Dirty Prince

by Vanessa Waltz

  Do not fucking throw up.

  “See you!”

  The wind whips around us as we’re pulled to the yacht, and then the air is filled with earsplitting cheers. The crew is waiting for us, clapping. I’m speechless. People I’ve never seen before in my life are delighted to see me.

  “Thank you all for coming for me. I am very touched.”

  “Here, here!”

  A warm hand touches my back, and I lean into Liam’s chest.

  “My wife has been through quite an ordeal. We’re going to retire to my quarters. Thank you for your help.”

  His hand slips down to mine and grasps it tightly. Liam and I make a show of smiling at all the others before he takes me down below into a sprawling cabin with a king-sized bed and wood-paneled walls. As soon as the door slams shut, his hand drops away from mine and he moves away, stiff with rage.

  “Liam—”

  He flinches when I touch his hand and sends me a look that’s filled with venom.

  “What’s your problem?”

  The anger slowly fades from his eyes like a fire burning out. “You got what you wanted.” He lifts his arms and slaps his sides. “You got your fifteen minutes of fame.”

  My jaw goes slack. “You think this was some kind of stunt?”

  “I saw the emails, Daisy. I know I’m just your meal ticket for a story.”

  “Meal ticket? You think I actually enjoy making a complete ass of myself in front of the entire world? There’s going to be footage of me throwing up all over a cameraman’s shoes, just wait for it.”

  He crosses his arms, clearly refusing to believe I might’ve done this because I wanted to come back to him.

  “You don’t really believe that, do you?”

  Uncertainty dances in his eyes. “I don’t know what to believe anymore. Lucian says you begged him to help you escape.”

  “And you believe the guy who has a vested interest in screwing up your life? I was forced to leave by your brother’s goons.”

  “Why the hell didn’t you go back to America?” he says, taking an aggressive step forward. “He did you a favor.”

  “The moment I arrived in Scotland, I wanted to come back to you.”

  Liam closes the space between us, his presence intoxicating, filling me like a strong drink. Blood careens through my veins as I meet his intense gaze.

  “What the fuck do you want from me, Daisy?”

  I don’t know.

  “Daisy. It’s not a rhetorical question,” he says in a softer tone. “What do you want from me? Why did you keep that photo of us in your bedroom?”

  I can’t think with his eyes blazing at me like that, his lips hanging half-open. I touch his waist and run my hands over him, finding the bulge between his legs and giving it a good squeeze. His eyes glaze over.

  “I want you.”

  His lips twitch. “You kept the photo to masturbate to. Didn’t you?”

  “Stop being such a dirty prick.”

  “You’re the one holding my cock right now.” His smile widens. “Do you have feelings for me? Have you fallen for your prince?”

  My face burns at the cocksure tone. I want to say no just to spite him.

  “It’s okay to admit it. It just means you’ve joined the legion of women on my Instagram.”

  I squeeze his cock a little too hard and rip away from his hands, but he pulls me back into his irresistible warmth. He buries his fingers in my hair and gently pulls it as my head tips back, and then his lips touch mine. Soft kisses leave me gasping for breath, or perhaps it’s the pounding of my heart from the way he keeps looking at me. I know that look. I used to see it on Ben. That little knowing smile.

  He wraps his arms around my waist, pulling me close, almost as though he wants to push me into his heart. He digs his fingers into my back as he turns his head and kisses the shell of my ear.

  “You came back to me. I won’t forget that.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “You’ll see,” he says, kissing my neck.

  I shiver as he pushes down my dress, his mouth making a trail of kisses.

  BAM! BAM! BAM!

  I jump violently in Liam’s arms, my heart pounding against my ribs as someone pounds on the door.

  Liam snarls at it. “The fuck is it?”

  “Your Highness, I have an urgent message.”

  “It can wait,” he says dismissively, turning back toward me.

  “The king is dead.”

  Prince Liam Celebrates Dad’s Death

  Liam

  There’s not a dry eye in the church.

