The Royal Scepter_A Royal Baby Romance

by Cherise West

  “Your… your majesty…” Windham swallows. “…You are in line to be king. And so your decrees are law. Let me take you back to court,” Windham nods deferentially. “I’m just begging that, in case the royal court comes after me for treason, for protecting and aiding yourself and Erica in this highly illegal but certainly very loving courtship—”

  “Do you think I’d throw you under the wheels of my carriage, Windham?” I ask with a smirk. He smiles back.

  “Of course not, your majesty.”

  Estefan

  “…And that’s why we need to move, right now, in taking care of this matter - making sure that he is bound by the laws of this court, and that the common woman he’s courting be taken into custody and dealt with sufficiently,” are the first words I hear shouted to the gathered crowd of royal court members - dukes and duchesses, lords and ladies from the outlying lands of Velune - spoken with venom from Louella’s hissing mouth, standing before the grand assembly to make her arguments. Of course, the Duke of Palazza - Erica’s filthy cheating ex, and a man always conscious of leaping up the social ladder as fast as he can through manipulations - stands next to her at the podium before a crowd assembled on cushioned pews trimmed in ornate gold and jewels, stained-glass windows displaying kings of the past glinting colorful light on those gathered as the sun streams in.

  “Brothers and sisters, our king lies dead,” the Duke rumbles as he stands at Louella’s side, words full of bluster. “We need leadership now. The only option we have, with the royal family in tatters as it is, is to temporarily lend power to the only woman the prince is known to have trusted,” he exclaims. “Princess Louella deserves a place here, among all of us.”

  “I trusted her?” I cry out, pushing through the shadowed wings of the assembly chamber, Erica and Windham at my side. Gasps surge through the gallery, shocked eyes falling onto me. Though my royal garb is a little dirty after a few weeks collecting dust at Erica’s, I wear it with pride, gleaming-white in the sun. “In point of fact, your dukeship, I broke off our engagement months past specifically because I couldn’t trust her, and didn’t love her. These things matter a lot when one is responsible for the health and wealth of a nation, something you certainly would know nothing about,” I skewer him. Erica smiles, wearing her beautiful ruby-onyx dress - I bought her another today, just so we could show her off to the court. Perfect, young, beautiful - the ideal princess, and an even more ideal queen.

  “You bastard!” Louella shrilly squeaks, finger pointed accusing at me. “Guards! Why aren’t these two being arrested?! And Windham, you traitorous bastard!” she cries. The guards flanking the chamber entrances move slowly, hesitantly towards us, angling to throw irons on to Erica’s wrists. When I stand firmly in front of her, they freeze in their boots. “Well? What are you all waiting for?!”

  “Louella, you don’t run this kingdom. To be perfectly blunt - I do,” I command, smirkingly satisfied. “I loved my father dearly. You only looked to our wealth, and our power. You saw stars for you and your family. If anyone should be guilty of treason - it’s you, trying to take the throne as my father lay dying,” I howl. The gallery gasps and the raucous noise of arguments between everyone in the room explodes.

  “Why are you even speaking? What business do you think you have in this chamber? You abandoned the king in his hour of need, to shack up with a commoner!” The Duke hisses.

  “A commoner you know well, Duke - you cheated on her, after all,” I exclaim, the crowd hissing in hate. “And now, spurned by her as she’s fallen for me, just as I have for her - you angle to take power to spite her, and me, her new man.” Erica grabs my arm, quietly cheering me on with the grin on her face. “And if you knew her as well as I do, you’d know she’s more deserving of being called a princess - or queen of Velune - than Louella ever could.” My suggestion of Erica - a common merchant, being queen - causes gasps and howls of protest to echo through the gallery.

  “How dare you suggest a woman like that could be queen!” Louella shrieks, to a chorus of grunts in agreement.

  “She’s more deserving of the title than you would ever be!” That’s not me speaking, though it’s precisely what I wanted to say. Surprised, my head slowly turns to Windham - the quiet and contemplative, and nervous guard - exclaiming loudly the thought in my head. He immediately winces, fearfully expecting the retribution coming his way. Arguments rage wild and loud across the entire gallery, with dukes and lords and viziers ready to rip one another’s heads off, when the royal record-keeper approaches the podium. A short, wizened old man, he grumpily shoves both the Duke and Louella aside, and cries out over the furor with his throaty and commanding rasp of a voice.

