Prince's Secret Baby

by Riley Rollins

  I'm livid, and I envision launching over the table, breaking all the ivory dishes and tearing my beautiful dress as I choke out the King. But before I can snap, Nikolai tries to diffuse the situation.

  "Father," he exclaims. "You'll not mention Mona again. And you'll show respect to the guests I bring to this table."

  "Alexandr, please," says the Queen. "The sooner this is over, the better."

  The waiters bring out a selection of breads, fruits, cheeses, and olives, an appetizer course. But I just want to get out of here. I no longer want to be in the presence of either Nikolai or his parents.

  They're all royal pains in my ass.

  I grab one of the many forks neatly laid out next to my plate, paying no mind to whether it's the appropriate one. I stab an olive with it, and pop it into my mouth, smacking my lips loudly.

  "Good lord," exclaims Nikolai sitting next to me. "I told you—"

  The King cuts him off. He clicks his mouth and shakes his head. "Truly a despicable sight," he says. "I can't bear to watch it any longer." He raises his hand in the air and snaps. It's loud. He's had a lot of practice bossing people around.

  One of his royal guards steps up to him. "My King?"

  "Escort me away from this ball," he says, giving me a dirty look. "Have a meal delivered to my private quarters. I can't bear to dine in the presence of animals."

  The guard helps the King up, and as they begin to walk away the King looks over his shoulder. "Beatrice," he says. "Come!"

  The Queen turns up her nose at us. Another royal guard rushes up to her, extending an arm. He helps her up, and they trail after the King.

  I'm astonished at how rude the King and Queen were. They must absolutely hate me.

  Nikolai sighs next to me. "Look what you've done."

  "What?" I blurt out. "You think I started this?"

  "Humph," he mutters. "Let's get out of here."

  He stands. I don't dare do anything else but follow him out of the room. As we walk, I notice that the conversations at all the tables around us are hushed. All eyes are on me.

  I scurry out of the room after Nikolai just as fast as I can, doing my best not to trip over my own dress.

  Nikolai storms down the hallway in front of me, his long magnificent legs propelling him at a blistering pace. It's all I can do to keep up without breaking into a jog. But as I follow him, I wonder what my problem is. Why am I following him, anyway?

  "Hey," I shout, holding my bunched-up dress in my hands, trying to avoid faceplanting.

  He halts and pivots around fast. "What?"

  "I'm going to my room," I say. "I've had enough."

  "That won't do," he says smugly. "You'll accompany me to the smoking lounge and we'll salvage this evening over cocktails."

  "No." I'm exasperated. "I do not want to spend more time with you."

  "Why not?"

  "This is all..." My voice trails off. I'm nearly at a loss for words. "This is absurd!"

  "What is?"

  "You bringing me here. What is this?" I demand. "Why are you playing this game with me?"

  He sighs. "Jenna," he says, running a hand through his thick hair. "It's simple. At first I found you beautiful and I needed a date. But now, I find you positively intriguing."

  I fold my arms over my chest. "You don't know anything about me. I think you just want me to replace your dead girlfriend."

  He shakes his head. "No."

  "Then what?"

  "I can't recall the last time a woman denied me. It only increases my curiosity."

  "Jesus," I say, "In America, we have this concept that no means no. You should learn it."

  He runs his hand through his hair again and he looks so damn handsome doing it.

  "This is why you intrigue me. Never before has a woman declined a life with me at this palace. In this glorious country. I can give you anything you like. You will never be left wanting."

  I briefly think of my huge student loans. Then I think: no way. I don't need this arrogant prick to help me pay my way through life.

  "Glorious country?" I say. "Glorious, like the glorious justice in that courtroom? Glorious like the fake Internet?"

  "Fake Internet?"

  "Yes. You're scared that people will read the real Wikipedia and discover your abuses."

  "First," he says, "I know not what you mean 'fake Internet.' The Internet is an invention of the North Molvanian Military Research Council. Second, our people eat well. Beef, pork, lamb, sugar pastries. And the camps that you denigrate, they are perfectly humane and legitimate prisons for criminals."

