Once Upon a Rainbow, Volume One

by Mickie B. Ashling

  An enormous four-poster bed took up center stage in the master bedroom, and my jaw dropped when I saw the size and luxury of the bathroom. There was a sunken tub, large enough to accommodate two grown men, outfitted with massaging water jets, and a glass-enclosed shower stall also designed for two. Dual sinks and a closed off commode to assure privacy was a nice touch. Everything was done in creamy Carrara marble—a favored medium I used for many of my sculptures—with 24-karat gold fixtures.

  Although I came from a humble background, my life had improved exponentially as my fame grew. In recent years, I’d traveled the world, staying at many five-star hotels, but they paled in comparison to these luxurious accommodations.

  Seeing the way Bash lived pulled me up short. The reality of becoming his consort, with all the privileges afforded to the position—and the subsequent duties it would entail—was unnerving. Did I really want to do this? What started out as an experiment, trying to find the perfect man to fill the empty space in my heart, was turning into a defining moment. My life would never be the same again, and any decision I made going forward would have to be discussed with my prince.

  Bash must have sensed my disquiet, because he was by my side within seconds. “What is it? Is there something you need?”

  I shook my head, at a loss for words. How could I explain my feelings without sounding like an ungrateful lout? There was definitely a connection between us. I couldn’t deny that we were compatible in bed, and he seemed eager to please, judging by his generosity with Snow, but I was dismayed by the daunting choices I would be facing in the next few days. The doctor’s examination alone would be a huge invasion of my privacy. I sat down on the edge of the tub and buried my face in my hands.

  Sinking down to his knees, Bash leaned into me. Feeling left out, Snow pawed at my leg with a pitiful whine. When I lifted my head, they were both watching me expectantly.

  I ended up shaking with nervous laughter. “For heaven’s sake, you two are ridiculous.”

  Snow woofed and wagged her tail at my reaction while Bash said, “What can I do to help?”

  I stood and went to wash my hands and face. “I think some dinner and a few shots of that good whiskey will calm my nerves.”

  “Why are you nervous?” Bash asked, looking stricken. “Are you having second thoughts?”

  “Let’s just say I’m a little overwhelmed at the moment.”

  Bash bit his lower lip.

  Putting down the hand towel, I leaned over and kissed his forehead. “I’m not going anywhere, ye ken? I’ve a mild case of the heebie-jeebies.”

  “Okay,” Bash said, exhaling with relief. “Let me run downstairs to make sure my parents know I’m back. Dinner should be ready by the time I return. In the meantime, I’ll have the butler bring you a stiff drink.”

  “That sounds good. Thank you.”

  While Bash was off doing his princely duties, the butler reappeared with my drink and an impromptu bed for Snow.

  “Where would you like me to lay the dog’s bedding, sir?” he asked politely.

  “Near the sofa,” I pointed. “She likes to be close to me. What is your name?”

  “You may call me Charles, sir.”

  “Very well,” I said, reaching for the drink. “Thank you for attending to our needs. You’ve probably never had a houseguest with so much baggage.”

  “Prince Sebastian has never invited anyone to share his quarters before, sir.”

  “How long have you been on staff?”

  “Since the prince was a young boy.”

  “So you know him pretty well?”

  “I would say so,” Charles replied stiffly. “Is there anything else you require?”

  “What’s the prince like when he’s not being so affable?”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Does he have any particular quirks? One thing that usually puts him in a bad mood?”

  Forehead wrinkling, Charles glanced at the door. “I really shouldn’t….”

  “I’m planning to marry him,” I blurted. “It would be nice if I knew what to expect.”

  Charles cleared his throat and gave me a wry smile. “He’s not very good at taking orders.”

  “There’s no need to elaborate,” I replied. “I’ve experienced his bossiness already.”

  “Only when he thinks he’s in the right, mind you,” Charles clarified. “He’ll stand up to anyone who goes against his core beliefs.”

  “Can you give me an example?”

  “The Royal Highnesses have been pushing Prince Sebastian to marry since he was twenty-one, but he resisted. A love match was more important to him than his duty.”

  Huh. That was interesting. Would our arranged date grow into love? In truth, I was halfway there, but he had no way of knowing that. Or was I missing something?

  “Is there anything else, sir?” Charles asked, interrupting my train of thought.

  “Has the prince had many boyfriends?”

  “None in an official capacity, sir.”

  “He’s never had a steady guy?”

  “No, sir.”

  “I thought there was a whole slew of men before me?”

  “You’re mistaken, sir. May I leave?”

  “Aye, thank you.”

  “The dinner tray should be here shortly, sir.”

  “I think I’ll wait for the prince, Charles.”

  “As you wish, sir. Have him ring the kitchen when you’re ready.”

  I nodded, taking another sip of my drink. Staff was always a good source of information, and none better than a butler who was all-knowing when it came to palace shenanigans. I’d been under the mistaken impression that Bash was an inveterate playboy who tossed men aside like last season’s fashion. Learning he was a lot more circumspect was reassuring. I was coming to terms with this new information when Bash returned, beaming happily when he saw me sitting on the sofa with Snow by my feet.