  “Quiet! There will be ORDER in the hall!” he commands. A keeper of royal histories, rules and facts about every royal family and aristocrat across all the land, his voice carries a certain level of respect - even among these powerful people. The riot calms to a dull roar as he fidgets with his books and scrolls. I think to speak to him, to do it now - change the law, make my decree, and have Louella and the Duke of Palazza removed immediately; end this all now, but I wait - I wait to hear what it is he has to say.

  “Thank you,” he grunts as the sea of voices calms. “I have an official statement to make.”

  “No! Not yet! Not now!” Louella shouts, her voice full of bloody murder as she tries to rush the podium. The record-keeper’s ancient gaze burns through her with how full of hate it is; she freezes in place, coughing as the guards step close to her, ready to throw her into cuffs if she interrupts again.

  “Thank you, Princess Louella, for cooperating,” he says coldly. “Now. My official statement. As has been rumored and spoken of in the papers and among the court - I regret to say that, officially, the King of Velune passed away in his sleep last evening, after a long period of suffering and struggle against disease. A proud servant of the people of Velune for many years, he wished only the best for the future of our kingdom.” Erica clings tight to me, holding my hand, squeezing it until our knuckles are white in sympathy; I lean over to kiss her, a gesture that sends quiet shock through the gallery. “Before his death,” the record-keeper continues, “his highness made it clear to the record-keeper and our office that it was his wish that Prince Estefan succeed him to the throne of Velune. A formal coronation ceremony will take place at some point in time this week, when the records office sets a date and time, but until then, Prince Estefan’s orders are to carry the full force of the King of Velune, and he is to be addressed and respected as such. Prince Estefan,” the grumpy, mottled old man turns to me, his long mustache hanging from the sides of his lips, “have you any statement you wish to make as your first decree to your new subjects?” I take a deep breath. Need to make this good.

  “Lords and ladies, dukes and duchesses, honored guests gathered here on the day of the passing of Velune’s greatest kingdom, I apologize for my absence from royal affairs for the prior few weeks. I had life issues that needed to be sorted - and, thankfully, they’ve been resolved just in time to deal with the issue of my father’s death,” I begin, my voice as professional as I can manage. “As king, I look forward to ruling justly, fairly, smartly - and in the best interest of Velune, and of my family line. And to that effect,” I take a deep breath, grasping Erica’s wrist gently, coaxing her next to me. “I’m presenting to Velune its next queen, and the woman bearing my child - Queen Erica.” Erica blinks, swallowing hard. An explosion of protest surges through the gallery; I look to the royal record-keeper, who gives me a simple smile and a nod.

  “You can’t! You CAN’T!” Louella shrieks, stomping in her heels. “She’s NOT ROYALTY!”

  “You wouldn’t dare besmirch Velune like this! I challenge you!” the Duke shouts, to a chorus of cheers and howls.

  “Challenge me to what? Haven’t I knocked you out once already, your worship?” I growl snidely.

  “How dare you! I’ll kill you myself!” the Duke of Palazza charges; he’s all talk and fury, his fac
e practically blue from all the shouting. He charges with his hand cupped against his belt - reaching for his dagger. I push myself between Erica and the Duke, protecting her with a single punch square to his jaw. His head reels back and he staggers, grunting. I catch a glimpse of his expression - stupefied, knocked completely silly, before he falls flat onto his ass to a wave of cheers and laughs from the gallery. I smirk; Erica cheers me on from behind.

  “It’ll never get old, seeing you do that,” she sighs dreamily into my ear.

  “Guards, have this man arrested, please,” the record-keeper croaks from behind us. The guardsmen hesitate, before I give them a stern glare, bringing them both scrambling to hoist the Duke up to his feet and get him, still loopy from the punch, out of the assembly chamber.

  “You can’t do this! It isn’t FAIR!” Louella approaches, full of fire and fury, but Erica intercepts her angry strides, giving her a slap that slips her hard and knocks her tiara right off her royal, bitchy little head. Louella yelps, tripping on her heels and falling onto her face, the crowd cheering and hollering at the display.

