No, she did not think it up; the thought came on its own. Indeed, there was no way anyone could control thoughts – they came at their own volition.
"No, I'm fine, Mrs. Bradley," Addie assured her, not wanting her to worry, and asked for dinner to be served.
*****
Hours later, Addie was tossing and turning in her bed.
This was to be expected. With events turning the way they did, there was scant hope of Addie getting any sleep anytime soon.
Willy-nilly, her thoughts went to that short encounter with the prince – with Kenrick. At once she was overcome with guilt: Was she needlessly rude to him? He had come to pay her a visit, to say sorry for the lapse of last time, and here she was, venting her spleen on him. Did it have a reason, unknown to her own reason?
Yes, it did. The origins of that anger lay in her subconscious.
In an instant, the scene that she wanted to forget desperately flashed before her eyes. The prince – Kenrick – exiting the door of the servants' room. Kenrick cursing. Two naked women standing inside, looking bewildered. Kenrick throwing their clothes at their faces. Kenrick registering her standing there, watching everything. Kenrick stunned and rooted to the spot. Kenrick, regaining his presence of mind, shutting the door in a hurry.
Now she realized – this was behind her sudden, unexpected spitefulness towards Kenrick. Because, now she remembered, all her civility and polite behavior was gone in an instant. And she'd been treating him like a criminal.
Well, said another voice inside her, he was a criminal. How could he do what he did that day?
It was her good fortune that made her take that route, or she would have never known the exploits of the prince and heir apparent to the throne.
Then again, she already knew of his particular propensity to own and enjoy women. That was not exactly new information. And, even if she had not witnessed such a scene that day, several similar scenes were happening in all likelihood. What was the big advantage in witnessing one such hapless occurrence?
In any case, she was aware, this was the habit of the royals – especially the men. Which royal personage, among males, had not had such an affair? Or string of affairs? In truth, many royal men wore it as a badge of honor on their sleeves, leaking news of it themselves to the tabloids. For them, a public display of their machismo gave them a high.
So be it.
As arguments and counterarguments flowed on either side of her head, one thing dawned on her. None of these was justification enough to treat Kenrick the way she did. She would not mete out such treatment to strangers, after all!
Here was her stepbrother, the prince of the country, and the heir apparent. What right did she have to give him the rough end of the stick? She was a princess all right, something she was bestowed upon, but even that position did not allow her the privilege to insult another human being. That he happened to be the future king only aggravated her wrong.
Addie was consumed by an avalanche of guilt.
She bid goodbye to sleep. Now there was no way slumber would come to her aid and cut out the agony.
She suddenly thought of what happened to her the other day. Addie was thinking of Kenrick, and suddenly she was wet again.
What was going on inside her?
She felt guilty – and this was a different kind of guilt. Kenrick, all said and done, was her stepbrother. Was it really a good idea to desire him, even subconsciously?
Granted he was irresistible, and his sex drive was on turbo, but she could not fault for that. Was this still not utterly, shamelessly, wrong?
Addie could not understand the confusing medley of emotions flowing through her being.
Chapter Thirty-Six
The next morning, Kenrick was desolate. He had no idea with what to do with his time anymore. Hours, days, weeks, months… they just seemed to stretch endlessly in front of him. And there was nothing of substance for him to fill those minutes with.
He hadn't even been motivated to hit the gym lately. His body, for Kenrick, was his temple, and he had maintained it up until this point with scrupulous discipline. The secret to his killer looks, to a large extent, was his well-built body.
But he was not like those bulky body builders whose muscles seemed to spring up on every nook and cranny of their body. It was not as ugly as that. His was rather comely. Chiseled abs, the classic V-shape, bulging biceps and triceps, the perfect curve for his back.
The best feature about Kenrick, however, had nothing to do with his body. It had to do with his face. That was where his trump card lay.
Aristocracy dripped from every detail of his face; it was perhaps the shapeliest visage ever. His azure blue eyes that seemed to be deeper than deep; his perfectly set teeth which flowered into a winsome smile. The etched dimples on his cheeks and the little crest on his chin were things women wanted to play with.
All of which was complemented, of course, with his knife-through-butter smoothness. Words were his slaves, and they faithfully served their master. Plus, his unmistakable baritone accent. When he spoke, it was sexiness oozing from every pore of his being; you could feel it spreading into the atmosphere, its palpable presence giving the other men present a feeling of distinct inferiority.
In totality, a winning recipe.
