Claiming His Baby

by Nikki Chase

  “Who—” I begin to ask, but I stop myself. I purse my lips. “You probably can’t answer that either, can you?”

  “You are correct, Miss Wilson,” Albert says. “I was instructed to meet you here and escort you to the study, but that’s all I’m supposed to do.”

  “Can I at least know why I’m here? It can’t be just because of a flower, can it?” I ask, wondering if Father really stole a flower or if he did something worse.

  “I’m sorry, Miss Wilson. You’ll just have to follow me,” Albert says.

  I nod. There’s no use pressuring this poor man. He’s too loyal to his master—whoever that is—to give me any valuable information.

  Albert gives me a smile before he turns around on his heels and starts walking, his steps echoing in this great hall.

  As I follow behind him, I notice the two sets of oversized French doors at one end of the hall. There are so many things in this hall that demand my attention that I missed them before.

  Above the doors, there are large paintings of men wearing thick, red capes and elegant women in big, poofy dresses.

  I recognize these paintings—I’ve seen their pictures on books and their reproductions in people’s homes. These people are long dead now, but they were kings and queens when they were alive.

  Albert is not lying. This is indeed a royal palace—not that I doubted him before. He seems like an honest man and this place is way too imposing to be anything other than that.

  Albert opens the door and holds it open for me. I smile at him as I pass. I can get used to this royal treatment, but it’s also kind of stiff and awkward.

  That’s probably the least of my worries, though. I wonder how much longer I’ll get to enjoy this. Seeing as I’m here to take on my father’s punishment, I’ll probably sleep in a dark cell in the dungeon tonight.

  Albert steps into the hallway and asks me to follow him again.

  This hallway looks just as opulent as the grand hall we were just in. The walls are lined with decorative patterns and paintings. The tables and mirrors are gilded gold.

  Everything’s so perfect. Maybe a little too perfect.

  I mean, of course a palace is supposed to be luxurious. But not one painting is crooked, and not one thing is out of place. Then again, I’ve never been in a palace before, so it’s not like I have a frame of reference regarding what a palace should look like.

  Still, for a moment, I wonder if maybe this place is a mere ghostly illusion. It seems too strange to be true.

  Maybe Albert is a spirit, and he can’t give me any answers because he’s taking me to his leader, who’s going to turn me into one of them, to serve the apparitions of royal rulers of the past forever.

  I shake my head.

  I’m being stupid.

  Yes, the events of tonight has been strange, but there’s no need to come up with silly supernatural reasons to explain things. Like Albert said, I’m about to meet someone who can tell me stuff, so there’s no need to speculate.

  I wonder who I’m going to see, though.

  That person is probably a high-ranking member of the palace staff. Maybe the chief of staff is unhappy that someone’s damaged his garden, and now he’s going to give me a set of daily chores to do until I’ve made up for Father’s wrongdoing.

  Yeah, given the strange situation, that seems like the most likely explanation.

  The palace is quiet. Maybe there’s only a bare-bones staff maintaining this place. The royals probably stay at the capital most of the time and only come here when they really need a break from the outside world, from the crowds and the paparazzi.

  Albert’s long legs come to a stop, and I abruptly halt, my thoughts interrupted.

  “We’re here, Miss Wilson,” Albert says, turning around to give me a smile.

  We’re standing in front of yet another set of big, white double doors with gilded carvings of birds, dragons, and climbing plants. Around the doors are a frame consisting of a tall pillar on each side and two golden cherubs sitting on the top.

  This looks like the entrance to an office that belongs to someone really important.

  I imagine a man, perhaps about the same age as Albert, sitting behind a big desk. He’d have a stern face and he’d preach to me about the importance of being a gracious guest before he finally tells me what he wants me to do.

  “Thank you, Albert,” I say.

  He nods, then he extends his arm to grab the door handle. As the chunky wooden door slowly swings open, my heartbeat grows faster and faster.

  What could be waiting for me now? Who could be waiting to see me?

  “Please,” Albert says as he holds the door for me.

  I take three steps and reach the open doorway with legs limp as spaghetti.

  When I look inside, my breath catches in my throat.

  It can’t be.

  I snap my head to look at Albert, my mouth hanging open in surprise, and he just smiles back at me.

  Is that really…?

  I fix my gaze on the man, who looks way too familiar. Even though I’ve never met him before, I’ve seen his likeness, perhaps thousands of times over my twenty-one years of existence.

  Those startling blue eyes.

  That golden hair.

  That lopsided smile.

  This man can’t be anyone other than him.

  But it’s impossible.

  What’s Prince James doing here, in the middle of nowhere?

  And why would he want to see me?

  Rosemary

  “Please, come in,” the prince says.

  Oh god. Is he really speaking to me right now? Prince James is actually addressing me?

  It feels like I’m standing knee-deep in drying cement. My legs feel heavy.

  But I can’t just ignore the prince, can I? I’m pretty sure that’s some kind of a criminal offense. Or maybe not. I don’t know.

  But oh my god, that is so not the point. This is not the right time to wonder about whether it’s illegal to be rude to a prince.