  I'm completely taken aback, but I sense that he's BSing me. "Are you joking?" I say. "Your people subsist on rice and pickled cabbage while you feast. And don't get me started on the work camps."

  He looks genuinely offended and turns up his nose. "Anything you may perceive as an 'abuse' is my father's doing. Not mine. I administer the capital city of Caprion. The rest of the country is outside my purview until I take the throne next year."

  "Caprion is the only affluent city in North Molvania. The rest of the country lives in squalor. How can you just ignore that?"

  He pauses for a moment, and I think I see a flicker of emotion cross his face. Was that… sadness?

  "Listen," he says, lowering his voice. "I know of what you speak. And I do not approve. But I am in no position to change it."

  The truth finally comes out.

  "Then you're a coward."

  He grabs my arm. I shrink back instinctively, but his touch isn't unpleasant. He doesn't hurt me and his touch is surprisingly warm, actually. It sends an electric current through my body. "Do you think I would stand by and allow such abuses if I had a choice? My father would behead me if I challenged him. You saw how he is."

  The feeling of Nikolai's hand on my arm is making it hard to speak. In spite of myself, it's all I can really think about.

  "Whatever. I just want to see Ashley and then get out of here."

  "You wish to leave the country?"

  "Yes!" I exclaim. "I've wanted that all along."

  He sighs. "Very well. If you truly despise me so, I shall grant you a full pardon and send you home. I shall mourn the departure of your beauty and strength. Come."

  He turns down the hall and I follow, my dress dragging behind me. "Where are we going?"

  "To visit your friend."

  "She's here?"

  "Yes," he says. "In the east wing."

  He leads me through the palace to a residential wing, and knocks on one of the doors with the back of his hand.

  The door opens, and there's Ashley, looking right at me.

  "Ashley!" I cry, rushing around Nikolai. I brush up against him as I pass, and despite all my conflicting feelings about him, it sends a tingle through my body.

  I hug Ashley. "What happened?"

  "Oh my gosh," she says, and it sounds like she's about to break into tears. "I was so scared when they took us, Jen, I cracked. I'm so sorry."

  "It's okay, Ash," I say. "They knew even before we entered the country. It's not your fault."

  "How did they know?"

  I shake my head. "I don't know, but we're gonna get out of here."

  I guess I hate Nikolai a little less now that he let me see Ashley.

  The next day, I awaken to the doves which are somehow in my room again. I immediately go hunt down Nikolai, who I find in the library. There's a work crew hanging up an oil painting, and he's supervising the job. I swear I've seen the painting before, and then it hits me—it's because it was stolen about six months back. EDGE ran a story on it. I shake my head. Of course a stolen painting would end up in the North Molvanian palace. Where else?

  "I'm ready to leave," I say to Nikolai.

  His eyes wander over me. He's wearing khakis and a button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up. His forearms are thick and taut, the veins well-defined, the hair on his arms coarse and thick. He looks like he hasn't shaved this morning. When he's not wearing ridiculous royal
garb, he looks surprisingly normal. And dare I say… sexy.

  "You are free to do so. Please coordinate with Gaius." He pauses for a few seconds, then reaches out and touches my arm lightly. The skin-on-skin contact sends goosebumps down my spine. "But I would like to ask you something first."

  I'm almost afraid to find out what it is. "Okay."

  "I would like for you to stay. To continue our last conversation."

  "Is that an order?" His hand lingers on my arm, and I breathe shallowly and fast.

  "No. It is a request."

  "You want to discuss the condition of your country?"

  "Yes," he says. "And, there is something else I want."

  He lets his fingers run down the length of my forearm, and the sensation is shockingly intense.

  "What's that?" I ask.

  "Come closer."

  I take a half-step closer to him, and then he reaches out, puts a hand around the back of my head, and pulls me in for a kiss.

  I'm completely taken aback, and my first instinct is to pull away. But the kiss tastes better than I could have imagined. It's like sugar and oranges.

