Dirty Prince

by Vanessa Waltz

  “Incapacitated women, no doubt.”

  The laughter in his eyes doesn’t extinguish. My brother, the monster, feels no shame.

  “Do you honestly believe this will appease Dad?”

  “If it doesn’t, he’s a fool.”

  “Don’t give me that rubbish. She’s a nobody.”

  “Doesn’t matter. People love our story. They don’t give a rat’s fart who she is.”

  Lucian’s face turns a dark shade of red. “It’s bollocks.”

  “Are you upset that I outsmarted you? I am the older brother.”

  “Dad is not going to stand by while you make a mockery of the royal family.”

  I clench my teeth, wishing that old bastard would take me seriously for once in my life. “I’m sure he won’t, thanks to you. Yeah, I know all about your treachery.”

  “I haven’t a clue what you’re talking about.”

  “Every day you whisper rubbish in our dying father’s ears, I grow more powerful. So knock yourself out, Lucian. Say whatever the fuck you want, tell him it’s a sham, I don’t care. Just stay away from me.”

  I watch with great satisfaction as what little color remains in his cheeks drains away completely. Then I follow the narrow aisle of the shooting gallery to the clerk. I slap the shotgun over the desk and walk away without another word.

  People bow as I leave the shooting range, and I give them a halfhearted smile back. I think of my brothers, half of them abroad in boarding school, the lucky bastards. The castle Wi-Fi is spotty in this location, so I walk toward the keep until I get a signal, and then I check my phone. That gossip rag, Royal Exposé, has tagged me on Facebook.

  There’s a huge, grainy photo of Daisy bending her neck to sip from a cup of tea, which still has the tea bag sitting inside, and a large headline: TEA GAFFES.

  For fuck’s sake.

  I read the subtitle: Ditsy Daisy Shocks Patrons at Betty’s Tea Café.

  Those fucking cocks.

  I untag myself from the photo, hoping Daisy won’t see it. The wedding is in a few days, and she’s got enough to worry about without this tabloid shit, like the fact it’ll be televised and broadcasted to the entire country. Dad invited reporters from around the world to film the event.

  A text pops up on my screen: Son. Meet me upstairs.

  It always amazes me that the old, decrepit bat mastered texting. Fuck, what does he want now? I jog inside the keep and walk up the grand staircase. The guards open the doors to a second, smaller staircase the leads up his tower. People think I spend hours at the gym, but my real secret is years of climbing heaps of stairs.

  I walk inside my father’s stifling furnace, wincing from the heat. This time, Father is sitting at his writing desk, his laptop open to a familiar red-and-white screen.

  Royal Exposé.

  Dad beckons me with a long finger. “Come here.”

  “I already know.”

  He makes a face at the grainy photo of Daisy and I at Betty’s. “I don’t give a damn about the tabloids. You know that.”

  “Then why are you bringing it up?”

  “Because she doesn’t need a tabloid to look ridiculous. What is this?”

  “She might’ve been doing it on purpose to piss me off.”

  He wheels around in his chair, stabbing me in the chest with his finger. “You need to control your wife.”

  “What do you want me to do, whip her through the streets?”

  “If necessary.”

  God, he’s such a dick.

  “The wedding is in a few days, and I will not tolerate another gaffe like this.”

  “She’s not posh, Dad. She grew up in a place surrounded by smelly hippies.”

  “If you’re marrying her, it’s your job to make her a royal, not into a laughingstock.”

  A wave of fatigue hits my chest as I look at the photo, trying to muster the energy to give a shit about any of this. Honestly, who the fuck cares? The people will forget about this incident in a week when there’s a new issue of that gossip rag to look at.

  “Whatever you may think of her, polls show a five percent increase in approval for the government since that article about us was released.”

  Father narrows his eyes, torn between his hatred for everything American and his ego. “You need to prepare her for a royal wedding.”

  “I know.”

  “The whole world will be watching.”

  “I know.”

  “My aides tell me that your fiancée is in the palace gardens. Go to her.”

  “Fine.” Anything to get away from Dad.

  “Son.”

  “What?”

