by Nicole Snow
“Do it.” Silas nods, giving me one last look. “Just do what she says, as long as it's reasonable. I'll meet you on the stage in a couple hours before all the jackals file in to pick at our bones.”
It's a joke, but I'm not smiling. Victor leads me out with this woman who despises me for reasons I don't understand, into a small sitting room across the hall.
“I'll be right outside if either of you need anything,” he says. “Expect a knock when the time draws near.”
“Christ, Victor. Time management is part of my job, remember?” Serena says, practically spitting in his face.
We step in, and he closes the door behind us without another word.
“Let's get this over with.” She finally looks at me, drinking me in. “You look like you're having a terrible enough time wearing that ridiculous thing. Lucky you, if everything else is equal, the tabloids will be talking about your fashion sense once they've finished squawking about the main announcement.”
“It wasn't really my choice,” I tell her, taking a leather seat across from hers, next to another fireplace with a hand carved mantel. I've seen more art in this palace than I've seen in my life, I swear.
“No, of course not. First things first, you let him do the talking. Whatever he says, whatever questions may come up – you take your cue from His Highness. He's done it before, and he should know what to say. Lord knows I've tried to teach him, anyway.”
I can't believe her tone. It doesn't brighten up through the whole lecture. She's wearing a trim skirt, her legs crossed, one foot angrily bobbing her black heel.
I've had enough. “I'm sorry, is there something I've done to offend you?”
“Only by coming out of nowhere. Winning yourself a man, a kingdom, you know you don't deserve. You're not even a citizen of Saint Moore's for God's sake.” She stops there, her raging green eyes telling the full story. “No, it's not my place to criticize. I'll never understand why Silas picked you, but I'll try to respect it.”
“Silas,” I repeat.
It's just Silas. No Prince in front of it. Yeah, these two definitely have history.
“His Highness.” She corrects herself, almost as an afterthought. “I'm sorry for acting like a royal bitch this evening. It's very frustrating to have something like this dropped in my lap without notice, you understand. I don't know how to explain everything in under an hour. The best advice I can give is what I've already said – smile, look pretty, and keep your mouth shut. The tabloids and blogs snatch anything you feed them. Any misplaced word, any screwed up gesture, anything scandalous. The more boring you are, the better.”
“Good advice.” I honestly don't know if it is, but her crazy eyes aren't making me comfortable.
I want this to end. I'd rather have the press conference now than go over every movement and word with this envious bitch.
“Let me ask you this, Miss Warwick, what experience have you had on camera?”
Smiling awkwardly, I shrug my shoulders. Her eyes get wider and meaner.
“Just knock me out already. Please, for fuck's sake,” she mutters to herself, running a hand across her face. “Okay. I'm going to do my best...”
And she does, for the next hour. She's cold, detached, more like someone giving a job interview than a woman I've personally upset.
She tells me who to watch out for, all the names of the biggest muckrakers in the kingdom, and several who will be flying in from Europe. I'm briefed on where Silas has gone wrong before, though a lot of his mistakes were completely off the record. Playing bad boy and getting caught gave journalists plenty of fodder, attracting them like flies.
After what seems like half an hour, the biggest takeaway I've got is what she said before.
Shut up. Look pretty. Let him lead.
That's what I've signed onto with this whole stupid thing, isn't it? I'm not really his wife.
Not really a Princess. I'm nothing more than another stage prop in Prince Asshole's life, no matter how good my motive. I've signed on to being used, and I ought to be conscious of it.
At some point, Victor knocks. “Ten minutes, ladies. Please finish up as soon as you're able.”
“You seem like an intelligent girl, if a bit naive. I wish you the best of luck, Erin, and I hope you understand what you've gotten yourself into.”
Holy shit. I've been holding my tongue through this entire miserable experience. I look at her, straightening up in my chair.
“You seem very smart, too, but you're kind of a bitch.”
“Touche.” Serena gives me a nasty smile and stands up. “I'll leave you to straighten that thing so it doesn't get caught. I don't think either of us need a cat fight to ruin that pretty dress right now. Good luck, Princess. You're going to need it.”
She's out the door before I can follow up with another insult. Infuriating.
I can't let her drag me down now, though. As soon as she's gone, Victor steps in. I'm starting to get annoyed with his constant chaperoning.
This isn't the way I imagined royal life. The servants are supposed to help, to wait on us hand and foot. I guess they do plenty of that. But they're also everywhere, never more than several feet away. I'm craving my long lost privacy like never before.
“Straight through there, madame. His Highness is waiting for you on stage, near the podium.”
I follow through the backstage door, to the place where he's pointing. I've forgotten how open and spacious it is in this huge, imposing medieval hall.
Yeah, privacy is the last thing I'm getting for the next few hours.
I'll be lucky if I ever find it again once the kingdom sees my face.
“Finally,” Silas says, when I take a seat next to him. “Did she do her job? I'm going to jettison that woman if she's giving you any trouble. I've warned her before about setting her personal shit aside.”
I have a chance to get Serena fired, and that gives me more than a little pleasure. But I don't have the heart to do it just yet. I decide to lie – what's one more on top of the untruths I've built up with just a couple days close to the Prince?