Such a Greek god was now down in the dumps, in a sort of love-sickness for a woman who was both his equal – or near equal – and his stepsister. And it came down to Phil to lift him up from these pathetic depths.
"Hey Phantom," came his voice, bubbling over as usual.
"Let's do something fun today."
"Like what?" Kenrick asked nonchalantly.
"I just came to know about something happening in the Royal Hall."
"What's that?"
"A painting exhibition."
"Is that your definition of fun?" replied Kenrick stubbornly.
"It's not…" Phil's voice trailed away.
"But I thought since it's right here, within the palace complex. And it would be a great way to be with the commoners – they would be present in great numbers."
Once again, that clicked. Of late, the word 'commoners' was Phil's passport to get practically anything done with Kenrick. And he knew the background behind that as well.
In an hour, they got ready and set off.
*****
The Royal Hall was across from the palace grounds. It was a short walk through the wonderfully manicured green, with flora of all kinds maintained on the premises. The combined fragrance of different types of flowers filled the air with a heady aroma that was intoxicating.
"You've no idea regarding the kind of luxury you live in," said Phil, inhaling deeply.
Kenrick said nothing, just kept walking on. Phil sensed that he was in no mood for polite conversation, so he left it there.
As they were entering, a thought came to Phil.
"Phantom," he held the prince back.
"I was thinking…"
"What?"
"It might be a good idea for you to interact with… the commoners," he dropped the word again.
"Are you nuts?" Kenrick's voice was even.
"What would be the point of that?"
"My dear Phantom," started Phil.
He knew that this needed a little convincing.
"You already suffer from a bad image. If you're seen connecting with the common folk, talking to them, taking selfies, and so on, it projects you as a 'people's prince'."
"I don't want to be a people's prince!" snapped Kenrick.
"I just want to be a women's prince."
"Even for that," came Phil's rejoinder.
"Even for that, a friendly image helps, Phantom."
"No need," responded Kenrick hotly.
"For that, I already have a winning template, and it works every time. Come, let's go in."
The guards bowed at the prince and held the door open for them. They stepped in. At once a battery of ushers landed up, but Kenrick just waved them off. Soon the head of th
e establishment arrived.
"Good morning, Your Royal Highness," he said politely.
"Good morning," replied Kenrick.
"We prefer to go around alone, so don't bother us."
"Very well, Your Royal Highness," the man stated. He bowed and left.
Then they started walking around, looking at the paintings. There was a moderate crowd, and as they saw him, they curtseyed in a conditioned action before carrying on. Kenrick nodded to some, ignored the others. But he always acknowledged the women. Phil noticed this.
To be honest, Phil was no aficionado when it came to the arts. Nor, for that matter, was Kenrick. But he agreed because he had nothing to do in particular back in the chambers, and this would serve as a decent distraction.
Paintings were not something that Kenrick enjoyed – for the simple reason that he never understood what the fuss was all about. Especially the abstract stuff. Just some odd shapes, crisscrossing lines, and a weird arrangement – such monstrosities were hailed as the next masterpieces. And there were enough people who paid top dollar for that kind of shit. Not only that, these paintings added value with age and fetched far more down the years. So it was an investment avenue as well.
For example this one. They were standing in front of an 'abstract' painting. It was precisely the kind of thing he was thinking about. All the vague stuff was classified as 'abstract', and one required to study it and find any meanings in it. And the more explanations you found, the smarter you were. The painter would have taken not more than an hour to draw these lines crossing each other, this weird looking face with only one eye, this clock that was melting, these ants here, and these circles, squares and triangles. He never got it–
"Hey," came a small, piping voice.
Kenrick turned.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Addie woke up with a headache.
The night had been a bitch. She'd done everything possible – including counting threads on her expensive Egyptian cotton sheets – but sleep remained far away. Slumber, she realized, was the luxury of simple, ordinary folk, and she had ceased to be one of them. Recently.
Back in her middle class neighborhood, when her world was limited to her mom and Kate, sleep was taken for granted. The way they had lived out their lives, with so much fun and activity, they were dog-tired by the time they hit the hay. Mentally they were spent, physically they were exhausted, and all that was left to do was collapse on the bed, which sunk just right to suck them into a fantasy world of sleep. Then they would only open their eyes in the morning, having rested well, and ready for another glorious day.
Now, in contrast, the heaviness from her lack of sleep played around her eyelids. She could not open them, and yet could not keep them closed. And her head felt like she was carrying a huge weight inside it. If this was the royal life, she said to herself, give me the pauper's life any day.
