The Princess of the Wild

by Lorelei Orion

  With much aplomb, he bent into a gallant bow. She played along, lowering herself in a curtsy.

  He straightened and offered her his arm. “Milady,” he urged.

  She placed her arm on his, exhilarated as he led her off to the celebration.

  Skye had missed his presence—although a hint of him surrounded her always—and she sensed that he felt the same. They were quiet while they walked along, heading to the ballroom, and soon were greeted with the sounds of the musicians setting up their equipment for the affair. He escorted her into the huge and stately room, a place she had seen on a viewer, before. To see it in person, though, was an experiencee—a viewer couldn’t quite capture all the grandeur, the immense size of it and the feel of being under the roof’s open dome.

  The sun shined brightly upon the hall, streaming through the long and narrow windows that were up high on three walls, gleaming on the gray marble floor. Plush, crimson chairs and marble tables lined the four walls, aside from the towering arch that they passed under. The walls were a pale gold, sporting colorful birthday banners and lofty balloons that were somehow kept anchored from floating to the blue and cloudless sky above. A large viewer was high above the orchestra platform, slowly flashing images of Royce in his childhood, a cute parade that could make the man blush. Another archway was far off to her right, the banquet hall where the servants were busy preparing the informal buffet tables. Excitement was in the air while the musicians tried out a few sharp notes, getting in tune for the revelry to come.

  Queen Sarra, who was getting ready for the reception line at the far entrance, spied Nicholas and hurried near. She was breathtaking in her sparkling and sleek amber gown and tiered golden coiffure, but there was a look of worry in her brilliant dark-blue eyes.

  “Nicholas,” she said, relieved that he was here. “We can’t find Royce. Have you seen him? He won’t answer his comm. I hope he didn’t start celebrating early.”

  An inspiration touched Nicholas’ handsome face. “I’ll go find him,” he promised. “Excuse me a moment, Skye.”

  He went off, leaving her alone with the queen. The woman smiled, seeing her in her finery.

  “Skye, you look very nice,” she praised. “Come here. I don’t know if you’ve met my daughters.”

  Skye followed her over to the visitors’ entrance where the two princess royals waited. She remembered her duty and curtsied when she was before their presences. Princess Celeste seemed a bit uneasy, but Princess Selina expected her display.

  “Skye,” the queen began. “This is Celeste.”

  Celeste took her hand affably and said, “Pleased to meet you. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

  Skye returned her warm smile. “All good, I hope?”

  “Very!” Celeste replied.

  Skye knew instantly that this princess was a friendly type, mature in her twenty-three years. She was very beautiful, with her blue eyes and golden hair—being tall and slender and poised in her elegant silver gown—but her countenance portrayed that intelligence was far more important to her than vanity.

  Her sister—on the other hand—seemed to think the opposite. Skye resisted the urge to wince when Selina’s intense green eyes latched onto hers.

  Queen Sarra sighed and said, “And this is Selina.”

  Skye recalled the girl’s temper tantrum when they were on the terrace at the royal picnic. The princess didn’t seem too far from that state right now. She was very beautiful also, with her large green eyes and ivory curls, but she knew of her beauty and enjoyed displaying it in her low-cut, scarlet gown.

  Selina said, almost sulkily, “So you’re the one who finally caught my brother. I guess I can see why.”

  Her mother warned, “Don’t be rude, Selina.”

  Skye was saved from the imposing regal presences when a commotion sounded behind them. She breathed in her relief to see Nicholas, pushing Royce out on ahead of him. The younger prince was reluctant to join his own party, seeming to be a bit on the tipsy side.

  Nicholas was the victor, driving his brother forward. “I found him in the vestry, drinking it up,” he said, as if from experience, as if he had been there once, himself. “He’s had a few.”

  Their mother sighed. “Oh, Royce!”

  Skye winced as the giddy prince saw her and purposefully came near. He drew her gloved hand up to his lips.

  “Skye, my love,” he said with a hint of a slur. “So glad you’re here for me—my special birthday!”

  He began kissing dramatically up her glove ...