“It was fine. She could be a bit more personable, I guess, but what she said was useful.”
He hesitates for a moment. “Okay. That'll do until this is over. Then we'll go back to my place and get you out of that damned thing.”
He sounds like he's almost as tired of the stifling, formal dress as I am. Small relief.
It doesn't last long. About five minutes later, the main door across the room swings open. A large gaggle of reporters file in and takes their seats while Silas' royal guards swarm in the room, checking their earpieces, always looking for nonexistent threats to the Prince.
I can't imagine he has any real enemies. Maybe a lone nut, looking to write their name in blood on history, or a few of the extremists I've heard about who believe a republic without a hereditary monarchy is long overdue.
“Ready?” He grabs my hand where they can't see it, looks at me, and smiles.
“As much as I'll ever be,” I say, sighing.
The butterflies in my stomach are making tornadoes. My public jitters have gotten a lot better since I started taking journalism seriously, but I've never given a speech in front of a crowd like this.
My knees wobble when we finally stand up, right after Victor announces a special Q and A session from His Highness, and a guest. King of All Things plays, a shortened version of the anthem, and then it's go time.
We're hit with what seems like a hundred different cameras when we stand up. Flashing. Beaming. Blinding.
All of them wanting answers.
There's no going back. I'm about to introduce myself to a few million people I know next to nothing about.
And then, once it's over, I'm going to shut myself up and scream, as long and as loudly as I can.
6
Once in a Lifetime (Silas)
It's our time to shine, and I'm getting pissed.
Maybe it's the frustration that sets in every time I hav
e to face these gutter feeding reporters, drooling over their next slice of red meat.
Or maybe it's the fact that I know she's brushing off Serena's bitchiness. I fucking knew my press secretary would make this harder the second she stepped in, and looked at me like I'd lost my damned mind for introducing my pretend fiancee.
Mostly, I'm fuming because I can barely see Erin's ass underneath that hundred year old thing she's wearing, and that's a brutal shame. She's in front of me, at the podium, trying her damnedest to follow my lead.
I want to take my bare hands and start tearing through every layer, then lay her out in front of me, naked as the day she was born.
Christ. I need to fuck this girl. However wrong, however complicated, however self-destructive, I don't care. My cock can't even try to give a shit.
I look into the closest camera and smile, calm and cool as I humanly can. “Ladies, gentleman, and friends of the kingdom. This is a very special day for our people, our family, and for me, especially. You'll recognize the special guest at my side as Erin Warwick, daughter of Tom, the journalist from the United States. We're not up here to discuss her dad's health, or book a follow-up, so don't get any crazy ideas.”
A couple laughs ripple through the crowd. I'm going to tease the assholes as long as I can, before I hit them between the eyes, and leave them running around like headless hens.
“Those of you who've followed me for years know I'm all about the unexpected. Miss Warwick tumbling into my arms is the happiest surprise I've ever had the pleasure of receiving.” I pause, wanting to snort at my own prim and proper bullshit.
The press laps it up, of course. They love the Jekyll and Hyde split in my ego. One more contrast between buttoned up heir to the throne in public and the shameless playboy who gives them infinite drama when his private life leaks.
“Sire?” Vic mouths it from the side of the room, letting me know I've let my mind wander too long.
“Yes, well, this world's full of shocks. Some of them very ugly, like the time I found out my father had gone down with his yacht, lost to the sea forever. Some surprises, however, are quite beautiful. I walked into that interview with the Warwick Report expecting a slew of pointed questions. I didn't expect him to collapse on this very stage, and wind up leaving our kingdom for the best care a man can receive for his condition. I'm pleased to be a part of that treatment, whatever it takes to save the life of a world renowned journalist.”
Next to me, Erin's face has turned visibly somber. I've said enough to play the kind, charitable Prince. I'm not going to dwell on her dear old dad's health a second longer than I need to.
“What I didn't expect, ladies and gentleman, was to find something wonderful in that public tragedy. You're all wondering why she's here, at my side, today. I won't leave you in suspense any longer. I've gotten to know her better than I ever imagined since the last day the cameras landed on us. Erin?” I turn to her, pull her closer, taking her hand.
She's squeezing me tight, but we can do better than that. I lace my fingers through hers and take her tighter, owning her fingers the way I want to claim the rest of her body.
“I wasn't looking at the time, but I can't deny what's right in front of me, precious and pure. I'm pleased to announce I've found my future wife, and the kingdom's next Princess.” I wait for stunned murmurs to whisper through the crowd before I continue. “Erin Warwick and I are engaged. We're due to be wed this winter, shortly before Christmas.”
I see Erin in my peripheral vision. Her eyes are huge.
We are? She knows I've just taken a piss on grandmom's conditions, setting a firm date nobody else knows about.
The room explodes. Every reporter jumps up, going completely apeshit. The next time I speak into the mic, I have to raise my voice, watching as Serena scrambles desperately through the rows of press, trying to restore some order with threats about throwing them out.
My guards have closed in, prepped for trouble, however unlikely.
