Once Upon a Rainbow, Volume One

by Mickie B. Ashling

Where in heck had he been hiding all this time? He lived in our principality for the love of God. And he was quite famous. How come we’d never met? There was this monstrous white creature by his side, and I assumed this is why he’d added the postscript. Was that thing really a dog? I zoomed in so I could get a closer look at the guy. He was wearing a loose white shirt tucked into a green and black kilt that sent my mind racing back to the gutter. My mother wasn’t far off the mark in that regard. Was he naked underneath the folds?

  I might have whimpered out loud because Mama snapped, “Are you all right?”

  I nodded, unable to come up with a coherent answer. Errol’s broody gaze had sucked the words right out of my mouth. His black hair fell in messy waves to his shoulders, and the dark scruff on his cheeks went far beyond the five o’clock shadow, but it wasn’t an actual beard. The top of his shirt was open, and I caught a glimpse of chest hair. It led me to believe his entire body was covered in soft fur.

  Trying to determine his eye color through a computer screen was difficult. They could be brown or possibly hazel—it was hard to tell—but there was no mistaking his thick eyebrows or his curly lashes. They were as dark as his hair and definitely striking. If his guilty pleasure was hearing someone beg, then he need look no further. Despite my royal status, I loved being subdued behind closed doors and had yet to find a man with the guts to take me on. Most guys assumed I would be outraged if they suggested such a thing. The few that had made the attempt were clearly uncomfortable in that role.

  I shut my eyes and imagined a scene where my hands were bound in leather and Errol stood over me, knowing instinctively that I would bow to his commanding presence.

  Shoving the paper over to my mother, I prompted, “Take a look at this one. He’s supposedly a resident, but I’ve never seen him around town. Have you heard of him?”

  She picked up the questionnaire and began to read. Impatiently, I fidgeted, hoping to speed her up with my body language. Finally, she put down the paper. “Why are you so interested?”

  I spun my laptop around so she could see his photo. “Look at him, Mama. He’s imposing as hell and I love his answers.”

  She leaned in and peered at the screen. “He looks rough around the edges.”

  “I know,” I said with an exaggerated moan. “Scorching hot.”

  Straightening up, Mama gave me the once-over. “You’re thinking with the wrong body parts, Bash. There’s more to being your consort than servicing you in the bedroom.”

  “I’m aware.”

  “Then perhaps we can agree Maitland is a poor choice. Artists are quite temperamental and I’ve heard this one is demanding and intractable.”

  “So you do know him,” I accused. “Why don’t I?”

  “Dear boy, I stopped monitoring your friendships years ago. As for me, the museum committee contacted him at one point, but his schedule wouldn’t allow him to accept the commission. He refused to give us alternative dates so we chose another artist.”

  “For what?”

  “Busts of your Papa and me.”

  “So you never actually met the guy.”

  “No,” she conceded. “We dealt with his agent.”

  “Then you can’t judge him fairly.”

  Pink lacquered fingernails tapped the shiny tabletop. “I don’t think he’ll have time to perform all his duties if he’s got such a thriving career.”

  “Why would he bother to fill out the questionnaire if he didn’t think he was up to the task?”

  She crossed her arms over her chest and pouted.

  “Mama?”

  “I’m not a mind reader, only a concerned parent. Maybe it’s the thrill of the chase that’s motivating him,” she said tersely.

  “There’s no need to get defensive,” I pointed out. “I realize you want my marriage to succeed as much, if not more, than I do, but your choices won’t necessarily be mine.”

  “True,” she replied. “This is why magic is so important. Your father and I have agreed to abide by the results of my spell regardless.”

  “Fair enough,” I said. “In the meantime, I’d like to gather as much info on this man as possible. Do you think you can arrange that without invading his privacy or getting caught?”

  “I’m sure it won’t be a problem,” she said. “Is there anything specific you’d like to know?”