  I wonder how many of them are secretly gleeful, as I am, that my father is gone. Look, the man was a bastard. He single-handedly alienated the country from the rest of the world. His own sons hated him. I can’t be a little relieved that he’s gone?

  Daisy rubs my back, her fingers teasing my neck. She’s playing the part of the dutiful wife as I’m playing the part of the subdued son. My head hangs as I accept people’s handshakes and sorry-for-your-losses. It’s not a bloody loss! I want to yell at them. Let’s party!

  We leave the church after an hour of listening to the priest drone on, and reporters surround Daisy and I, thrusting their microphones under my nose.

  “There will be a government-enforced week of mourning for my father’s passing.”

  The old bastard wrote it down as part of his final request. A week of no work just to honor the memory of our bastard king.

  “We will be celebrating his life all week. Daisy will be hosting the first-ever American festival in honor of the late king.”

  I can barely contain my glee at what the press will make of that. They scream questions at us as I brush them aside and walk down the church’s steps to the waiting car. I follow Daisy inside as the door shuts behind us.

  She watches me with a little smile.

  “What?”

  “Do you really think it’s a good idea to host festivals when your dad literally just died?”

  “Yes.”

  “You don’t think that sends a really weird message to the people? He dies and all of a sudden we’re importing corn dogs for my American festival?”

  “What’s a corn dog?”

  She stares at me. “You’re shitting me, right?”

  “No, I’m not.”

  Daisy runs a hand down her face. “It’s a hot dog dipping in a corn-meal-based batter, which is then deep-fried and served on a stick with ketchup.”

  “That sounds bloody disgusting.”

  “They are delicious. Anyway, this whole thing seems a little too ‘ding-dong the witch is dead.’”

  I sit back into the seat cushions, smiling to myself. This must seem batshit insane to her, but for me it’s like breathing in fresh air after a lifetime of living in sewers. I’m itching to undo the damage, but I cannot issue edicts until the week has passed.

  The car drops us off at the village. It’ll be good to get out there, see the people. Daisy follows me out of the car. The crowd bursts into cheers when they see me. A local TV crew is already there, filming me, and I gesture for them to gather in front of me. I raise my hands, signaling for silence, and they quiet down.

  “I would like to say something to you all!”

  The remaining noise simmers down.

  “I see a lot of hopeful faces in this crowd expecting greatness from me. I don’t know if I can give you greatness, but I can promise you change. For years we’ve all lived under the yoke of my father. I’m here to change Anglefell. Let’s make Anglefell great again!”

  Daisy wears a puzzled expression before she laughs, clapping along with the others.

  “Li-am! Li-am!”

  The crowd screams—it’s not as though their king just died. It’s a fucking madhouse. They love me. It’s more than just the girls throwing their tits at me now. They believe in me.

  What about her?

  Daisy smiles prettily, occasionally reaching in the crowd to touch someone’s hand. Wow, they
’ve really come around.

  Not an Americunt sign in sight.

  Wind rips through the American flag attached to the pole, which is only a few feet under Anglefell’s flag. My father is rolling in his grave.

  The castle is decorated for the first-ever American festival. Daisy wanted the public to be able to attend, so we made room on the giant lawn and even made space for a crude baseball diamond. Of course, no one knows how to play baseball, so everyone swings the baseball bat like a cricket bat.

  It’s a beautiful day for an al fresco party. Daisy insisted on having a barbecue. The mouthwatering smell of charcoal, grease, and salt drifts all the way to the castle.

  “Your Highness, where would you like the kale snacks?”

  One of the chefs approaches me with trays of some sort of dark, leafy, green appetizer.

  “Put them next to the corn dogs.”

  I point toward the stack of largely untouched corn dogs, and the chefs begin plating the appetizer as Daisy watches.

  “What the hell is that?” she asks, wrinkling her nose in disgust.

  “I thought you’d know. They’re kale muffins, I think. Oh, and those are kale deviled eggs. Kale crisps—chips over there.”

  Her eyes widen at all the green appetizers.

  “It came up in my research when I was looking up Californian cuisine,” I say defensively.

  “No one eats this stuff!”