  “I’d like to avoid international incidents, and so instead of having you escorted out, I’ll kindly ask you to leave,” the grizzled record-keeper croaks to Louella, who indignantly staggers to her feet and storms out screaming.

  “You’ll not get away with this! I SWEAR!!” her voice echoes through the halls. The rabble assembled in front of me churns restlessly.

  “Royal record-keeper, I’d like you to take note of my first decree, please, striking down the law,” I instruct. He looks at me sideways.

  “What law is that, your majesty?” he asks.

  “…The law that prevents me from having a child and marrying this woman, Erica,” I explain, confused by his pedantry.

  “…Your majesty, what law prevents you from marrying her?” he asks, lofting a brow.

  “Record-keeper, no offense, but did you forget your coffee this morning? The law that prohibits love and marriage between royalty and a common woman,” I chuckle.

  “Your majesty, I’d be happy to strike down any law you wish, but,” he croaks, “I’m not certain why you think such law prohibits you from marrying Erica. She has royal blood, after all.” I blink, as does Erica, as flabbergasted as I am.

  “Wh… what are you trying to say, record-keeper?” I stammer.

  “Do you have wax in your ears, boy?” he sneers. “Erica is your name, yes? Adoptive daughter of Arno Mosaf?”

  “A… adopted daughter?” Erica asks, confused.

  “You didn’t know you were adopted?” The record-keeper snorts. “Poorly-kept records, pah. Arno Mosaf adopted you from his distant third cousin - Mayla of Petuken, estranged daughter of the former king of Petra.”

  “And that makes Erica…” I swallow.

  “She is a princess,” the record-keeper scoffs. “I had wondered just why you were making such a show of this.”

  “A show of… h-how did you know Erica?” I stammer, still shellshocked by the revelation.

  “You think no one watches you and your affairs, fool? The record-keeping office knows everything,” he chortles ominously.

  “I’m… I’m a princess,” Erica states, utterly shocked.

  “So all of this was… I guess, unnecessary,” I shrug, “though I’m… glad it happened. Princess or no. You’re what I want forever - the woman I want to bear my children, Erica,” I embrace her tightly, tears of joy streaming down her cheeks.

  “There’s a lot to do…” she whispers. “I had no idea I was adopted… I have a lot of talking to do… to Kat, to my… I guess, my distant family…”

  “And there’s much for me to do - administer the kingdom, handle official matters… spend my nights next to you,” I croon lewdly into her ear, bringing a shiver to her spine.

  “Might I give a humble suggestion on a first step to take, your majesty?” the royal record-keeper offers.

  “What’s that?” I ask.

  “Setting a wedding date, hmm? Weddings are a lot of work, and I’m certain you and Queen Erica want it to be the grandest reception Velune has yet seen, don’t you?” he asks with a crooked old grin.

  “Good idea,” I nod.

  Queen Erica

  “Shh! Keep quiet,” I demand, finger to my lips. The lamp extinguished and night falling over us, Estefan threatens to turn the world upside-down - by waking up our son just as I’ve managed to rock him peacefully to sleep!

  “Sorry!” he whispers, clattering into the nursery. Even the nurseries in the castle are fit for a king - and a queen, like me. Estefan was right - the people wailed in joy at our wedding, filling the streets to watch the young new king take his queen. By then the baby bump had started to grow - and a few months later, we had the joy of our lives arrive - the royal heir, the perfect son that Estefan and I had dreamed of. It’s amazing what a year can do to two lost souls like we had been.

  “He just drifted away,” I murmur, looking down at our son, swaddled in a blanket lined with golden fabric. Estefan sighs happily, watching little Aedan drifting into a soft, cottony dream-land. “Don’t want to wake him up.”

  “Why not? He wakes us up all the time already,” Estefan teases with a wink.

  “As if we sleep all that much when we’re together anyway,” I purr, leaning over for a passionate kiss against his inviting lips.

  “What do you want out me? I warned you,” he growls dirty into my ear, rocking along with Aedan and I, “I had a whole lifetime of lust to take out on that sexy young body of yours… my Queen.”