  “It would help if I learned more about his background. He says he’s a Shetlander. I know it’s somewhere in Scotland so why not call himself a Scot? Did he leave home on his own volition? Does he still have family back there? Where was he educated? Maybe your guy can find out something about his love life. He’s not on any dating sites so I’m curious. Has he ever had a serious relationship? Details like that.”

  “All right.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Isn’t there anyone else in that stack of forms who has piqued your interest?” she asked curiously. “Surely there’s more than one eligible bachelor.”

  “This is the first one to merit a second look.”

  Her eyebrows knit in confusion. “Your interest in him is astonishing. I thought someone more refined would be better suited to your lifestyle.”

  “In theory, you’re right, but guys who say and do the right thing aren’t necessarily the ones who get under my skin.”

  “I’d rather not have a barbarian for a son-in-law,” she said testily.

  “Stop stereotyping, Mama.”

  “Look at him, Bash. He exudes testosterone.”

  I licked my lower lip, imagining the taste of his—

  “Sebastian!”

  I started, blinking rapidly. “What?”

  “It’s obvious you’re besotted with a man you’ve never even met.”

  “Right?”

  “Get your head out of the clouds and be serious. This is not a game.”

  No, it wasn’t a fucking game. This was my future, and if Errol Maitland could hold my attention from a distance, I seriously doubted I’d be able to resist him when I saw him up close. I stared down at the piles and piles of questionnaires and was tempted to dump them into the fireplace and set a match to the entire lot. As far as I was concerned, the hunt was over, but my parents would have coronaries if I didn’t go through the motions.

  Chapter Four

  ERROL

  On the day of the masquerade ball, I decided to go into town for a haircut. More often than not, I trimmed my own hair, but for this special occasion, I thought it more prudent to put myself in the hands of a professional. I still intended to show up as Sir William Wallace but changed my mind on the war paint. If I was going to woo the prince, it would be in my best interest to dress like a nobleman rather than a bedraggled freedom fighter.

  There was something about a properly kitted Scot that turned men and women into compliant piles of mush. One could have the craggiest features and the mental acumen of a pumpkin, but once the shirt, tie, jacket, kilt, sporran, and footwear were in place, we were hard to resist. Unless the person you were trying to sway had preconceived notions about men in skirts or an ice cube for a heart.

  There had been many conquests in the past whenever I put my best foot forward. I had no qualms using every trick in the book to get Sebastian’s attention, even if it meant parlaying my heritage to my advantage. It was imperative I stand out at first glance—among hundreds of eligible bachelors—and there was only one night to leave a lasting impression.

  I don’t know when this contest had become so important. Perhaps the hype surrounding the event was a contributing factor, but I suspected it was loneliness propelling me out of my comfort zone. All the hours I spent holed up in my studio with no one to talk to, except Snow, had begun to take their toll. The danger signs of depression were starting to manifest: lack of appetite, sleepless nights, and talking out loud. If that wasn’t bad enough, my artistic endeavors were uninspired, a calamity far worse than all the other symptoms rolled into one.

  Bed-hopping was no more satisfying than jerking off. Trying
to explain my needs to a one-night stand without sounding like a controlling asshole was tiresome. BDSM clubs were always an option, but I didn’t want anyone who officially participated in the lifestyle. Meting out pain wasn’t my thing, and most of the guys who were available on short notice craved the sting of a flogger or wanted to be tied up and humiliated. None of it was appealing, but neither was dating someone as bland as bread pudding. There was no evidence to suggest the prince understood the subtle power exchange I was craving, but my intuition told me Sebastian was the one. A day of primping seemed like a small price to pay for a slice of happiness.

  Snow was strapped into the passenger seat of the SUV as we careened down the mountain road into town. She appeared serious as if she understood the importance of our expedition. Normally, her head would be out the window, tongue lolling in the wind, scattering drool over the side of the vehicle, but not today. She was sitting straight up like a tour guide at the head of the bus.

  Amused, I tugged on her ear. “Don’t worry, baby. I know what I’m doing.”

