Protecting Their Princess: A Snow White Romance (Filthy Fairy Tales Book 3)

by Parker Grey

  “Tomassia needs an heir,” he says. “And since I decreed last year that the crown passes to the eldest child, regardless of gender, it’s high time that we thought about the future of this country.”

  The future meaning my children.

  I don’t mind that part. I like kids, and I’ve always wanted them — which is good, since having them is part of my royal duties. But there’s one huge, major problem.

  I’m not married. I’ve never even had a boyfriend.

  I’ve never even had sex.

  Hard to give the kingdom heirs without that particular ingredient. I look up at my father, hands clasped in front of me, and wonder how to word my next question.

  My mother looks at him, then leans down herself.

  “Part of the reason that the Inter-Continental Council of Kingdoms is having its summit meeting in Tomassia this year is because you’ll be entertaining a number of suitors,” she says. “Your father and I have quietly put it out that you’re ready to be married, and of course, sweetheart, that’s attracted some interest.”

  I look at the floor. Someday I’ll be queen of the tiny-but-insanely-wealthy Tomassia. Of course I’ve attracted interest.

  “In particular, it’s attracted the interest of Prince Sven of Norograv,” my father says. “I know he’s a bit older than you, but he’s very wealthy, Norograv is powerful and a strong ally, he has a fantastic lineage, and most importantly, he’s willing to be the Prince Consort of Tomassia.”

  My heart stops.

  I don’t know Sven in person, but I know about him. He’s the younger brother of the King of Norograv, Mikael. He’s almost forty, balding, pudgy, and makes the gossip press constantly.

  It’s bad enough when a handsome, wealthy young man is an international playboy.

  But it’s worse when an unattractive, gross jerk thinks he’s an international playboy.

  “Sven?” I ask, my mouth going dry.

  My father fixes me with a hard look, his mouth forming a straight line across his face. I’ve gotten the lecture about how my duty is first to my country and then to myself about a thousand times, so I know exactly what he’s thinking.

  He’s thinking that I owe it to Tomassia to marry Sven and have a couple of strong Tomassian babies with good strong genes, and he’s not going to listen to any arguments about it.

  “Yes, Prince Sven of Norograv will likely be an excellent match,” he says.

  I duck my head, stomach clenching.

  “Yes, father,” I say, just as the big doors open behind me again.

  “There you are, girls,” my mother says. It must be my younger sisters, Princesses Josephine and Florentina. “I’m glad you came early. It’s a big day today.”

  I think I might throw up, but that would be very un-royal.

  The Council is endless, and more, it’s really uncomfortable. Sitting on a throne, holding a scepter and wearing a crown for a couple of hours are a surefire ticket to a wicked head and backache.

  Sure, as the Crown Princess I attend plenty of state events, but this is the twenty-first century. I’m much more likely to be wearing a business suit than a formal dress, and I’m more likely to have a blow-out than a crown.

  To top it all off, the Norogravian delegation still hasn’t presented itself. I think they’re going last, which is the worst, because I’ve already been dreading it all day.

  “Thank you, Your Highness,” the current delegation leader — I think he’s a one of those city-state leaders who styles himself a viscount? — says, and my father nods. The man steps away, but I’m barely paying attention.

  “Good afternoon, Your Highness,” the next voice says, and a jolt of recognition snaps through me. I jerk to attention, because that voice sounds incredibly familiar, but I can’t place why.

  “We’re honored to be part of the Council,” says another, equally familiar voice.

  Then the voices’ owners step forward to where I can see them, and my jaw nearly drops.

  Standing in front of my father, dressed in military dress uniforms, are the two most perfect-looking men I’ve ever seen in my life. They look totally different — one is dark-haired and light-eyed, his facial hair just hinting at sideburns, his chiseled face serious and handsome, the other light-haired and gray-eyed, a hint of a smile around his mouth — but they’re both incredibly, world-shatteringly, earth-shakingly gorgeous.

