Royal Dick

by Melinda Minx

  “God, Jane,” he says. “You feel so fucking good.”

  He shifts his angle, and starts thrusting again. I feel his cock sliding against my g-spot, and a high-pitched scream escapes me.

  “Ahh! Dick!”

  “Fuckk!” he grunts.

  He squeezes my tits as he fucks me, but they bounce and jiggle in his hands. Even though he’s pinning me to the bed, I start to buck my hips against him, wanting to feel more friction. My movement just makes Rikard move more, too, and soon it feels as if we are competing with each other. Who can fuck the other the hardest, the fastest? Who can make the other cum first?

  It turns out it’s a draw: just as my pussy clenches and tightens like it did before―this time with his royal dick buried deep inside me―I hear Rikard grunt and moan.

  “F-fuck!” he groans. “I can’t―”

  And my pussy pulses and milks him for all it’s worth in response. I feel his cock pulsing in response to me, and then―just as an orgasm explodes within me and my blood lights on fire―a huge explosive load of warm wetness blasts up into me. It’s so strong I swear I can feel it hitting my cervix, all those royal sperm desperate to compete with each other to fill me up with a little princeling.

  I gasp and lose control of my body, and I feel my juices surging across his cock, even as he blasts three more loads deep within me.

  I shake my hips up and down as Rikard plows me into oblivion, and I feel our combined cum beginning to drip out of my pussy and all over the bed. He slides all the way into me and holds there as his cock drips out the last of his seed, and we collapse together in the same heartbeat, utterly and completely spent.

  I wake up still wrapped around him. His cock isn’t inside me any longer, but I don’t even remember him pulling out. I must have fallen asleep immediately, and never let go of him.

  I promised him I wouldn’t stay mad at him, but I must have subconsciously worried that he’d leave me again. If I stay wrapped around him, he can’t sneak off into another suicidal battle.

  The reality of everything starts to hit me hard in that moment. I’m married. This man, this prince, isn’t just some fantasy. He’s not just a one-night stand either. He’s my husband. And that makes me a princess.

  It seems that the war and all the terrible things happening in Nordia have to be the price for this. If everything was peaceful and good, it would be way too good to be true. Nothing this good can come without a price. I can have my perfect man and my prince in shining armor, but a man only wears armor to fight. And fighting means I risk losing him.

  “You’re awake,” he says, his voice sounding a lot less tired than I feel.

  “I am,” I whisper.

  “It doesn’t feel real,” he says.

  “I was just thinking that.”

  “Unfortunately,” he says, “I need to wake up. We’re lucky we woke up like this, and not because of an artillery blast. I have to see where we are...with that.”

  With the war.

  “You promise you won’t fight again,” I say.

  “I can help General Breivik with strategy and tactics,” I say.

  “You dodged my question, Rikard,” I say. “You promise you won’t fight?”

  “I won’t attack again,” he says. “But if they cross the border…”

  I pull away from him and look him dead in the eyes. “You cannot fight,” I say. “No matter what.”

  He huffs and jumps up from the bed, his naked body looking perfect in the morning light.

  “Princess for only a day and you’re ordering me around?” he asks.

  His tone is joking, but I can tell he’s offended or annoyed.

  “Rikard,” I say. “I don’t want to order you around; I just don’t want you to die. I don’t want to lose you.”

  “We’ll talk about this later,” he says, grabbing a shirt from his closet.

  21

  Rikard

  Women. There’s a reason the Nordian armed forces don’t allow women to fight. They can’t understand war, not even when it crashes their own wedding, or wedding night, in our case.

  Doesn’t she realize that I have a duty to my people? Do I want to be the kind of prince who asks my own people to give their lives for Nordia while I cower in some luxurious bunker?

  That’s not me. And now that Jane is a Nordian princess, I fight to protect her, too. If the Sydians attack and take the city, I don’t even want to think about what could happen to Jane then.

