Yes, they need to re-apply their makeup before dawn. I’ll never understand it.
I’m not complaining, though. It’ll give me time to warm up and make my way to the shells on my own.
I heave a single scull onto my shoulder and grab my oars. The weight of the boat is already starting to calm me down. Thank goodness I row singles, because I might not be able to resist capsizing us if I had to share a boat with either of those two egotistical, uppity little turds.
Coach Bernard is already waiting at the pier. He watches me put the shell in the water and set the oars in place. I keep my head down, not wanting to look up at the massive, stone building across the lake. Farcliff Castle looms above me, visible from almost everywhere on the university grounds. It’s just one more stark reminder of how much I don’t belong here. I’ll always be the orphan girl from Grimdale, even if I do get this expensive, overrated university degree.
Coach clears his throat. “Everything okay?”
“Everything’s fucking peachy, Coach.” I kick my shoes off and set them on the shore before walking back toward my shell. My boat shoes are waiting for me at the end of the timber pier.
Coach looks at me under his dark, wiry eyebrows. He’s assessing me—mentally, physically, emotionally—just like he does with all his athletes. I take a deep breath and square my shoulders, meeting his steely gaze. He drills his eyes into mine for a moment, then nods and looks down at his clipboard, satisfied.
“We’re going for a steady, long interval practice today, Elle.” Coach checks his notes.
I sweep my hand through my short brown hair, pushing it off my forehead. Between last night’s sex party in Dahlia’s room and this morning’s encounter with the evil blonde twins, I’m having trouble focusing.
“Nice and easy,” he continues. “I want you doing nine-minute 2k intervals. We’re doing ten of them, so I hope you’re nice and rested. It’s going to be a long practice today. Here.” He hands me the small headset I wear to hear his commands.
I slip my boat shoes on and get into the shell. The boat rocks from side to side and I take a deep breath to calm myself down. The last thing I need is a dip in the lake at this hour.
When I’m set up near the marker buoys, I look up at Coach Bernard. His voice comes through the headset. “All ready…”
I grip the oars and close my eyes for the briefest moment. Inhaling deeply, I take in the scent of the water and the smell of the trees that line the shore. I savor the fresh, crisp taste of the air as it fills my lungs. My shell feels steady beneath me. My muscles coil in anticipation as I wait for my coach’s command.
“Row.”
My oars bite the water.
This is where I’m meant to be. I may be from Grimdale, and I may never get fancy little invitations to fancy little parties. I know I’ll never become ‘Charlie’s’ wife—or even see the Prince face-to-face—but I can row.
As my shell shears through the water, my whole body moves in sync—from my breath, through every muscle, and right down to the boat that supports me.
My height doesn’t bother me here. On the water, it’s an advantage. With every breath, I pull the oars through the water and sweep them back again, the blades almost skimming the glassy surface of Farcliff Lake. My body folds and extends with each stroke, and I’m free.
If I could fly, I imagine it would feel like this. It’s effortless, smooth.
It’s magic.
The air rushes around my body as my blood starts to pump. After two minutes, I’m nice and warm and I find my rhythm.
And I soar.
“Wave left,” Coach says in my ear as a power boat passes by, leaving a wake for me to deal with. It doesn’t bother me—I’m in my element. This is what I was made to do.
I was born to row.
By the eight-minute mark, my breath is ragged and my legs and arms are screaming with that sweet, sharp burn that I’ve grown addicted to. I must be close to the 2000-meter mark by now.
“Three hundred.”
I pull, and I forget about the lack of sleep and the harpies in the locker room. I forget about Dahlia and the fact that her healthy sex life is the exact opposite of my own nun-like existence. I even forget that I wish it wasn’t.
I just do what I do best. I row.
2
Charlie
The sharp crack of skin on skin has to be one of my favorite sounds in the universe. I leave a big red handprint on the chick’s ass and she moans into my silk pillowcase.