Her mobile buzzed between her legs. She had kept it on silent for the night.
"Yes Kate," she said into the phone.
"Hi Addie," Kate's tone suggested urgency.
"How's the princess doing on this bright and sunny morning?"
"Not good," Addie answered.
"I had a terrible night."
"What, thoughts of the prince-turned-commoner again?"
"Katie! No mention of him, we said."
"Oops; sorry, sorry," replied Kate.
"You're right, we did agree to that. I've called to tell you something."
"Go on."
"There's this painting exhibition at the Royal Hall. I'm told that a lot of new painters are showcasing their work. Care to go?"
"Mmm," Addie was thinking.
"If you want a break from studies, that is."
"I need a break from other things, Kate," said Addie.
"So that I can get back to studying."
Kate laughed.
"I just thought I'd let you know. If you're not keen, forget it–"
"No, no," interjected Addie.
"Will you come?"
"Of course."
"Great. It'll refresh our jaded minds," Addie affirmed.
"I've been missing my regular dose of the arts anyway."
"Okay."
*****
Kate landed up in exactly an hour, courtesy of royal transport, arranged by the kind and good Mrs. Bradley. They each enjoyed a nice cup of hot coffee and some biscuits, again thanks to the old governess, and they were ready to go.
"Do you think you'll run into–" Kate bit her tongue.
"Run into?" Addie asked.
"Any of our friends from university?" she quickly corrected her sentence.
"Now, with the exams on our head?" Addie exclaimed, oblivious of Kate's real question.
"I think everyone except the two of us are busy preparing. We're the only jokers gallivanting on the palace lawns."
Kate laughed in relief. She definitely did not want a rebuke from her friend early in the morning.
Addie, unlike Kate, was into the arts on a deeper level. Her sensitive nature was well suited for the finer things in life. Poetry was her first love, of course, but the other arts followed. Though she was not a painter, paintings were close to her heart. She had even taken a small course in painting appreciation.
That was Addie. If she was keen on something, she would go to any lengths to learn it and understand its intricacies. And painting was not the only interest that she'd self-taught herself. She'd tried her hand at such disparate subjects like hypnotism and cartooning, palmistry and cooking. It needed to be a creative discipline, and it needed to intrigue her. Then Addie would buy the books required, do the research necessary, and burn midnight oil poring over it.
"I think the absence of exams makes every subject interesting," she once famously said.
And each subject she studied, her favorite – and only – guinea pig was Kate. She was her automatic choice to try out what she had learnt, and her friend was the willing victim.
That was how Addie tried to hypnotize Katie once. It did not work and, after an hour of repeating "you're now drifting into a deep sleep", she gave up, complaining that her friend was a tough subject. Her mother was a possible next subject, but precisely at that moment, her mum suddenly had a 'headache' and retired to bed.
Indeed, for everything, she needed Kate. When she wanted to try her hand at cartooning, she caught hold of her best friend again and made her the model for her doodling. She sat Kate by the window and started sketching her caricature.
"But why me, am I really so funny looking?" Kate had protested.
"Not particularly," replied Addie, giving Kate's nose a final stroke.
"Just that every one of us has a trait that can be exaggerated."
"And what would that be in my case?" Her best friend was curious.
"Why, your nose!" Addie said and showed her masterpiece to her friend.
There it was, a reasonably good cartoon, but a terrible representation of Kate. Her pretty face was distorted beyond recognition, and there was a huge bulbous nose in place of her true cutie pie button one. That was the last straw – she chased Addie all over the house, caught hold of the sheet of paper with the cartoon on it, and shred it into bits. And that was the only cartoon Addie ever did in her life.
With palmistry, it was a slightly different story. Addie read all the books on the subject, learnt about the lines on the palm and what they signified, and so on. She waited for Kate to arrive, and sat for hours with her palm open in her lap. Then she started listing out events from her past.
"Is this true, Katie?" she asked her friend after mentioning an event.
"No," came the reply.
"Are you sure this never happened in your life?" Addie insisted.
"Yes, Addie, I'm dead sure."
"But… the line shows it so clearly… it can't be wrong. Palmistry is an accurate science. It's the wrong kind of practitioners that are giving it a bad name."
"That's all right, Addie," Kate would say.
"But what about my past?"
"Here's what I told you about it, but you refute it. It's what the lifeline clearly says."
"But you said it was the heart line!"
Silence.
BDSMing the Brat: ** 20 Book ** Taboo BDSM MEGA BUNDLE Page 58