The Controversial Princess

by Jodi Ellen Malpas

  “You will do,” he declares, collecting me from the window.

  “What are you doing?” My eyes are covered by Eddie’s palms as he walks me out of my office, and I laugh, taking tentative steps through the palace.

  “Straight ahead,” he orders, shuffling along behind me.

  “Did you get me a surprise?”

  “My birthday gift. Keep walking.” He steers me to the right, toward the ostentatious dining room that seats fifty comfortably around a table, but never gets used. I can hear muffled music and people. Lots of them. Eddie stops me, his hands still covering my eyes, and I hear the tall double doors open, the music becoming louder, but the chatter quieting down. “Happy birthday, little sis,” he says, removing his palms, revealing the room, splitting at the seams with . . .

  “Oh my,” I breathe, my delighted eyes taking in the scene before me as I wander in. A grin slowly forms on my face. “Now this is what I call a party.” I snag a bottle of Belvedere off the table, as well as a bottle of Fever Tree tonic—a glass is not necessary—and I throw myself into the crowd of soldiers, the bottles raised above my head.

  “They have their warnings,” Eddie calls after me, as the men all cheer my arrival.

  That is all good and well, but I don’t recall getting my warning. “Well, hello, gents.” I slam the two bottles down on the highly polished dining room table, which is already cluttered with various bottles of alcohol and mixers. I spot Matilda across the room with our friends from boarding school, including Felicity. They raise their bottles of alcohol, eyeing the crowd of sex-starved soldiers. “Let’s have some fun.” I take the pins from my hair and shake out my long, dark waves, just in time for a man—a handsome man—to pick me up and lift me onto the huge table.

  I smile at him as he passes me my bottles. “Thank you, kind sir.”

  “Center stage for the princess.” Collecting his bottle of Jack Daniels, he hollers across the room for someone to turn up the music.

  “Adeline.” My private secretary appears at the foot of the table, pushing a man off her when he tries to get her dancing.

  “Oh, Kim,” I sigh, crouching down a little. “I’ve had a monotonous day. You’re not going to try and spoil my fun, are you? I will behave, I promise.”

  Her skeptical look is justified. “Just keep it contained to this room, okay?”

  “Okay.” I nod obediently.

  “Damon will be outside if you need him.”

  I look up and see my head of security by the double doors, delegating positions and posts to three of his team. He has done this before. If anyone gets too excitable, he’ll be quick to eject them. Damon catches my eye and gives me a thumbs up, his way of asking me if I am okay. I return his thumbs up and mouth my thank you. He’s so unruffled; he never makes a big deal of anything, just gets on with his job. I return my attention to Kim. “Time for you to go home.”

  She looks around at the rowdiness building and nods her agreement. “See you in the morning.”

  “Not too early.” I rise and swing around, summoning Matilda and Felicity to join me. “Come on,” I call, hearing Duke Dumont’s The Giver blast from the speakers. “Woo hoo.” I swig from my personal bottle of vodka, and wash it down with a bit of tonic as I spin on the spot, hell-bent on making my belated birthday party one to remember.

  “Adeline, you are wild,” Matilda sings, getting up on the table.

  I laugh when she grabs me and spins me on the spot. “Are you going to have fun?” I ask my uptight cousin. She rarely lets her hair down, unquestionably bound by the restraints the Royals impose.

  “You have enough fun for all the family.” She bends and snags a bottle of Hendricks. “But your place is the only place I can let go. Bring on the drinks,” she sings. “And the men.”

  Felicity throws her arms in the air, shouts a declaration of love for me, then proceeds to strut down the length of long table, giving sultry eyes to every man lining the room. The whistles follow her all the way. I smirk, being thrown back to our boarding school days when we used to sneak out of the window of our dorms and over the wall that kept us contained. Those nights spent getting outrageously drunk in the local village pub with the boy soldiers from the army barracks nearby were some of the best nights of my life. I was anonymous and free.

  Taking the Belvedere to my lips, I chug down a healthy amount, cast the Fever Tree aside, throw one arm in the air, and get to having some bloody fun.

