Bad for the Billionaires: A Bad Boy Billionaire Bundle

by Penelope Bloom

  Calian doesn’t wait for me to gawk though, and before I know it, we’re stepping through two huge doors as Calian nods with familiarity to dozens of layers of security that watch us pass, deadly weapons strapped to their hips.

  Inside, we’re immediately approached by three women in brown, surprisingly plain dresses that cover them from neck to toes. “Come with us,” says the woman in the center of the group. She has brown hair and big, eager eyes and a kind face. “I’m Marcella,” she says, “this is Kadene.” She nods to the woman at her left, who has black hair and mousy features. “And this is Niera,” she says, nodding to the woman at her right, her red hair is tied into a beautiful braid. Niera keeps her eyes on the floor as she curtsies to me.

  “We are yours, and we have a lot of work to do,” says Kadene. She reaches out, touching my clothes and making a distasteful but sympathetic face. “When we’re done with you, the Prince will not be able to keep his hands off!”

  “Mine?” I ask. “I’m sorry--I don’t understand.”

  “We’re your servants,” says Marcella. “We’ll take care of your every need and desire”

  I frown. “Servants? Like slaves?”

  Based on the body language of the three women, I realize I’ve just said something wrong.

  “Please, I don’t mean offense. It’s just… Where I come from, people don’t have servants anymore.”

  Marcella straightens her dress. “You do not need to apologize, princess. As I said, we are yours.”

  I know I’ve made a terrible first impression, but I’m given no chance to smooth it over when the group of women surround me like butterflies, whisking me away and through the twisting hallways of the palace, up several flights of stairs, and finally up a spiral staircase that must lead to one of the tops of the towers I saw from outside. The stairs take us into a huge, open room. It’s circular and the walls are lined with windows that give a breathtaking view of the city below and the untouched hills beyond. The furniture is modern but with a touch of old world charm, which seems to be the trend here.

  Once they have me upstairs, the three women circle me, fussing over my clothes for a few moments before they take the liberty of starting to pull at my dress and shoes, undressing me.

  “W-wait,” I say quickly. “I can change myself.”

  “Nonsense,” says Kadene. She has a bossy voice and even bossier hands, which are not shy about yanking the zipper open and tugging my dress down.

  “Easy, Kadene. The princess is still adjusting to her new life” says Marcella, who moves in front of me and grips my shoulders gently, locking her big eyes on mine. “I know this is a lot to take in right now, but you must realize how fortunate you are. Every woman in the city would kill to be in your position right now. To be wed to Prince Titus?” she asks, looking to Kadene and Niera, who smirk suggestively back at her. “That is something to envy.”

  I smile a very confused, very overwhelmed smile. While I’m glad it seems like they’ve put what I said downstairs behind them, it’s strange that they know more about the man I’m supposed to marry than I do.

  “I prefer Roark,” says Kadene.

  “Kadene!” whispers Niera, who subtly kicks at Kadene’s leg. When the attention shifts to the shy woman, she tugs on her red hair self-consciously, looking away.

  “What?” asks Kadene. “I just prefer dark hair on a man. And Roark has something about him. Like he’s dangerous. It’s sexy.”

  Dark hair… So that means Prince Titus doesn’t have dark hair. If the two men I saw at the restaurant were the Prince I’m betrothed to and his older brother, that means Titus was the blonde one, the cold one. I shouldn’t fixate on that. Of all the things going through my mind right now, the last thing I need to be doing is trying to figure out what a man is like by dissecting my first impression of him.

  “And Titus isn’t dangerous?” asks Marcella, who seems to be so absorbed in her conversation that she has forgotten to take it slow with me. She reaches and unhooks my bra unceremoniously.

  I let out a noise like a mouse that has just been stepped on, scrambling to cover my breasts, but the women hardly notice. Niera is already browsing a closet by the stairs full of clothes that glimmer like they are made of stars.

