by Frankie Love
“I had to come because my family needed the help. Your father’s dowry was generous. We can’t always have what we want, can we, Hunter?”
Whatever sincerity may have passed across his conscience when he asks me that simple question disappears the moment I hint at wants.
He steps closer to me, and his expression reminds me that he’s used to getting what he desires. His eyes are hooded, dark and needy. As if he’s ready to claim me here on the landing.
“Perhaps we can’t always have what we want, but how about we give ourselves the thing we’re hungering for tonight?”
“Hunter,” I begin, shaking my head. He steps toward me, closing all the space between us. Now there’s nothing but his body inches from mine. Like we’re back in my bedroom. I’m not ready for this. It’s too much, too soon.
It’s too much that I want.
“Oh, come on, Sunshine. Must you be such a—”
“Do you want to finish that sentence, Hunter?”
“Oh, I was going to ask if you must be so coy. I know you’re tempted by the things you've denied yourself. But I’m not forbidding you from anything. In fact, you can have anything you like.”
I’ve never been around a man who unabashedly flirted, who confidently stated what he wanted when he wanted it, who absolutely believed he could get it.
Part of me wants to fight his cavalier approach to me and this arrangement. He isn’t being formal or tight-lipped. I’m a princess, not his village conquest. I need to be treated with dignity.
Right?
Still, my stomach teems with butterflies in response to his direct approach. It feels good to be so thoroughly desired, even though he’s the exact person my father warned me about.
I have no reason to trust him.
Men I’ve known have always gone for girls like my sister Iris. A girl who owns nothing but push-up bras and thongs, a girl who shaved her legs before I ever considered a razor, a girl who applied to be a contestant on the Bachelorette, before my father got word of her casting call and put the kibosh on the entire thing.
The thing is, I’ve never been the girl that people fawn over. Dahlia is young and pretty, Iris is loud and sexy—and me? I’m just … Violet.
“I have a feeling I’m not singular in your mind, Hunter. I get the impression you have a lot of women you use these lines on, and to be perfectly honest, they aren’t the lines I want. I’m not interested in a man who can sweet-talk his way into a pair of panties.”
Hunter snorts, shaking his head. “And what kind of man do you find appealing, my darling Violet? How might a man get into your panties, exactly?”
I roll my eyes, hating that he doesn’t get offended or standoffish when I refuse him. Instead, it seems to encourage him.
“You want to talk about what kind of men I want?”
“Oh, it’s men now, is it? So you’re looking for more than one man at a time to pleasure you?”
“Oh my word, Hunter. You can’t say that.”
He shakes his head at me. “I don’t know, Violet. I think you need a man who forces you to stop thinking for a moment. Who forces you to give in to the moment at hand.” He’s close to me again, looking at my mouth as if he’s memorizing it.
I know everything about Hunter should turn me off. Then he tells me I need a man who can stop me from thinking, and I remember the kiss in the bedroom. I remember how I forgot, and how the forgetting felt so damn good.
I tilt my chin toward him again, my eyes fluttering closed, and I breathe in his manly scent once more, the pine and sap and whiskey and leather.
Before our mouths connect, a bell rings and a footman appears.
“Excuse me, Prince and Princess. Dinner is served.”
The footman walks away, and I step back. I bite my lip, my core quivering and my heart beating fast. I’m realizing that I don’t need Hunter to kiss me in order for me to escape.
His warm breath close to my skin is more than enough to make me lose all my senses.
8
Dinner is fine, mostly because I’m sitting directly across from Violet, whose perky tits look so fucking hot in that skintight dress.
So much of her is covered in the dark wool that I have to imagine what’s underneath. It isn’t hard—in fact, the only thing that’s hard is my cock underneath the oak table. I swear, it started twitching the moment I sat down.
Dinner is a ridiculous eight-course affair where my father drinks enough merlot for a small village. Violet bats her eyelashes—something she does naturally; this is no coy-lash-extension ploy to get attention—and murmurs her pleases and thank yous when necessary.
Of course I don’t speak, because I’m fucking distracted by Violet’s mouth, by my desire to kiss her. And I’m not exactly ready for my father to see how badly I want the woman he’s chosen for me.
Violet excuses herself to go to bed shortly after the meal, and I retire as well. No use staying up with my father, who pulls out a book on Cressia Tax Code the moment dinner is cleared, and begins reciting some addendums.
And without my woman in my bed, I have to rub one out to the image of Violet down the hall. All eyes are on us because of the wedding, and I’m forced to take care of myself. I can’t exactly call in a chambermaid.
And, oddly, I don’t even want to.
I know Violet’s genuinely tired. She traveled a long way to get here, the time zone is different, and I’m sure she’s suffering badly from jet lag. So I don’t slip through her bedroom door in the middle of the night and seduce her like a fucking lunatic.
Maybe the idea crosses my mind … but I stay in my room. I may be an ass, but I’m not a fucking creeper.
But when I wake in the morning, all I want is to see her face. Last night we looked out the window together at the snow-covered hills, and it seemed like we shared a fucking moment. A moment where we were at least a little bit truthful. I know she has no desire to be here, any more than I wanted to marry.
