The Girl Who Ran Like the Wind
By Normandie Alleman
This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.
THE GIRL WHO RAN LIKE THE WIND
First edition. October 14, 2018.
Copyright © 2018 Normandie Alleman.
Written by Normandie Alleman.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
ALSO BY NORMANDIE ALLEMAN | Shop Normandie’s Amazon Author Page HERE
Author Bio
CHAPTER ONE
"I'VE NEVER MET ANYONE like you." The man pursed his lips, as if unsure he should go on.
The lock of hair curling down over his forehead was so sexy. The way it almost covered those dark eyes. So dark they made her think of how badly she needed coffee.
"Of course, you haven't." She sat up, lifting the sheet to cover her nakedness as she raised a comlet-adorned hand to awaken the sensors along the wall beside her bed.
“Coffee please,” she announced.
Her command would be registered with the servants downstairs, and a fresh pot would be delivered in a matter of minutes.
To her companion, she said, "If I were you I'd climb down the trellis."
She then pointed to a large window on the other side of the cavernous room.
"You want me to leave?" His eyes widened.
"Unless you want to be thrown in the dungeon. My breakfast will be here soon, and if they catch you in here you'll be in worlds of trouble."
"But I thought..."
Atalanta rolled her eyes then placed her index finger against his lips. "Maybe someone who looks like you do shouldn't spend so much time thinking."
His shoulders tensed as he got out of bed and jerked his pants on. As he reached down to retrieve his shirt, she couldn't help but admire his round, muscular ass cheeks.
She reached over to the bedside table and retrieved her diamond glasses and put them on. The glasses were a gift from Jupiter himself on her most recent birthday. They functioned as a personal multimedia device, so once she turned on the screen, he was dismissed.
"Percy, I'm ready for my tray. Two eggs over medium to go with the coffee."
"You're calling them now?"
She raised her glasses to see panic spread over the man’s chiseled face, and he rushed to fasten his pants and throw his shirt on over his head.
She shrugged. "I'm hungry."
Seeing that he was about to be gone, she lay back against the luxurious sheets to enjoy the show.
The race was on.
It entertained her to see if he was fast enough to get away before he was discovered in her bedchamber.
As athletic as he was, he wasn't moving as quickly as she'd anticipated.
Then just as she was expecting him to bolt out the window, he rushed to her side. Planting himself next to her on the bed, he took her in his arms.
"I must see you again, Atalanta," he exclaimed before covering her mouth with his.
And even though she knew better, she let him.
Falling under his spell felt nice, for a minute, and for an instant she wondered if this was how it felt to be loved.
But before she could indulge herself in such foolish thoughts, the door flew open and in rolled a cart carrying a dome of silver and a shiny pitcher.
The scent of java wafted across the room, and she was about to offer her lover a cup, but before she could, a group of hulking robotic guards entered the room and made a beeline for him.
An alarm sounded, and Atalanta held her hands over her ears. Not again.
The poor guy should have moved faster.
"Is it your intention to marry the princess?" one of the robots asked.
The man looked to Atalanta, his eyes pleading for her help.
"What say you?" the robot pressed.
"I don't want to marry her..." he began, but they didn't give him a chance to finish before they started dragging him away.
"Don't worry," Atalanta said. "I don't want to marry you anyway."
"Why not?" He sounded offended.
Atalanta rolled her eyes.
Her pet kitty, Desdemona, snarled from the corner, less than pleased at the interruption to her nap.
Her lover put up quite a fight, kicking and protesting all the way down the hall. She could hear him screaming all the way to the elevator.
Finally, her door closed behind them and the alarm stopped, leaving her in peace.
She sighed. Just another Thursday morning at the palace.
Clicking through endless choices on her glasses, she finally settled on her favorite channel, and enjoyed a show while eating her breakfast.
Desdemona crept out of the corner and lapped at her morning bowl of cream. As she drank, she shot a disapproving look at her mistress.
"What? I told him to leave." Crossing her arms over her chest, Atalanta sniffed. "It's not my fault he didn't listen."
Desdemona growled and turned her backside to Atalanta then lifted her tail in the air in protest.
"Fine. Be that way then. I guess I'll just go for my run by myself today."
That got no response from Desdemona, so Atalanta shifted her attention back to her show.
She was almost finished with her meal when a knock at the door interrupted her.
"Yes?"
The door slid open and Percy slipped inside, closing the door behind him.
"I'm sorry to disturb you, Your Highness, but it seems your parents want to see you at your earliest convenience."
Unpleasantness rumbled in her stomach. This had to be about the man who'd been ejected from her room earlier.
Ugh. Why couldn't she be a peasant and roll around in the hayloft with whomever she damn well pleased?
"Meaning now?" She grimaced.
