Royal Bastard: A Bad Boy Royal Romance

by Emilia Beaumont

  I spun the guy around and watched as rage came over his facial expression.

  “Who the fuck do you think you are?” he asked, stepping between me and the photographer I’d been thinking about and looking for the last two hours—but I would deal with her later.

  “I’m the man who is going to tell you politely to move on,” I said, my voice hard as cut steel.

  I had seen the altercation as soon as I walked toward the outside, the look on her face as this idiot had tried to rough her up a little, making my conscience squirm uncomfortably. No one else was paying much attention to them, but she looked like she was scared, and I couldn’t very well walk past and leave her to her own devices. Besides, I had business with her anyway, specifically a photo I couldn’t allow to hit the front page. “It’s obvious the lady here doesn’t want your company, so do the right thing and walk away.”

  He reached up and jabbed me hard in my chest with his finger, his eyes blazing mad now. “You need to butt out of my business. Don’t you have some ribbon to cut somewhere?”

  “Brent, leave him alone,” the photographer said, grabbing his arm. He shook her off with a violent push and caused her to stumble back. Her legs gave out and she sprawled onto the pavement. I saw red. That was the last straw, but I managed to resist slamming my fist into his face. Instead I pushed him out of the way, reached down and grabbed her hand.

  “Are you hurt?” I asked softly as she stared up at me with tears in her eyes. Her eyes were mesmerising, and this close, even in the dim light, I could see they were strangely coloured, special.

  “No,” she said, withdrawing her hand from mine and pushing herself up off the street. “I’m okay—watch out!”

  The warning came too late. I felt the weight of a fist on my back, and I ended up on the ground myself, instinctively rolling over as Brent reached for me. My reflexes kicked in, and I caught him with a right hook to the jaw, sending him tumbling this time. He bellowed and launched at me, rugby-tackling me around the knees and sending both of us flying. He landed a punch against my cheek, and I felt the sting of the blow, some of it muffled by the shots of tequila I’d downed right before leaving the VIP section.

  I reared back to hit him and felt a soft hand on my arm, clenching it tightly. “Please don’t. Please stop! Both of you.”

  I looked over to the find the tear-streaked face of the photographer, her eyes pleading for me to stop. Who was this asshole to her? He deserved to have his ass kicked, and she was protecting him? I reached up and grabbed at her camera, fury and anger rolling through my veins.

  “What were you going to do with it?” I shouted, ripping the camera out of her hands and throwing it across the street. Her expression was pained as she stared in the direction of the battered camera. Shit. I knew I shouldn’t be angry at her, and her defeated expression made me feel like a complete asshole. She was just trying to get a picture, a story on the black sheep of the royal family like the rest of them, and I was making it painfully easy for them all.

  “Shit,” I said aloud this time, just before pain exploded at my side as Brent charged again. I fell over, grabbing my ribs as he jumped on me. But just as suddenly, he was gone, and I was hauled to my feet. My arms were wrenched behind my back. “What the hell?” I shouted as I felt the tight confines of zip ties on my wrists. “Do you know who I am?”

  “Don’t care who you are, lad. You’re being charged with drunk and disorderly behaviour,” a voice said from behind, gripping my hands and moving me forward.

  “But he tried to stop him!” I heard the photographer say as I was marched through the growing crowd. Light flashes blinded me momentarily as I walked toward the waiting police van, the impact of what had just happened hitting me like a ton of bricks. Father might not have cared for my bare ass, but he was going to disown me for this. Fuck, and I was only trying to help.

  I lifted my head to see Andrew staring at me through an opened rectangular slit in the heavy door, his mouth curved into a slight smile. “Why are you here?”

  Andrew motioned to someone on the other side, and the cell door was opened. “I’m here to bail you out, brother. You do realise getting yourself arrested is pretty much the complete opposite of getting your act together, right?”

