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

by Parker Grey

  Instead I wrap one arm around her, rub her clit for a moment, and then slide three fingers into her pussy, working them against her sensitive front wall.

  She pulls Dom’s cock from her mouth and moans explosively and way, way too loud but none of us cares. It doesn’t take long before she’s coming again and this time I follow her almost instantly, my cock just about exploding deep inside her ass as she sucks Dom, who growls and pulls her hair.

  Then she collapses against me, breathing hard. I turn her head and kiss her hard, still feeling her ass clenching around my cock. After a moment, she kisses Dom, then me again, then Dom.

  “Thank you,” she finally murmurs, and I can’t help but grin.

  “You’re thanking us?” I ask.

  “For being willing to come out of the stud stable to fuck me on demand,” she teases.

  “Princess, I will always fuck you on demand,” I say, nuzzling her ear. “I love you.”

  She freezes for a moment, swallowing.

  “You do?”

  Dom chuckles.

  “I love you too, Princess,” he says. “And why do you think we’re trying to talk your father into letting us marry you?”

  “It wasn’t... that’s not what I meant,” she says quickly. “It’s just—”

  “I’m still in your ass?” I say into her ear.

  “Right,” she says, and tries to stand but I hold her down.

  “Doesn’t make it less true,” I say.

  “I know,” Katarina whispers.

  She kisses us both again, and then I let her stand, her skirt falling back down, a little shaky on her feet.

  Just as she does, a door on the far end of the room shuts. It’s quiet, but all three of us turn to look at it instantly. Dom strides to it, stuffing himself back into his pants, and opens the door, looking out into the hall.

  “Nothing,” he says.

  “Did someone see us?” Katarina whispers, her voice shaking.

  I swallow and stand, taking her in my arms.

  “I’m sure it was just the wind,” I say.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Katarina

  I’m a nervous wreck for the rest of the day. Even though I want to think that it was just the wind, or just the palace settling or something, I don’t.

  I think someone saw me with Bruno and Dom at the same time.

  And I don’t think that’s going to turn out well. At the very least, I’ll probably be blackmailed, and probably worse.

  What if my father found out? I keep thinking.

  Or worse, what if the gossip press found out? They love salacious stories about royals.

  I’ve just finished a round table on economic policy when I’m staring out a window on the second floor of the palace, worrying about all this. There’s nothing I can do right now — it’s not like I can go around to everyone present at the Council and say, hey, did you happen to see me fucking two men at once behind the throne room? I was giving one a blowjob and fucking the other. No? Okay, thanks.

  But then, there was the revelation that they love me. I don’t know why I’m surprised. It seems fast, but I think that deep down, I already knew — and after all, love is love. It doesn’t have to take a long time.

  “What a lovely view,” Sven’s voice says behind me.

  I roll my eyes quickly, arrange my face into a smile, and turn, fully aware that he’s trying to be clever by saying I’m the lovely view.

  From him, it’s just gross.

  “Yes, I’m lucky to live in a beautiful country,” I say, more ice in my voice than there should be.

  “I didn’t mean the view out the window,” he says, and smirks.

  I know, I think, but I force myself not to roll my eyes.

  “I was wondering whether you’d do me the favor of taking a walk with me,” he asks. “I’ve got something very important to discuss with you.”

  He smiles a greasy smile and offers me his arm. My stomach sinks like it’s filled with lead, but I take it.

  You can say no, I remind myself. Your father will be furious, but he can’t force you.

  “You know, Norograv is home to many legendary kings of great lineage,” Sven says, leading me along the hall. “My six-times-great-grandfather was Turgev the Solid, and I’m sure you’ve heard the stories of...”

  I tune him out as we wind through the halls, and go back to worrying about my current problems. I wonder if I should just tell my father that I’m not marrying Sven under any circumstances, and then he’ll stop bothering me like this.

  We stroll into the portrait gallery, the door closing behind us. But even though we’re alone, I’m not really threatened. Even if he’s big, Sven doesn’t really seem like he could do much harm.

  “Ah yes, Erzebet the Merciful,” he says, looking at a giant portrait of some ancestor of mine in a corner of the room. “Ironically named, of course.”

  “She was relatively merciful,” I point out. “Compared to—”

  The portrait swings open, an inky blackness opening up behind it, and I stop short.

  Hands reach out, Sven grabs my arm and pushes, and then I’m inside the tunnel, mouth covered, hands held behind my back, ropes tightening, and then the portrait swings shut.

  It took seconds.

  I try to scream, but my mouth is taped shut and the sound is muffled.

  I struggle, but it’s useless. I’m surrounded by God knows how many men — Sven’s guards? — and they’re holding me so tightly that it feels as if they’re breaking all my bones.

  In the darkness, a flashlight clicks on, then shines directly into my eyes. I can’t see anything, but I can sense someone’s face getting close to mine.

  “We’ve got some important things to discuss, Princess,” Sven says, his nasal voice quiet. “Item one: I won’t have my future wife polluting herself by fucking other people.”

  My eyes go wide, and even though I hold my breath, I can feel the tears building behind them.

