Royal S.O.B. (A Bad Boy Romance)

by Kaitlyn Kevette

  Pat said nothing.

  "Wanna see what I mean?"

  What was it going to be now, Pat wondered.

  Kenrick pulled up outside a Harley-Davidson showroom. They got out, leaving the car as it was, without even locking it. Apparently, his long limo was a familiar sight in town that no one dared to touch it.

  He stopped at the glass window, admiring the models on display. The latest Harley had arrived, and it was gleaming expectantly, like a nubile young thing waiting to be taken.

  "Did you ever realize," he asked Pat.

  "What?"

  "That a new bike is like a virgin. Its first rider is the one who deflowers it."

  "Oh?"

  It was Kenrick's habit to link everything in life to sex.

  "A new bike also feels like one. Its grip, its freshness, its wholesome body… it's so much like a young, sexy, untouched woman."

  He swaggered into the showroom, with Pat following him. Someone in a three-piece suit came out running.

  "Your Royal Highness!" the man said.

  "What can we do for Your Royal Highness??"

  Soon, another four executives landed up, and stood in a phalanx. Pat felt awkward by all the attention.

  "I came to look at the latest Harley," stated Kenrick, keeping it to the point.

  "Of course, Your Royal Highness. This way please…"

  The three-piece suit led them towards the latest Harley, the one they saw earlier in the window. One of the lackeys brought something on a tray, covered with a purple satin sheet.

  "Here, Your Royal Highness."

  Three-piece suit removed the satin sheet and offered the tray to Kenrick.

  It had a set of keys. Kenrick grabbed them like an eagle swooping in on its prey.

  "Come," he told Pat as he jumped on the spanking new bike.

  Pat, though used to Kenrick's haughty ways, was not quick on the uptake.

  "Pat, fuck man, come on!" urged Kenrick as he kick started the Harley. He always preferred the kick option, not the press of a button. That was too easy, and too unglamorous.

  Pat hurried to the bike and climbed on the pillion. And that was all he remembered.

  The next instant, they were on the highway, burning rubber and terrifying the hell out of others on the road. Within seconds, Kenrick was pushing a hundred-and-fifty miles an hour, much faster than the Phantom they had used to reach the showroom.

  "This, Pat," Kenrick was yelling, and it was not very audible.

  "Is the REAL wind in the hair!"

  Pat was mortally afraid, the way Kenrick was turning behind and trying to talk to him.

  "Look ahead, Phantom, look ahead!" he kept urging his friend. Because when disaster struck, it never differentiated between king and commoner – usually.

  Kenrick scarcely heard him. Or, more likely, never paid attention.

  Instead he left the highway and took an interior road, maintaining the same dangerous speed as he swerved between slow-moving traffic and pedestrians, who he considered peasants.

  On the pillion, Pat sat with his heart in his mouth.

  Chapter Eight

  "Welcome, Your Royal Highness!"

  This was the Chief Royal Housekeeper inviting Addie to the palace.

  More than feeling awkward, she felt like laughing. Ever since that day of the 'royal introduction', comic scenes were piling up one on top of the other.

  She was taken to the wing dedicated to her, Princess Adelaide. It was at least twenty times the size of the entire apartment she'd been living in before. But then, size never translated as peace.

  She chose not to move in that day. It felt so odd, she had to return to her old home, still on the market. But there was a problem – she felt lonely without her mother. The memories of their good times spent there started to haunt her.

  Finally she had to call Cate to come and spend the night with her. They chatted and chatted till early morning. Then Cate went home and she went on her jog. And that was that.

  She returned, got ready and proceeded to the library. There was no other place she could go to. She was in the bus when she felt a vibration between her legs. She took out her mobile phone.

  It was her mother. Surprising she kept the same number still.

  "Yes, Mum."

  "Princess Adelaide."

  It was her mother's secretary.

  "One moment, please."

  This was new. She waited.

  "Hello, baby?"

  "Yes, Mum."

  "Darling, how are you? And where are you?"

  "I'm about to reach the university."

  "Where were you last night?"

  Addie paused before admitting quietly, "I went home."

  There was a short silence on the other end.

  "Sweetheart, at least you should've told me."

  It had begun. For a mother and daughter who'd spent their lives as friends, suddenly there arose a need to communicate this way, to hide things.

  "I'm sorry, Mum. I tried, but it wasn't easy. So I gave up."

  "Were you not scared, baby, all alone at home?

  "I was. But then I called Cate over."

  "That was a good idea, honey."

  There was a pause.

