Royal Dick

by Melinda Minx

  My family is loaded into armored Humvees, and I’m astonished at the number of extra military vehicles and soldiers all standing by ready to escort us.

  “This seems like too much,” I say.

  Rikard shakes his head. “It’s barely enough. It’s the most we could afford to spare from the border.”

  “There are like fifty men,” I say.

  “Enough men so that a small squad couldn’t touch you,” Rikard says. “They can’t get more than five or six soldiers through the border on us. Fifty is just the right number.”

  “I’ll be fine,” I say.

  Rikard leans down and kisses me, and I clutch onto him and kiss him back. We kiss for longer than is likely appropriate given our surroundings, but they’ll forgive us since we are newly married.

  I feel a glow filling me when he finally pulls away, and he nods and walks off.

  Magnus tips his head to me. “You’ll be safe.”

  “It’s not me I’m worried about,” I say.

  Then I feel something near my shoulder, and I turn around to see James standing behind me. He’s looking at Magnus with a dumb grin on his face, and Magnus is trying to ignore him.

  I elbow James, but he doesn’t move.

  “I’ll make sure Rikard stays put,” Magnus says.

  I sigh with relief. “You promise?”

  “Yes,” he says. “He’s not going anywhere. He’ll be here for you when you come back.”

  “Magnus,” James says.

  I feel my chest tighten, worried about what idiotic thing James might say to him.

  “Yes?” Magnus asks, looking past me toward James.

  “If you have to fight, be careful,” James says. “I’ve only ever shot people on Xbox-Live, so the only advice I can give you is to stay behind cover.”

  Magnus laughs. “Good advice. And I’ll jump around and move wildly from side to side. Maybe I’ll even jump and crouch in mid-air to make myself into a smaller target so they can’t hit me, either.”

  James laughs. “Kill ten guys in a row, and they’ll let you call in an airstrike.”

  Magnus laughs, too, and grabs James by the hand, shaking it with vigor.

  James beams at him, and I feel extremely embarrassed. “Well then,” I say, pulling James away. “We need to get going now. I’ll be back in a few hours!”

  “See you soon, Princess Jane,” Magnus says.

  When I get in the Humvee with James, he lets out a sad sigh. “Jane, I made him laugh. Did you hear his beautiful laugh?”

  “I heard it,” I say. “But he’s still straight.”

  “If only there was a joke so witty that it could turn a straight man gay,” James says.

  “That one wasn’t it. I didn’t even get it. What the hell were you guys even talking about?”

  He huffs at me. “I tried to get you to play Xbox with me, but you never wanted to. Seems like Magnus has played Call of Duty.”

  “Every boy has,” I say, “but that doesn’t make you two soulmates or something.”

  “I know,” he says. “Don’t worry, Princess Jane, I’m just giving you a hard time again. I just wanted to tell Magnus to be safe without creeping him out, so I made an innocent little joke.”

  “He had better stay safe,” I say, “and keep Rikard from doing anything crazy.”

  23

  Rikard

  “It will be fun,” Magnus insists, grinning.

  I sigh. He wants me to train some of the new recruits. There are a lot of them, too. Men who saw their city under attack and decided they wanted to fight. Some of them look like boys still, but we can’t turn anyone away, provided they’re old enough.

  ‘Why the hesitation?” Magnus asks. “Better than sitting at a desk and wearing a suit, right?”

  “Fair enough,” I say.

  I don’t want to tell Magnus the real reason I’m hesitant. I don’t like the idea of training men to fight when I myself won’t fight beside them. It seems hypocritical in a way, but we’re short on drill sergeants, and I’m a good teacher. So I’ll swallow my pride and do what needs to be done for my country.

  I arrive decked out in full uniform to a room full of freshly shaved men. A lot of them are young, but some of them are older―and a lot more out of shape. Many of the older guys have the same body type: they’re strong with muscular arms and big beer guts.

  I’m going to have my work cut out for me.