  At the same time, they both bow to my father in unison, but as they stand up straight, they both glance my way for just a moment.

  I think my heart tries to escape through my mouth, because despite being here, in this throne room, behind my father, it’s the sexiest, filthiest, most wicked look I’ve ever gotten.

  And I got it from two men at the same time.

  “I’m pleased that San Javier and Materbourg could join us this year,” my father says smoothly. “I’m honored by your attendance, Princes Dominic and Bruno.”

  I nearly gasp out loud.

  Oh my gosh, that’s who they are.

  I can’t believe it. The last time I saw the respective princes of San Javier and Materbourg, I was thirteen and at the royal wedding of a distant cousin. They were sixteen, and though I didn’t say more than three words to them the entire weekend, I nursed crushes on both of them for years afterwards.

  And now they’ve grown up... very well.

  “Thank you, Your Highness,” Dominic says smoothly.

  Just like that, they step aside and sit, leaving me just about breathless with surprise.

  But there’s one more delegation, of course. The big doors swing open a final time, and in stride four guards in military uniforms, all staring straight ahead, not looking at anything. Behind them are three men in very expensive suits — two of them flanking the one in the middle, clearly his assistants.

  The man in the middle takes off his sunglasses, folds them into his pocket, and holds both hands out toward my father.

  “Your Highness,” he says. “The pleasure is entirely mine.”

  It’s Sven, and just standing there he looks greasy. Maybe it’s his slicked-back hair, maybe it’s the thing with the sunglasses, or maybe it’s the way that his suit buttons are pulling the tiniest bit, like he’s a little too fat for the suit, but he’s just kind of gross.

  “Tomassia is honored to host Norograv’s delegation yet again,” my father says smoothly.

  I tune out the rest of their conversation — it’s all diplomatic niceties anyway — and look over Sven with something like stomach-churning horror.

  They can’t be serious, I think. Him?

  Despite myself, I look back at where Dom and Bruno are sitting, listening politely to the conversation, and my heart skips a beat.

  Why couldn’t they pick one of them for me? I wonder.

  Chapter Two

  Dominic

  The second I see Katarina, everything changes. I can’t believe that’s her, the cute-but-awkward kid I met nearly ten years ago at a distant cousin’s wedding, because I can’t stop staring, even in front of her parents.

  I think I manage some formal niceties, but hell if I know what I’m saying. All I’m thinking about is the sinfully gorgeous creature on the dais with the plush lips, blue eyes, red hair, and fucking knockout figure.

  “I’m honored by your attendance, Princes Dominic and Bruno,” King Edward says.

  “Thank you, Your Highness,” I manage to say, before taking my seat, almost in a daze.

  She’s beautiful. Beyond beautiful, sweet and pure looking, but with a tiny waist and incredible curves just begging to be plundered, and in the second I see her, I’m determined: I’m gonna be the one to plunder her.

  That’s why I’m here, after all. Except I didn’t take it seriously until this very second. My father thought that the Crown Princess and I would be a good match, so he sent me here on a pretense, but I’m really supposed to be courting her.

  But let’s just say that pictures of Princess Katarina don’t come anywhere fucking close to doing he
r justice. I was planning on living it up at the Council, making my way through the beds of the third-born-daughters of dukes and earls, because I hate repeating myself and I’ve got a reputation to uphold.

  And did I mention that she’s a virgin? Katarina is famously a virgin, the eldest daughter of a very protective, very old-fashioned king. I don’t know what it is about her beautiful face, her killer body and her untouched state, but it’s totally intoxicating, even from across the room.

  Now I’m a little more interested in my stated mission.

  At last, the formal reception ends. The royal family walks out ahead of us, and then we all follow. I’m still thinking about Katarina, imagining pushing her dress over her hips and bending her over the throne.

  “Holy shit,” Bruno says, his voice low, his serious eyes looking straight ahead. “Was that Katarina?”