  With a growl, Nicholas grabbed him by the scruff and forcibly took him off, toward the front of the reception line. When out of earshot of the others, he would set him straight. “Eyes and hands off, little brother,” he warned hotly. “She’s mine. You can’t have her.”

  Royce was disappointed. “Not even for a present?”

  “Not even.”

  When his mother and sisters came near, he gladly left him in their care. Skye caught the anger on his face while he approached her, his hands straightening his jacket at the hips, composing himself. He smiled apologetically when he saw her watchful eyes.

  “The skunk is drunk already,” he said, disgusted. Suddenly, the concept didn’t seem like such a bad idea. “Let’s go get some punch.”

  She liked the idea as he led her to a refreshment table, to partake of the red, tangy liquor.

  They'd had a cup, quietly trying not to admire each other, before the guests began arriving at six o’clock, filing into the ballroom down the reception line where the Royal Family waited to greet them. Skye protested when she found herself within the royal duty, at the end of the line by Nicholas’ side. It wasn’t her place to be here ...

  “It’s all right,” he assured. “Stay by me.”

  Skye looked at the front of the line and saw the queen and her consort smiling at her. They didn’t object to her presence, instead they seemed pleased to see her here. She wondered what all this meant, in the ways of royal etiquette, but soon had more pressing problems, for she’d never be able to remember all these names ...

  Nicholas introduced her simply as ‘Skye Williams’, his ‘lady friend’, but Skye saw the import of these words on many amazed faces. Apparently, he had never had another ‘lady friend’ stand by him before, for those words seemed to rival the word ‘fiancée’. She saw the surprise and the jealousy on the faces of the women nigh her own age, and tried to keep on a gracious smile, although she could sense that all of their hopes of capturing this prince had suddenly been dashed. She saw the men’s appreciation of her and caught their sly glances at Nicholas, and all the while she kept on a bright mien, although her mind was in chaos. What was she doing here? These guests—for the most part—were of the aristocracy, with their titles and esteem, and she had neither, being very common. Didn’t Nicholas realize the message he was sending out to the world?

  She knew of the Royal Media around her, but they were careful not to draw attention to themselves or to disrupt the natural activity, touting their pocket-sized lens skillfully, working for the images that they would replay for the eager subjects. She had a strange foreboding, remembering how her father had always avoided cameras, and of how that was the cause of why she had looked over her shoulder in her youth, sometimes having a distinct feeling of doom. Her image wasn’t supposed to be captured by others—her father would forbid it! Why, she didn’t know, but he was no longer here to explain it to her. She felt the familiar pang of loss ...

  Nicholas brought her back to awareness, grasping her shoulder. “Skye,” he said, puzzled by her emotional lapse. “This is Agnes Bisstro.”

  Skye smiled at the elderly woman, coming back to reality.

  The people passed like a blur before her, the guests bestowing quick greetings upon her, careful not to hold up the line behind them. Her cheeks started to ache from all of her smiling and the queue never seemed to end. Hundreds of people filed in, and after making their presence known to the Royal Family, they were free to go
off to the banquet hall to partake, or onto the dance floor to enjoy the festive songs, or to indulge in whatever their hearts desired. She was glad that some chose not to formally introduce themselves, seeing the Menes clan already out on the floor, along with others who mingled with old friends. She couldn’t count their number and knew of the popularity of the royal birthdays, this one special as it marked Royce’s second decade of life.

  Suddenly, she was surprised when one of the guests, a pretty blond woman, grabbed Nicholas and kissed him familiarly on his lips, trying to use her tongue. He avoided her advances instantly and grasped her arms, pushing her away. The girl wasn’t fazed by his rejection.

  “Nicholas,” she said with her soft, refined voice. “I’ve missed you.”

  Skye knew that voice. This was Audrey, the one whom she had heard on the message board on his estate. The raw, hurtful feelings of Nicholas’ trickery rose within her anew. This woman had claimed to be his girlfriend. He'd had her ... touched her ...