  He raises an eyebrow at my testy voice. “I expect you to take this marriage seriously.”

  “Of course I will.”

  “I expect you to breed her.”

  Wow.

  I gaze at him openmouthed.

  “You’re twenty-eight years old, son. You will need heirs, and I will not be convinced you are ready for the throne until your wife is pregnant.”

  He is serious.

  I imagine approaching Daisy with that. Remember how I said we could just get married and everything would be fine? Well, I lied. He wants me to impregnate you too.

  There’s no fucking way.

  “My cock will work overtime until she is pregnant.”

  He shoots me a disgusted look. “Get out.”

  Gladly.

  Father turns back toward the computer as I jog down the stairs, deciding to keep his edict to myself. Telling me what to do with my cock is a step too far, in my opinion, as is telling me to breed my wife as though she’s a racehorse.

  The palace gardens are a short walk north from the keep. I push open the kissing gate to the lush garden. There are regional plants from all over the world, large green hedges, blocks of dark blue tulips, quiet areas surrounded by little brooks, and there’s even a Japanese tea garden. She could be anywhere.

  My ears sting from the sudden chill as I walk down a path. The weak sunlight is completely blocked by the trees. I wrap my jacket around my chest, wondering where the hell I might be if I were her.

  “Good afternoon, Your Highness.”

  One of the gardeners bends in a deep bow as I pass by, and I incline my head. Sometimes it gets really fucking old having people scraping and bowing to me everywhere I go. I just want to be called by my name—Liam.

  I round the corner after searching through the rose garden and marching through the tropical greenhouses. She’s not in the bamboo forest either. Where the hell is she? I tear through the place, getting mud all over my shoes as I walk the same path I did a hundred times before, and then I see something that makes me pause: a hunched-over figure kneeling by the brook.

  She’s wearing the clothes she came to Anglefell with, except she’s wearing a different t-shirt. It’s canary yellow. She looks like a bird with a black, feathered head. Daisy starts as I jump off the path. I take in her red, flushed arms and her widened eyes. She lifts her hand to wipe a strand of hair from her eyes, and the gaudy sapphire ring winks at me.

  “Here,” I say as I shrug my jacket off. “We really need to get you warmer clothes. This isn’t California.”

  Daisy takes the jacket, holding it to her chest before slipping it on. “Thanks.”

  It’s the strangest thing. Now that I’ve found her, I want to leave. There’s something depressing about watching her hunch down in the dirt.

  She stands, grabbing my hand before I can take another step away.

  “Please don’t leave.”

  “You want me. You don’t want me. Make up your mind, love. I’m getting whiplash from your mood swings.”

  Daisy sucks in her bottom lip, looking cowed. “I’m sorry. I wanted to apologize for what I said.”

  “Which part, exactly?”

  It’s not like I don’t know, but it’s fun to watch her squirm.

  “The part where I said you were obnoxious and—about your dad. I’m sorry.”

&nb
sp; “Apology accepted.”

  Scared blue eyes stare at me. “I’m just overwhelmed with everything.”

  “I can tell.” I touch her chin, sweeping my hand over her cool cheek. “You think our fights are bad now? Wait until after we’re married.”

  Her lips tremble, and then horror fills my chest as tears slowly build up in her eyes. God, it was a joke!

  “What did I say?”

  “Nothing. It’s not you. I’m just nervous as hell. I don’t think I can do this!”

  The wedding. The cameras. All the media attention is getting to her.

  “Yes, you can. It won’t be that bad.”

  “There will be cameras everywhere recording everything I say.”

  “You won’t be saying anything to the cameras. There’s an oath you have to memorize, but that’s about it. I thought you wanted to be a journalist?”

  “This is not the same.”

  “Sure it is, love. You’re just on the other side.”

  “I’m not supposed to be the subject!”

  “It’s not so easy on the other side, is it?”

  She mouths a no as I wrap my hands around her, kneading the back of her neck.

  “Celebrity journalism was never my area of interest.”

  “I know.”

  “I would never write what those people write about us.”

  “The ceremony is more boring than anything else, and cameras won’t be allowed at the reception. You can get pissed at dinner. I know I will.”