  “Oh, good,” he said when he walked through the door. “You’re still here.”

  “You were expecting otherwise?”

  “I wasn’t sure,” he admitted. “You looked queasy when I last saw you.”

  I waved away his concerns. “Is everything all right with your parents?”

  “Couldn’t be better,” Bash replied. “Are you ready for dinner?”

  Bobbing my head, I told him to pick up the house phone. “Charles says to call when you’re back.”

  Bash grinned. “We must always do what Charles says or get in trouble.”

  “Does he rule the roost?”

  “Mama can’t function without him, and the staff would dissolve into chaos if left on their own.”

  “I’ll bear that in mind.”

  “I thought we could take a walk after dinner, so Snow could take care of business before we retire for the night.”

  “That’s very thoughtful of you, Bash. I was going to slip out on my own.”

  “I’d love to tag along,” Bash said. “There’s a secluded area out back that’ll meet her requirements.”

  Conversation ended when Charles, accompanied by two footmen, wheeled in our dinner. The round table was covered in pristine white linen with a tasteful flower arrangement in the center. When everything was laid out, Charles bade us good night and left. The three-course meal was delicious, as I’d expected, and we ate in companionable silence as the footmen hovered, catering to our every need. Bash was relaxed, accustomed to being waited on, while I was once again reminded that my life, as I knew it, would be forever changed.

  Now that our immediate needs were met, there was no need to rush, and we strolled through the private gardens watching Snow mark her new territory while we talked about our possible future. There were a few things I had to clarify before I could put my doubts aside. With that in mind, I sank down on the first available bench and patted the empty space beside me.

  “Can we talk?” I asked.

  His forehead crinkled with worry. “Is this when you tell me you’re bailing?”
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  “Not at all,” I said gently, pulling him down beside me. I put my arm around his shoulders and drew him closer. “This evening has far exceeded my expectations.”

  “Mine as well,” he agreed. “I couldn’t be more pleased.”

  “And since we’ve been frank from the start, I want to get a few things out there so you’re not blindsided.”

  “All right,” he responded warily.

  “I’ve never been married, ye ken?”

  “Neither have I,” Bash said immediately.

  “But I’ve had a few relationships in the past whereas you haven’t.”

  “Says who?”

  “Charles.”

  “He had no right to divulge that information,” Bash said defensively, “What does my past have to do with the present anyway?”

  “Blending two lives isn’t always easy,” I reasoned. “I need your assurance that my role as your consort won’t interfere with my career.”

  “I would never ask you to give up your art for me.”

  “Can you give me a general idea of your expectations?”

  “As the next in line to the throne, I’m obligated to attend daily meetings with my father and his ministers to learn the business of running this country. There’s no need for you to be a part of that. There are a few charities I endorse, which I hope you’ll support, and I would expect you to escort me to any social events. Likewise, if there’s anything you’d like me to do to promote your art, feel free to ask. I’m hoping we can share most of our meals, unless something comes up, but we can discuss our daily schedule at breakfast each morning. Oh, and last but not least,” Bash added. “No out-of-town trips without me.”

  “You’d be willing to travel for my work?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Good to know,” I said, nodding. “What about the child?”

  “Once the pregnancy is over, you won’t be required for anything else. The nannies will handle all of the unpleasant business of being a dad: diaper changes, midnight feedings, and pram duty.”

  “What if I want to be a part of the unpleasantness? I’m not having my child raised by a third party.”

  “We can certainly talk about that,” Bash said cautiously. “I was raised by my nanny and didn’t turn out too bad.”

  “True enough,” I acknowledged, “but I’d like to be more than a father figure.”

  “I agree in principle,” Bash said. “It’s the details we’ll have to work out, and we can’t do that until the child is born.”

  “But you have no objection to becoming a hands-on dad?”

  “I might balk at the diaper changing,” he said stiffly.

  “It’s all or nothing,” I insisted, laughing at the look of horror on his face.

  “You drive a hard bargain, Errol Maitland.”

  Chapter Nine

  SEBASTIAN

  Did he seriously expect me to behave like a regular dad? I tried to recall one moment in time when Mama or Papa had put their royal status aside to tackle my daily needs and came up short. This lack of parental bonding hadn’t turned me into a sociopath, so why on earth would Errol choose to get involved in the nitty-gritty of child-rearing? I could only surmise it had to do with his own upbringing and not mine. But that was beside the point. I was prepared to compromise, and if Errol put so much importance on these mundane tasks, I would learn how to change a fucking diaper—and do a damn fine job—come what may.

  Errol was calmer after our exchange in the garden. For one scary moment, I was sure he’d grab Snow and tell me this was all a mistake—a cosmic joke initiated by my parents in which I was a willing accomplice—but he’d surprised me with his honesty. He could have kept his misgivings to himself, or simply catered to my every whim, standard behavior more common in my world, but he wasn’t going down that path. His genuine lack of artifice and ability to exchange views on a wide assortment of subjects made me fall that much harder.

  Now it was time to crush the magic pebble. If Errol spent a miserable night on my hand-knotted, double-sided, outrageously expensive, bespoke mattress, then Mama and Papa would be satisfied, and we’d move on to the last and final phase of this courtship. Errol would be examined by the royal physicians to make sure our blood types were compatible, so his uterus wouldn’t reject the implanted embryo.