  “I’ll never get used to hearing that,” I sigh, both wistful and unsure. Being queen leaves me responsible for so much - some queens may be content to sit on the throne, gorge themselves one exotic sweets and receive royal guests, but Estefan and I are equals in our rulership - when he goes abroad to meet with foreign kingdoms, I rule in his place, and my decrees carry the same strength as his among the royal court. They’ve come to accept and respect - and dare I say, even love me.

  “You should try. You deserve the throne, Erica, more than any woman I’ve met in all my life. And I’ve met a lot of princesses. Most of them Louellas,” he scoffs. I gently lay Aedan down into his crib, swaddling his blankets around him as he begins to snooze, sighing in happiness.

  “A lot changed on that day, Estefan… I found out I had a whole new family,” I admit. “Petra has many of its own problems… not to mention all the trouble the royal family gets in to,” I sigh. “My uncle, my aunt, my cousins, their spouses… they mean well, certainly, but I don’t know that they’re cut out for running an entire kingdom.”

  “Are you saying you want to help out in your homeland?” Estefan asks.

  “Velune comes first,” I state firmly, true in my belief. Velune has always - and will always - be my home, and my heart; where I found life, and where I found true love.

  “No, Queen Erica,” Estefan growls, pulling me in for an adoring hug, arms wrapped around my waist. “You come first.”

  “You mean I come before your people?” I joke.

  “Maybe,” he responds, tauntingly. I feel him rolling his hands down my arms, reaching my wrists, pulling them behind me back so he can kiss along my neck. I exhale dreamily, feeling so perfect in his grasp. Just as I inhale deeply, I hear a quiet click, feeling cold steel against my wrists. I try to squirm my wrists free, but I know what he’s done.

  “And what do you think you’re going to do with me with those?” I taunt, leaning out to linger at his lips with mine.

  “Maybe if my naughty queen behaves,” he hums hotly, “she’ll get to find out.”

  “You can’t boss me around anymore like that,” I protest, “I’m a queen now. Not just some little princess…” he reaches out, and in an instant he goes from the doting father to the filthy, lusty animal inside - his voice a husky groan, his hands gripping my ass through my extravagant gown, squeezing it hard enough that those sweet stings of pleasurable pain surge down my nerves. I moan against his lip
s, but not too loud… don’t want to wake Aedan.

  “Queen, princess, pauper… merchant, grave-digger, aristocrat… it doesn’t matter who you are, Erica,” he breathes steam into my ear, “you’re always going to be my filthy fucking brat, who coos when I tell her I’m going to pump her hard with my cock and make he scream my name… aren’t you?”

  “Bedroom, please, Estefan,” I beg hotly. He grabs me by the cuffs chained to my wrists, dragging me through the hall as we giggle lewdly together. The door swings open and slams shut behind us and before I can moan out in ecstasy he has me thrown onto the bed, quaking hotly for him, my legs spread, my voice shaking, bent over with my ass out for him to feel and grab and torment.

  “I have a new game to play with you tonight,” he groans hungrily, massaging down the curves along my back as he kisses and nibbles at my ear.

  “A new game?…” I bite my bottom lip, cheeks blushing brightly. “What kind of game?…”

  “You’ll like it. I know you,” he smirks, kissing down my neck, his fingers massaging my rear, two of them teasing my sizzling, wet folds. Suddenly, darknes envelops me; I feel him tangling with a cloth that now lays draped over my eyes, blindfolding me. All I can hear is whirring zippers… until I feel the pounding heat of his body behind me. Deprived of sight, it feels so disorienting, so scary…

  But just so fucking good, too.

  “Is this your new game, my king?…” I quiver, blinded, demure - ready to feel whatever sensations my filthy king has in store for my pliant and lusty young body.

  “Not all of it…” he hisses hotly into my ear. “I have so much more in store for you.”

  Braden and Gracie

  An exclusive bonus short!

  Braden pushed through the bathroom door, letting the bar's signature stink hit his nose, clearing away the lingering flower-bloom perfume and lusty sweat from his nostrils. He finally tugged his palm away from the belt, coiled up in his pocket; but the memories didn't subside. Passing down the smoky hallway Braden stepped back into the bar, striding down its length to get back to his stool and his half-finished beer.