  An involuntary shudder runs through her body. “No. I’m definitely not drinking.”

  “Besides, you have me to look forward to. That alone should get you through the ceremony, no problem.”

  Her eyes wrinkle. “You?”

  “Yeah, me. Prince cock, inside you for the first time. Do you know what? It’ll be my first time fucking a princess.”

  “Liam.”

  “Don’t ‘Liam’ me. This charade has gone on long enough. I want you, and you want me. Let’s not pretend the car incident never happened.”

  She gives me a look as if to say, “What car incident?”

  “The moment we get back to my room, and I mean the very moment the doors are closed, I’m making you mine.”

  “You’ll make me?”

  “I—”

  All the words drain out of my head she cups my balls. She raises an eyebrow as she reaches back, gathering all of me in her hand. Then she squeezes. A jolt of pleasure runs up my cock, which grows in her hand. It spills out of her fingers, and then she starts moving them up and down my length. Blood roars in my ears as she shamelessly jacks me off in the plain view of the path of the garden.

  “Are you trying to give the tabloids more fodder?”

  She gives me a coy smile that makes me want to push her to the ground and rip her clothes off. My hands move down her neck to that tantalizing V showing a hint of her cleavage. And no bra. I slip my finger along her neckline, pulling until I can see her small, pink nipple. The bud is hard as a diamond. I slip my hand down, groping one of her tits through the t-shirt. Oh my God. Without the bra, I can feel her warmth. It’s not nearly as good as holding tits in bare hands though.

  “Fuck.”

  I realize I don’t care why the hell she’s touching my cock, so long as she keeps doing it.

  There’s a wet patch on my pants, and Daisy smiles sweetly as she unzips me. She slides her perfect hands over my ass, tugging my briefs down. Anyone could walk by and see Prince Liam’s bare ass in broad daylight and his fiancée standing in front of him.

  Let’s face it. It’s not the worst thing I’ve ever done.

  She wraps her hand around my cock and tugs hard. I let out a small groan, balling my hand into a fist.

  “If you don’t stop, I’m going to fuck you against a tree.”

  “I have no intention of stopping. You’ve been pissing me off and trying to get me to fuck you for days. Well, you won. I give up.”

  “Good.”

  “But we’re going to do things on my terms.”

  Agree with whatever the girl who is touching your penis says.

  “Yeah, whatever.”

  “And right now I want to suck your cock.”

  “Do it. Your prince commands.”

  I bury my hand in her hair, pushing her head down as she sinks to her knees. Daisy opens her ruby-red mouth and flicks her tongue across my head. My cock jumps, and I fight the urge to push my hips forward and sink into her. Wet heat wraps around my length as she takes me into her mouth, and I groan as her tongue dances, flicking across the sensitive head. She twists her hand, pumping me as she works my length. I rock my hips, burying myself to the hilt.

  Daisy’s shirt blows in a breeze, giving me a fantastic view of her tits. She catches me watching her, and then I pop out of her mouth so she can lift the yellow shirt from her gorgeous body. She tosses it aside and takes my cock back in her mouth. It’s like sinking into a bath.

  Bloody hell.

  Looking down at a half-naked girl sitting on her knees as she sucks me off—fucking awesome. I grab the back of her dark head, and I push myself into her throat. Her stomach sucks in as she lifts herself, taking me as deep as she can, before she gags and pulls back.

  “I told you I was big. Keep sucking, Princess.”

  She winces at the nickname, but I decide I like it. Princess Daisy. It has such a cute, innocent ring to it that is totally at odds with the vixen sucking my cock right now.

  The pressure builds as she pumps me faster, blowing me with so much enthusiasm that I wonder if all the girls before her were faking it. She pops me out of her mouth to take me lengthwise between her lips, flicking her tongue, making me moan. Then she reaches the tip and I plunge into her mouth.

  I want to come.

  I grab her head, forcing her back. “Do you want to taste my cum? Do you want it in your mouth?”

