Royal Rock: A Bad Boy Royal Romance

by B. B. Hamel

  Five hundred years ago or something like that, Bryce’s family had ruled Starkland. When the King died without a clear male heir, there was some major political battle for who would take over the throne. Eventually my family won out and Bryce’s family was tossed out of the country.

  They had been popular, though, and there was still a positive, lingering sentimental feeling about Bryce’s ancient royal forebears.

  And, of course, Bryce was a woman. She was capable of having children.

  Lynette’s plan was simple. We invite the Kochs out here and then we offer them a deal. If Bryce agreed to marry me, we’d set them up for life. They’d never have to worry about a thing ever again. We’d bring them into the aristocracy and all of their wants would be taken care of.

  A pretty damn good deal, if you asked me. All Bryce needed to do was marry me, and then I could get the benefits of her ancient family lineage plus the potential to put a male heir in her stomach.

  It all seemed so simple when we first talked about it. I wasn’t much interested in marrying a strange girl, but my control of the country needed a boost, and I couldn’t deny that a male heir would help a whole ton. I was willing to give it a shot, at least.

  It seemed easy, right up until Bryce slapped me across the face.

  I looked out the window at the city rolling by. It was my city, my favorite place in the world. I used to live in an apartment right downtown, and I could walk around the place just like anyone else. As it turned out, being the younger brother of the true heir meant nobody really cared much about me, which was just what I wanted.

  But now I was stuck in the castle, away from the city and the people I loved. Ruling was boring, but it was important. I wished I could go back to my old ways, but the country needed me. They needed me to step up and rule them as well as I possibly could.

  I didn’t need a distraction. In fact, my advisors had been working very hard to get rid of distractions.

  But as soon as that girl hit me in the face, I knew she was going to take a lot of my attention. I was already hard just thinking about all the attention I wanted to give her.

  I was King Christophe Werner von Brunhild the Third, Prince of the Lowlands, King of Starkland, and I was going to marry that fiery American Bryce Koch and get her pregnant if it was the last thing I did.

  BRYCE

  I’d never been in a castle before. Americans didn’t have castles. There wasn’t the kind of history in America that there was in Europe. There just wasn’t anything that old.

  But this Starklandian castle was gorgeous. It looked like something out of an internet search for “perfect euro castles.” It was all high stone walls and tall spires jutting up into the air. The city had clearly grown up around the castle, sprawling out away from it. Modernity met the ancient right in the heart of the city.

  As far as I could tell from the car, that was the best description of Starkland possible. The modern world and the ancient world pressed up against each other everywhere I looked, from old-looking fountains to a high-speed rail line. Electricity and cable lines twisted through the air right next to two-hundred-year-old, Victorian-era streetlamps. The buildings were a mix of old and new construction with seemingly nothing to separate it.

  Stehen was a city of juxtapositions and mixtures. It was a hybrid city, where the old met the new and created something absolutely beautiful.

  I was already enamored with Starkland when we finally pulled up inside the castle’s courtyard, but nothing could have prepared me for what I saw next.

  I thought I understood what a castle would be like. I’d seen movies and TV shows, and I figured I had a good idea. But as we walked into the main building, I realized I was absolutely wrong.

  Just like the city, Stehen’s castle was a hodgepodge of the modern and the ancient. Our guide, a man named Maximilian Josef who had a bushy white mustache and looked like he was two hundred years old himself, pointed out some of the history as we moved. Next to a computer terminal was a painting over three hundred years old. The stones were all original, but the lavish rugs and tapestries were all additions over the years. I almost jumped into the air when he told us that the rug we were walking on was over a hundred years old.

  As we walked along, I couldn’t help but stare at the sheer amount of wealth lining the walls. I’d never seen such opulence and modernity before in my whole life. Everything was electronically controlled on touch screens, and the little control panels were all over the place. They were well hidden, though, behind million-dollar statues and mirrors with golden frames. It seemed as though everything we passed had some historical importance.

  Finally, we reached our rooms. We were staying in the east wing of the castle, which was reserved for foreign dignitaries and other important guests. Maximilian stopped in front of an ornate red door and opened it with his handprint, pressing his palm against a flat screen next to the knob.

  “This will be your room, Miss Koch,” he said, nodding at me. “Before entering, please place your hand here.”

  I followed his instructions, putting my hand on the screen. It beeped once.

  “Okay. This door will now open to your palm print. Come inside, please.”

  I followed him in and my breath was taken away.

  Inside the room was an enormous four-poster bed, a full-sized fireplace, rich velvet and mahogany furniture, and my own private bathroom with modern amenities. There was even my own little touch screen on the inside that controlled everything from the temperature down to the humidity.

  “There is Wi-Fi throughout the building should you need it,” Maximillian said. “To access, simply select the option on the screen and use your palm print. Your bags will arrive shortly.” He turned to my father and my stepmother. “And if you’ll follow me, you’re right next door.”

  Dad smiled and waved at me. “See you in a bit, kid.”

  “Bye, Dad.”

  The three of them left and I stared at the room.