  HALF A BOTTLE LATER, MY party is rocking and the dining table is carrying the weight of a dozen people, all flinging themselves around, bottles in hand. I laugh, feeling light and free, out of breath but thriving, as I yank one of Eddie’s army friends toward me and start dancing with him. He looks a bit cautious at first, but alcohol soon takes over and douses his delicate approach to me. He spins me away from him, his bottle of whisky extending over my shoulder in front of me. He brings it to my lips for me to take a mouthful as he grinds into my arse in time to Lost Frequencies. Some liquid spills down my chin and T-shirt, but wiping myself clean is not top of his priority list, and instead, he shoves me out and grabs my hand, twirling me around on a laugh. “Come on, girl.” He throws our hands up, smiling, and it is now that I register it’s the guy who lifted me up to the table when the party started. His blond hair is hidden under his green beret, his camouflage jacket gone, leaving him now in just a khaki, tight T-shirt and combats.

  “Giles,” he declares, taking my hand to his mouth and landing it with an over-the-top kiss.

  “Hello, Giles,” I purr, letting him pull me into his chest.

  “Hello, Princess.” He grins, sliding his hand onto my bottom. “May I kiss you?”

  Don’t ask, just do! I push my lips to his, tasting whisky and cigarettes, and he moans as we sway and kiss, drunk and a little clumsy.

  “Hey!” Eddie’s yell is fierce, and I break away from Giles, ready to argue my case and defend Giles from my brother’s wrath. I mean, come on! Eddie set this up. Am I expected to look and not touch? I locate my brother, but when I find him, his attention is not on me, and neither is it on Giles. It’s on another soldier, a younger lad, who has his mobile phone pointing in my direction. I just catch the flash of the camera before Eddie practically rugby tackles him to the Oriental rug, snatching the mobile from his grasp.

  “Bloody hell.” I take my fingers to my mouth and belt out an ear-piercing whistle. Damon bursts through the doors a second later, searching me out. When he finds me, I point to Eddie, who is now holding the click-happy perpetrator down while he scrolls through the pictures on his phone.

  Eddie curses, grabbing the young soldier by the scruff of his neck and pulling him to his feet. “There’s an unwritten rule when in the company of a royal, lad. You do not take pictures.”

  “Sorry, I didn’t know.” He holds up his hands in defense.

  Eddie snarls and thrusts him into Damon’s waiting grasp. “Time for you to go home.”

  Damon manhandles him out of the room, looking back at the mobile phone in Eddie’s grasp. “You going to take care of that?”

  “Done.” My brother drops it to the wooden floor by the door and stamps on it with his army boot.

  “Nice touch,” Damon quips, pushing the kid out of the door.

  “Okay, the show is over.” Eddie grabs a nearby bottle of tequila and strides over to me. “Open up.”

  I smile and lie down on my back, hanging my head off the edge of the table. Then I open my mouth and Eddie tips the bottle, filling my cheeks with tequila until I hold my hand up for him to stop. I wince as I swallow. “Where’s the lemon?” I shudder.

  Eddie laughs. “Don’t be a wimp. Next.”

  Giles drops to his back and follows my lead, and as soon as he is done, the next person takes their position, until the whole length of table is lined with horizontal bodies, mouths wide open to take their hit. Eddie roams up and down, a continuous flow of tequila streaming into the waiting mouths until the bottle is empty and he casts it aside on a loud
whoop.

  As I wobble my way back up to standing with the help of Giles, I spy Damon at the door brushing his hands off, his way of telling me the problem has been dealt with. I nod on a hiccup when he gives me our sign. I’m fine. Thumbs up.

  “Sure?” he mouths, taking the handle of the door, ready to close our noisy rabble back inside the room.

  “Sure.” I search out my vodka and gingerly bend to retrieve it, lifting it to my lips as I raise my body back upright. Although the clear, cool liquid doesn’t make it into my mouth, instead spilling down my front before my lips meet the rim. My eyes pop out of my head at the sight of a man standing next to Damon by the double doors. What the hell?

  Damon once again gives me a thumbs up, but this time he follows up with a thumbs down.

  Yes or no? Yes or no? Yes or no?

  I don’t know.