  "But come home today."

  "Home?"

  "I mean, here."

  Addie was silent.

  "Will you, baby?"

  "Okay, I will."

  She couldn't say no to her mum, queen or not.

  "Ring me, I'll arrange the transport."

  That evening, after the library was shut, Addie felt lost. It suddenly felt like she had nowhere to go. She knew she couldn't go back to the apartment – that would only serve to reinforce her despair. The only other option was to go to Cate's. But she had already promised her mother she would go to the palace...

  For how long could she do this escaping act?

  She called her mom.

  *****

  Addie had a disturbed night.

  Not just because it was a new setting. She was plagued by thoughts of her old home, the apartment she was born in. And of the time she'd spent with her mother there.

  Now she was with her mother – in the same place, the same palace – but in different corners. She had her own wing, and her mother was in the central wing, and there were rooms upon rooms separating them. They might as well be living in faraway cities.

  Next morning, she got up early – as was her habit. She wanted to go for her jog, but she just did not know where to go. It was only later that she realized the wing she was staying in had its own jogging track.

  When she started jogging eventually, she was the only one. Earlier, at the public park, she would hate the crowds. But here, with an entire track for herself, she missed the crowds. Funny thing, human nature.

  She wondered about breakfast. That was when an elderly lady appeared at the door. It was her governess. A practical, working substitute for her mother, Addie mused.

  "Your Royal Highness," the woman began.

  "The name is Addie. Adelaide," replied the princess politely.

  "Can you call me that, please?"

  The governess hesitated.

  "I'm sorry, Your Royal Highness. But I couldn't possibly do that."

  "Why, are you not human? Or am I not human?"

  The old woman smiled – Addie found her very pretty.

  "Your Royal Highness, why question well-worn traditions? Life is simple when we just follow them."

  "You're so beautiful," Addie suddenly said, and at this the governess blushed coyly.

  "And what do I call you?"

  "You can call me governess, Your Royal Highness."

  "Oh."

  She was disappointed.

  "Can I not call you Auntie or something? Or at least your name? What's your name, Auntie?"

  "My name is Mrs. Bradford, Your Royal Highness."

  "Can I at least call you that? I hate this 'governess' bit – so inhuman."

  "As you wish, Your Royal Hi
ghness."

  "Listen… Mrs. Bradford. I was neither 'royal' nor 'highness' until yesterday. So I can't just get used to it. At least when we're together, can you call me Addie?"

  The nice lady hesitated.

  "Please."

  The governess looked this side and that. Then she said, in a whisper, "All right."

  "Thank you!" Addie cheered before impulsively planting a kiss on the pretty lady's cheek.

  "My child," Mrs. Bradford whispered again.

  "Things like these are unheard of. Somebody might notice."

  "Oops," Addie whispered back, playing along.

  "So let's go inside and play proper."

  She held Mrs. Bradford by her hand and pulled her along.

  Chapter Nine

  This was a dangerous game.

  Kenrick was doing a hundred miles on city roads with milling traffic all around them. And he wasn't even slowing down for the crossings. More than anything happening to them, Pat was worried about how many people Kenrick would kill or maim that day. As for themselves, they were not even wearing helmets; it was minutes before they were booked.

  The wind was hitting their faces dangerously. Pat wondered if Kenrick was keeping his eyes open at all. After a point, he had to keep his own eyes closed – such was the speed and the heat.

  Now they were in the unglamorous part of the city. Good-looking houses gave way to ghettoes, and pretty women somehow turned into ugly shrews. How Kenrick detested it!

  In revenge, he revved up the bike even more, now touching almost two hundred, on roads that were not meant for such fast riding. People on either side were screaming, giving way, often missing the speeding bike – and a horrendous accident – by a whisker.

  Kenrick was angry. No, make that livid. And the reason for it was not immediately known. Sitting behind him, Pat was shivering, in fear, enhanced by the bike's high vibration. He kept wondering if they would ever return in one piece.

  For Kenrick, it was all a cruel joke. It seemed like he had a lot of pent-up frustration inside, and he appeared to be taking it all out by being rash in a place he loathed, by almost knocking down people he abhorred. On either side of him were lowly dwellings and lonely people, hapless common folk whose lives were an endless drudgery. By racing past them, Kenrick felt a kind of huge superiority and heavenly elation, as if he was leaving these helpless souls behind, crushing their lives under his wheels, and emerging victor somewhere into the future.

  A full hour of this torture later, they were back to the Harley showroom. By then, the brand new bike with its formerly shimmering body was covered in dust and soot. Pat had a glance at himself in the glass – he looked a spectacle. And so did Kenrick.