“Yes, Prince! Yes,” the girl screams as I rut her, rewarding her with another smack of my palm. She’ll feel that one for days, and she’ll probably show all her friends where Prince Charlie’s hand left a mark on her perky little backside.
She twists backward to look at me, raising her hand and pressing it against my chest. Her lily-white arm is like a blank canvas against my tattooed chest. I yank her hand off my skin and curl it behind her back, holding it there and grunting as I thrust inside her even harder. When I empty my balls inside the girl with a loud moan, I only take a second to let the shivers of pleasure course through me.
Then, I pull the condom off my still-hard cock and tie it off securely. I roll off the girl and pad to my ensuite bathroom. There, I key in a code to my locked trashcan and drop the condom in with the three others we’ve already used since last night.
Hey—call me paranoid, but a prince has to do what a prince has to do. I’m not going to get caught out with little Prince Charlies running around all over the place. My father was very clear about that—no illegitimate children.
Fine by me. I’ve almost been burned before, and I’m not going to let it happen again.
I walk back into my bedroom, naked as the day I was born. The girl—what was her name again?—rolls over and gives me a little whimper. She runs her fingers up her side and cups her own breast, giggling.
“That was nice, Your Highness.”
I lean over to pick up the dress she wore to the club last night. I toss it to her.
“I have to get up, and you have to leave.”
“But—”
“Nev will show you out.” The door opens and my butler, Neville, appears. He gives me a deep bow and turns to face the girl. She’s scrambling to cover herself with the sheet, and I flick my eyes at Nev, issuing an unspoken command.
He turns his back to her, giving the girl some semblance of privacy. As she scrambles to get dressed, I head back to the bathroom to wash the smell of sex off my body.
After a quick rinse, I pull on my running clothes and head for the door. The girl is gone, thank fuck. Nev got rid of her in record time. I need to give that man a raise.
If I’m lucky, I won’t have to speak to anyone else for a few hours. I wind my way through the corridors of the castle, walking faster as I hear footsteps approaching. Only a few more seconds, and I’ll be able to duck into a side passage that leads straight outside and onto the trails…
… but I’m not so lucky.
Talin, my father’s right-hand man, steps around the corner and across my path.
“Your Highness,” he says, giving me the smallest of bows—barely inclining his head. His dark hair is slicked back and his eyes are razor-sharp. He gestures down the hallway. “Your father would like to have a word.”
“Are you his little lapdog now? You playing fetch for him?”
Talin bristles but says nothing. I sigh. Nothing puts me in a worse mood than listening to my father drone on about what a shitty heir I am, but it’s always worse if I keep him waiting. He has a wicked temper.
Kind of like me.
My father, the King of Farcliff, is sitting in the breakfast room.
Yes, we have a breakfast room.
He’s sipping an espresso and doesn’t lift his eyes from his newspaper as I step into the room. I stand there for a few seconds as my frustration mounts.
“Good morning, Father,” I finally say.
“Charles,” he says, deigning to look up at me. “How ni
ce of you to join me. Coffee?”
“I’m going for a run. If I have coffee now, I’ll shit my pants in the woods.”
The King grimaces. “Do you have to speak like that? You’re a prince, for crying out loud.”
“Well, shitting my pants isn’t very princely, either.”
My father huffs, bringing his fingers to his temples and taking a deep breath to compose himself. “The Prince’s Ball is coming up this weekend. You will be there.”
I roll my eyes. “I’d planned on being in Mauritius, actually. The jet is arranged for tomorrow.” I haven’t actually planned that, but I like seeing my father’s face turn that funny shade of purple.
Besides, if I did want to go to Mauritius, a private jet can be arranged—that’s not a problem. It sounds a hell of a lot more fun than some stuffy birthday party that I never even asked for.
“Stop fucking around, Charlie!” My father slams his palm on the table. His cup jiggles in its saucer and I arch an eyebrow.
“That’s not very kingly language, Father.”