  She looks at me with luminous, blue eyes, saying nothing as she turns her head and takes me deep. She strokes me faster and faster. The sloppy blowjob invades all my senses. I take her head again, the pressure inescapable, and I fuck her throat. I crush my hips against her mouth, closer and closer. Then she cups my balls in her hand, and I feel them tighten.

  Then a jet of cum blasts into Daisy’s mouth. The brook echoes with my loud groan as I pump my cock into her throat with another hot jet. I’m still hard as she swallows me, milking my cock for every drop. I’m still hard when she sits back, her sides heaving. I came, but the ache still pounds within me.

  She reaches for her t-shirt and pulls it over her head. When she attempts to get up, I push her back down.

  “I’m not done.”

  “I am,” she says with a smirk.

  What?

  Daisy pushes my hand to the side and stands up. “Thanks, that was fun.” Then she grabs my jacket off the ground and shrugs it on as she walks to the path, leaving me standing there at full attention. It’s not until she turns her head and I see that condescending smirk that I realize the truth.

  She played me.

  ROYAL WEDDING DISASTER: Ditzy Daisy Incites Riot!

  Daisy

  “Ma’am, would you prefer the D’alamingnon or the McQueen?”

  Would I prefer the what or the what?

  One of my aides points to a couple pairs of shoes. The white shoe on the right has a thick, spiraled heel that rises to an absurd height. The shards of glass glued to the shoe make it look glamorous, but…

  “What’s the point? They won’t see my shoes under the dress.”

  In the mirror, I watch as she gives the hairstylist a significant look that clearly says, Stupid American.

  “I’ll pick the Dalamig—sorry, what was it?”

  “D’alamingnon. Excellent choice, ma’am. The designer will be thrilled. She’s a new artist from Willsborough.”

  I smile vacantly, wishing I could feel a shred of the designer’s happiness. My parents’ wounded emails keep burning in my head. Why didn’t you tell us that
you were getting married—and why weren’t we invited? You didn’t have to lie. We’re your parents, and we love you. Please call us. We’re worried.

  Only my professor and classmates seem to still think the whole thing is a sham. Professor Sandusky emails me every week, asking for updates, and I have to be as vague as possible to fulfill my promise to Liam. Reading back my one-line emails makes me sick.

  Everything’s fine! I rode a horse! First time ever!

  Prince Liam taught me princess etiquette. It’s very interesting.

  Prince Liam is being a pain in the ass.

  I sent the last one in a fit of rage after the hellish café interview. The article convinced many back home about our Romeo and Juliet romance. I have fans now. Rooting for me. Asking me what Prince Liam’s cock tastes like.

  Which I now know the answer to.

  Hot, thick, and creamy.

  The mirror reflects my rapidly burning face. The stylist pulls back the curling iron.

  “Too hot?”

  “No, it’s fine!”

  Truth be told, I don’t know what I was thinking in that garden. I was tired of his bullshit, tired of being turned on and having no outlet, and tired of guilt. I’m ashamed to admit I loved every moment of it. For the first time since arriving in this country, I felt like I had some measure of control. Prince Liam, as it turns out, is just like any other man.

  The makeup artist steps in front of the mirror, blocking my view as she paints my lips with a small brush. She buffs my face with a powdered sponge and then draws in my eyebrows. When I’m all painted and they’ve sprayed my black, wavy hair with enough styling oil, they step back.

  I look like a scared doll. Black hair, rosy cheeks, and bright lips. My eyes match my engagement ring. All that’s left is the wedding dress.

  “Careful, now.”

  I jump down from the stool, forgetting there are ways a princess must get off chairs and that I’ve just screwed it up. Hours of etiquette training, wasted. Fuck me, how am I going to get through this ceremony?

  The wedding dress hangs in a plastic bag. One of my aides unwraps it with with delicacy and reverence, as if she were unwrapping a thousand-year-old relic. It’s an A-line dress, and pretty simple as far as wedding dresses go. The fabric has a satiny finish, but there’s a layer of intricate, white lace over the whole thing. They unzip the dress, and I step into it with wobbly feet, still not used to the heels. The fabric tightens around my waist as they zip it back up. The lace covers my shoulders and arms but not my chest. It just trails along the edge, teasing along the deep neckline.