  As soon as I walk in, they all look at me with wide eyes. Some even gape at me.

  “First lesson is to control your emotions,” I say. “You don’t want the enemy to know what you’re thinking. Keep neutral faces. Yes, I am Prince Rikard, and yes, I am training you.”

  Now they are all gaping at me in total disbelief to learn that the prince himself is training them. Not a single one of them is doing even a half-assed job at hiding their surprise.

  They all force neutral expressions on their faces, though some do a better job than others. I catch two guys right in front of me eyeing each other instead of looking straight forward at attention.

  I sweep the legs of the one nearest to me out from under him, and he slams back first onto the ground. Before he can even register what happened, I’m on top of him with my bulging forearm pressed into his fat neck.

  I push just hard and long enough to cut off some of his air supply and spike his adrenaline, but then I let off on the bruising pressure. I don’t get off him, however.

  “This recruit,” I say, “just lost his focus. It was a half-second of inattentiveness, but I easily could have killed him for it. In a battle, you have to always assume that taking your eye off the ball for any amount of time – even a half second - could mean a bullet in your head or a knife in your back.”

  I get up off the guy and reach a hand down to help him up. He looks nervously at me.

  “Come on,” I say. “I’m helping you up.”

  “Your Highness…,” he stutters.

  “Call me ‘sir,’ in here,” I say.

  “Sir,” he says. “What if this is another trick, and you’re teaching me not to blindly trust the enemy?”

  I laugh and pull my hand away. “Good. I was going to let you fall again.”

  He gets up then on his own. “What’s your name, recruit?”

  “Nilsson,” he says.

  “Private Nilsson is a fast learner,” I say. “He’ll stay at attention from now on, won’t he?”

  “Sir! Yes, sir!” he barks, not daring to look at the recruit standing to his side again.

  When I finish the recruits’ shooting shooting, I look back and see Jane standing there smiling at me.

  She’s wearing a thick grey coat over her bright purple dress.

  “How long have you been standing here?” I ask.

  “Long enough to hear the lecture,” she says. “And long enough that I want to try, too.”

  “Try what?” I ask.

  She nods toward the rack of guns.

  “You’re the princess,” I say. “You can’t be seen shooting an assault rifle.”

  “Why not?” she asks.

  I grind my teeth together, my smile gone.

  “Women don’t fight here,” I say.

  “Isn’t that sexist?”

  I throw up my hands. “It’s our culture.”

  “American culture used to prescribe to women staying home and cooking, and they couldn’t even vote. We changed it, though,” she says.

  The recruits are all busy getting their weapons assigned to them by the man at arms, but I need to get back to them shortly.

  “Look,” I say. “How about we do this? When I’m done with the recruits, I’ll show you how to shoot one of these.”

  “You’re sure?” Jane asks. “Maybe my girly hands aren’t strong enough to pull the trigger.”

  I grin at her. “Did everything go smoothly at the airport?”

  She nods. “The smoothest airport experience I’ve ever had. We were driven straight to the plane. No security check, no
lines, no hassle.”

  “Nothing but the best for the princess’s family.”

  When the recruits are gone, I grab one of the unassigned rifles and hand it to Jane.

  “Should I take it?” she asks.

  “No,” I say. “I’m just holding it out toward you for no reason.”

  “Ha, ha,” she says, sarcastically mimicking a laugh. ‘It’s not loaded, right?”

  “No,” I say, shaking my head. “This is a Nordian-made M-283.”

  “Am I…” Jane says, gripping the barrel of the gun but not taking it from me. “Supposed to know what that means?”

  “No,” I say. “But I’m teaching you now. This assault rifle takes a magazine here,” I point to the spot where a magazine would be inserted into the gun. “And you can see there is no magazine in it currently.”

  “So I know it’s not loaded,” she says.

  “Yes, but first of all, you should always treat any gun as if it was loaded. Secondly, there could be a bullet in the chamber, even with no magazine. So take the gun and hold it across your body, the barrel pointing up and away from us.