  I couldn’t believe this place was mine. It was the size of a large apartment, way too big for one person, and yet apparently I’d be staying in it for two weeks. My apartment at school was probably smaller than this room.

  And everything looked so expensive that I was afraid to touch it. As I gently tapped at the touch screen, looking at all the options, there was a knock at my door.

  For a second, I thought it was going to be the secret police come to drag me to jail for striking the King.

  Instead, it was a young man in a porter’s uniform with my bags. He quickly brought the bags in and then left without so much as looking me in the eye.

  It was a strange and bizarre experience, being treated like royalty. So far, I couldn’t really say that I liked it, exactly, but I could see how it could get comfortable.

  I unpacked my things and finally found myself lying in the middle of the bed. I didn’t have anywhere to be for an hour or two, so I began to do some research.

  I realized that I didn’t know anything about the king I had slapped in the face. It took me only a few minutes to find his Wikipedia page, and from there I began to read.

  Christophe Werner von Brunhild the Third went by Trip, a childhood nickname. He was one of the youngest rulers in the history of Starkland at only twenty-eight years old. He came to power when his older brother, Leopold Franz Karl Brunhild, was killed while fighting some rebels in the south of the country.

  I frowned to myself. I didn’t know there were rebels in Starkland. The place seemed so nice and the people seemed so happy, but then again I’d only seen the main capital city so far. I didn’t know what it was like out in the countryside.

  From what I could gather, the rebels started out as a protest movement. They wanted more democracy in Starkland. When the old king died, Trip and Leopold’s father, the protestors turned violent and soon a full-blown rebellion had formed.

  I frowned. I had to admit, I sympathized with their need for democracy. It seemed wrong that Trip and his family were fighting thes
e people and killing them just because they wanted the right to vote, like every citizen in America had.

  I shook my head and sighed. I was getting off track. I clicked back and began to read more about Trip himself.

  It took me ten minutes to realize that Trip was incredibly notorious in Starkland.

  His older brother, Leopold, seemed like a favorite of the people. Trip was never supposed to rule in the first place, and as far as I could tell, Trip spent his time partying and drinking. So far, he had only been king for a few months. There were pictures of Trip with all different women, each one more beautiful than the last. He was a tabloid sensation in Starkland, and they even called him the Partying Prince, though I hoped the phrase sounded a little better in Starklandian.

  I read article after article about Trip. I read about him drinking with Prince Harry of England, about him getting thrown out of a bullfight in Spain, about him stealing his father’s car at sixteen and crashing it into a lake. He was famous for his beer-drinking exploits and his womanizing.

  In short, Trip was exactly the kind of man I thought he was. He was the kind of man who would whisper an extremely dirty and inappropriate comment into the ear of a total stranger.

  But he was also handsome as hell. I understood how he got away with what he did. There was something magnetic about Trip, and I could see it even in the pictures online.

  As I clicked on yet another tabloid article about Trip, I heard a knock at my door.

  Without thinking, I stood up and padded over to the door. The stone floor was strangely warm under my feet, which surprised me.

  I took the handle and pulled it open.

  Trip grinned at me, his beautiful blue eyes staring into mine. He looked even better now than he had earlier in a pair of tailored dress pants and a white dress shirt, tucked in, the top button undone, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. I could see tattoos inked on his forearms, disappearing up his sleeves.

  I blinked, surprised, and couldn’t say a word.

  TRIP

  The worst part of being a king was not being able to do whatever I wanted.

  That was the paradox of power. When you were the most important person in the country, people did everything they could to try to control you. I had guards around me at all times, men utterly loyal to the crown. I knew their type. Hell, I was their type. I had served in the Starklandian military like every man of royal blood does, and I’d fought in the civil war before my brother was killed. But they were around to both keep me safe and to keep tabs on me for the ministers and their cabal.

  The ministers, for their part, wanted to control what I thought and did. They were constantly feeding me information and opinions, hoping I’d make some decree or other about some obscure statute that would no doubt benefit their various interests nicely. I was constantly bombarded with appointments and responsibilities, and that meant I rarely had time to do anything I really wanted to do.

  But I was still Trip Brunhild. I’d slipped many an escort in my time, and I’d no doubt slip many, many more in my years as king.

  As soon as we got back into the castle, I headed toward my chambers in the west wing. But instead of cutting down my hallway, I slipped behind a statue and ran down a false stairway. I could hear my guards trying to keep up, but the twisting passageways could get confusing in the inner keep.

  I’d spent my childhood wandering the hallways of the castle. It was built like a maze on purpose to confuse assassins and attackers. The guards spent time in the castle, but they didn’t live there. I was able to lose them pretty quickly.

  I smiled to myself and found myself in an empty apartment. I quickly removed my jacket and made myself a little more comfortable. I hated wearing the damn suit, but it was a part of the job. I had to look like a king as much as act like a king.

  I left the apartment and headed toward the east wing, where our guests were staying. I found a control panel and typed a few commands.

  “Yes, sir?” Maximillian answered.

  “Hi, Max. Where’s the girl staying?”