  Don’t cry, I think. You’re the Crown Princess, you’ll get out of this.

  Just don’t give him the goddamn satisfaction of seeing you cry.

  Chapter Twenty

  Dominic

  The King never deigns to see us, at least not that afternoon. That means Bruno and I waste an entire afternoon, sitting around, waiting for an audience with him that doesn’t come.

  It’s obvious we’re going to need another strategy. We tried to do this the right way — well, sort of — but the right way just isn’t going to work.

  Time to get creative.

  When we arrive at dinner, the Princess isn’t there, and then the meal begins without her. She doesn’t even have a place set, which is strange, to say the least.

  I look around the enormous formal dining room, and something dawns on me: Sven’s not there either.

  Alarm bells scream in my head. I turn to Bruno, ready to point out the two missing people, but he nods like he already knows.

  There are plenty of reasons that two people could be absent from a meal, but I have a bad, bad feeling about this.

  I clear my throat and address the King.

  “Your Majesty,” I start. “Is the Crown Princess not joining us tonight?”

  He gives me a long, slow, considering look. Katarina definitely has his eyes.

  “My daughter is dining with Prince Sven of Norograv,” he says. “They have a private matter to discuss.”

  I nod once, the only polite thing I can manage to do, because I feel like I might throw up.

  Katarina. Our princess, alone with him.

  It isn’t that I don’t trust her. I trust her completely.

  Him, on the other hand? Fuck no.

  “I don’t like this,” Bruno murmurs to me.

  “I don’t either,” I respond.

  We eat as fast as we can and excuse ourselves. We don’t know where we’re going, only that we’re looking for Katarina and Sven. I don’t know that she’s in danger, but the unsettling feeling I have won’t go away
, the feeling that something bad is happening, and it’s up to us to protect her.

  That’s what we’re supposed to do. Protect her, the woman we both love.

  And I think we might be failing. The thought is sickening, and we tear through the palace at a run, looking everywhere we can think of, but there’s no sign of either of them.

  “If we were Sven, where would be take Katarina?” Bruno asks.

  I exhale, pacing in a tight circle. Our search so far as has been completely useless.

  “We don’t know that he’s doing something wrong,” I point out. “They could be having dinner together, somewhere perfectly innocent...”

  “Do you really think that?” Bruno asks quietly.

  “No,” I admit.

  “This really bugs me out,” he admits.

  That just makes me feel worse. Since being in the military for years, he’s got a pretty good sense about these things — when there’s danger, when there’s not. And if Bruno thinks she’s in danger...

  “He wouldn’t take her back to Norograv, would he?” I ask. “If he could get the Princess out of the country, it would be a lot harder for anyone to rescue her.”

  Bruno considers this, but shakes his head.

  “If he did, he’d be caught at the border,” he says. “And he’d have taken her during full daylight, which is pretty hard. No, I think they’re still here, somewhere.”

  I sigh again, pushing one hand through my hair, the way I do when I’m stressed, anxious, or angry, or when I’m all three, like I am right now.

  “Okay,” I say. “If I were at home, at the palace in San Javier, where would I take a girl I wanted to...”

  I swallow.

  “...Hide?” I finish.

  Bruno looks at the ground, thinking.

  “That might be the wrong question,” he says.

  I look up at him, raising my eyebrows.

  “Your palace is on a sea cliff, so it hasn’t got a proper basement,” he says. “But in Materbourg, we’re very proud of our dungeons.”

  Of course. Of fucking course. The dungeons in pretty much every palace are long out of use, a spooky place that mostly stores old furniture and gardening equipment.

  It’s a great place to hide someone you don’t want found.

  “Come on,” Bruno says, already speed-walking. “They showed us the door the first day of the Council.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Bruno

  We race down the big stone hallway and through the labyrinthine palace. We get turned around once or twice, but finally, on the first floor, we see it: a huge wooden door, bars across its one tiny window, and we heave it open, descending the stone stairs into the chilly damp.

  I hate dungeons. They just feel unpleasant, and this one’s no exception. It’s been wired for electricity sometime in the past hundred years, but it’s lit by dim bare bulbs hung every ten feet or something, which just adds to the creepy feeling.

  It’s also eerily silent, which isn’t surprising.

  At the bottom of the stairs, Dom and I hold our breath and listen. I’m praying that we’re not wrong about this. It feels like we’re on the right track, but God knows I’ve been wrong before.

  And if we’re wrong, then Sven is racing out of the country with Katarina right now, and her chances of coming back to us lessen with every second.

  It’s totally silent, save for a faint, slow dripping sound that echoes through the stone chambers. We’re in a wide hallway that’s lined with cells on either side. The first three all have rusty iron bars across the front, the doors slightly ajar.

  The last two are just stone walls with heavy metal doors.

  Something skitters behind us, the noise echoing, and we both turn but I’m nearly positive it’s just a rat, so we ignore it, still listening.

  With every second, my heart sinks a little more.

