Forced To Kill The Prince

by Hollie Hutchins

  When my breathing finally returned to normal, I leaned forward so I could look into his deep blue eyes. “That was amazing,” I confirmed as I leaned down and kissed him once more, a long kiss that I never wanted to end.

  “You haven’t even experienced the half of it,” Herald promised as he kissed me back.

  I Am To Marry A King

  ~ Bonus Story ~

  A Dragon Shifter Novella

  I cannot believe everything that has happened. I should have listened to my mother but I did not. I found her diary and the secrets it holds cannot be ignored. Daniel is real and he claims to be from a realm filled with magic, kings, queens and dragons. According to my mother’s diary, Daniel saves her unborn child in exchange for that child’s hand in marriage when she turns twenty-eight. I am that child. Daniel presents me with the opportunity to experience a future I did not know existed. After a whirlwind trip, and a horrid attack by an unknown enemy, I am led on a fanciful journey where new friends are made and new carnal pleasures are experienced at levels of heightened sexual awareness. I am to marry a king and bare his children. I gladly accept this fate as he is my soul mate and he brings me pleasures I have never dreamed possible.

  * * *

  A tear rolls down my cheek as I stare at my mother’s face smiling back at me from the antique silver picture frame sitting on my nightstand. I wish I had listened to her when she was alive. It seems she has been gone for years; I can’t believe it’s only been a few months. I wonder if any of this would have happened if I hadn’t waited before cleaning out that damn storage locker. I had been avoiding cleaning it out, but a payment was due and if I couldn’t swing the monthly fee, which I couldn’t, then mom’s stuff was going to be auctioned off. I couldn’t stand the thought of mom’s life being sold to the highest bidder, so I went down there to see what I could salvage. What I found changed my life forever.

  I remember the steamer trunk with all of the stickers from around the world plastered on the top and sides. Wanting a closer look, I unlatch the brass clasps and open it. On one side of the wardrobe is an assortment of clothing carefully hung on pink satin hangers. I remember one of the garments, an ancient robe she would wrap herself in when reading someone’s palm. On the other side of the wardrobe were five drawers, the third drawer is where I found her diary and in it, the promise she made twenty-eight years ago. Goddammit, I should have listed!

  After packing up my mother’s things in cardboard boxes, I return to the little bungalow my mother and I called home. I was in the process of unloading the boxes from my car, when my phone made the sound of a baaing sheep alerting me to an incoming text message. The message was simple; “It is time.” I didn’t recognize the number, but I did recognize the senders profile picture. Dropping the last box on the floor, I grab my purse and begin digging for the diary I had just found. The book had fallen to the bottom of my bag and when I pulled it out, I saw the top edge of the photograph peeking out from the pages. I grabbed the photograph; it was the same man.

  My mom tried to share stories about her past with me when I was a child, but ignored her. I didn’t want anything to do with her crazy rants, but now I would give anything to hear her tell those tales instead of read about them in her diary. Flipping the book open, I begin looking for answers. According to my mother’s account, she came from a world entrenched in magic, curses and fate. Apparently, my mother was a gypsy, and not just any gypsy, she was Queen of her clan. She was born in the remote mountains of Romania, near the village of Borsec. Her people lived in the caves near the village, but were not welcome by the town’s people. Not wanting to cause any problems her grandmother led her infant daughter and their people across Europe where they finally settled in the southern region of Spain. That is where my mother met my father. My father was the eldest son of the king of the Basque gypsies. Legend has it my father’s side of the family were the epitome of the gypsy stereotype. The locals regarded them as tramps and thieves, and they did not attempt hiding their pilfering. Travelers to Costa Del Sol, Spain were warned by the locals to protect their wallets and purses from the nimble fingers of the gypsy pick pockets. The Basque would also sell stolen goods to unwitting marks, anything to make a buck. But her father was different. He wanted a home and a family that he could support with an honest day’s work.

  Glancing at the clock, I can’t believe it’s already 4:00 AM. I have to give a big marketing presentation in front of the board of directors in exactly four hours. Shit! I slam the book shut and toss it on the couch. I double-check the windows and doors. I sense something but cannot put my finger on it. My job depends on this presentation and I cannot let this nonsense get in the way. Luckily, when I get in bed and close my eyes, a dreamless sleep descends upon me.

  My alarm goes off promptly at 7:00 AM. All I can think is “I need coffee.” I pluck a blueberry cobbler K-cup from the metal mesh drawer of the coffee maker’s stand and flip open the lid. I hit the button for the largest size possible and inhale deeply as the aroma of sweet blueberries wafts through the air. I shower and dress. Before locking the door behind me, I retrieve the diary from its resting place on the nearby couch. I toss it in my bag and head to work. The presentation goes off without a hitch and I really want to call someone and share the news of my promotion, but no one immediately comes to mind. How fucking sad is that? Shrugging I realize it is true what they say; I am married to my work. Little did I know that would soon change.