  Something cold and heavy sinks into my stomach. He saw her, too? I know we’re here for the same reason, but he was taking it about as seriously as I was — until now, apparently.

  “Yes, I think it was,” I say, keeping my voice totally neutral.

  I was with Bruno the last time I saw her, too. We were a little older than her, and already getting into plenty of trouble together at our Swiss boarding school, so we didn’t have a lot of time for her back then.

  Besides, she was a kid, and even though I could tell she had an obvious crush on each of us, it’s not like it went anywhere. Bruno and I went back to school and proceeded to get into the panties of nearly every girl on campus.

  Usually solo, but sometimes — sometimes — together.

  I wonder if she’s still got a crush.

  I wonder if she’s as sweet and innocent as she looks, or if she’d give up that innocence to the right person.

  I wonder...

  “We have a few hours until dinner,” Bruno says, his voice still formal. “Did you have plans?”

  I give him a funny look.

  “What plans, exactly, would I have?”

  “You do make plans without telling me sometimes, you know.”

  “What have you got in mind?”

  “A stroll through the gardens,” he says. “I hear they’re quite lovely this time of year.”

  What Bruno really means is I want to get away from all these people. Despite being born into royalty, he’s never been much of a people person. Really, it was a blessing that he was born the second son.

  Kings have to do a lot of dealing with people, especially in modern times. It’s been a few hundred years since they could just order someone’s head cut off and not worry about it.

  “I’ve heard the same,” I say. “And I’ll join you, if the offer’s open.”

  We stroll through the castle to the gardens, not talking much, but we don’t really need to talk. Our kingdoms, San Javier and Materbourg, are both small mountainous countries that neighbor each other, so we’ve known each other since we were toddlers.

  Plus, we’re both the second son, and both have older brothers who will be king someday. We’re destined for a life of diplomacy, state affairs, and marrying advantageously.

  To Katarina, for example.

  And of course, when you’re a royal, marrying well includes making an heir.

  I can’t help but imagine that sweet, innocent girl with a huge, round belly, big with my child, and I go rock hard in a second. I don’t even know why — I’ve spent years making sure I don’t get anyone pregnant — but there’s something about her, with my kid, that makes my dick nearly burst out of my trousers.

  I clear my throat as Bruno and I walk down a side hallway, toward the garden and away from the crowd. For the first time in years, I’m starting to get uncomfortable with the silence, because I’m realizing something.

  Holy shit, was that Katarina wasn’t just a question. He meant holy shit, she got hot.

  The exact same thing I thought when I saw her. Maybe he’s thinking the exact same thing I am, right now. Maybe he’s thinking about her, pregnant with his child.

  My hands clench into fists and I take a deep breath. I’m getting way, way ahead of myself here. I haven’t even spoken to the girl yet — not that she needs to talk for what I want to do to her.

  I push open the heavy wooden door to the garden and glance over at my best friend. He’s staring straight ahead, stone-faced.

  I’ll do whatever it takes to get her, I think.

  Anything. Anything at all.

  Chapter Three

  Bruno

  Outside is better, at least. I usually hate this kind of function — the kind where it’s my job to make small talk, discuss the weather, and generally be diplomatic to a bunch of useless but well-bred people who can only keep their countries afloat in the world because they’ve got a population of five hundred.

  But right now, all that’s pushed to the back of my mind. It’s barely a blip.

  All I can really think about is Princess Katarina. As soon as my father informed me that I was going to Tomassia to court the Crown Princess, of course I researched her. I like to know what I’m getting into.

  And my conclusions about the Princess at the time were... decidedly unflattering.

  Yet somehow, nothing I’ve read or seen about her takes into account how goddamn stunning she is in person. The way her eyes are so blue they nearly glow.

  The way her breasts press against the fabric of her dress as she breathes. The way it’s almost impossible not to stare and wonder if those are nipples you can see. If she’s wearing a bra underneath her dress.