  “Then why is it all over the place?”

  “People in California are health nuts. They like strange things that normal people don’t.”

  I pick up a kale crisp and pop it in my mouth. The bitterness makes my tongue curl up. “It’s… not bad.”

  “It’s vile.”

  Another chef appears with a giant green pizza. “Where would you like the kale pizza?”

  My wife’s face burns bright red as she glares at the round pie with alarming venom. There are big green leaves sitting on the red sauce.

  “Just put it here.”

  “Kale,” she says under her breath. “On pizza.”

  “Well, you could’ve told me it was a problem.”

  Suddenly one of the guests approaches with a plastic plate already filled with baby-back ribs slathered in sauce, and creamed corn. He dumps a handful of kale crisps onto his plate and tries one. His eyes go round.

  “Wow, that’s good!”

  Daisy watches in disbelief as he loads up on the kale snacks. I touch her elbow, and she sits at the table covered with the red-and-white-checkered cloth with her plate of food. I stab the stringy mass of pulled pork and pop it into my mouth along with a gob of cooked kale. It’s delicious.

  “Unbelievable.”

  She watches the locals as they pass by the corn dogs without interest, instead choosing the kale deviled eggs, pan-seared kale, barbecue kale. Everywhere, people dig into the leafy greens with gusto.

  “I’ve never had this vegetable before, have you?”

  “No, it’s wonderful!”

  “Wonderful,” Daisy repeats, a shudder running through her body.

  I scoop up another heap of kale. “You seriously prefer one of those corn dogs to kale?”

  “Yes. Absolutely, yes.”

  “No way. I’m actually really impressed with the versatility of it. People drink it, bake it, stew it—”

  “It’s bitter and vile. I can’t believe everyone likes it so much.”

  She watches the line of people queuing up for food, and I dig into my barbecue chicken. The sweet flavors not really to my taste.

  “It’s a good turnout. People seem to be enjoying themselves.”

  Children run across the lawn, using the baseball bats like cricket bats. There are speakers humming a throaty bass of Rihanna’s biggest hits.

  “This wasn’t what I envisioned,” she says. “The theme is somewhat confused. Not quite American. You should have gotten salsa for the appetizers.”

  “Salsa is Mexican.”

  “Yeah, but we eat it a lot. Especially at parties.”

  I elbow her. “So what you’re saying is that basically you’re thieves of other cultures.”

  “Yeah, because they don’t have pasties and football in England. Eat your burger and be quiet.”

  I pick up the burger, which I had saved for last because I had to conceal how badly I wanted to eat it. I take a bite, almost rolling my eyes in pleasure with the taste of the cooked meat and the cheese melting over my tongue. Damn, it’s good.

  “Liam.”

  She grabs my thigh under the table, and blood rushes to my cock. “There’s time to fuck later.”

  “Goddamn it, look.”

  Lucian walks through the festival, eyeing the red, white, and blue streamers with disgust. He mouths to himself as he inspects a corn dog, “What the fuck is this?”

  Daisy’s fingernails dig into my thigh.

  “Relax, love. He’s not going to do anything while I’m here.”

  Bile rises in my throat as I watch my brother loading up a plastic plate with this and that. He grabs one of the serving forks and puts a heap of kale to his food. Lucian’s malevolent gaze locks with mine.

  Don’t come over here, you cunt.

  He smiles and makes a beeline for us. “Thanks for the lovely invitation to your party.”

  “Actually, we didn’t invite you,” I tell him.

  “I couldn’t miss the celebration of our father’s death. Tell me something, brother. How sick are you?”

  Daisy cringes at the venom in his voice.

  “Do any of the guests look like they’re still crying over dear old Dad? No. That’s because he was a fucking cunt.”

  “This is completely fucked up,” Lucian says. “And what the hell is playing on that stereo?”

  “Rihanna,” Daisy mumbles.

  “Look, I can have you thrown in a cell for the rest of your life, or you can sit down, shut up, and eat your kale crisp—chips.”

