp from my lips. It hurts… but there is a corresponding throb low in my body after he releases my flesh.

  My body wants his. Between my tightly pressed thighs I can feel a slither of moisture slipping from my core, preparing me for him.

  Erik lifts my head up, his eyes glittering. “It’s what you deserve, princess.”

  I bite my lower lip, swallowing heavily. “Erik…” I manage.

  His hazel eyes lock on mine. “Let’s see.”

  Maintaining his brutal grip on my hair, he uses his free hand to begin rucking up my skirt. My eyes widen and I start struggling. Erik just lifts his fist clutching my hair and I wince, stilling.

  “Stop resisting, Annika.”

  His hand touches the inside of my thighs which is a shock to me. I feel burned, scorched by his touch. How dare he touch me like this? I push at his torso uselessly, my mouth twisting with bitter bile.

  Then he looks down at my body, my white lace thong bared to his gaze. He brushes the apex of my thighs, his fingers arching in toward my core. He delves into the folds of my pussy and finds a pool of sticky moisture there. I stiffen, feeling both aroused and like I’ve been caught doing something naughty.

  An involuntary shudder and a huff of breath leaves my lips. “Erik!”

  He looks me in the eye, lifting a single brow. He wiggles the fingers he has pressed against me so intimately. “Don’t try to lie to me, princess. Your mouth says no, but your body says yes.”

  I shake my head, trying to argue with him. “No, you don’t— “

  Erik pulls my head toward his face for a brutal, devastating kiss. It leaves my lips feeling bruised and my pride feeling dimmed. At the same time, a part of me wants… more.

  It makes my body ache.

  He releases me suddenly, stepping back. “Before you try to fucking rattle my cage again, you’ll remember what happened here.”

  Then he whirls and stalks out of the room, slamming the door behind him so loudly that it actually makes me jump. One of my hands runs across my lips. The other one is already pulling down my skirt, returning things to normal.

  But things aren’t normal… things may never be normal again.

  Shivering and trembling, I sink onto the couch and try to stop my thoughts from spinning out of control.

  10

  Erik

  Clearing my throat, I stand ramrod straight as I hold the door to the ballroom open for a crowd of ladies. My face creases as I peer inside the ballroom. The walls are draped in a light pink velvet. The many tables are each covered in spring green or off white or baby pink. The tables are set with gleaming silver tiered trays of macaroons and sandwiches, polished water glasses, and white porcelain teacups.

  Looking at how intricately decorated the room is for high tea makes me tense.

  Doubly so when my glance trips over Annika. She’s breathtaking just now in her baby blue dress, her blonde hair swept off her neck in a fashionable knot.

  I escorted her here of course, because apparently, I’m a very expensive and very glorified babysitter. But she didn’t so much as speak a word to me in the car on the way here. Instead I just stewed in the icy tension brewing between us.

  And tried not to relive every second of the evening before, when I grabbed her. When I pulled her close, dug a hand into her hair, and kissed her neck. When I ran my hand up the soft skin of her inner thigh.

  When I touched her pussy, finding it hot and wet and ready for me.

  A fine shudder runs through me, remembering the sensation. I know that I misbehaved. The fact that I completely lost my mind for a moment and laid my hands on Stellan’s little sister makes me so deeply ashamed.

  I just don’t know what to do about it. And it’s clear that Annika doesn’t either.

  I move inside the ballroom, smoothing a hand down my navy tie and black suit jacket. Everywhere I look there are fancy ladies in sleek light pink or white dresses, gathering at tables to sit down. I see that Annika is standing awkwardly by her mother the former queen and her grandmother, waiting.
for them to take their seats. She looks like she’s about to drown in this sea of older women.

  My attentions aren’t needed there. Like many times in my life, I think that it would be best if I were to just wait downstairs near the cars.

  I turn around and am brought up short when I almost knock over a young brunette in a skintight pink lace dress. Her upturned nose and severely plucked eyebrows look familiar but I can’t immediately place her. She grins and latches onto my arm.

  “Erik!” she crows. Her voice is loud and high-pitched, and it brings me back to last summer. She’s a royal hanger-on, one of those girls that used to flutter around Stellan, hoping he would look their way.

  “Dalia,” I summon her name out of my memory. “Right?”

  She beams at me, leaning close and hanging on my arm. “Of course, you remembered my name. How gentlemanly.”

  My eyes narrow. “I was just leaving.”

  Dalia widens her eyes. “But why? When I heard that you were going to be at our table, I got all starry eyed. You can’t leave me all alone at the Queen Mother’s table!”

  I blanch, glancing behind me. The Queen Mother and Annika are just now taking their seats, Annika with a scowl on her face.

  “Yeah, I don’t think—“ I start.

  “Shh. Come on,” Dalia says sternly. She starts towing me toward the table in question,

  I resist. “Seriously, Dalia— “

  But Dalia is already making a scene, waving to the Queen Mother. “We’re coming!”

  I release a sigh, allowing myself to be pulled over to the table of honor. There are six women already seated and just two seats left on opposite sides of the table. One is next to Annika; I can see from the place cards that it’s intended for me.

  I shake off Dalia’s grip. “This is my spot.”

  Dalia pouts as she slinks to the other side. I slide into my seat, trying not to call too much attention to myself. Annika gives me the cold shoulder, tossing her hair and turning away.