  I sighed loudly and pushed up off the hard bunk. No matter what I said, neither he nor father would believe me. We were escorted through a narrow hallway lined with dirty cream tiles to the station’s front desk. The officer behind the desk handed over my belongings. I took the zip-lock bag that contained my wallet, watch and mobile from him and shoved them into my pockets. “Andrew, I didn’t do this on purpose.”

  “Of course not,” Andrew said, turning toward the exit. “You never do.”

  I followed him out of the police station, squinting at the sunrise. We were quickly joined by two of Andrew’s royal guards, who flanked us on either side as we walked to the waiting car. “I assume I have been summoned again?”

  Andrew bent in to retrieve something and after grasping what he was looking for, he slapped a paper against my chest. “Get in. You made the front page once again.”

  Sliding into the car’s cool interior, I threw the bag onto the leather seat and opened up the paper, wincing at the sight of me throwing a punch at the asshole who had landed me here. “At least they got my best side. Wonder if I get a prize if I make it three days in a row?”

  Andrew let out a half laugh, half choking sound and ran a hand over his face as he handed me his mobile phone. “Yeah, it’s called exile. But wait there’s more. You’re the talk of every social media site as well. It’s worldwide now.”

  “Hell,” I cursed, watching the replay of the fight shot from a mobile. Damn technology and social media platforms.

  “Hell is right,” Andrew sighed, taking the phone back and slipping it into his jacket pocket. Despite it being the crack of dawn, Andrew was dressed to the nines, his suit pants perfectly creased and his periwinkle blue tie complimenting his blue eyes. I, on the other hand, was still in my dress shirt that was covered with dirt and whatever ever was on the ground during the fight, with no tie and the black pants I’d paired it with nearly twelve hours before. “Care to tell me why you did this? Maybe if I know, I can have a word with father.”

  I thought back to the photographer who had snapped a picture of my bare ass as I was fucking the unnamed blonde in the bathroom, and the way her expression had changed as she’d been approached by that asshole of a boyfriend. Instinct had taken over.

  “Was it worth it at least?” Andrew continued, taking my silence as not wanting to explain myself.

  “Yeah,” I said, looking out of the window as the car wound its way up to the palace. “It was worth it.”

  The doors opened a few minutes later, and we both climbed out and walked through the private entrance in silence. The palace had always been an oddity for me; my teenage years were not all happy ones in this place. From the time I had found out I was the product of the future king’s dalliance, I knew my life was going to be different. My father had taken me in, provided me an education alongside my half-brother, Andrew, and ensured comfort in my life. But despite all of my father’s attempts to make up for my upbringing and lost years, I still felt unwelcome in this place. I had never truly been at home here.

  Andrew led me to the study and opened the door, allowing me to enter first. My father was waiting behind his massive desk, his wife seated not far from his side, her eyes glittering with hate. Princess Agatha Beatrice Stuart York was from a long line of royal blood—and she loved to remind me of it—so it had been no surprise when she married the future king of England almost thirty years ago. She hated me, and the feeling was mutual. “Your Highness,” I said mockingly as I sat in the chair opposite my father.

  “How dare you behave in this manner?” she said, her voice dripping with disdain. “You are a disgrace to this family!”

  “I have never been in your family,” I replied, seeing her eyes flare with rage.

&n
bsp; “Enough!” my father bellowed, causing his wife to hold her tongue for once. He turned toward me, a familiar look of disappointment on his face. “I thought I had made myself perfectly clear yesterday.”

  “It wasn’t my fault,” I said, the words echoing off the walls and sounding small to my own ears.

  “It never is, Edward,” he sighed. “It never is.”

  I could taste the retort on my tongue, but I couldn’t form the words. The disappointment in my father’s voice this time had a profound effect on me. I had dragged him through hell over the years, my name connected to a number of stunts I had pulled in an attempt to be my own person. I hated the fact I was linked with the royal bloodline and had no earthly desire to be part of it. But I was, and no matter how hard I tried to shake the fact, I still was dragging down the York name with my antics.

  “I gave you a chance,” my father was saying, clasping his hands behind his back, “and this stunt has forced my hand, Edward.”