  I can't believe I'm standing here kissing the Crown Prince Nikolai. I hate him.

  But maybe I can make a difference for the people here. Maybe I can get through to him and make him change his ways.

  At least, that's the excuse I tell myself when I kiss him back.

  4

  The kiss leaves me reeling. Never before have I experienced such chemistry. I loved Jason, but even with him, the spark was nothing like Nikolai. Jason and I got to know each other gradually until one day he asked me out. And when he first kissed me, it felt like it was a long time coming. There were none of the instant fireworks I felt with Nikolai.

  So I agree to stay. For two more weeks. And Ashley, after contacting her parents back home, agrees to stay too, even though I tell her to leave. She still wants to see the country.

  But for a week after the kiss, I don't see Nikolai. Not once. He doesn't come. Doesn't contact me. And I start to doubt everything he's said. I doubt that I'm special among all the women he has at his disposal. And I doubt that he really wants to discuss the problems in North Molvania.

  So, I decide that maybe I can learn more about him by researching what he believes.

  I return to the library where the oil painting now hangs. Yeah, I'm pretty damn sure that's the stolen one, and I'm going to confront Nikolai about it next time I see him. I would just Google it, but I have a feeling that the North Molvanian Google wouldn't return any hits.

  Instead of going online, I peruse the rows and rows of dusty books on the shelf. Some are old and leather-bound, and some are newer paperbacks. But all of them say "printed in North Molvania." I scan the shelves for familiar titles. There are only a few. Only fairy tales and classics like Shakespeare. I have a feeling that even they've been censored and redacted.

  I finally get to the history section, and one book catches my eye. It's a red leather-bound tome entitled "History of the United States of America." I pick it up and flip to the middle of the book.

  "In the United States of America," the book says, "Blood flows freely in the streets. Gang warfare and rampant poverty are everywhere. Shelves are bare. Children are sacrificed daily in capitalist witch rituals. The capital city of Washington, DC now sees an average of 780 murders per day."

  What the hell? I flip through the book. Every page is packed full of misinformation and lies.

  I put it down and find another book about the United States. I pull it out with a finger, and blow the dust off the pages with a puff. I open it. It's more of the same. More lies, controversy, and antagonizing.

  I slam the book closed and chuck it in a trashcan sitting next to the computer desk.

  A library is supposed to be a place of sacred knowledge, where you go to find the truth. But here in North Molvania, there's no such thing as truth.

  I'm starting to get an idea of just how closed off this country really is. It's even worse than I thought.

  Early the next morning, before the sun is up, I'm awakened by the sound of metal clanging in my room.

  I open my eyes groggily, and for a moment, I can't believe them.

  It's Nikolai standing in the doorway of my room, and he's holding a cage full of doves.

  "Hey," I say sleepily, and his eyes swivel to me, surprised. He didn't think I'd wake up. "Have you been putting those in here?"

  "Yes." He pauses. "I have."

  I'm pissed at him for blowing me off all week, but I kind of can't help smiling at this. "But why?" I ask, getting out of bed and walking toward him.

  "It is an old Molvanian custom."

  I flip on the light switch, and a dim, soothing light illuminates the room. I stick my finger through the wire cage that Nikolai holds, and one of the white doves pecks at my finger.

  "What does the custom mean?"

  "It is a way to honor great beauty."

  That's sweet. Maybe a little creepy, but sweet nonetheless.

  "Why haven't you come to see me?"

  "I did not think you wanted to see me."

  "But I agreed to stay." I place a hand on his forearm and look into his eyes, holding my breath.

  For a moment, I think we're going to kiss again. But the moment passes, and we don't.

  "Go back to sleep," he says. He lets the doves out of the cage, then he turns and leaves the room.

  That same afternoon, Nikolai comes to find me. I'm in my room, hunting through the two wardrobes, holding clothes up to my body and imagining myself wearing them. For being such an oppressed society, the Molvanian people sure have an amazing culture. Molvanian dresses are like a mix of the Japanese kimono with flowing Arab robes. An incredible combination.