  She glanced my way but didn’t look convinced. Did she have some sort of sixth sense that I was about to do something completely irrational? I had no idea what was involved once you’d been chosen by the heir to the throne. Would the prince expect me to pack up and move my shit to the palace without some sort of trial period? How would we know if our union was the forever kind after only one night? It was absurd, and yet here I was joining ranks with hundreds of other hopefuls.

  It seemed like everyone in town had the same idea, judging by the line outside the hair salon. I managed to squeeze through the crowd and wave at Barb, my sometimes stylist.

  She looked shell-shocked, mouthing “I’m sorry” when I pointed at my hair. My frown must have been daunting because she yelled, “Come back in a couple of hours.”

  “Okay,” I said, gladly leaving the mob behind.

  Because of her size, I didn’t always bring Snow into business establishments, unless I had prior permission. Barb loved her, and on a normal day, I wouldn’t have thought twice, but today was anything but. Streets were crowded with strangers—gay men had arrived in droves—gearing up for tonight’s celebration. The party atmosphere was already in full swing even though the actual festivities weren’t until nightfall. I stopped for a minute to check out the competition. Same old stuff, from what I could see so far. If none of them caught my eye, then it was safe to assume the prince would turn them down as well. Then again, I didn’t know what set his pulse racing. He might be into men who were my complete opposite. It would be foolish to assume I knew his tastes.

  Snow barked enthusiastically as I approached. Before exiting the car earlier, I’d rolled down the window partway, and her big head stuck through the opening, sticky drool hanging in strings. Pedestrians swerved when they walked by, daunted by her ferocious appearance. Anyone fool enough to get too close would regret it the instant she bared her canines, and although she had yet to bite someone, it was good to keep them guessing. I unlocked the door and she hopped out gracefully.

  We headed over to La Brasserie, a favorite café, and somehow managed to be seated at my usual spot within five minutes. It was a table for two in a corner, where no one would be bothered by the presence of my furry companion. I ordered a full English for myself with a side order of scrambled eggs for Snow. The waitress always plated her portion in a throwaway container, so no one would give us grief if they happened to catch me laying her dish on the floor. Not everyone was an animal lover—I knew that much—but Snow was the only family I had and fuck anyone who said otherwise.

  I broke off a piece of sausage and handed it down to my wee darling. It was impossible to resist when she turned goo-goo eyes on me. The whole begging thing was my Achilles’ heel, and she’d learned it when she was no bigger than a hamster. I wasn’t sure how or when this need of mine developed, but I attributed the broken parts of me to my past. My story wasn’t that uncommon, though; in fact, it was a goddamn cliché. Mum and Dad had asked me to rethink my orientation or get the fuck off the island. It was as simple as that. No son of theirs was going to embarrass them, and if I stayed in the area, they would be subjected to all kinds of slights, real and imagined. It broke my heart to leave, but I wasn’t switching to the other side to make them happy. I swore I’d never be that kind of father if I was ever lucky enough to have a child. Which brought my thoughts back to the present.

  Whenever I dreamed of my future family, I never considered being the one who’d go through nine months of discomfort, ten if you counted the preparation. Now that science had made it a possibility, I knew I’d do an outstanding job. Because that was the way I rolled. Snow had been my litmus test, and she’d turned out great. Granted, I didn’t pop her out of my body, and she wasn’t human, but I sure as shit spent sleepless nights worrying about her survival.

  I came across a motivational poster once that said relationships didn’t die from natural causes. It was selfishness, neglect, unwillingness to compromise, and lies that were the culprit. True enough, but wasn’t love the glue? Perhaps I was being naïve, but loving someone unconditionally—for better or worse as the vows suggest—was the only way to see it through to the end. The timing was right for me, but I had to make sure Sebastian was in step. It all hinged on him.

  After our meal, we walked around until it was time to head back to the salon. The damn place was still crowded, but Barb’s seat was empty, and as she flapped her big white cloth and draped it over my shoulders, she apologized for the delay.