  “Oh don’t fuss,” says Kadene. “We’ve seen tits before. And hey, these are very nice. Titus will be pleased.”

  I grip myself tighter. Trying to take a step back but I have nowhere to go. I know these women mean well, but the sudden attention is as overwhelming as being tossed into a pool of ice water for me. It’s like my brain is freezing under the scrutiny, and I can do nothing but sit through it while my thoughts play catch up.

  “Titus is a national champion in the dueling circles,” says Marcella, resuming the conversation as if nothing interrupted it.]

  “Only because Roark doesn’t waste his time with competitions,” snaps Kadene, who tugs on my hair a little too hard as she speaks, ripping the pins I had in place free.

  “I don’t think the Princess wants to hear this argument,” says Niera quietly.

  Marcella huffs. “It’s good that she knows what people are saying about the princes. She has a lifetime of gossip to catch up on, after all.”

  “A little privacy would be--” I start.

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” snaps Marcella. “Now give me that dress. Yes, yes,” she says irritably when Niera makes a confused gesture toward a gray dress with flecks of reflective white in the fabric. “Bring it here.”

  “I need my bra,” I say, feeling weak and exposed as I stand between the three women in nothing but my panties--my panties that have little Hello Kitties on them, of all things.

  “With breasts like these,” says Marcella, who makes me gasp with surprise as she reaches out to prod one of my breasts, “wearing a bra might as well be high treason. No, no. A bra will not do at all.”

  They pull the dress over my head, ushering me in front of a full length mirror seconds later. Kadene is doing something with my hair, but even half a mess, I feel like I’m looking at a stranger. The dress is more provocative than anything I’ve ever worn, and it’s like I’m seeing my body for the first time--a woman’s body, not a silly girl who dresses to stay invisible. The mirror reflects a woman who is dressed to demand attention. I look sexy, but I could never go out in public like this. I can clearly see the points of my nipples through the thin fabric, and everybody within a hundred yards will be able to as well.

  The neckline of the dress plunges below the bottom of my breasts, showing more cleavage than it hides, but the slight puff of shape at the shoulders and the way it flares out past my waist makes me look like some fairytale princess--albeit one who is showing way more boob than Disney would ever allow.

  “Yes,” says Marella, who puts her face beside mine and admires me in the mirror. “This will do for now. We don’t have time to wash you up and get things perfect, but there will be time for that tomorrow. Right now… It’s time for you to meet your future husband.”

  4

  Roark

  Titus stands to the side of the throne room, leaning into a mirror and checking his teeth. He runs a hand through his hair before stepping back to flex, turning fractions of an inch until he’s satisfied with the angle. He practices the grin he only uses when pretty women are around, and nods slightly.

  Two thrones sit at the end of the chamber--one slightly larger and more embellished than the other. My mother, Queen Korinthia, sits in the smaller of the two. I lean into the uncomfortable monstrosity that was my father’s seat. He always did worry more about appearing impressive than being practical. But the discomfort of the throne is nothing next to watching my preening brother, who my mother admires with a smile.

  My mother never doted on me like she did with my brother and my father was no different. I’ve been like an outsider in my own family for as long as I can remember. Maybe I lack the thirst for power and approval that drives them through every minute of the day, or maybe my mind just isn’t
dim enough to be satisfied with the idea of ruling. What man in his right mind would strive to rule? What position or career is more anemic than a king? Power? No. A king offers the illusion of power, the opportunity to grow soft and fat while he bids others to do as he wishes.

  My claim to the throne hangs over me like a curse, and were it not for my brother’s obvious desire to have it, I would gladly give it away. As much as I may loathe the idea of ruling, I can’t let the city fall into Titus’ hands. He would either lead it to ruin through carelessness, hubris, or out of spite, or even a combination of all three.

  “Dear, stop fidgeting with your hair,” says my mother.

  Titus straightens a little, pulling his hand away from his head. “Sorry, mother.”