“I'll be taking your questions for the next few minutes, once you're ready to quiet down.”
That does it. Slowly, haltingly, the wild animals get back in their seats and shut the fuck up. That is, until the first one stands up, practically jumping out of her heels to flag me down.
“Your Highness! Isn't this happening very fast? How could you decide to marry her after only knowing her for a few days?”
“Prince Silas – over here! Does the Queen know and approve? What's she said about all this?”
“Prince, Prince, Prince! Does Miss Warwick know the first thing about this kingdom, or what she's getting herself into? She's barely been here a week, for Christ's sake!”
“Please, please. One at a time.” I hold my hands up patiently like I'm talking to excitable children. “It's true this is happening very fast. There's no good explanation, except for the fact that faith and love move in mysterious ways. I've had a better kindred spirit in Erin this past week than I've ever had in anyone else. There's only one answer I can give. When a man meets his soulmate, he just knows.”
I look at her. She's red as a damned beet from all the attention. Seeing her nervous expression, the way she sucks her little lip, douses the fire in my dick with kerosene.
I can't hold back. I snatch her hand, bring it to my lips, and kiss it like I'm sucking her face.
A couple dozen phones and cameras fire like machine guns for the next thirty seconds. When I finally pull away, she's shaking. I put one arm around her, bringing her closer, steadying her.
“Erin? Why don't you take the next question, love? The one about the Queen...”
She shakes her head, but I push her toward the mic. Time to do her part, and show me I haven't made a giant mistake.
My hand drifts down her back, trying to calm her, stopping just shy of that sweet, round ass hiding beneath the dress.
“The Queen knows, and she agrees, ladies and gentleman,” she says very softly.
“Louder.” I whisper in her ear, letting my lips graze her skin when I pull back.
Fuck, she's burning up. Like a fever. Tempting me to make her body blaze a hundred degrees hotter.
“Her Majesty approves!” she says, this time louder, shouting over the commotion. “And I think I deserve a little more credit than you're giving me. It's true that I'm not a subject of Saint Moore's by birth, but I've been reading about this island and the royal family for years. Coming here was a dream, whatever else happened with my father. It's been a bigger dream than anything I could've imagined, meeting my future husband, the love of my life. I'm going to marry this man next to me, His Royal Highness, and I don't care if anybody wants to question it. They'll see the truth, in time.”
“Very bold.” I whisper in her ear again, this time more loudly, while the journalists break into another mad bout of jeering questions and cheers.
This time, the guards move in. A reporter from outside the capital shoves a man wearing a French tricolor on his press badge, and all hell starts breaking loose.
It only takes one brief flash of a taser to make the rest of them settle the fuck down. All eight guards in my personal entourage, plus several more palace security members, patrol each row like sheepdogs, herding the journalists into their seats.
“This is what you wanted a career in?” I ask, quirking an eyebrow.
“Oh, shut up.” She's careful to lean away from the mic, elbowing me in the stomach softly.
I'm so ripped I barely even feel it. Technically, she's just committed assault on her royal fiance, and I don't even care.
It just makes my dick throb harder. I lean in, wrapping one arm around her waist, bringing her into me.
I see her reflection in the teleprompter next to us. I never even use the fucking thing, but it's there for notes when formal speeches happen up here.
Right now, it gives me a perfect view of her face.
She's smiling through her nervousness. The redness has settled into her cheeks, painting them with a rosy hue – the kind I im
agine she wears after she's come herself breathless.
“Miss Warwick! Prince Silas!” A bitch I recognize stands up. It's Eva Patina, an award winning shit stirrer from Ireland, notorious for giving celebrities hell across the continent. “I want to know one thing – what's really going on here? You can't expect the whole world to believe in this love at first sight charade. She looks like she's barely into this – barely into you, Your Highness. How much did you pay her?”
Fuck. Eva smiles her world eating grin, flashing her overly perfect teeth, framed in expensive ruby lipstick. She has an uncanny knack for seeing right through me, and everybody else unlucky enough to take her stupid questions.
“How much?” I step up to the mic, tightening my hold on Erin. “How about this much?”
Time to fight fire with fire, and give my own dick a little relief before it burns through my pants.
Erin gasps a little as I tip her back, grab her neck, and bring her into my kiss. Feeling her lips on mine makes me see white.
Goddamn, she tastes good. Everything I've imagined is there, tasting her. They're naked, raw, and perfect. She isn't wearing anything over them, a refreshing change from the glammed up whores and low swinging royalty I've had since my balls dropped.
This kiss is pure.
This kiss tastes like sugar and whiskey begging to slide down my throat.
This kiss slams my cock into a whole new universe of desire.
Here, now, there's just Erin and me. All the screaming, frenzied fights in the press corps, people climbing over each other like cats, fighting for the best angle to get our kiss on film forever fades away.
Three seconds in, she moans into my mouth. Her lips go slack, and she stops fighting.
She's giving in, surrendering her mouth to mine, giving into me. My hands roam up her back, while the digits on my other hand squeeze her neck gently. Every cell in my body wants to show her what's coming if she just opens up, surrenders a little more.