  I swallowed a sickening feeling in the pit of my stomach. Was he going to banish me to parts unknown? I didn’t think that had happened in centuries… but I wouldn’t put it past him.

  “I’m taking your allowance away.”

  Shit, that was worse than exile. Without my father’s backing, I had nothing. The flat I lived in was his, the cars I drove, the bank accounts I tapped into regularly, they were all his. I would be out on the street. But maybe it would be better that way?

  “You will receive no further support from me,” he continued, the weight of his words driving nails into the lid of my coffin. I had pushed him too far, even though this time it hadn’t been intentional. He was throwing down the gauntlet, separating me from this life that I hated. So why did I feel so damn bad about it?

  “Give me a month,” I blurted out, the panic welling up inside. “A month, and I will clean up my image.”

  “Ha! He’s baiting you,” Agatha replied, a smug smile on her face. “Give him a month, and god knows what he’ll do next. You can’t take that chance.” I fought the urge to shoot her the middle finger as I looked at my father, his blue eyes focused on mine.

  “Give me a month, please. If I don’t clean it up, I will gladly walk away from everything.”

  “A month,” my father replied, an amused look on his face. “All right. You get a month.”

  Agatha tutted disapprovingly. I let out a breath and nodded, my heart hammering in my chest. A month to clean up my image? Shit, I might as well be packing up my stuff now.

  4

  Rose

  “That picture is good. Let’s get that one on the main flyer.”

  I agreed and smiled as I looked at the shot, proud that I had taken it. Harriet and I were sitting in her office, the bright sun filtering through her windows as we pored over the pictures from the night before. But that wasn’t the only reason she had called me there. I was just waiting for her to bring it up. Harriet and I were extremely close, a mere two years between us. She was my best friend and the one person I could spill my guts to. Lately, though, we had been drifting apart, what with me travelling abroad and her with her club and her husband Jacob, to whom she had been married for a little over two years, so it was nice to be able to spend time with her. I liked Jacob, too. He was quiet, the opposite of my sister, but I knew she was head over heels in love with the man. After all, it had been his ingenuity that had gotten her the club in the first place. A banker, he had soundly invested her money to start funding her dream, and over time, she had made enough to put down the deposit on this space.

  Clicking the button, I blushed as the next image came into view. Oh my, how could I have forgotten that I’d even taken it?

  “Who is that?” Harriet asked as she caught a glimpse at the screen. “Oh my god, that is one fine-looking ass!”

  With my cheeks burning, I clicked off of the image immediately. “It’s nothing.”

  “The hell it is!” Harriet said, clicking backwards to view it again. “Is that one of my bathrooms? Please do not tell me that they were doing the deed on my expensive counters!”

  “They were, but it was only the staff toilet…” I said, pursing my lips as I viewed the image. Prince Edward. I’d had no idea that was him when I snapped the picture. No wonder he had thrown my camera and broken the five-hundred-pound lens in the process. This picture would no doubt embarrass the entire royal family if it got out.

  After the debacle in the wee hours of the morning, I hadn’t been able to sleep and had pulled out my trusty laptop and done some research on the man himself. I was quickly caught up in no time.

  Prince Edward was the black sheep of the royal family, the result of a scandalous affair before my time between the future king of England and his publicist. Rumour was that the publicist died of cancer when the boy was ten, and he was brought to the royal palace to live. Ever since then, he had been the subject of multiple stories, none of which were very good, one being last night. My escalating fight with Brent had gotten both my ex and the prince arrested. I felt bad about that; if I’d managed to shake Brent off myself, none of it would’ve happened. But I was grateful that he had stepped in when he clearly could have walked right by. I just hoped he didn’t send any personal guards to lock me up in a cage because of what had transpired later on.

  “But it’s nothing,” I reiterated, shutting off the camera, grateful that the device and its internal electronics were still working after its tumble, though I would still need to get the lens repaired—it no longer clicked on like it should.