  Upon arriving home, I discover the front door is unlocked. Not knowing whether to run and call the police or check things out inside first, the door opens from the inside.

  Scarred shitless I scream, “Who the hell are you?”

  “Hey, no need to be like, rude,” replies the stranger.

  “Rude? You broke into my house you dumbass bitch!”

  “Oh now that is just going too far. I am not a bitch.”

  Pushing the olive skinned woman aside, I open the door all the way and enter my house. Sitting in the family room is another woman in her late twenties with the same exotic features as the other dumbass.

  Exasperated I yell, “Who are you people?”

  Getting up from the couch the woman in the living room starts walking toward me as she explains, “I’m Flor and you have already met Esmerelda. We are here to help you get ready for your date!”

  I am speechless. I don’t know anything about a date. As soon as that thought forms in my brain, my purse begins to baa. The text message is from the same man that sent yesterday’s message. It says, “I look forward to meeting you this evening.”

  Holding my phone out so the two crazies could see it I shout, “What the fuck is going on?”

  “What is it with people here?” asks Esmerelda.

  “Okay, I’ll bite. What about people here? As opposed to there, wherever there may be.”

  Esmerelda sighs loudly. “People here in the United States are so vulgar. Why do you use such language?”

  “Well, I guess I use that language to express my displeasure at finding two bat shit crazy bitches in my house.”

  Turning to Flor, Esmerelda throws her hands up in complete exacerbation. Flor understands and starts explaining to me why they are in my house.

  “Adriana, we are kind of like your fairy godmothers.”

  I look at her unmoved and simply nod, encouraging her to explain more realizing this kind of magic was in fact something my mother believed in.

  “You’re my fairy godmothers sent here to help me prepare for a date with a guy who texted me who has got to be at least 65 or so, based on the picture of him in my mom’s diary. Is that about right?”

  Pleased that I seem to understand the specifics Flor exclaims, “Yes, that’s it precisely.”

  “So are you from a parallel universe, just here visiting? What? How does this shit work exactly?”

  Flor and Esmerelda look at each other and start giggling, placing their hands over their mouths as to not show their teeth. Her mother used to say this was a gy
psy trait.

  “Esmerelda, Esma for short, and I were sent here, but why in the world would you think we were from another dimension?”

  “Because, well, you’re weird. Just keepin’ real.”

  “We’re not weird! We’re Icelandic!” exclaims Esma.

  “What?”

  Flor gathers her composure and in a giddy giggle says, “We are from Iceland, actually Norway a long time ago, but now Iceland where we live and work for the man that would be king if the monarchy survived, but alas, it has not. Daniel, the man who would be king, has sent Esma and me here to help you prepare for your date with him this evening.

  “I have no interest in going out on a date with this guy.”

  “You really should my dear; your mother promised him your hand in marriage a very long time ago when you were still inside her womb. It is true and you can read about it in her diary. I know it’s written there, I saw her make that particular entry.”

  I didn’t know what to say. How could someone my age possibly have seen my mom write something in her diary when she was pregnant with me? And yet, it was all vaguely familiar. “My mother’s stories mention Iceland, which is really out there so I am intrigued.”

  Esma replies, “Oh lucky us. The princess is intrigued.”

  Flor stares at her friend signaling enough with the tone. “Actually Adrianna, why don’t you read some of your mother’s account of her encounter with Daniel and you’ll have a better understanding of who he is, for that is why we are here. We are here to prepare you for your first meeting. We have even hired a celebrity stylist to make you over and turn you into the princess that lies within.”

  “Okay, cut the princess crap. My mother was not officially royalty.”

  Not realizing I did not know much about my family tree Flor elaborates, “Ah, not her my dear, your father. He was the one of noble birth. He was the bastard son of the King of Spain. Your father was a prince.”

  I look at Esma and flippantly ask, “Is that right?”

  Begrudgingly she nods.

  Flor asks for the diary. I retrieve it from my bag and hand it over. She flips it open and hands it to me.

  “Here, this is the passage I was looking for. Read it, but hurry, we don’t have much time before the stylist arrives and starts working her magic.”

  Smiling at the feeble joke, I begin reading a twisted tale. My mother and father planned to travel to America where they could escape being branded gypsies. All they wanted was to marry and raise a family. Time was becoming a factor and they needed to act quickly before my mother started showing.

  “No wonder my mom didn’t pass down a white wedding dress,” with a coy smile on my face I mutter under my breathe. Esma glances over.

  “She didn’t have a white dress because your mother and father never got married.”

  Suspecting she was telling the truth, I continue reading.