  I reach the war room and step inside. I see Breivik and Magnus standing in front of a map, deep in thought.

  “You’re late,” Breivik says.

  “It was his wedding night,” Magnus says. “Cut him a break.”

  Breivik scoffs. I’m sure Breivik has fucked―a lot―but he probably fucks while wearing his full uniform complete with all the medals pinned to his jacket. I imagine them jangling and clinking as he plows some woman from behind so he can do the deed and then be on his way.

  I suppress a laugh, but I can already see Breivik scowling at me.

  “We’ve secured the border,” Breivik says.

  Then my father steps inside the room, the crown on his head.

  We all snap to attention and salute.

  “At ease,” he says, removing the crown and setting it down next to the map. “Tell me what we’re looking at.”

  “They don’t have enough ground forces to break through our lines,” Breivik says. “We’ve called in the reserves and have secured the border fifty kilometers deep into Sydia, right on the Sydstrom River. They are out of artillery range, and they’d take huge losses trying to push through.

  My father looks over the map. “There are six bridges?”

  Breivik nods.

  “We could destroy all but one,” he says.

  “Father,” I say, forgetting myself.

  He glares at me.

  “Father,” I say, not backing down. “Destroying the bridges would make it extremely difficult to mount our counter attack.”

  He stares stone-faced at us. “General Breivik, you are certain we can hold this position?”

  “Yes, Your Highness,” Breivik says.

  “Rikard, Magnus,” my father says. “I’m considering letting them take Syida. Nordia and Sydia were separate for over two thousand years, and we’ve only been united for two hundred. Maybe it wasn’t meant to be.”

  Rage boils deep within me, but I can’t let it show to the king. Even if he’s my father.

  Magnus stays tight-lipped.

  “Father,” I say. “They had a vote. It failed.”

  “But now,” he says, “now they will feel differently. War does that. You’re married now, Rikard. Do you want to raise children in a country where terror reigns? Or do you want to become king of a peaceful kingdom? I bet the UK wishes they could go back in time and just give up Northern Ireland. This is our chance to do it.”

  Half of a kingdom. Cut in half by traitorous terrorist assholes, and surrendered without a real fight?

  “I believe you know my answer, Father.”

  He scoffs. “I’m still king. I’m going to think it over for a day or two. Draw up plans for a counter-attack, in case I change my mind, and make one hundred percent sure we can hold the border. I want anti-air guns concentrated in the city centers rather than on the border.”

  “Yes, Your Highness,” Breivik says.

  “But, that’s...good?” Jane asks.

  “No,” I snap. “It’s not. We’d be giving up half our kingdom. Sydia is our largest and most populous province.”

  Jane looks at me tight-lipped.

  “Out with it,” I say.

  “I…Rikard, I may be your princess, but consider that I only have been here a week.”

  “The princess cannot be neutral,” I say.

  I realize I’m being unfair, but I just want my wife to agree with me. Is that so much to ask?

  “Look,” I say. “We let Sydia become independent. Then what if Ossia wants it, too? Any provi
nce can just decide it wants to leave, and we’ll have shown that we won’t fight to keep the kingdom together.”

  “I understand,” Jane says.

  Does she? Or is she just saying that to avoid arguing with me?

  “Forget it,” I snap.

  She grabs my arm to stop me, but then she squeezes, stroking softly. “Rikard, I know you’re under a lot of strain. Let me be there for you.”

  “You are,” I say, feeling at least some of that strain melt away. Remembering last night with her certainly helps things.

  We lock eyes for a long moment, and for a moment it feels like I should kiss her, but then I realize it’s more important to speak than to act.

  “Jane,” I say. “I love you, and I can’t lose you. And as princess, you are part of this kingdom. If we have a weak position going into this war, it could end with them storming the palace. I can’t let that happen. Seeing the bombs hit the capital made that crystal clear to me. To protect you, I have to be proactive, I can’t just hide you away and hope no one hurts you, I have to fight.”