  “Yes, sir,” she says, grinning at me.

  She takes the gun and holds it like I instructed.

  I take a magazine out of my coat pocket. “The gun is going to be heavy with one hand, so I recommend putting the stock down on the ground, keeping the barrel―”

  “I got it, Rikard,” she says. “Never, ever point the barrel at someone.”

  She puts the stock down onto the ground, angling the barrel away from us. I hand her the magazine.

  “It will click right in there,” I say. “Just slide it in there.”

  She slides it in where I have shown her, but it doesn’t click. “Now,” I say, “give it a firm hit with your palm.”

  Jane smacks it with her palm, and it clicks into place.

  “All right,” I say. “Pick it back up like before.”

  She does, keeping the barrel directed away from us the whole time.

  “It’s ready to fire now?” she asks.

  “You still have to cock it and disengage the safety,” I say. “But don’t do either of those things until you’re ready to fire.”

  I realize that she may actually need to be able to do this. I’d been treating this as just something to do with her for fun, but she might find herself in a real life-or-death situation where she needs to shoot.

  “We’re just going to be shooting at targets on the range, so you wouldn’t want to have the gun ready to fire until we’re on the range with the targets in front of us. If...if this was a combat situation, you would need the gun ready to go before you spotted an enemy. You won’t have time to cock and mess with the safety if someone is charging you, or if suddenly a guy pops out from around a corner with his gun ready to fire while yours isn’t.”

  “Got it,” she says, gripping the rifle.

  “Safety is always the most important thing,” I say. “When we’re just shooting on the firing range, having the gun ready to fire only when you are about to fire it is the safest thing. When you’re in a situation where everyone is out to kill you, having the gun ready to shoot at a moment’s notice is safest.”

  “That makes sense,” Jane says. “Do you really think it will come to that, Rikard? If we don’t make a deal with them?”

  If she didn’t sound so sincere, I’d think she was leveraging her concern to guilt me into agreeing with my father. She looks genuinely worried, though, and I can’t get mad at her for that.

  “Very unlikely,” I say. “I will defend you to the death, my princess, but…”

  If I die, I want her to be able to defend herself.

  “My prince charming,” she says, “who is often a total, ego-driven asshole.”

  “But I’m charming,” I say, flashing a big smile.

  “Yes,” she says, rolling her eyes. “Yes, you are charming.”

  I have to admit she looks pretty sexy holding that gun in her hands. I’ve never gone for the “dangerous woman” look, but I can see how it might grow on me.

  “You look good holding a big gun,” I say.

  She blushes and looks toward the target range.

  “Yeah,” I say. “Let’s go.”

  Normally I show recruits how to fire from the ground, with the gun stabilized as much as possible. Considering Jane is wearing an expensive coat and a dress, I’ll start her out firing from a standing position, with the gun rested on a raised wooden platform.

  “It feels like cheating,” she says. “Like it’s too easy to aim like this.”

  “You use any advantage you can in a battle,” I say. “And don’t say it’s too easy until you’ve at least taken a shot, because you might regret those words when you miss the target.”

  She laughs, and I put my hands on her hips, helping her get positioned into the optimal firing stance. Her body feels warm in my hands, especially since it’s so cold outside.

  “You’re distracting me, Rikard,” she says in a heavy voice.

  “I’m not trying to,” I say. “And you need to spread your legs more.”

  “Now you’re just being naughty,” she says.

  I tap the inside of her boots with mine, indicating for her to move her leg out more.

  “Good,” I say. “A wider stance gives you a more stable platform.

  “Isn’t the wooden thing already stable?” she asks.

  “Just get used to using this stance,” I say. “You won’t always have a nice wooden shelf and all the time in the world to prepare yourself to take the perfect shot.”

  I point at the target closest to us, just ten meters away. “You want to try to hit this one, right in the chest.”