  Josh Jameson remains still, watching me closely while I stall answering Damon. Today his long, lean legs are covered in some well-fitting stonewash jeans, his prime torso covered in a black T-shirt. Oh . . . my . . . goodness. My thumb hovers in no man’s land, straddling between thumbs up and thumbs down. The dangerous surge of energy powering through my alcohol-drenched veins should serve as a warning, should force my thumb downward to tell Damon that Jameson is not welcome. Yet when I peek down, I see my thumb pointing toward the ceiling, and when I cast my eyes back to Josh, he’s smiling discreetly at me where I stand on the table, his gaze hooded. Then he subtly starts rubbing his palm against his jean-clad thigh. He’s warming it up. The energy powering through me sparks and crackles, and my lungs drain as I lift the vodka to my lips.

  My stare follows Josh to the Sonos player, where he fiddles between that and his phone for a few moments. Then he cranks up the volume to max, turning toward me. I scowl at him when the track registers in my warped mind. Oh, he thinks he is hilarious. Yeah Yeah Yeahs “Heads Will Roll” bursts from the speakers, and the party goes wild, everyone roaring their delight at Josh’s choice. Everyone except me. Off with his head, indeed. I watch him make a beeline for me, nothing but pure intent and determination written all over his aggravatingly handsome face.

  “Who invited you?” I ask when his thighs meet the edge of the table before me, his neck craned back so he can look up at me standing over him.

  “Prince Eddie.” He’s smug, and when I shoot a disgusted look Eddie’s way, my brother shrugs, looking cautious. Like he’s regretting it. “Thought you’d be pleased to see me.”

  I huff and swivel, dancing my way to the other end of the table, finding Matilda and engaging in some outrageous dance moves with her.

  “How did he get in?” my cousin asks, dancing but looking to the other end of the dining room.

  “Eddie invited him, apparently.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know. It’s not like I need help to get me sent to The Tower, is it?”

  “What happened with the guy and the phone? What if he got pictures, Adeline?” Matilda’s panic is sobering her up too fast for my liking.

  “Calm down. Damon and Eddie took care of it. The phone has been destroyed.”

  “But—”

  “It’s fixed,” I assure her assertively, putting pressure on the base of her bottle to lift it to her mouth. “Drink and enjoy.”

  I’m suddenly hauled back by an arm around my waist, and I gasp, my eyes wide. “Where were we?” Giles’s lusty voice in my ear does nothing for me now, and I know it’s because another man is in the room hunting me.

  “Not now.” I shrug him off and throw myself into Matilda, swapping positions so I am out of Giles’s reach, dancing at a safe distance from him. My gaze catches Josh’s as I spin on the spot, taking mild pleasure from the flash of displeasure that blazes his features, making them dark for a brief moment.

  “Off with your head,” Matilda sings, throwing her head back on a laugh. “I love it.”

  I smile, strained, remembering the words Josh spoke to me yesterday, the ripple of naughty pleasure that coursed through me too fast to stop. It makes me uncomfortable. I need air, the room suddenly suffocating me.

  “I need a cigarette,” I tell Matilda, slipping down from the table, unable to remain under the fixed glare of Josh Jameson any longer. My cousin doesn’t miss me for long, soon distracted by Giles, who is over his loss of me and onto the next willing female. I slide out of the room by the doors at the other end, scooping up a half-empty bottle of Belvedere on my way. I wander through the empty lounge to the foyer to let Damon know I’m heading out for a sneaky cigarette.

  “Hey,” I call, grabbing his attention. My head of security frowns at me as he pushes his back from the doorframe and strides toward me, his worn-in face questioning. “Got any smokes?” I ask on a sickly sweet smile.

  He rolls his eyes. “I quit.”

  “Liar.” I help myself to his inside pocket when he makes it to me, finding a pack of Marlboro Lights. “Lighter?”

  “You quit, too.”

  “Don’t nag me, Damon,” I moan, walking with him to the French doors through the library. “Father always has a cigar hanging out of his mouth.”

  “Kings smoking Cubans is customary.” He opens the door and lets me pass, but not before taking my vodka and setting it on a cabinet.

  “Maybe I’m establishing my own customs.” I smile as I slip a cigarette between my lips and offer Damon the open packet.