  My mother and father were to meet in a market place where the Basque gypsies sold their stolen wares. The market sat on a plateau and at the furthest edge of the summit stood a railing that kept onlookers from falling off the edge. In the distance small holes emitting light look like giant fire flies perched on the side of the mountain. The holes pock mark the surface and are the entrances to the Basque caves where her father’s clan lived the gypsy life. He was about to announce his departure and appoint a successor when he caught a glimpse of a dark hooded figure lurking in the shadows. He couldn’t be certain, but the man resembled his half-brother, Prince Philippe. His people had begun gathering in the square. There was little room to mill about due to the throngs of people filling the market to hear their king. They all hoped it was to announce his wedding to the Romanian Gypsy Queen since she already had his bun in her oven. However, it was not to be. My mother and father entered the market and were separated in the crowd.

  My mother turns and sees he is gone. Someone screams. My mother is led to where my father lies in a crumpled heap on the ground in a pool of his own blood. Running from the scene was the prince; everyone had seen him, but because the witnesses are gypsies, no one would ever believe them. So the gypsies band together to get my mother to safety. My father had already booked passage on a steam ship from a port in the northern part of the country. The destination? Boston harbor, so that is where my mother headed. She safely boarded the ship, but only days into the journey, the ship sank after running head long into a ferocious storm that blew the vessel off course. My mother was found washed up on the shores of Iceland, of all places!

  “She washed up on the shores of Iceland? Are you fucking kidding me?”

  It takes Flor a minute but a light bulb finally goes off, “Right, you’re to the part of the story where your mom meets Daniel. Keep reading!”

  My mom regains consciousness on a rocky beach. She starts feeling cramps and is afraid she is losing her baby. She cries out and a hand extends toward her. She grabs it and sees it belongs to the most beautiful man she has ever seen. He looks like a god with long golden locks, rippling muscles across his chest and forearms, his icy blue eyes burn a hole into my mother’s womb and sees me. He tells my mother he can save the unborn child, but there would be a price. My mother screams while clutching her belly in pain that the child must be saved no matter what the cost!

  The Thor like god takes my mother’s hand and kneels beside her. Placing his palm on her swollen belly, my mom feels cold fire coursing through her. The cramps begin to melt away. She feels the baby stir within her for the first time. Tears of relief fill her eyes.

  “Remember your promise,” reminds Daniel.

  “Yes, anything you wish for saving my baby.”

  “I request your daughter’s hand in marriage. You will have twenty-eight years to prepare her.”

  I slam the diary shut with a loud thud causing Esma and Flor to jump. Not realizing the stylist had arrived when I was reading I could not help but marvel at whom these two bozos actually hired. I recognized the short perky blond from some reality TV show and knew the bimbo would work her magic and transform me into a gypsy Cinderella. Let the games begin.

  After hours of being taped, dressed, plucked, scrubbed, washed, rinsed and blown dry, it was time for the great reveal. The celebrity make-up artist was the last to finish. She spun me around in the chair to face the full-length mirror that had been moved into my living room and I was honestly shocked. I looked amazing. My hair had been swooped up into an elegant French roll. The stylist came over and handed me a mirror so I could see the back of my hair and the sexy back of my Bob Mackey original. The stylist informed me the gown was a one of a kind designed specifically for me. It was sexy yet sophisticated. It was deep purple, which made my eyes appear almost violet in color. The front of the dress had a square color and the back was completely open all the way down to the very top of my ass, which the dress hugged perfectly. If I dressed like this more often, I would most definitely have had someone to call to celebrate my promotion. Delicate pearls and amethyst jewels had been hand sewn onto the dress, casting prisms of light as I moved. It was magical. Jeweled hairpins adorn the French roll and from my ears hang large tear dropped pearl and amethyst earrings. I loved everything but the shoes have to be my favorite. They fit my feet like no other shoe I have ever worn. Lifting the long gown, I look down at my feet.

  The stylist says, “They are hand made to fit the exact contour of your foot and caress your every step. The interior is lined with a futuristic foam material and the exterior is hand blown Murano glass. They are to die for.”

  I hated her and for some unknown reason wanted to drive a spike through her perky little face, but I had to agree, the shoes were to die for.

  Flor and Esma inspected me. Flor smiled and clapped her hands merrily as if to celebrate the miraculous metamorphosis. She handed me a small one of a kind Michael Kors clutch the same color as the dress and said, “Inside you will find a cell phone. There is also a lipstick, some perfume, powder and some hand sanitizer.”

  I take the purs
e and add to it the photograph of the man responsible for this grand illusion. Flor opens the front door and announces, “My lady, your chariot awaits.”

  I was half expecting to see some garish crystal coach, but was pleased to see a 1920 Duesenberg. It was pearl white and reflected the setting sun making it appear encased in diamond shaped rainbows. A driver held open the rear door as I hike my gown and descend the front stairs. Neighbors I had never seen before peer out of doors and windows just to catch a glimpse.