  He tosses the plate on the table and sits down. He throws me a glare, stabbing the mound of cooked kale, and pops it in his mouth. Within seconds, his face turns into a mask of disgust, and he spits out the food.

  “Disgusting! Who eats this rubbish?”

  “Everyone seems to love it.” Daisy stabs moodily at her potato salad.

  “It’s ghastly.”

  My wife glares at him. “Why the hell did you bring me to Scotland?”

  I grab her arm. “Not here.”

  Lucian gives her a shit-eating grin as he bites into his corn dog. “I wanted to get rid of you, that’s all. You should have done the smart thing and returned to America. You will never fit in here.” He looks around at the festivities and gives a scornful laugh.

  Daisy drops her fork and studies the sea of guests as if searching for unhappy faces. She wraps her hand around her can of Coke, and the aluminum sides buckle under the pressure of her fingers.

  I stand up, grabbing Lucian’s plate of ribs, and I dump it in his lap.

  “What the fuck was that for?” he screams at me.

  “For insulting my wife, dickhead.”

  “‘Dickhead’?”

  I offer my hand to Daisy, who takes it with a smirk and stands, throwing a derisive look over her shoulder as she walks with me.

  “Where are we going?”

  “Don’t question. Just obey your prince.”

  She lets out a laugh that’s like chimes in the wind. We walk past the baseball diamond, where a harassed man wearing an umpire’s armor tries to teach the children how to swing a baseball bat. I watch Daisy smile at them, noticing how she keeps her head high and her shoulders back automatically now. It’s as though she was really made for me.

  As soon as we’ve cleared the lawn and wandered into the forest, I wrap my arm around her waist as the curve of her ass molds against my cock. She makes a little movement that excites me, and I wrap my second arm around her, stilling her body.

  “It’s been far too long since I claimed my rights.”

  “Are you quoting
Game of Thrones again?”

  She turns around in my arms, her tits flattening against my chest as she wraps her arms around my neck. It hits me quite suddenly how breathtakingly beautiful she is. Her normally striking eyes are a bit subdued in the shadows, the light makeup around her eyes softening them. Her lips are red with a tinge of purple. I have to keep reminding myself I’m married to this woman.

  “Thank you.”

  “It’s not over yet.”

  I rip off my jacket, letting her go to spread it over the forest floor. She takes one look at it and shakes her head.

  “No.”

  “It’ll be fun.”

  “No way! They’re right there.”

  “That’s what makes it really hot.” My voice cracks like a whip. “Daisy. Get down. I’m not going to ask you twice.”

  She rolls her eyes and kneels, but I can tell from the way her t-shirt jumps with her heartbeat that she wants it too.

  “We are here to celebrate America’s independence from Great Britain. To honor this historical day, I have decided to fill my wife’s American pussy with cum. My cum, of course.”

  “Would you shut up?” she hisses.

  I think I’m addicted to the way that bright red blush spreads over her pale cheeks. She falls back onto the jacket as I grab the waistband of her jeans.

  “I honor America,” I continue in a loud voice. “I honor my wife by licking her—”

  She hits my chest hard, and my sentence breaks into laughter. Then I tug her jeans. My mouth waters as they drag over her thighs, exposing an expanse of creamy skin.

  “Liam, we’re way too close.”

  The jeans fly off her skinny ankles with her shoes, and her warmth flares under my hands as I slide down her legs, taking her panties off. She gasps when I part her legs, sinking down as I hold her open for my mouth. I feel her heat burning my lips before I kiss her cunt.

  She bucks, the electricity running through her like pain.

  “Liam.”

  Her voice is heavier, urgent. I reach back with my tongue, dipping into her pussy. Then I drag it all the way to her clit, circling over the hard bud. I close my mouth over her, sucking hard. She lets out a sharp gasp and clasps her hands to her mouth. I imagine her tits underneath that t-shirt, small and perky. She moans into her hands as I fuck her with my tongue, drinking in her essence. There’s nothing like a woman who is completely and utterly turned on by my body. I love feeling her react to me, the way she digs her fingers in my hair and grinds her hips against my mouth.