  I pull the corners of my lips up to form what I hope is a normal-looking smile. I direct my gaze to the handsome prince.

  Then, I lift my foot, pulling it up from the floor and putting it down a few inches in front of me.

  Okay. That’s one step. Well done, Rose, I congratulate myself. Now there’s a bunch more to take.

  Wait. I haven’t greeted him, have I?

  Now, what do I call a prince? We used to learn this in school, but I never thought I’d actually see a member of the royal family in person. I never thought the information would come in handy.

  It’s so hard to jog my memory, while also simultaneously operating my heavy legs and stiff lips. But somehow the words come to me.

  “Thank you, Your Royal Highness,” I say. My voice sounds shaky, but I’m just glad I’ve managed to come up with an appropriate response.

  James looks at me with his blue eyes, appraising me. He doesn’t seem to feel awkward or uncomfortable, even though he’s blatantly staring.

  A chill runs down my arm as the gravity of the situation dawns on me. Still, my cheeks heat up with embarrassment at having his gaze on me.

  My heart pumps rapidly, sending blood rushing through my veins. I almost jump when the door closes behind me with a soft click.

  It feels like there’s some wet cement still sticking to my feet, weighing me down. Every step feels heavy.

  But I can’t disregard the authority behind those eyes.

  It’s not just because he’s a prince and I’m a commoner. There’s something about this man. Something that doesn’t quite show up in pictures and videos. Perhaps it has something to do with his royal upbringing, but James has a dominant aura about him.

  I mean, sure, he’s a prince and he does literally outrank me in basically everything, but there’s something else.

  Nothing that he’s wearing even suggests that he’s a prince. He’s just wearing a business suit—albeit a nice, well-fitted one that was probably custo
m-made by the royal tailor. In this modern time, it’s not customary for royalty to wear their crowns, except during certain events.

  So all he’s doing is sit behind a desk made of polished wood—it’s a nice desk, admittedly. He’s leaning back in his chair with his elbows on the armrests and his hands clasped over his lap.

  He looks perfectly at ease. Confident. Self-assured. Regal.

  If Albert derives his dignified look from his formal demeanor, James is the opposite.

  His casual, relaxed stance tells the world that he’s a man who has nobody to fear, nothing to worry about. He reminds me of a lion lazing around in the shade. He doesn’t have to do anything for me to sense he’s in control.

  “Take a seat, Rosemary,” he says in a low, gravelly voice.

  I can’t believe he knows my name. Prince James knows who I am and he’s calling me by my first name.

  Suddenly, I remember what I’m here for.

  He must be the one who sent me the emails with the directions to this palace.

  It can’t be anyone else, can it? Albert wouldn’t call me Rosemary, not even in text-based communication.

  I suppose it could be another member of the staff who feels like having a little fun at the expense of a poor family, but how likely is that?

  I almost burst out laughing.

  That’s a ridiculous question. How likely is anything that has happened so far tonight? And yet, unless I’ve gone insane and I’m actually living in a padded cell in an institution, everything has really happened.

  “Thank you, Your Royal Highness,” I say as I take my seat across the desk from him. This must be how Alice felt when she sat down to have tea with the Mad Hatter for the first time.

  This is surreal.

  I can’t believe I’m only a couple of feet away from this man. Everybody in the kingdom knows him. There are many rumors surrounding his misbehavior so he’s not exactly popular, but everyone in this kingdom knows him.

  “I imagine you must be quite confused, Rosemary,” he says.

  I almost chuckle. “That would be an understatement, Your Royal Highness.”

  “But you came here anyway. Why?” he asks.

  “I want to save my father.” I frown.

  He does know why I’m here, doesn’t he? Unless… Oh, I don’t know. I give up trying to analyze anything. I’m sure what he says next will shed some light on the situation.

  “Interesting,” he says as he gets up, the wooden feet of the chair dragging noisily against the floor.

  My heart starts to pound in my chest as his intense blue eyes study me.

  Standing up at his full height, the prince towers over me. He takes slow, deliberate steps around the table, knowing I wouldn’t dare to rush him.

  My heart thrums when the prince rests his hand on the armrest of my chair. He’s so close I can almost feel the heat emanating from his body.

  “Don’t bite your nails. You’re going to ruin them,” James says.

  I didn’t even realize I was doing it. I let my hand fall away from my mouth and onto my lap.

  “Such a good… daughter,” the prince says with a smirk. His blue eyes darken as he gazes intensely at me.

  If he weren’t the prince, I’d say there’s lust in his eyes. But… it’s impossible, right?

  Prince James can take his pick of any girl in the kingdom. Why would he be interested in someone like me?

  He takes a step back to lean his butt against the desk in front of me. Folding his arms across his broad chest, he says, “Listen closely because I’m about to tell you something important, Rosemary. I’m not going to repeat this.”

  I swallow my nerves and look up at him.

  Maybe I should be offended that he’s addressing me like I’m a child. But he’s the prince, and I still can’t believe he’s actually talking to me.

  But beyond that, something about him makes me want him to talk to me like that, like he holds all the power and he knows he can make me do things for him.