  “Roark,” says my mother, who speaks to some point a few feet in front of my head instead of to me. “You don’t need to bother yourself with this. Why don’t you retire for the evening? Get some rest in your chambers.”

  I say nothing, staring forward, fixating my eyes on the doors where she will be entering the room at any moment. Elizabeth. She is a pretty little thing. Of that, there’s no question. Over the years, I’ve made a few of the journeys alongside my brother to the outside. I’ve seen snapshots of her life and I’ve seen enough to know she lives a miserable existence. Her family keeps the truth about who she is hidden out of jealousy, and they’ve mistreated her for something she didn’t even know about since she was a child. Now she probably thinks she has received the first bit of good news in her entire life, except she’s about to find out she has been destined to marry a monster her whole life.

  A monster… But who am I to call Titus a monster? He has killed men before, but he kills in the way most powerful men do. He kills for pride or for duty or even boredom. Titus has never killed to feed a hunger in his soul. He has never killed because something dark within him threatened to take control and do much worse if he didn’t. He’s not the one living a lie--pretending to be normal while something hideous lurks within him.

  No. There is only one true monster in the Burkewood family. Me.

  However much I may pity this young woman for being bound to my brother, I should pity her more if it had been me.

  The doors swing open with a reverberating bang. A team of three stylists sweeps through the opening, followed closely behind by Elizabeth, who is also followed by Calian. The group surrounds her like flitting birds, making small touch ups to her appearance as she walks.

  I watch her approach, noticing the way her eyes dart over the details in the room but can’t seem to stop flitting between Titus and I at first, and by the time she has reached the steps to the raised dais where the thrones and Titus wait, she can’t seem to take her eyes away from me.

  She had better be careful where her eyes wander. My brother is a jealous man, and if he even thinks she prefers me over him, her future is going to be a much, much darker place. Her existence will be more miserable than the one she just left.

  “My lady,” says Titus in a voice full of forced calmness and reserve. He takes her hand, kneeling and kissing it before standing again.

  Seeing Elizabeth in the styles of our kingdom is like seeing her for the first time. She will make the women of the royal court buzz with jealous chatter, and they will likely try to ostracize her before they even get to know her. They will dye her dark hair blonde soon to show her true royal heritage status, and her full head of blonde will also draw the ire of every eligible woman in the palace. Not to mention those perfectly perky nipples and her absolutely mouthwatering tits. Fucking hell. I’ve always thought the Paris of Troy was a fool for starting the Trojan war over Helen, but now I can better understand.

  It’s nonsense though. I can think grand thoughts about what I would do with this woman, but even if she wished my attentions, pursuing her would drive a wedge so squarely in the middle of this city it might fracture the whole thing into a thousand tiny pieces. As the eldest Prince and heir to the throne there isn’t much beyond my right, but my own brother’s bride is one of those few things.

  I watch her curtsey to my brother, feeling all too much like I’m watching a sheep being led to slaughter.

  “It’s nice to meet you,” says Elizabeth. Her voice is meek. Her eyes downcast. She’s overwhelmed. And why shouldn’t she be?

  “They haven’t dyed your hair yet,” says my brother, reaching to lift a strand of her hair.

  Elizabeth flinches at the touch. “N-no. I just got here.”

  Titus laughs, but the sound is a little too forced--a little too high pitched. It’s the way he laughs when he’s losing his temper. “Leave us,” he says, turning sharply so that his back is to her. “And when you bring her before me next time, see to it that she is properly prepared,” he says.

  Elizabeth’s forehead wrinkles as the servants urge her backwards. Our eyes meet for a heartbeat. Run from here, I think. Run from here while you still can, Elizabeth. This place glitters in the light, but look in the shadows and you’ll find the truth. You’ll find monsters far worse than you ever imagined.