  The bright blue eyes turned her way, boldly scrutinizing her. The large orbs narrowed on her, and Skye felt her own eyes doing the same. The haughty woman wore a gaudy mauve gown, a flashy shade, it being far too low-cut with her very large breasts. The way she moved indicated that she was fond of showing them.

  “So, who do we have here?” Audrey asked, much too sweetly.

  “Skye Williams,” Nicholas said tightly, bracing himself. “This is the Lady Audrey Anne Knore.”

  Their eyes met again in mutual hostility.

  Skye was relieved when a similar featured man, sure to be Audrey’s father, broke the tension, shaking Nicholas’ hand and throwing a warm glance at her.

  “So good to see you again, Nicholas—pleased to meet you, Skye,” he said. “Come on, Audrey, dear—we’re holding up the line.”

  Audrey complied as her father firmly pushed her onward, but not before throwing a vicious smirk at her new rival.

  Skye’s intense gaze followed the horrible female, and Nicholas was quick to whisper in her ear, “Don’t let her get to you, Skye. She’s not worth it.”

  Another introduction was made to her and she caught her wits and smiled. Face after face came before her and she amiably greeted them, though she could think of nothing but those confident blue eyes.

  She was grateful when the last of the guests were greeted and the Royal Family dispersed, going off to their entertainment.

  Nicholas sighed and confessed, “I hate that part. But we’ve the rest of the night to ourselves, now. You hungry?”

  She shook her head, her belly twisted. “No, but if you are ...”

  He shook his head. “Want to dance?”

  As he led her out onto the floor, Skye was struck with panic. He paused at her resistance.

  Timidly, she confessed, “I don’t know how to dance.”

  Nicholas was surprised, but then he realized that he shouldn’t be. He was pleased that this was but another joy unbeknownst to her, that he would be her first. He gave her a reassuring smile. “There’s nothing to it. Just follow me.”

  He placed one hand on the small of her back and the other behind her shoulder. He drew her close and he moved lithely to the slow beat of the sultry song, guiding her along with him. He was an excellent dancer and a teacher, showing her how to feel the heart of the music and to glide with it, to become one with him within the sensuous rhythm. She, as always, was a fast learner, and soon was no longer intimidated by her inexperience, moving freely and with grace.

  “You see?” he said huskily. “You’re a natural!”

  Even when a new song began, one with a faster tempo, she caught the steps quickly, easy in his arms. Her fears fled and she forgot about everything but the thrill of his presence ...

  They'd had only four songs together when one brave white-haired gentleman came up, trying to cut in.

  “Nicholas,” he scolded playfully. “Where have you been hiding her? May I?”

  Nicholas couldn’t gracefully decline Lord Enverson—though he fiercely wanted to—and he reluctantly let her slip from his grasp ...

  Skye wasn’t so confident in her moves dancing with another, but the duke didn’t seem to mind. The elderly man was pleased simply to have her in his arms.

  “I’m Louis,” he said. “And you are Skye?”

  She nodded absently, glancing around for Nicholas.

  “That’s such a pretty name!” Louis said. “Where did you come from? I know I’ve never seen you here before. Did you—”

  Skye no longer heard him. She had found Nicholas—dancing in the arms of Audrey!

  Something very base and dark rose up from within her core. An ominous cloud settled over her spirit as she thought of him being with that buxomly blond—he had done it before, he could do it again. In her overpowering ire, her feminine wiles sparked. Two could play at that game, and she was always very good at games ...

  She turned to give the duke her brightest smile. “I’m sorry,” she said coyly. “What were you saying? It’s so hard to hear in here!”

  The duke was enchanted, seeming to have lost all words.

  As the celebration intensified and the drink flowed, Skye passed from hand to hand, her laughter easy and bright, her violet eyes sparkling. No one could see the turmoil within her, aware only of her stunning beauty, her sensuous glow. Masculine eyes were drawn to her, her suitors unable to deny their attraction, their desire to be in her exciting presence. Nicholas was no exception. He paused briefly at a reception table, gulping down a few shots of punch, becoming angry ...