  “Bruno,” Dom finally whispers, his voice nearly swallowed by the strange silence of the dungeon. “I think we were—”

  There’s a faint cry, barely audible, and even though I almost can’t hear it, I know it’s her.

  Dom takes off like a shot, running down the cobblestoned hall, his feet slapping loudly against the stones.

  “Hey!” I hiss. “What are you doing?”

  He whirls and glares at me.

  “What do you think—”

  I hold up one hand, trying to calm him. He’s furious and wild-eyed, and even though I feel the exact same way, I’ve got a little more practice in subduing myself so I can make good tactical decisions.

  “I think we should keep surprise on our side,” I say, keeping my voice as low as I can. “Sven always has all those guards around him, and now that he’s taken Katarina, I’m sure they’re still with him. It’ll be easier to handle them if they don’t know we’re coming.”

  To be honest, I’m not completely sure we can handle them — there’s two of us, only one with real military training, and probably ten guards.

  Dom closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and nods.

  “You’re right,” he says. “Of course.”

  We make our way down the wide stone hallway, quietly. The cells are creepy as hell, and even though I look into one of the doored-off cells, the inside is completely dark, of course.

  Easy to let your imagination get out of control here, even if the place hasn’t been used for a long time. I’m sure plenty of people suffered and died here.

  We come to an intersection, then wait until we hear another noise. This time it’s a grunt, like Katarina’s in a struggle, and we follow it to the left.

  The passageways twist and turn. I think I’ve kept track of where we are, but I could be completely lost — I’ve got no idea. I just know we’re getting closer and closer to saving our princess, and that’s all that matters.

  At last, we turn a corner and see a rectangle of illumination up ahead, a doorway spilling light out onto the hallway floor, and we stop.

  “I said no!” Katarina’s voice echoes off the stone. She sounds like she’s speaking through her teeth, breathing hard.

  Dom growls and starts, but I grab his shoulder with one hand, shaking my head quickly.

  I want to run in there and punch everyone too, I think, and dear God do I want to punch everyone.

  But that’s not likely to save our princess, that’s likely get us punched in return by several people at once, and we’re not going to be much use if we’re knocked unconscious, bleeding on the floor.

  “Tell me!” we hear Sven’s voice command.

  “I’m not saying it,” Katarina growls.

  Despite myself, I smile at her spirit.

  Fuck yes, that’s our princess.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Katarina

  I didn’t even know until today that the palace dungeons had a chapel. Even though I grew up in this palace, I’ve only been down here a couple of times.

  They’re creepy. People used to be tortured here. People died here, usually because my ancestors ordered it. I’m not particularly keen to think about that.

  But somehow, Sven knew not only that we have dungeons, but that there’s a tiny chapel in them.

  I guess it’s where condemned people used to come to pray one last time, and the thought sends a shiver down my back.

  “You’re going to say it,” Sven says as he shoves me down the aisle. I nearly stumble onto my face, my hands still bound behind my back, my feet tied together by a length of rope that barely lets me walk.

  “I’m not,” I hiss.

  At the front of the chapel, behind a big stone slab that must be the altar, is a grave-looking older man in a priest’s uniform. His face is perfectly, completely somber, and his hands are folded in front of him. There are two flickering candelabras on either end of the altar, as if someone actually tried to make this romantic.

  The room is dimly lit by a few lanterns Sven and his retinue of guards brought — a retinue that only includes four men, instead of the usual ten-or-twenty.
I don’t know what happened to the rest.

  Maybe they’re guarding the entrances. Maybe they’re revving the getaway car. I have no idea.

  “Good,” Sven says, looking him up and down. “Glad you decided to cooperate, Father.”

  The priest doesn’t say anything. His face doesn’t even move.

  “Are you ready to proceed?” he asks, his voice as stony and grave as the dungeons themselves.

  “Yes!” Sven practically yelps. “Yes, God, of course I am, what the hell do you think we’re here for?”

  The priest looks down at his bible. Slowly, he thumbs it open, taking his sweet time to flip the pages. Finally, he marks the page with one finger and closes the book around that finger, looking back at the six of us, gathered in this tiny, claustrophobic underground stone room.

  “Dearly Beloved,” he intones, his voice a slow deadpan. “We gather here today to celebrate the union of two people, two important, ancient royal houses of Europe. This day truly marks...”

  “We don’t need the sermon,” Sven snaps.

  The priest blinks. Then he raises both eyebrows. Slowly.

  “It was my understanding that you requested a formal marriage ceremony,” he says. “Traditionally, that does include a full mass, not to mention an outlining—”

  “Okay, well, I guess I lied about that part,” Sven says. He’s still got one hand locked around my forearm, his guards leaning against stone walls a few feet away, part of the shadows. “I want to make sure that this girl is completely and totally married to me, and I want it to happen as quickly as possible.”

  The priest considers this, and for just a moment, he catches my gaze, though his face doesn’t change.

  I have no idea who he is, but I wonder if he’s thinking the same thing I am: you legally can’t force someone to get married in Tomassia. A coerced marriage is completely invalid. My ancestors had reason to codify that into law long ago.