  5

  Elizabeth

  I’m half-dragged from the huge reception area, head still spinning. Titus was just as attractive as I remembered from the restaurant. He looked like he could have been the model for a Ken doll or something--strong features, muscles, blonde hair, and a smile that I’m sure gets him what he wants with most women. But when I met his eyes I felt something that made my skin crawl. I can’t explain it, not in a way that makes sense, but it was like looking into the eyes of something dead, something just pretending to be alive.

  And the way he dismissed me because of my hair…

  It was as if he had been presented with some expensive parcel that wasn’t entirely to his liking. There was no recognition in his eyes that he might offend me with his words, as if he was just talking about an object with a flaw.

  I suddenly feel more like a prisoner than a Princess, and I find myself watching carefully as I’m led back to my room, trying to memorize the way back down to the main area of the palace where I can possibly escape.

  Escape though? Am I really thinking of it already? I shouldn’t be so surprised that my mind wanders there. After all, less than three hours ago, I was sitting at dinner with my family. Now it’s like I’ve stepped into some other reality and it’s becoming my reality fast--too fast. When I looked into Prince Titus’ eyes, I saw that he wasn’t a man who would let me go once he had a hold over me. If I stay here any longer, I may never be able to leave.

  The spacious palace seems to close in around me as my thoughts race, as if the walls themselves are listening in to my doubts. How hard could it be to leave, though? They would never expect me to escape, first of all. And if I smuggled some food with me, I think I might be able to hike the distance back to the tunnel, and then I could risk hitchhiking. I could even try making a phone call, but I haven’t seen my phone since I arrived. I could’ve sworn I had it in my bag, but come to think of it, I haven’t seen my bag either.

  “I’m so sorry about that, Princess,” says Marcella as I follow her up the winding staircase to my room. “Prince Titus specifically requested that you be brought to him right away, but dyeing your hair in the customary way would’ve taken nearly an hour. There was no way to have it done in time.”

  “It’s fine,” I say more coldly than I intend. I’ve already dismissed these people, haven’t I? I’ve already written them off because I know there’s no way I’m staying here. There’s no way I’m going to marry that man with the dead eyes and the charming smile. God, how could this dream turn into a nightmare so quickly?

  “I’d just like some rest,” I say once we reach my room.

  The women nod, hurrying to leave me, apparently ready to get away before I decide to snap at them for bringing on Titus’ anger. Blaming them would be stupid, and if I wasn’t so preoccupied, I would’ve taken the time to ease their minds before they left.

  I sigh, sinking down on the edge of my bed. “Y
ou’re still here?” I ask Calian, who stands near the staircase leading up to my room, hands folded in front of him.

  “Is there something you wish to speak about?” asks Calian.

  “I really just need some sleep,” I say.

  Calian says nothing, but his wise eyes linger on me, challenging my lie until the weight of silence forces me to speak. I don’t ask the first question on my mind, instead hoping I can convince him to stop prodding me.

  “Well, I can’t seem to figure out how a hidden kingdom like this would exist outside the view of the modern eye, or why. A city this size surely draws enough power to be noticed, and it must have supplies shipped in, not to mention being visible on Google maps even. So why haven’t I ever heard of it, or any others like it?”

  “Because we have a long standing agreement with the global leaders to stay hidden. It benefits them as well as us, and it has worked this way for centuries. Outsiders do stumble upon us from time to time, and there are methods of handling those cases. Usually they are brought in, most of the time with their entire families are given lands and titles to entice them to stay, or the person disappears--it depends on the kingdom and the king. As for the why, well, the Shrouded Kingdoms hold more power in global politics than all but a handful of countries, which is only possible because they are exempt from the vast majority of global regulations. This allows them to serve as a neutral third party. Everybody wins. But this isn’t what is really most pressing on your mind, is it?”

  “He wasn’t what I expected,” I say finally. “Prince Titus.”

  Calian nods, as if he already knew what was on my mind. “What will you do?” he asks.