  Having the option to engineer our future family had only been possible in the last half century. For some inexplicable reason—and the debate continued to rage as to the how and why this was happening so frequently—most men were being born intersex. They presented as male—with a functioning scrotum and penis—while also harboring a uterus and one or two dormant ovaries. This phenomenon had allowed scientists to expand their research on human reproduction. Male pregnancies were no longer an anomaly, but they didn’t occur naturally. Ovaries had to be kick-started with drugs, and the eggs were harvested laparoscopically since most men didn’t have vaginas. Getting pregnant without scientific help was impossible; however, once a few important steps were accomplished in vitro, the rest of it proceeded as normal. A caesarian section was performed at the end of gestation and the dynasty was assured.

  When Errol had answered the questionnaire, he’d agreed—pending medical consultations—to carry our child. I would have done it if pressed, since I did have the necessary parts, but my parents reminded me in no uncertain terms that a consort was replaceable while a prince wasn’t. They couldn’t crank out another heir if I died in childbirth. For once, I agreed. The good news was the mortality rate had dropped as methods improved, but like anything else involving medicine and doctors, there was an element of risk.

  Being young and fit was a plus, and Errol was the embodiment of good health. And if that didn’t convince him to take on the Herculean task, I wouldn’t hesitate to remind him that I was a spoiled brat and used to my creature comforts. Having to curtail anything I loved for nine long months, from food to social activity, was bound to turn me into a raving bitch. Errol would have to sell several sculptures to buy me something worthy of my sacrifice, and there wasn’t enough bling in the world to compensate for the inconvenience. Judging by our diaper conversation, Errol was far more pragmatic, and I could envision him taking the whole thing in stride. He wouldn’t even need new clothes. All he’d have to do was move the buttons on his kilt, and holding a healthy child in his arms would be the only reward he’d expect. I was so sure of this, I was willing to stake my life on it.

  Buoyantly optimistic, we hung onto each other, stopping occasionally to kiss with abandon. Snow trotted obediently behind us as we headed back upstairs. After getting her settled for the night, we decided a long soak in the tub was in order. I picked up the phone to ask for help when I felt a firm hand on my wrist.

  “What are you doing?” Errol asked, warm breath ghosting over my face.

  “Calling my valet.”

  “Why?”

  “To bring refreshments and start our bath.”

  “I don’t need anyone to turn a tap and neither should you,” he admonished.

  And damn if his scolding didn’t make my dick hard.

  “What about food?” I squeaked. “And some booze to wash it down?”

  “Fruit and cheese would be a verra nice touch,” he replied.

  “Drinks? Do you have a preference?”

  Errol snorted. “Bash, asking a Scot for preferences is a great waste of time.”

  “Silly me,” I murmured. “Whiskey is all you’ll ever require.”

  He winked, and I picked up the palace phone and dialed the number that connected me directly to my valet. After issuing my request, I followed Errol into the bathroom. Our earlier foray had been hurried, and now I watched him strip with growing excitement. His superb physique was reason enough to make nightly baths a ritual, a pleasant way of connecting, and not just in the physical sense. I’d spent many nights soaking in this very tub after a particularly stressful day. The combination of aromatic bath salts, heat, and pulsating water was a godsend, far more ben
eficial than a shower.

  “Are ye planning on joining or watching?”

  Wrenched out of my thoughts by Errol’s strangled query, I discarded my shirt and shimmied out of the impossibly tight pants, noting with satisfaction that I was getting a rise out of my guest. He bit down on his lower lip, and we stood three feet apart, checking each other out. Hungry eyes tracked me from head to toe, lingering when he got to my package. We wet our lips at the exact same time and cracked up at our shared reaction.

  “Come on then,” Errol urged, giving me a hand and helping me down the steps into the churning water.

  Errol gasped when he stepped in and felt the temperature. “Jaysus, Bash. I’m not sure this heat is good for my bollocks. We don’t want the doctors saying my wee swimmers were boiled to death.”

  “It’s no warmer than a regular bath,” I maintained. “Man up and sit down. Eric will be here shortly.”

  Errol sat and cussed at the same time. “Fuck, that’s hot. Who in the hell is Eric?”

  “My valet.”

  “I thought Charles was the guy in charge.”

  “He’s the butler and handles everything palace-related. Eric is in charge of my person.”

  “Your person?” Errol mocked, trying to stifle his laughter. “What exactly do you mean?”

  “For God’s sake,” I huffed. “Eric takes care of my clothes and other intimate stuff.”

  “Like lube and condoms?”

  “Be quiet,” I said, splashing water in his face.

  He hooked his fingers behind my neck and dragged me over to his side of the tub. I ended up sprawled on his chest like a fish out of water. His erection pressed against my stomach, and I squirmed, trying to get more friction against my own cock. His thigh felt like a granite slab, and I used it to my advantage, humping against it frantically.

  “Whoa,” he said, pushing me back. “I was hoping we’d last more than five minutes this time.”

  “You’re being generous,” I retorted. “I’m already on the brink.”