  Back at the manor, both of them were exhausted, but Kenrick was smiling. He felt as if he had just won a war, against an unknown enemy, and he was joyous.

  An interesting piece of news awaited Kenrick. And that made him even more joyful.

  "Guess what?" he asked Pat.

  "What?"

  "You know I got a new mother a few days back."

  "Yes, I recall – is that why you're so thrilled?"

  "No. She got me a stepsister. That's why."

  "Really?"

  "Yes. A real unexpected windfall."

  "Have you checked her out?"

  "Not yet. I mean I've seen her in passing, amidst all those ceremonies. Seems like a good catch."

  "So when do we meet her?"

  "We? As in the royal 'we'?"

  "No, you and I?"

  Kenrick considered Pat for a moment.

  "Must I take you on this expedition?"

  Pat was quiet.

  "Okay," agreed Kenrick.

  "Since you've been with me through thick and thin, more thick than thin."

  Kenrick reached under the intricate mahogany table and pressed a switch. A bell rang somewhere in the corridor.

  "Why delay the advent of good tidings?" Kenrick murmured under his breath.

  There was a knock on the door.

  "Yeah, come in!" yelled Kenrick.

  *****

  That afternoon, both of them had a nap. The bike ride had taken its toll.

  Sleep came easily to Kenrick. Obviously – for a man with no worries in the world, with not a care, with everything available at arm's length, why should slumber be an issue?

  Kenrick had always been a great sleeper. Indeed, it could be said of him that he had slept his way through the Air Force, and through university before that. His education was the best that money could buy, after which his natural intelligence took over.

  It was a shrewd kind of cleverness. A propensity to find the shortest cut to the longest distance. And an elephantine memory. Kenrick had to see anything just once (and that included chemical or mathematical formulae) and it would be imprinted on the screen of his mind. And this went for the topography of a place as much as it did for the printed word, or the curves of a woman, for that matter.

  He was not one to pore over books for hours on end. But it did not mean he was inattentive. For him, study meant being sharp in class – he would devour everything that was taught, without the aid of taking down notes or reading thereafter. For Kenrick, study meant reading up once on the eve of the examination. That was all there was to it.

  His friend, Pat, would often wonder how the prince pulled it off. While not first in his class or anything of that order, he was always among the brightest, and most definitely in the top ten if not the top five. While the rest of his cronies would spend sleepless nights in dorms, doing what they called group study, Kenrick would be doing what he knew best: sleeping, or fucking. Or fucking and then sleeping.

  His God-given brilliance came to his rescue throughout his career, too. Kenrick's entry into the Royal Air Force was one such miracle. It could be said with some accuracy that he never sat with his books at the table – ever. In this particular instance, he took the help of his assistants at the manor.

  It was comical. A day prior to the Air Force written test, he summoned all of them. They sat around him with all the textbooks open. Then they read out from the sections that he wanted them to. While they read, he asked questions, they answered; he had queries, they clarified. This happened for a few hours in the afternoon, and that was that.

  Next day, he qualified for his Air Force test. No, there was no foul play – it was the RAF. It was as stringent as it got. Which meant, full marks to Kenrick, his ultra-receptive brain and his weird method of studying to thank.

  Ditto for his Air Force training. While he would attend the physical part of it religiously – that was mandatory – for the theoretical side, his proven methods were used. And yet again, he came out with, shall we say, flying colors.

  His posting was to a remote location in the south of France, for a friendly aerial exercise between the two countries. It was a great place, resplendent with scenic beauty, both natural and feminine. But to his misfortune, Kenrick got a bastard of a commanding officer.

  Bastard from his point of view, of course. Major Cuthbert was one of the most upright officers in the entire force. And he had the medallions to show for it. In Kenrick's books, however, he was an authority to be fought. But the Major would have none of it; he would never tolerate a junior officer's nonsense – irrespective of the color of the blood in his veins.

  The Major wrote a stinging report on First Flight Officer Kenrick Royce and sent it to Headquarters. That was the end of it. Kenrick got a reprimand, and a punishment posting to Kenya.

  Kenya – where was that?

  Kenrick's knowledge of third-world countries was not one of his strong points. But his royal blood was. So he got out.

  To be ordered around was not for him. That was his job, as future king.

  Chapter Ten

  "You received an invite, Your Royal Highness."

  It was the governess telling Addie.

  "Again with the Royal Nonsenseness!" she retorted in mock anger.