He took a deep breath. "As soon as you're dressed, Princess. Would you like me to call your maids?"
She made a face. "No, I can do it myself. Tell them I'll be there in an hour."
It wasn't much, but making them wait even a short time created the illusion that she had some power in this situation.
Even though she knew it was a lie.
ATALANTA FIDGETED UNDER the imperious scrutiny of the king and queen.
They sat high above her in their platinum, emerald-encrusted thrones, while she stood ten yards away wringing her hands nervously.
"It is our understanding that you were caught entertaining yet another suitor in your room again this morning, Atalanta." The corners of her father's mouth dove downward.
Her mother raised an elegantly shaped eyebrow. "Do you plan to marry this one, dear?"
Atalanta shook her head.
Her mother sighed, and her father groaned.
"Then off to the dungeon he shall go." This was her father's answer to all of her indiscretions. She could choose to marry the man, or he would be imprisoned.
It wasn't that Atalanta wanted the men she bedded to go to jail—she knew that was terrible.
But getting married? That would be worse.
Her parents sighed simultaneously, and she wondered if they had always been so similar. Gazin
g at their matching dimpled chins, blond hair, and scrutinizing blue eyes she pictured them as teenagers. Had they looked the same, perhaps with fewer of the worry lines she brought to their faces? Or had they grown to resemble one another more over time, the way some people did with their pets?
She was contemplating whether she and Desdemona looked alike when she was jolted back to the present by her father clearing his throat.
"Atalanta, your mother and I have decided that you must marry this year."
"What?" Panic grabbed tightly at her heart. No. No. No.
"But, Father..."
"There will be no 'but Fathering' me this time. Your mother and I have discussed it, and you will wed before the year is out."
Atalanta started to speak, but her mother cut her off.
"No, dear. Your father and I believe this is what's best for you. We are not getting any younger, and once you become queen you will need a partner to help you rule."
Her father reached across their thrones and took her mother's hand. "I don't know how I could have done it without your mother."
A pang deep in Atalanta's heart told her there was something in what he said, but she quickly snapped out of it. Getting married would be like handing over her kingdom to someone else, and she couldn't imagine finding a person trustworthy enough to do that.
She'd never agree to it. Her independence meant everything to her, and she refused to give it up.
"I won't do it." She widened her stance and crossed her arms.
She had no intention of budging.
"You will, and if you don't cooperate, we will find someone suitable within the month." Her father's jaw was set. "I will command it as your king, and you will have no choice."
Atalanta's eyes rounded. She had been successfully dodging matrimony for almost a decade and never imagined it would come to this.
"Ugh!" She stomped her foot like a child, then turned her back to them and strode down the long hall, dying to get away.
Any moment she expected her mother to call for her. She could hear it in her head, "Stop, Atalanta. Come back. We're sorry."
But instead, all she heard was the sound of the servants cleaning in the hallway.
They were really serious this time. They'd tried threatening her with marriage before, but she'd always been able to weasel her way out of it.
This time might be different.
As she approached the door, it occurred to her that she was playing this all wrong. An idea sparked in her head, and she whirled around.
"Fine," she said, marching back down the long hall to stand before her parents.
They glanced up, intrigued.
"I know how I want to choose my husband," she said.
CHAPTER TWO
Drones buzzed over the stadium as a record crowd assembled to watch fifty suitors race for the hand of Princess Atalanta.
"Two minutes until your entrance, Your Highness," Percy said primly.
Atalanta stared at herself in the mirror of her dressing room.
She hated her parents telling her what to do. Exercising her own free will was the most important thing in the world to her. It was why she so actively embraced her own sexuality, choosing partners when she wanted and where she wanted.
She railed against the idea of a husband telling her what to do. The more she thought about it, the more determined she became. A crease appeared on her forehead, and she spun around, ready to take on the challengers to her freedom.
"I'll take that." Atalanta snatched Desdemona's leash out of a handler's hand. She smiled to herself, knowing the spectacle she would make bounding onto the field with her pet. People were always thrilled to see Desdemona. She was one of a handful of cheetahs left in the world, and wherever she went it caused a stir. They were even more rare than dragons used to be. Today she would make a grand impression wearing her emerald collar which had been coordinated to complement Atalanta's green tracksuit.
Pasting a smile on her face, she led Desdemona onto the field.
The crowd roared, and it was times like these that Atalanta didn't mind being a princess. In fact, she basked in the adulation of her fans. It felt amazing to be embraced by her people. Why in heaven’s name would she want to share that with an interloper?
Her eyes raked over her potential husbands.
Fifty of them, standing there vying for a throne next to hers.
But that would never happen.
To her mind, the whole plan was quite ingenious. Her parents had backed her into a corner. She had no way out other than to make them believe she would go along with their little plot to marry her off.