  The target is shaped like a man.

  “Don’t I want to go for a headshot?” Jane asks.

  I shake my head. “This gun packs a lot of punch. You want to take the easiest shot you can, and hitting in the center of mass will do the job. It’s a lot easier to miss if you aim for the head.”

  “Why don’t we all just use that auto-aim gun you used back in the castle?” she asks.

  “Because,” I say. “That one gun and pair of glasses costs over $100,000, and it’s unreliable at longer ranges. This gun, I say, your good old-fashioned iron sights, is cheap and never breaks down.

  I put my hands on her again, and I crouch down behind her, my body pressing up against hers. I move my head just behind hers, and talk in a low voice behind her ears. “Close one eye, and sight across. You want that metal notch on the front of the barrel to be right in the middle of the two notches on back.

  I watch as she moves the gun slightly and lowers her head.

  “Got it,” she says, her voice strained.

  “Don’t hold your breath,” I say, noticing that she’s tensed up. “Breathe.”

  She exhales. “Take your time sighting.”

  “Okay,” she says after several moments. “I’m good.”

  “Now reach up and cock the gun, and pull on this right here.” I tap where I want her to tug.

  She reaches up slowly, then pulls.

  “Now a round is chambered,” I say. “Here’s the safety. Press it down.”

  She puts her thumb onto the safety and slides it down. Red shows beneath it, indicating the gun is ready to fire.

  “What’s this other switch?” she says, tapping it.

  “That changes it from semi-automatic to fully-automatic,” I say. “Keep it where it is, on semi-automatic.”

  “Okay,” she says, re-adjusting her sight. “So I squeeze the trigger now?”

  I grin. “You heard them say that in the movies, I guess?”

  “Yep, impressed?” she asks.

  “Not really. Everyone interprets words like that differently. Just pull the trigger in such a way that you don’t jerk it and mess up your aim. ‘Squeezing’ the trigger isn’t some miracle trick. Hell, I don’t even know what it means.”

  “Fine,” she says. “I’ll pull it delicately then.”
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  There’s a pop, and the gun goes off. A hole appears dead in the middle of the target’s head.

  “See,” she says excitedly. “I got the headshot.”

  I’m equal parts impressed and annoyed.

  “Fine,” I say. “Since you’re such a good shot, hit that one.”

  I point at the target fifty meters away.

  She squints at it. “Oh, that’s pretty far.”

  “Well,” I say, pointing at the hole in the target’s head. “You’re such a great shot, you should be able to get a headshot with this one, as well.”

  She looks back at me and bites her lip.

  I stay stone-faced, not letting her know that I’m messing with her. “Don’t look at me! Look at your target!”

  She looks forward again and sights. “I’m going to hit this one in the head, too.”

  Good luck. Even with no crosswind and having the gun stabilized on a wooden platform, a headshot from fifty meters is a tall order, even for a seasoned―

  The gun goes off, and I squint.

  “Did I…” she says.

  I lean forward, as if that will really help me see anything.

  I grab the binoculars I was using while training the recruits to take a look. There’s a fresh hole, dead center in the target’s head.

  “Did I?” she asks.

  “You had the wooden shelf to fire off of,” I say. “And there was no crosswind, and―”

  She puts the safety on, carefully slides the gun down, and puts the barrel pointing away from us, and then she jumps up into the air and cheers.

  She shakes her hips and does a little victory spin, humming some tune I don’t know as she dances.

  She’s not conducting herself very much like a princess, but it’s good to see her so happy, even if it was just a lucky shot.

  Finally she grabs me and squeezes me tight. “You’re a good teacher, Rikard. It was all you.”

  I squeeze her back, and the clean scent of her hair fills my nose. Suddenly I don’t want to be out in the cold with the smell of gunpowder and oiled metal around us. I want to be in bed, my cock buried deep in Jane’s pussy.

  I look at her, and she knows exactly what I’m thinking.