  She had a crowd milling about her, the men impatiently waiting their turn for a dance. She acted as if she enjoyed nearly being pawed by the enamored sots, laughing at their—no doubt—stupid remarks and inane jesting and flatteries. He shouldn’t have given her such a revealing dress, but once again, Tolly Kay had said that she would like it. The gown, although fashionable, showed too much of her shapely leg and the tempting swell of her breasts that only he should be allowed to cherish. The jewels he had carefully matched for her glittered upon her, bringing out the beautiful lavender in her eyes, accenting the gloss of her red-gold hair, which—when it was up and coiled like that—made her look older, all sleek and sophisticated. Of course the men would want to have her. But, she was taken—she was his, and he’d best let them know about it!

  He was on his way to accomplish this when the ever-present Audrey came to block his path. He lost his temper, tired of her brazen advances.

  “I told you to leave me alone!” he snapped.

  “But, Nicholas!” she protested.

  He stalked on by her, but then he was in Lady Adeline’s clutches. The matronly old woman hadn’t seen him for ages, and she wouldn’t let him escape without a dance ...

  Skye had to catch her breath, her plan at capturing Nicholas’ attention failing. Every time she saw him, he was immersed in another’s arms—with Audrey not far behind him. Still, she wasn’t without her own partners, a growing entourage that she was becoming desperate to escape. She only wanted to be with Nicholas, but he was playing the charming prince—further than his duty.

  She spied Queen Sarra and Cronala heading into a private royal restroom and would dare to take refuge with them. She excused herself and hurried there, hearing the voices of the women around the corner from her while they freshened up their countenances. She heard the queen say Nicholas' name, and she paused without their notice, wondering if she should intrude.

  Cronala said, “I wish you hadn't invited her. Did you see what she was wearing? Purple? I mean, come on! Everything out for the entire world to see ... I bet she thinks she looks good in it!”

  Startled, Skye glanced down at her gown. She wore purple, and it could be considered revealing ...

  “Cronala,” the queen considered. “Your claws are showing.”

  “Well, that girl has no head for fashion. She clearly only has designs in becoming a princess. I don’t think Nicholas will ever be free of her. Did you see how she’s behavin
g tonight? It’s appalling! She has no grace, but still she has those airs. She’s certainly not princess material!”

  “I know,” Sarra agreed. “But we had to invite her, due to the circumstances. I don’t know what to do about her. She certainly doesn’t know when to quit. Nicholas has better plans, and she had best not interfere.”

  “That’s right,” Cronala agreed. She paused and then said, “And did you see the Lady Hampton tonight? What kind of contraption is that that she’s wearing? Honestly, I—”

  Skye stumbled backward, stunned. Their cruelty knocked the breath from her, making her slam into a pedestal in the corner, the decorative statuette on it losing its securing anchors, tottering over onto the marble floor—shattering.

  Panicking, she flew from the room, heading not into the ballroom but down the other hall, into the interior of the palace. When she was safe and in the quiet, she let her tears flow, vowing to leave this place—never to return.

  Chapter 18

  Nicholas roamed the crowded Palace Ballroom, looking for Skye. He had lost sight of her while he had danced with the old Lady Hampton, and that had been almost a quarter of an hour ago. Night was falling and the twilight glowed above, the stars beginning to shine on the deep blue. In a matter of moments, the traditional fireworks would blast from the laser platform in the center of the hall, sparkling their colors on the black in honor of the royal birthday.

  Royce, although tipsy, was still in his facilities and he stumbled around, enthusiastically greeting his guests. Their father trailed him, seeing that his son didn’t embarrass himself too much in his right of revelry. Nicholas could tell that Royce was looking for someone—no doubt, Skye—inebriated enough to no longer take his warnings seriously. He discovered that they weren’t the only poor panting dogs anxious for her—the belle of the ball—for a masculine throng was becoming agitated. He could bet that she had something to do with it. He moved toward there and spotted Josh, a frequent at his ‘dive parties’—or rather, former dive parties.

  “Hey, Josh!” he called, over the din. “Have you seen Skye—the girl with me in the reception line?”