  I see her swallow, and her eyes water a bit, but she holds the tears back.

  “I don’t want to pick a side right now, Rikard,” she says. “I’m just tempted to agree with your father because it would keep us all safe. Safe right now.”

  She still doesn’t understand. What’s the point of being safe now if it means we’ll live in fear for the rest of our lives, grasping hopelessly as the kingdom slips away.

  My phone vibrates, and I check the screen. It’s from Magnus.

  “What is it?” Jane asks.

  “The other side has agreed to a temporary, three-day cease-fire,” I say.

  “That’s good news, right?” Jane asks.

  “It means they can regroup, and we can’t counter-attack them,” I growl.

  Has the stroke made my father weak? Has he lost his stomach for a fight? Of all the times for him to go soft, this is not it. Siegfried must be feeling pretty proud of himself.

  “I need to go,” I say.

  “I’ll go with you,” Jane says.

  I’m tempted to tell her to stay put, but she’s not an idiot. She wants to become informed, to learn about her new country, and she wants to actually understand what is going on. I shouldn’t deny her that.

  “Good idea,” I say. “Let’s go.”

  22

  Jane

  We enter the “war room,” which is covered in big flat panel screens displaying maps and live feeds from scouting drones. It’s basically a huge command center several floors below the ground, hardened against EMPs or conventional bombs.

  Magnus and the king turn to look at me, and for a brief moment seem surprised to see me with my husband, but then they just nod in acknowledgment and go back to studying their maps.

  I’m wearing my crown since Rikard said it would be appropriate in this situation, giving weight to my position.

  I thought Rikard might stop me from coming with him, but it seems that the Nordians aren’t completely sexist. They won’t allow women in the armed forces, but they’ll allow them in the war room. At least they will, it seems, if it’s the princess.

  “Settling in well?” the king asks me.

  I give him a slight bow, as I’ve been practicing. Now that I’m princess, I’m not supposed to bow too deeply to him, lest I offend him. But, as I’ve been learning, royalty is a tricky thing. If I don’t bow at all, I offend him. If I bow too much, I also offend him.

  “Yes, Your Highness,” I say. “I just heard about the ceasefire, so I asked Rikard if I could join him.”

  “I see,” he says. “It will give us time to regroup and plan for anything that might come next.”

  “It will also give them time to regroup after their humiliating retreat last night,” Rikard says.

  The king scowls at him, and I do my best to retain a calm, neutral expression.

  “I was going to send a messenger to notify your family,” the king says, directing his attention to me. “To let them know that the airport is re-opening, and I’ll have them transported here in armored, guarded vehicles so they can leave during the ceasefire.”

  “Oh, I can tell them,” I say, and smile. “Thank you for your kindness and generosity.”

  The king smiles in return. “Give them my apologies, as well. I’m sorry they had to be here during these troubling times.”

  “They’re glad they were able to attend the wedding,” I say. “Even with the little hiccup.”

  I probably shouldn’t call artillery bombardment a hiccup, but the king laughs at my choice of words.

  “I haven’t decided yet,” he says, turning to Rikard. “But we will meet with their leaders on the border.”

  “Who is ‘we’?” Rikard asks. “Not you―”

  “It needs to be me,” the king says. “At this point...you’re more valuable than I am, Rikard.”

  I feel uncomfortable hearing him say it, but I realize he’s being practical and realistic. If Rikard was killed or kidnapped, Jannika would become the next heir in line. Not that she isn’t or wouldn’t be a capable leader, but she hasn’t been preparing for the role like Rikard has been, and she’s not married either. If the king was killed, Rikard would assume power.

  “It should be me,” Rikard says. “I know how Siegfried works.”

  The king throws up his hands in frustration. “I’ve known him since he was a boy. I thought I knew how he ‘worked,’ too, but can any of us claim we know him? Who among us anticipated his betrayal? Did you? I certainly didn’t.”