  “Sir, aren’t you supposed to be in a cabinet meeting?”

  “Probably,” I said, “but your king is ordering you to tell me where the girl is, Max.”

  He sighed. Maximillian had been a servant of my family for a very, very long time. He was really my closest confidant and advisor, and more like a father to me than my own father was.

  “I’m getting tired of you playing that card, Trip,” he said.

  “I know you are, Max, but I love it.”

  “She’s in room twelve thirty, and her parents are right next door.”

  “Damn. Right next door? You did that on purpose, didn’t you?”

  “Of course I did,” Max said. “You think I’d leave a lady unguarded around you?”

  “That’s my boy,” I said. “Make it a challenge. Bye, Max.”

  “Goodbye, Your Highness.”

  I switched the communications off and headed down the hall, whistling and smiling to myself. The servants I encountered all looked absolutely shocked to see their king walking the halls without an escort, his sleeves rolled up, his jacket removed. They shouldn’t have been surprised, since they all knew me fairly well.

  I was a notorious playboy after all. Starkland loved its bad boy prince. And truthfully, I had a hell of a time playing into that fucking role.

  Right now, though, I wasn’t the bad boy or the king. I was just Trip, and I wanted to see that girl again.

  I finally found her apartment and knocked. After a second, she pulled the door open.

  And stared at me, shocked. She was probably surprised to see the king actually coming to her door alone like this.

  I grinned at her, loving the look on her face.

  “Invite me in,” I commanded after a second.

  That snapped her out of it. “Aren’t you supposed to ask?”

  “I’m the king,” I said. “I get to make commands.”

  She shook her head. “You’re not my king.”

  “I’m everyone’s king.”

  “What do you want?” she asked.

  “I just came to see how you were liking the castle so far.”

  “It’s nice, thank you.”

  I laughed, my smirk getting bigger. “You know, I had to shake a security detail to come say hello without five men hovering around me. The least you can do is invite me in.”

  “I guess that’s as close to asking as I’ll get out of you,” she said, sighing. “Come on in.”

  She stepped aside and I walked into the room. I’d never been in it before, which wasn’t unusual. The castle had hundreds of rooms, and I hadn’t had time to explore them all.

  “Nice,” I said. “They gave you a good one.”

  “Yeah.. It’s really nice.”

  I sat down on a chair and crossed my arms. “So, Bryce, I guess this is us officially meeting.”

  “I guess so. What do I call you? King Christophe?”

  “Just Trip, please.”

  “Okay, Trip.” She sat down on the couch across from me, biting her lip. “Look, about earlier.”

  “You mean about you slapping me in the face?” I smirked at her, leaning forward. “Yes, let’s talk about that.”

  “Look, maybe I shouldn’t have done it, but what you said surprised me. It was just a reaction.”

  I nodded. “I understand.”

  “I’m not sorry, though.”

  “Good. I’m not sorry, either.”

  She looked annoyed. “You should be, though. Do you say that to every foreign guest or just the girls?”

  “Just the attractive girls,” I said. “Only the ones I really do want to see in nothing but a pair of panties.”

  She turned a bit red and crossed her arms. “I’ll slap you again, you know.”

  “I bet you will.” I grinned even bigger. “I think I’d like that.”

  She sighed, shaking her head, and I saw a little smile playing at her lips. “I read about you, you know.”<
br />
  “Did you?” I asked.

  “You’re the Partying Prince.”

  I laughed. “It’s better in Starklandian. ‘Bad boy prince’ is probably a more accurate translation.”

  “Whatever,” she said, shrugging. “I’m just not really surprised, is all.”

  “Maybe you’re not yet,” I said, “but I think you’ll find I’m full of secrets.”

  “I’m sure,” she murmured.

  I stood up. “How about a personal tour? I’ll show you parts of the castle you’ll never get to see otherwise.”

  She shook her head. “I don’t think so.”

  “Afraid I’ll corner you in a dark corner and slip my hands down your body and find out just how wet you are?”

  “No,” she said, shaking her head, “but I am afraid you’ll try.”

  I laughed, grinning hugely. I liked this girl. I could feel a thrill in my bones, an excitement over her that I hadn’t felt for a woman in a very long time. She was so unlike every other girl in Starkland. She didn’t seem at all impressed that I was the king, or that I used to be the bad boy prince.

  “Your loss,” I said. “If you change your mind, just call me.” I got up and walked over to her control panel. I entered my private number into her contacts section. “You’ll be able to get me anytime you want with this.”

  She frowned at it and walked over. “Why do you guys have such an advanced castle? I mean, shouldn’t this place be all swords and shields?”

  I laughed, nodding. “Yes and no. We like to update this place from time to time. But there are some swords and shields left lying around somewhere.”

  “Great. I’ll make sure to check them out.”

  “Good. I bet you’d look nice wearing only a belt and a nice piece of steel.”

  She looked away. “I guess we’ll never find out.”

  “We’ll see.” I stepped over to the door. “I’ll talk to you tonight at dinner, Bryce.”

  “I guess so, King Trip.”

  I laughed, opened the door, and headed out.