When I get to the dining room for coffee and eggs, I anticipate seeing Violet’s face, but I’m informed that she’s still sleeping. Then I’m informed that she has plans all day for a dress fitting, and picking out items for our wedding. Jemma explains that if I looked at my itinerary more closely I would know these details about my future bride’s life.
“Can you give me the Cliff’s Notes version of my itinerary?”
“Prince Hunter, you’re going to need to take better care of your agenda if you’re going to be the king one day.”
“Oh, Jemma, don’t give me a hard time about itineraries. Right now I’m playing the part perfectly. I’m agreeing to a marriage, and I’m showing up when and where I’m supposed to. But if Violet is sleeping or trying on dresses or picking out silverware all day, I’m not exactly needed, am I?”
That shuts her up. I watch her walk out of the room, her heels clicking as if she has somewhere important to go. Good. I don’t need anyone micromanaging my motherfucking day. I’m anxious as hell to get out of the castle; pushing off from the breakfast table, I go to find my father. He’s in his office, door open, and I rap my knuckles on it to get his attention.
“Just who I wanted to see.” Father beams, closing the book he’s been reading. “That Violet is quite a beauty, isn’t she?”
I tense my jaw, not wanting to agree, though my perpetually stiff cock seems to think otherwise. That woman is a walking hard-on, and I haven’t even seen her today.
“Would you like to join me for a meeting with my tax advisors? I know you don’t like that sort of thing, but maybe you could start wrapping your head around the family business.” Father waves his hand over the room, not seeming to realize that if I spend any more time in this room I will die of boredom. My legs are aching to stretch, to get outside.
“I was actually thinking of leaving for the day,” I tell him.
“Leaving when your bride is here? Hunter, you need to spend time with her, get to know her. There’s a photo shoot happening the day before the wedding,
I don’t want anyone to question the validity of your love. It needs to appear genuine.”
“Really, Father? You don’t want someone to question my love for a woman I hadn’t met until yesterday? You don’t want anyone to question whether or not I love a woman I never wanted to marry?”
“Oh, don’t give me such a hard time, Hunter. I’m doing my best here. Are you?”
“Are you kidding me? I am certainly doing my best. I’m here, now. I could be gone.”
“Gone, and without a penny. Gone without a crown.”
My blood is boiling, and I hate the way he tosses these statements in my face as if I’m a child. “Last night I wore a hideous suit for you. I smiled and sat at meal with you, for you. I certainly would’ve preferred to sit in front of the fireplace in my own cabin—”
“Your cabin? Might I remind you that is a royal home? Property of the royal family.”
“I am the royal family.”
“Perhaps you might start acting it. You’re certainly not acting like a prince on the eve of his wedding—”
“Not the eve of my wedding, Father. That’s still not for, what, five more days? What do you need me here for?”
“This is the royal palace. You’re needed here because your face—”
“Father, I’m not the king. I’m not needed here until you die. So until then, I don’t understand why I can’t spend the day doing what I please.”
“What you please? You mean you want to go squander the day in the forest, like a little boy? You want to go make a fire in your cabin, roast rabbit, and whittle a stick? That’s what you want? There are already enough rumors circulating about you not wanting to be the Prince; we don’t need talk about you leaving the Palace the week before your wedding.”
I’m so fucking pissed. I’ve had this conversation with my father a hundred times before. He doesn’t understand me, and he never will, because he doesn’t even try. That’s why I don’t want to work and live and breathe this stifling castle air. I want to be outdoors.
And I need to go there now.
“I’ll be back in one day’s time. Tell Violet I’ll see her then.”
“Don’t you even think about leaving. You cannot have your cake and eat it, too.”
“Oh, Father, you do not need to explain that to me. I know what I can and cannot have to eat. You think I want this marriage? You think I want this role? Fuck that. I don’t want to be the goddamned king at all.”
“You say things that you know will hurt me. You are my only child. You are my beloved wife’s son. You are the heir.”
“But you’re giving me a kingdom I don’t want.”
The room is silent as he takes in the truest thing I’ve said in a long time. Weight is lifted from my shoulders, from finally being completely honest.
Eventually, he speaks, his voice low and gravelly. “You should go for two days, Hunter, and think about what you are saying. You don’t want to be king—but do you know what that actually means for you, for me, for the people of Cressia?” My father shakes his head and pounds his fist upon his desk.
I understand why. This conversation is not something light. It’s not something easy. It’s something that will change the course of our country forever.
“You can go, but you must take Violet with you,” Father says, surprising me. “Take her with you, and see if she might be able to knock some sense into your brain about what you would be giving up if you gave up your title.”
“You want me to take Violet, a woman I barely know, into the woods?” I shake my head, wondering what Violet would think about me whisking her away. She made it clear, the moment she suggested I get a mistress, that she doesn’t want to be with me.
But then we kissed. And I saw the way her body ached for mine.
There are worse things than taking a beautiful woman to the woods.
“Take Violet,” he repeats.
“And that’s what you want, father? You want sense knocked into me?”
“Hunter, I want more than sense knocked into you. I want you to want this. I want you to want your legacy.”