  What it would feel like if I bit one of her perfect, delicate nipples through the satin of her gown, what kind of sound she’d make as I did.

  “Was there something in particular you wanted to see in the garden?” Dominic asks, and I snap out of my reverie about the Princess, clearing my throat.

  It’s just the two of us now, no one else.

  “I just wanted to get out of there,” I say, glancing around to make sure no one can hear me. “You know I’m not cut out for this sort of thing.”

  “Which is a shame, since you’re literally born to it and all that,” he says.

  I just snort, crossing my arms in front of myself. My diplomatic duties are just something I do on the side. My real calling is the military command of Materbourg.

  Not like Dominic, who could probably charm his way into a threesome. Actually, I know he could. I’ve seen it.

  Hell, it was a joint effort, if you know what I mean.

  “I’d much prefer to storm the castle, really,” I say, looking upward. “Look at that. I’m sure no one’s used those archery slots in hundreds of years, and I don’t think this masonry would hold up very well to missiles, do you?”

  Dom just rolls his eyes.

  “Could you please think about something besides how you’d destroy the castle where our allied nation is very graciously putting us up for two weeks?”

  To answer my own question, no, the masonry would not hold up well to missile fire.

  “I’ll try.”

  “Thanks,” Dom says dryly.

  We walk along in silence for a while. The gardens are full of trees, bushes, and tall grasses — much more than just a flower garden. After a while, we come up on a gazebo near a duck pond.

  I don’t think anything of it until I spy a flash of green, and then a sudden glint of red. Someone’s in the gazebo.

  We’re both suddenly walking faster, around the corner, and then we can see her slim white neck, the tops of her shoulders. From the way my dick swells to near bursting almost instantly, I know who it is.

  It’s Crown Princess Katarina.

  Dom gives me one glance, his face unreadable, then turns and sets off for her, giving me the option to follow him like a puppy or look like I’m ignoring the Princess completely.

  He’s a fucking dick sometimes, and I clench my hands into fists at my sides. He strides up to her, leaving me alone on the path, and I have to watch him bow deeply, introduce himself again, and kiss he
r hand.

  She laughs. Goddamn it, she laughs.

  Of course she does. Dom is charming and funny. He’s good at this, while I’m still back here on the path behind him, standing like a moron. I look around, trying to figure out a way to come up there and talk to the Princess without looking like I’m just copying him.

  Then it hits me: there are flowers everywhere. The answer’s obvious.

  I break a bright red rose off of a bush just as the Princess laughs again. He’s still holding her hand in his, still smiling that damn charming smile as I break the thorns off the rose with my bare fingers.

  I twirl the rose once in my fingertips, look up at the gazebo, square my shoulders, and stride over, summoning every ounce of charm and wit I’ve got.

  As I mount the steps, Dom and the Princess both go quiet, turning to look at me.

  I walk up to her and bow, and she nods her head. I swear she turns faintly pink, but it’s hard to tell, and she gives me her hand.

  I kiss her knuckles, warm and soft. She smells floral and sweet, so fucking sweet I want to devour her this instant. It’s all I can do to keep myself from pulling her off the bench and into my arms, ravishing her right here in the gardens.

  Somehow, I don’t.

  “A pleasure to see you again, Princess,” I say. “It’s been quite a while.”

  She smiles at me, and something bright and warm flares in my heart.

  “Yes, Dom and I were just saying that the last time we saw each other neither of you could grow a beard, and I was in the second year of my grand battle against acne.”

  “You seem to have won,” I say, gazing at her beautiful, porcelain skin.

  She laughs.

  “It was a long, hard war, and I lost a lot of good photo opportunities, but I triumphed in the end,” she says.

  I can’t think of what to say next, so I hand her the rose. Katarina takes it, smiling, and holds it to her nose.

  “Thank you,” she says.

  Dom flicks me a glare, but I ignore him.