I know I shouldn’t taunt him like that—I’m a grown man—but he and I have history, and getting under his skin is one of life’s little pleasures that I find simply irresistible. His jowls tremble and a little tickle of enjoyment passes through me.
I love it, but I also know when to stop.
“Yes, your Majesty, I’m going to the stupid ball, but I’m not coming out of it with a wife.”
“Charles, it’s time. The laws dictate that—”
“I say when it’s time,” I interrupt. “I’m not getting married.”
“You’re the heir to the throne. You need to think about your responsibilities, and not just which girl will spread her legs for you next. If your mother were still alive…”
“Don’t speak about my mother.” My voice has a dangerous edge to it. My father stares me down as only a King can, and I hate that I avert my eyes before he does. I turn to leave when he stops me.
“Charles, one more thing.” My father pushes the newspaper he’d been reading across the table. It slides over the polished surface and stops right in front of me. “No more boxing.”
“Excuse me?”
I drop my eyes to read the headline:
Prince Charlie delivers knock-out blow
“What’s wrong with this? I won the fight. You should be proud of me.”
My father inhales, staring at me as if I’m the densest person to walk the earth. Only the King has the ability to make me feel like a child every time I’m with him.
Finally, he speaks. He talks slowly, enunciating every syllable. “You can’t beat up your subjects, Charles. It’s just not done.” He touches his finger to the table with every word. ”No. More. Boxing.”
I ball my hands into fists but say nothing. Turning on my heels, I head out of the doorway. The instant I’m outside, I start running. I have to get out of that room, out of that castle. Hell, if I could leave this stupid Kingdom, I would.
My feet pound the pavement until I duck into the forest and make my way to the lake trail. Once I’m under the trees, I breathe a little deeper. The smell of fresh pine, moss, and rich soil fills my nostrils. I settle into an easy jog as the trees thin around me and Lake Farcliff appears. The water looks cold, but its gentle lapping on the shore settles my nerves.
My father has hated me ever since my mother passed away. I know he blames me for it, even though he’d never say it out loud. He hates the fact that I’m his successor—and, to be honest, so do I. I never asked for this.
Movement on the lake’s surface makes me glance over.
A woman is gliding along in a boat, parallel to the trail I’m running on. She’s too far away to make out the details of her face, but I watch her move through the water like poetry in motion. She’s rowing at a leisurely pace, sweeping her oars over the rippling surface as if she were born to do it. She hasn’t seen me, but I match her pace as I run along the shore.
Then, I speed up the tiniest bit and I smile when I see her head turn my way. She pulls the oars through the water with a little more strength, first matching my pace and then moving ahead of me. My smile widens.
So, she’s like me. She doesn’t like to lose.
I speed up, nosing in front of her as my feet pound the hard-packed earth.
I can’t help it.
I know I’ll never win. I’m not an idiot—no matter what my father likes to say. This woman was obviously resting before, and there’s no way I could outrun a professional sculler in a racing boat.
But it doesn’t matter. Adrenaline floods my veins at the promise of competition, and I give it all I’ve got. She makes another powerful stroke.
I’d like to give her a powerful stroke.
I’m in a full-on sprint now, but I already know I’ve lost. The young woman doesn’t even look like she’s trying, and yet she glides ahead of me. Before my lungs explode in my chest and my muscles spasm uncontrollably, I slow down. I lift my hand to her in surrender, and I think I see her smile.
I finally stop running and try to catch my breath. Bending over, I rest my hands on my knees. The woman slides out of view and I gulp down another breath. My heart thumps harder than it has in weeks. I laugh to myself, alone in the woods, intertwining my fingers on top of my head and inhaling deeply.
That was fun. I want to do it again.
How sad is my life that I can buy anything I want, go anywhere I wish… but my biggest thrill is losing a footrace I never could have won in the first place?
Want to find out what happens in this royally hot Cinderella retelling?
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Also by Lilian Monroe
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Unexpected (Complete Accidental Pregnancy Box Set) Page 67