We’re back to the old wanting game.
Can any man have what he wants? My father wants me to be married to a woman I barely know, with the crown on my head and a title I never asked for chained around my neck.
It’s the same for Violet, though, I realize. And I want to take her with me. Right now, she might be the only woman on earth who actually understands how I feel.
“All right, I’ll take her with me, but not for you. For her.”
Before I can go find her, however, a castle guardsman enters the study, his face filled with concern.
“Prince Hunter, come quick.”
9
In the morning, there are two women pulling back my canopied bed curtains and opening the drapes. The morning sun floods the room.
“Rise and shine, Princess,” Mattie tells me. She helped me to bed last night—because apparently, as a princess in this country, I need to have help in and out of bed.
We did not have this in Elexia.
Mostly because in Elexia we had zero staff, because of the whole bankruptcy thing. I’m reminded once again how my father’s lack of thriftiness landed me here, marrying a man I don’t want.
What would it have been like to live all of my days as a spinster in the castle, watching my cousin lead the country? I would have still been able to help feed the poor and help at the hospital, pitching in wherever I could. I might not have led Elexia, but I could have helped.
However, that wasn’t an option. Elexia needed money. I was a bride who could be sold.
And now I’m in this foreign land with this cold, cold air and these strange women who are guiding me to a bathroom where they’ve already drawn a steaming bath of water in a copper tub. My hair is knotted on the top of my head to stay dry.
I look around at the array of bath salts and creams. The bathroom is filled with top of the line make-up and brushes.
This entire palace is abundant, so elegant and refined. At dinner last night, I swear I nearly dropped my fork fourteen times because every dish was more surprisingly decadent than the last. It was if I’d never seen a gourmet meal in my life.
But, to be honest, I had never seen anything like what they serve here.
In Elexia we eat fresh fruit platters and skewered fish, rice and grains. It’s simple food, but lovely, food from our land. But this is a new land and the foods are completely different. Creamy potatoes. Wild boar steaks. Boiled cabbage. Heavy beer and dark red wine in goblets. I sat for seven courses—wait, it may have been eight courses.
Eight courses where I listened to a king ramble on and on and on about nothing I can even remember. I think he’s one of those men who gets excited about the least interesting things. By the end I was exhausted—but, to be frank, I was feigning my sleepiness. Mostly because I was completely spun up about Hunter.
About our second moment alone.
When our mouths were once again inches from one another.
I think he would have kissed me again, if that footman hadn’t arrived. I don’t know if I’m glad he came or angry he did. Did I want to be kissed?
In the light of the morning, it seems as if I did. I step into the steaming water, let my body relax in the hot bath. Mattie begins to wash my hair. I’m not embarrassed to be nude in front of these women who are scrubbing my hair and my body.
I don’t get nervous about things like this, because I grew up with two sisters who seem to know every square inch of my skin. We shared rooms and we shared clothes and we shared our dreams. And now we’re scattered across the world. Or at least, we will be. Iris and Dalia are still at home in Elexia.
And they will be at home until I marry Prince Hunter.
Once I finish the bath, I’m dried off and whisked back into the bedroom, where half a dozen people are roaming my chamber apparently preparing me for my royal wedding gown fitting.
But before I can even introduce myself, I
hear shouts from the courtyard. Running to the window, I watch as Hunter races outside.
I cinch the belt of my robe tighter around my waist and open the heavy windowpane. A gust of icy air rushes toward me.
“Stand back from the window, Princess,” Mattie says.
I wave her off, and look at the scene unfolding below. I see Prince Hunter running to a fallen animal crying in pain in the snow. There’s a loud mewing from the creature, its pain echoing in the frosty morning air.
Hunter leans down to what appears to be a gaillia like the one he identified for me last night. It’s caught in a fallen tree bough.
“Lift the branch,” Hunter calls to the guardsmen.
They begin dragging the log off the gaillia’s body at his instruction.
“It’s bad,” Hunter shouts. His hands reach down to the animal, smoothing its fur as it cries in pain. With the tree moved, I can see that the white snow is covered in blood, and it’s obvious the animal has been crushed by the weight.
I cover my mouth. The scene is so sad, so unexpected. Hunter is instructing the men, and soon an all-terrain vehicle arrives, a stretcher is pulled from the rig, and the gaillia is lifted onto it. The animal has stopped crying out, and the whimpers have mellowed to nothing.
Mattie sighs behind me as we all look out the window, witnessing this animal’s last breaths.
Hunter kneels beside the creature, and I watch him cut off a tracking device. He stuffs it in his pocket, then runs his hand over his jaw. He pats the animal fondly before the vehicle drives away.
He looks up to the sky, and I try to imagine this playboy of a prince offering up a silent prayer on that creature’s behalf—the two halves of him intersecting in a way I don’t understand.
As he looks up, his eyes find mine. I lift my hand, weakly waving to him. Surprising myself, I press my hand to my lips, offering him the softest of kisses.
He nods tensely, then turns and walks back into the castle.
I turn to the people waiting on me for the dress fitting, attempting to find a footing in this moment.