  I’ve never admitted this to anybody but my friend, Elizabeth, who took me to the secret club, but I’m obsessed with romance novels about possessive men who claim their women and take control.

  I just have to imagine myself being under a strong, dominant man’s power, doing his bidding, and my panties would get soaked. Based on my experience at the club, someone like that would demand my interest in real life, too.

  Come to think of it, Prince James kind of reminds me of the man I met at the club. But… he can’t be that man, can he?

  A prince wouldn’t waste his time going to a club for commoners. There must be some fancy balls he can go to, where royalty and nobility can mix and mingle, without being bothered by commoners.

  “Your father has stolen from my property, and he has to pay for his transgression,” he says. “You want to take his place, and I’ll allow it.”

  “Excuse me, Your Royal Highness, but did my father really steal a flower?” I ask.

  “Is that not what he told you?” he asks back.

  “Well, yes. I just… It’s just difficult for me to understand that he’d steal anything at all. And to be honest,” I take a deep breath and steel myself despite my trepidation, “it also seems like a misunderstanding.”

  “Are you saying I’m being unfair?” James asks.

  “No, of course not. I just—”

  “You just think I’m being too harsh,” he says with finality, cutting me off. “But a crime, no matter how small, is deserving of proper punishment, don’t you think? Or do you suggest we just let go of everyone who runs a red light if it doesn’t result in an accident?”

  I shake my head. I feel like he’s leading me into a logical trap.

  “Good. So we agree that someone has to pay for a crime,” he says with finality. “Now, since it’s a small crime, the punishment is light. Those rose bushes were my mother’s favorite, but your father didn’t know that.”

  I raise my hand to my mouth, surprised by the revelation. My mother has left us a garden to tend to, and I know I’d break the leg of anyone who’d steal something from that garden.

  Everyone in the kingdom loved Prince James’ mother, the queen. When she died in an accident a few years ago, the whole kingdom wept. James was famously close to his mother, and he’s been continuing his mother’s charity work to honor her memory.

  “I’m sorry,” I say. Father didn’t tell me this detail, and I wonder if he knew.

  “That's okay. You’ll make up for it. That's what you're here for, Rosemary,” he reminds me.

  Again, my heart skips a beat when I hear my name slide out from between his lips. My nerve endings come alive; I can sense the slightest change in the air. I find myself taking quicker, shallower breaths.

  This is so stupid. He's a freaking prince! What do I think is going to happen between us?

  He doesn't even know me. There's no way he's interested in me like that.

  He probably just needs a gardener to fix whatever damage my father caused to the rose bushes anyway. Maybe my father mentioned that I have a green thumb.

  Honestly, that would actually be the ideal job for me. I may even be able to use my experience here as a plus on my résumé if I ever want to really pursue botany.

  “So, Rosemary…” Prince James cocks an eyebrow and leans forward until I can feel his hot breath on my skin. “A rose has brought you into my home, and I see you're partial to the flower as well,” he says, glancing at the pendant hanging from my choker necklace. “Now, this is the part you need to remember,” he says, locking my gaze to his. “Your safe word is ‘rose.’”

  I recoil in shock. Did he just say what I think he just said?

  A safe word?

  But that…

  That means he wants to..

  “What do you mean… Your Royal Highness?” I ask.

  Amusement dances in his eyes. The corners of his lips pull up and he says, “I told you I wasn't going to repeat myself, Rosemary. You heard me.” He stares right in
to my eyes, making me feel naked and vulnerable.

  Strangely, that only causes the tingles between my legs to intensify.

  “Now, are you going to apologize for asking me to repeat myself?” James asks darkly.

  “I’m sorry, Your Royal Highness,” I say, as if I’m on autopilot.

  “Let’s start with that. You are to call me ‘Sir.’ You’ll find it saves a lot of time,” he says.

  Oh, that's right. Now I remember my third-grade teacher telling the class it's acceptable to call a male member of the royal family that, so I can safely assume that a bunch of people simply call the prince ‘Sir.’

  I’m sure he's right about its time-saving benefits, but I feel like there's something more. First, he says I have a safe word, and now he's telling me to call him ‘Sir?’”

  There's no coincidence here. He knows about my dark desires, and he's telling me he's about to dominate me.

  My breathing grows heavy. My pussy starts to throb.

  How does he know? How does he know everything—from where I live, to my email address, to my sexual preferences?

  For reasons I don't know, Prince James has vast knowledge of my personal details.

  Maybe I should care more about what this means for the kingdom. Maybe this says something about the extent to which government surveillance intrudes into the average person’s life.

  But I can't think.

  At least my brain is not thinking.

  Now, I know that sounds ridiculous, but my brain is not in charge anymore, remember? Cut me some slack.

  I feel like my baser instincts have taken control of the command center in my body.

  This is no longer about him being royalty. He's not my prince at this moment. I can't handle that kind of high-level thinking right now.

  All I know is he's a man and I’m a woman. He's big and strong, while I’m small and delicate. He smells like expensive liquor, and he looks good enough to eat.

  Millions of years ago, Stone Age cavewomen probably used to have these same thoughts when they saw their men coming home from a hunt, all hairy and masculine and sweaty and victorious as they dragged their kills home.