  “What’s going on with you?” Harriet asked as she looked at the next image. “Is this about what happened with Brent last night? I am so glad that you split up with him. My little sister deserves better than the likes of him.”

  “I’m fine,” I swallowed, sitting back in the chair with a huff. “I don’t know why he came here last night. I have made it perfectly clear that I am done with him.”

  “Some guys just don’t get it,” Harriet shrugged, looking over at me. “What you need is a strong, silent type, Rose. Jacob has some friends, you know.”

  I rolled my eyes, but maybe I did need to start dating again. Maybe that would help Brent get the message that I wanted nothing to do with him, but god knows why seeing me with another man would give him that message. My words and feelings mattered not one jot to him. “You know,” I said, tapping my fingers on the chair arm, “maybe you are right.”

  “Really?” Harriet asked, her blue eyes wide with surprise. “You’re gonna let me set you up?” I could see the sparkle in her eyes and the giddiness that was about to burst out… I couldn’t say no now and disappoint her.

  I nodded and she launched into a list of names. I let her talk, not really paying attention to any of it. Brent had broken my heart; just when I’d thought he was the one, he had showed his true colours. I mean I was glad that I had escaped certain relationship death by finding him out, but the truth of what he stole from me still hurt.

  Brent had been my everything, my first real boyfriend who seemed to like me for me. I wasn’t tall or willowy, I wasn’t blonde or thin. He seemed not to care about any of that. I still wondered what he actually saw in me that made him want to stick around as long as he did. Was it my naivety in general? Or perhaps it was my willingness to go along with almost everything he said and did, in order to please him. I didn’t know. There were things I still blushed about, including the incident in the staff bathroom, even though I had been intimate with Brent numerous times. I guess I still wasn’t comfortable in the whole club scene. The only conclusion was that I wasn’t at ease in my own skin at twenty-five, and I doubted I ever would be.

  “So?” Harriet prompted, bringing me back to the present. “What do you think?”

  I turned toward my sister and gave her a thumbs-up. It was time to move on.

  I arrived home about an hour later with a slip of paper saying where and when to meet my mystery date later on that night. As I opened the door, the familiar smell of my parents’ home
hit me full force, reminding me that when all else fails, you could always come home. Thank god for their indulgence and generosity, or I would have been out on the street right.

  Closing the door, I trudged down the hall and up the stairs to my old bedroom. Mementos of the past were still tacked up on the wall, old pictures of my youth reminding me of happy-go-lucky times before the reality of being an adult had set in. I hated the fact that I’d had to make the phone call to my mum about moving back home. I was totally prepared for the litany of I-told-you-so’s, but she had collected me in her open arms and told me that I was going to be okay. And I was. I just needed some help, and time, to get there.

  My mum and I were close, not as close as Harriet and I, but close enough. She was a retired school teacher, and my dad was still working in a local manufacturing plant specialising in automotive parts. They were solid, good, hardworking people who had tried to give their daughters everything they could. I was grateful for their support over the years.

  With a sigh, I walked over to my closet, opening it to look at the sad state of my outfits for my blind date tonight. What did one wear to a blind date nowadays? Just thinking about it made me feel older than I was. No wonder Harriet was trying to set me up. I pulled out a brightly coloured skirt and frowned. Too much. I didn’t want to look like every leprechaun’s dream wearing a rainbow skirt. No, that would not work. The next was some skinny jeans that fell back on their promise to make me look skinny; I looked more like an overstuffed sausage casing. Nope. I wanted to impress him, not scare the guy off.

  Finally, after the closet became a growing pile on my bed, I picked out a pair of black pants that were comfortable but still gave me some shape and a gauzy top that flowed over my boobs and slightly rounded tummy. Functional and not a hint of sexiness to it. Yep, that was me. Maybe I should’ve convinced Harriet to go on a shopping trip before jumping in head-first for a date. But I had promised, and I was not one to break a promise. I just hoped whoever she’d set me up with wasn’t expecting someone with fashion sense.