  Rikard grinds his teeth, but his expression is one of defeat. He knows the king is right.

  “They want to negotiate anyway,” the king says. “They stand to gain little from becoming hostile during negotiations, since that would all but guarantee the outbreak of total war.”

  I see something flicker in Rikard’s eye. Maybe that’s the real reason he doesn’t want Rikard to go. I can easily imagine Rikard just taking Siegfried out during the ceasefire, forcing the conflict to erupt, and it end in a ‘unified’ Nordia.

  The anthropologist in me agrees with the king rather than Rikard. You don’t convince someone to stay in your club by beating them up when he tries to leave. Even if you beat him unconscious and drag him back into the clubhouse, how long will it be until he tries to leave again?

  “I want you and Magnus to help General Breivik plan a counter-attack,” the king says. “Princess Jane, you should spend as much time as you can with your family before they leave. It’s best to get them out as soon possible.”

  “Yes, Your Highness,” I say, bowing my head.

  “Thank God,” my mom says. “I was worried we’d be stuck…”

  She trails off, realizing this is my country now.

  “It’s fine,” I say. “I didn’t want you to be stuck in a warzone either.”

  “You should go, too,” Dad grumbles.

  Mom rolls her eyes at him. “She’s the princess, Frank. How would that look?”

  “Can’t be princess if you’re dead,” Dad grunts.

  “Don’t say that!” my mom shouts.

  I step between the two of them. This is always what spending time with my parents was like. I prefer it when they are separated.

  “I appreciate the concern,” I say. “But I want to stay here, with my husband.”

  My dad raises a finger at me, but I give him my best ‘princess stare.’ It’s a look Jannika helped me learn, and one I’ve been practicing. You think of how important you are and how much authority you have, and you channel it all into one reproachful look. It tends to shut up almost anyone.

  My dad slinks back, and I do my best not to smile in satisfaction.

  “You’ll come to the airport with us?” my mom asks hopefully. “To see us off?”

  I nod. “Of course.”

  Dad shrugs. “I’m going to get some more free palace food before they kick me out of here.”

  I see my mom mouth “Thank God,” but thankfu
lly she doesn’t say it out loud.

  Dad turns around and walks out of the room, and my mom looks at me and announces that it’s time for her nap.

  James is slouched in a chair reading a book, trying his best to ignore Mom and Dad fighting, but I noticed he has been reading the same page for at least five minutes.

  I sit down in the chair across from him and smile. He drops his book to his lap and looks at me like he’s exhausted. “You think being princess in a war is hard? Try staying with those two for forty-eight hours.”

  “I’m older than you,” I say. “I have two extra years with those two on you.”

  James shudders. “No wonder you ended up to be such a strong person.”

  “You ready to go then?” I ask.

  He sighs. “I have clients back home, so I really can’t stay, even though I’d like to.”

  “There’s a ceasefire, James,” I say, “but there could very well be a war. There’s no reason to stay here.”

  He gives me a stubborn look.

  “Magnus is straight,” I say. “I asked Jannika.”

  “Damn it,” he says, picking up his book and slamming it shut. “I guess I’m ready to go then. I’ll visit you again after this crazy-ass war is over.”

  I laugh. “You asshole. You’d stay here for Magnus, but not for me?”

  “If that man was gay,” James says, “it would be too good to be true, so yes, I would have stayed in a heartbeat. But it is too good to be true, which is why he’s not gay.”

  “I was feeling the same way about the war,” I say. “Everything would be all flowers and sunshine without it.”

  “It’s like thirty degrees outside,” James says. “And the sun came out for a few hours during your wedding, otherwise it’s grey. There are no flowers. No sun.”

  “You know what I mean,” I say, my mind thinking back specifically about how amazing the sex was last night.

  James grins. “I know, I was just being intentionally dense to give you a hard time.”

  “Thanks,” I say, rolling my eyes. “What will I do without you?”