  He enters without knocking, which annoys me. Every time he shows a sign of reasonableness, he follows it up with the complete opposite.

  "Really? You don't even knock when entering a woman's room?"

  He flashes an annoyingly handsome smile at me, his strong, flat chin and high cheekbones standing out strongly against the dark contours of his rich, sandy skin. "My bedroom," he reminds me. "I'd love to see you in that," he says, looking at the robe in my hands.

  I chuck it back into the wardrobe, suddenly self-conscious. "When I have a guest over, I give them privacy."

  "My palace, my rules."

  "Isn't there any give and take around here?"

  He looks at me like I'm some inanimate porcelain figurine in a glass display case, studying me. Then he bursts out laughing.

  He shakes his head, chuckling. "Never before have I heard such a thing."

  "I bet."

  "But that is neither here nor there," he says. "I have come to take you on an outing. Recreation."

  "What kind of recreation?" I ask. Hunting? Polo? I wonder what Nikolai does in his spare time. I wonder if he's going to make me watch him shoot innocent animals with a crossbow.

  So I'm surprised when he says, "A cheetah cub was recently born at the royal menagerie. I haven't yet seen it and I'd like you to accompany me."

  "Ah," I say, "A cheetah. Let me guess, stolen just like the oil painting in the library?"

  He gazes at me, a look of amazement on his face. "You are a connoisseur of art?"

  "No," I say. "Just a reporter. It was a big story when that thing went missing."

  "My little pet," he says, "I did not steal the painting. I purchased it. I paid the money."

  "But you knew it was stolen."

  He raises his eyebrows and scoffs. "Well, you'll be pleased to know that North Molvania's cheetahs were a gift from the late monarch of Mali. One-hundred percent legitimate."

  "Fine," I say, "Let's go pet some cats."

  The cheetah cub can't be more than a couple weeks old, but it's already bouncing around and playing, full of energy. It's so cute with its golden fur and tiny black spots.

  Nikolai stands next to me outside the cheetah enclosure, leaning his elbows against the railing and
watching the cub play.

  "Zookeeper!" he belts out, and a guy wearing a tan jacket and a safari hat comes rushing around the corner.

  "Bring us meat to feed the cats."

  "Yes, my prince," says the man, bowing. He rushes back around the corner, and returns a minute later with a silver bucket. He sets it down. It's full of bloody, torn meat scraps.

  "Gross," I say to Nikolai." I'm not touching that."

  He laughs. "Don't be silly." He bends down, and I see his strong calves and triceps in motion, the muscles and tendons in his body chording perfectly. As much as I hate to admit it, he's like art in action when he moves. And he's much more interesting to look at than his stolen oil painting.

  When he stands up, he's holding a bundle of bloody, stringy meat in his hands.

  "Eww," I squeal. "Getting your hands dirty, huh? Guess you're used to that."

  His eyes narrow, displeased. He doesn't respond immediately. Instead, he tosses the meat over the fence. The baby doesn't immediately pounce, but the momma cat does. She takes a piece in her mouth, and then deposits it next to the baby, nosing it and encouraging it to eat.

  "Let us discuss this," says Nikolai. "You have made many wild accusations. Frankly, I ought to throw you in the dungeon for your indiscretions."

  "Of course," I say. "That's all you know how to do. Punish and kill."

  He whirls around to face me. "Bollocks," he says, and I wonder how that word got into his vocabulary. "I put no one to death who does not deserve it."

  "You're lying to me. Then explain the work camps."

  "These 'work camps' you speak of," he says, drawing quotation marks in the air with his fingers, "Are where we send irredeemable criminals." Then he adds, "And not even 'we.' Him. My father. As I told you before, they are outside my discretion."

  "That's a cop-out. You're turning a blind eye. They're brutal prisons where people go to be tortured and die. Not just criminals, either. Political prisoners."

  "I told you, I cannot be held accountable," he says, but he avoids eye contact.

  Inside the cage, the baby is tearing apart the meat scraps. Getting its first taste of blood. And it likes it.