And she'd taken control of the situation by agreeing to marry.
But only to the man who could beat her in a foot race.
They really shouldn't have been so gullible.
They knew she'd only been beaten once before, but that was by Desdemona.
And only by a nose.
However, she was glad her parents were so naive. Perhaps they were so excited for her to actually consider marriage that they gave in to her.
The only thing that mattered was that they had agreed to her terms.
Now all she had to do was run faster than the fifty nitwits who showed up with dollar signs shining in their eyes and ambition in their hearts—and whip them.
Easy peasy.
She inhaled the freshly cut grass as she stretched an arm across her chest and sneezed. Wishing she'd taken an allergy pill, she lifted her foot onto a nearby bench and leaned over, feeling the gentle pull on her hamstring.
This was not the day for an injury. Preparation was key.
Out of the corner of her eye, she took in some of her opponents.
There was a dark-skinned man with an attractive beard who appeared to have lost his shirt. His muscles shone in the sun, and she wondered what kind of oil he greased himself with. Definitely looking for publicity, that one.
Not there for "the right reasons." That's what her publicist, Celia, always said about men like that.
Anger bubbled up inside her. These men were only here for one thing. And it wasn't sex with her. They were here to use her to get ahead in life. She was a stepping stone to them. Be it to fame, fortune, or power. It was usually one of those three motivators that led people to seek her out.
She learned that a long time ago.
Her mind flashed back to the three friends she'd had in school. Best friends she'd grown up with. She pictured them all laughing together on field day, shaved ice treats dripping down their chins as they celebrated their victory in the track meet.
Margaret with her adorable freckles. Julia with her chubby cheeks that turned bright red whenever she got overheated. And Taylor with her thick raven hair and impossible figure.
They were her friends. Or so she'd thought.
As they grew older, she realized that while she had been a friend to them, they had only been using her.
One by one they came to her asking for favors.
Margaret wanted Atalanta to be a partner with her to train for the Olympics. Unfortunately, her duties as princess wouldn't allow for Atalanta to honor the request. And once she said no, she began to hear from Margaret less and less. Eventually, their contact dwindled down to nothing.
Julia had been more creative, asking Atalanta to be part of a retro reality digital media program. After the way Margaret had rebuffed her, Atalanta convinced her parents to allow her to participate.
This was how Atalanta met Celia. At the time, Atalanta enlisted the help of the public relations specialist to convince her parents that the show would boost public opinion about the royal family.
Sadly, the entire show turned into a fiasco when one of the participants was caught on camera badmouthing the king and queen. Horrified that they had allowed their daughter to participate in such a treacherous display, her parents immediately sent a team of robots to extricate her from the situation. The royal spin doctors got in front of the story before it became a huge scandal, but
Julia, who had been Atalanta's roommate during the experience, never spoke to her again.
And Taylor, well Taylor had flat out asked her for money. Her friends didn't understand that even though she was surrounded by luxury and lived in a palace, Atalanta existed on an allowance, the same as they did in grade school. Now granted, it was a nice allowance, but she didn't have access to the kind of money Taylor needed to get her fledgling design business off the ground.
She had actually gone to her parents and asked on Taylor's behalf, but, of course, they said no, and Taylor hadn't understood. She thought Atalanta was just being selfish, and that was the end of that friendship.
Each of these losses crushed Atalanta. She remained in her bed for weeks before Desdemona and Percy dragged her out of bed and pushed her back to her favorite past time—running.
Every time she lost a friend because she wouldn't or couldn't do something for them, the barrier around Atalanta's heart grew a little taller. Until finally she had practically walled it off so there was no way anyone was getting near it.
Glancing around at the men she was about to defeat, she didn't experience one hint of interest or desire, though many of them were attractive. In her mind, love equaled war and she wasn't about to lose the battle.
An eclectic band started to play the first bars of Xenapolis' anthem. Everyone stood and saluted their flag adorned with the green dragon. Every time she saw it, she was reminded of the rumor that her great-great-great grandfather had been a dragon. Everyone sang, and when the song ended, a burst of cannon fire rang out, and the smell of gunpowder wafted past her nostrils—a nostalgic touch that reminded her of her childhood.
As much as she hated being forced onto the marriage chopping block like a slave at an auction, she had come to revel in the attention that was tied to her birthright.
Holding her head high, she surveyed the crowd. After she was assured that Desdemona was secured on the sidelines, Atalanta moved to her place at the starting blocks and waved to her people. A roar of approval traveled through the stands, and she could make out dozens of them calling her name.
She made a point of ignoring her opponents as the announcer called out their names. Those silly men meant nothing to her. They were merely pawns in her game, the object of which was to remain single.
The Girl Who Ran Like The Wind (Myths Retold) Page 1