  On a shake of his head, he pulls one free before popping them back into his pocket and lighting mine then his. I draw in a long drag and let a plume of smoke spill on a satisfied exhale. “Oh, that is so good.”

  “Princesses shouldn’t smoke, ma’am.” Damon takes his own hit of nicotine. “Mind you, they also shouldn’t throw wild parties, get steaming drunk, and screw bankers and actors.”

  “I have not screwed the actor,” I correct him. “Just for the record.”

  “Yet,” he adds cheekily.

  I narrow my eyes playfully on him. “And I won’t be.” Of that, I am certain. “You should head off, anyway. I’ll be fine for the rest of the evening.”

  “If it’s all the same to you, ma’am, I think I’ll stay.”

  “Isn’t Mandy waiting for you?” Damon’s wife is as lovely as her husband, so laid-back, she is virtually horizontal.

  “We have date night tomorrow night.” He smiles, almost shyly. “Because you have no plans for tomorrow evening, right? So I don’t need to be here. Correct?”

  “Right. And what does one do on date night?” I raise my chin and bring my cigarette to my mouth again, as Damon shifts awkwardly on his black shiny shoes.

  “That, ma’am”—he reaches forward with his spare hand and taps the end of my nose—“is top secret.”

  “But I’m marvelously good at keeping secrets.”

  “No, Felix and the PR team are marvelously good at keeping secrets for you.”

  I pout, with no argument coming to me. Damon is right. They are wizards at keeping things contained and away from the press, but not so much from my father. Not that I’m ashamed of myself, but the earache from the hierarchy is utterly boring. To them, I am an out-of-control headache. Regardless, spending a night with a man would not be deemed disgraceful and newsworthy if I were a regular thirty-year-old woman. But I am not. The self-reminder makes my face screw up.

  “Oh, okay, keep your secret.” I sniff, marveling in the calming powers of the nicotine as I take another draw, as well as the calming powers of my beloved Damon. I’m so lucky to have him. “It’s frightfully chilly this evening.”

  “Would you like my jacket, ma’am?” Damon holds his cigarette between his lips and starts to pull off his suit coat.

  I reach for him and rest my hand on his arm, stopping him. “No, but thank you.”

  “Glad to have Prince Eddie home?”

  “Delighted. I do so miss him when he is gone.”

  “Like the terrible two are back together,” Damon quips, taking my smoked cigarette from me and stubbing it out in a nearby m
arble plant pot. “I’m sure Felix is as delighted as you are.”

  “Oh”—I wave a dismissive hand at him—“Felix relishes the challenges I present him with.”

  “What, like fixing things?”

  “Well, yes. After all, he’s so good at it.” I grin wickedly.

  “You’ve given him a lot of practice, Your Highness.” His arm slips across my shoulders and he leads me to the doors. “Because you are very good at misbehaving.”

  “Fun is prohibited when you are a royal, Damon. You know that.”

  “Not for you, though.”

  “Never.”

  “But tell me one thing, ma’am, if you don’t mind me asking.” He stops us and looks down at me, clearly pensive.

  “What, Damon? Anything.” My staff is not like the King’s stuffy aides, in particular Sir Don and Major Davenport, who have a permanent stick up their bottoms. My staff is more laid-back, but that is not to say they do their job any less effectively. All of them are so great, and I would fight tooth and nail if my father ever tried to replace them. But I am particularly fond of Damon. I don’t know how old he is exactly, but he’s been with me for ten years now, after retiring from MI6 due to an injury sustained during a secret mission. I guess he’s nearing fifty, maybe a smidgen older.

  “Are you truly happy, ma’am?”

  Damon’s question gives me pause, too long of a pause for me to pass off with a laugh, though I do try. “Of course I’m happy.”

  He nods sharply, though I sense he’s not convinced. “Then that’s the most important thing.”

  “Yes, you are right. I mean, it’s not like I will ever be required for anything more than keeping up royal appearances. What I do in private is my own business. I’m never going to be Queen.” I shudder at the mere thought. “It’s oppressive enough being a backup to the backup heir, and it is entirely unfair that I am expected to live a life of suffocation because I happened to be born to the King of England. So, if it is all the same to my father, I will be having some fun. You understand what I’m saying, don’t you, Damon?”