  “I promise to make you gorgeous.”

  “You don’t need to go overboard,” I responded. “Just enough to catch the prince’s eye.”

  “I’m surprised you’re even considering this,” she remarked.

  “Why do you say that?”

  “I’m a great resource,” Barb confessed. “As soon as I bring out the scissors, people can’t help barfing out their truth.”

  I snorted. “What nasty stories have you heard about me?”

  “Hmm,” she pondered, looking up at the ceiling then back down at me with a naughty smirk. “You’re arrogant, opinionated, a control freak, and deliciously sexy. A guy like you could have anyone in the world. Why throw yourself at the mercy of the royal family? You’ll just be another flunky.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong, lassie. I don’t take orders from anyone.”

  “You’ll do as you’re told or be out of the running.”

  “I’m not a citizen of Sendorra.”

  “So what?” she challenged. “You’ve been passing through for the last ten years?”

  “I’m still a Scot but with a permanent resident’s visa.”

  “Which they can revoke if you insult them.”

  “I wasn’t raised in a barn, lassie. Only a desolate island in the middle of the North Sea. I can mind my Ps and Qs and lift my pinkie with the best of them.”

  “The prince can be rather churlish when he doesn’t get his way.”

  “And I can be an ornery bastard when I’m crossed.”

  “Wow, we’ll have fireworks tonight,” she crowed, “and not the kind you buy at the store.”

  “I’m certain this event has been planned and double-planned, so the chances of things going wrong are slim to none. His Royal Highness and I will size each other up and part ways amicably if the sparks don’t fly.”

  “If he doesn’t pan out, I have lots of customers who are interested in dating you.”

  “And why haven’t you mentioned them before?”

  “My bad,” Barb apologized. “You don’t strike me as the type of guy who enjoys hooking up.”

  “I don’t advertise.”

  “Apparently not,” she replied, thumping me on the head gently. “How short do you want to go?”

  “Half an inch.”

  “You may as well have stayed home.”

  “Come on, Barb. Nothing drastic, just a little clean up.”

  “Are you going to let it hang loose or tie
it back?”

  “What do you think?”

  “Tie it,” she suggested. “Let him undo the ribbon himself. Then he can run his fingers through these gorgeous thick locks and—”

  “Let’s not be getting ahead of ourselves,” I interrupted. “Keep your wild imagination under control for the moment.”

  “You’re no fun at all,” she said.

  “I’m a bag full of laughs in the right situation.”

  “Want me to do your eyebrows?”

  “Do what?”

  “Trim, pluck, or wax maybe?”

  “None of the above.”

  “They make you look fierce.”

  “Good.”

  “Are you planning to court him or scare him into submission?”

  I leered at her through the mirror we were both staring at and waggled the culprits. “Wouldn’t you like to be a wee bug on that wall?”

  “I’d pay to watch.”

  “You’re a depraved woman.”

  “Said the man who’s putting himself on the auction block.”

  “No one is paying for my services.”

  “Don’t kid yourself, Errol. Once you step foot in the palace, you’re basically selling yourself to that family.”

  “I’m going of my own volition and can walk out just as easily.”

  “God, I hope you know what you’re doing.”

  “Let’s hope they do.”

  Chapter Five

  SEBASTIAN

  I studied my reflection in the full-length mirror and was pleased. I’d gone full retro, choosing the Phantom of the Opera as my theme. The black suit and cape highlighted my blond hair to perfection, and the half mask accentuated my full lips. At my request, the tailor had paid special attention to my pants, which were tight enough to show off the goods, but not to the point where they’d rip if I bent over. He must have used spandex or some other stretchy fabric because they were extremely comfortable. Mama would probably have a fit, calling it unseemly, but I had no more fucks left to give. This extravaganza had been her idea, and if I wanted to dress like a rent boy, albeit operatic, then she’d have to bite her tongue.