Punished by the Prince Read online

  Calian tilts his head in assent. “The city has a strict policy on motor vehicles. None are allowed within the walls. Some of the very wealthy do have… workarounds, but the Prince wanted you to experience the city the way it was meant to be experienced, rather than whisking you to the palace through an underground tunnel on your first visit.”

  “I see,” I say. It’s odd to hear of this Prince. Even though part of me is still waiting for a camera crew to jump out and tell me I’ve been pranked, it’s so strange to think that someone might have spent so long thinking about me when I had no idea. I think back to all the years I suffered through my parents, my sisters, my “friends” at school, and even my teachers. All of that for what? Because these people in this perfect palace wanted me to build character?

  Trying to hold on to anger right now is like trying to grab a handful of smoke. I know it’s there, but it’s impossible to grasp when I’m walking toward a place that might be the answer to my prayers.

  We arrive at a main gate where two men in high collared coats ask us to stop while they grab an engraved metal disk Calian hands them. Their coats are the same style as the men I saw in the restaurant, but like Calian’s, they don’t look as expensive. Could one of those men have been the Prince? My heartbeat quickens at the idea. It’s possible. And it would explain why they were looking at me the way they were.

  I catch myself messing with my hair self-consciously. What would men like that think of me, especially if they were looking at me as a future bride? Then again, Calian said the Prince has been keeping tabs on me for a long time, part of which was likely making sure I was… to his taste? It sounds so cold and strange.

  I try to pull up an image of the two men, but I can only remember the distinct impression I had that one was a fiery man of intense passion and the other was cold and calculating. If one of them was the prince, I hope with all my might that it was the dark haired prince--the one who made me think of forest sunrises.

  The taller of the two men I assume to be guards passes the Disk over the top of a gold device on his wrist. There’s a faint chime from the device and a blue light flashes. He nods, handing the disk back to Calian, who motions for me to follow.

  “What was that?” I ask.

  “That disk is my royal pass. If I had a civilian pass or even a merchant pass, the guards would have given us wristbands that would restrict our access to certain areas of the city.”

  “Isn’t that thing kind of awkward to fit in your wallet?” I ask, eyeing the thick metal disk.

  “Perhaps, but the honor of carrying a royal disk compels most to clip it to their belts like so,” he says, holding the disk to the front of his belt where it snaps into place by some kind of magnetic clasp. “It’s something of a fashion statement,” he admits.

  I grin to think of the austere man caring about fashion, but then I look at his clothes again and notice how fastidiously maintained they are.

  We pass through the gate and into a sprawling and surprisingly active city. Buildings composed of clean, oddly modern lines but with posh medieval twists are everywhere I look. Crowds of men, women, and children clad in outfits that look familiar in some ways and alien in others move between stores and down the main roads of the city. A group of two men and a woman walk by just in front of us.

  One of the men wears a button down shirt with a red vest, but the vest has the same high collar that seems to dominate the men’s fashion here. He wears straight-legged gray pants with shin-high boots that clasp tightly to his legs. The other man wears the same kind of coat I’ve seen so much, but they both wear large, ornamental pistols at their hips. My eyes linger on the weapons. Even seeing guns in movies has always made me uneasy, but seeing them in person like this makes my stomach churn.

  I can’t help thinking how much violence is ready to be unleashed from those weapons, and how easily they could end my life.

  The woman has her hair done beautifully into black curls that cascade down to the middle of her back, but the chunk of hair just in front of her ear is platinum blonde. She wears a dress that looks like a hybrid between a ball gown, a prom dress, and a dress you might wear to a nice dinner. It’s made of a silver material with purple flecks of something reflective. The shoulders are rounded and puffy and the cut is low, showing an almost scandalous amount of cleavage, which, combined with the snug waistline makes for a pretty cute dress I wouldn’t mind wearing, even if it’s a little formal for every-day use. The bottom of the dress is folded and cut in a way that every step sends it swooshing, unraveling, and coming back together in a mesmerizing dance. Despite the cleavage on display, the hem of the dress falls all the way to her ankles so that only her gorgeous purple heels are visible--which are open at the top of her foot and transparent over her toes.

  Just as the group passes, the woman turns her head toward me, seems to take me in at a glance, and turns her nose up just slightly, like she’s smelled something bad.

  “Why is her hair like that?” I ask Calian. And why is she such a bitch?

  “Blonde hair is a sign of royal favor in women. Girls born with naturally blonde hair and common blood are forced to dye it. The more blonde a woman is allowed to wear, the more status her family carries.”

  “So her family has status?” I ask, still watching the woman, who must have seen that my hair had no blonde and determined I was beneath her.

  “Some,” says Calian. “But a single lock of blonde is hardly enough to earn a seat on the outskirts of a royal procession. It definitely wouldn’t grant her an invite to any of the royal balls, for instance. Then again, it’s all a matter of perspective. If she’s the only woman in her social circle with any royal ties, she is likely viewed as quite the important woman.”

  I frown. “It seems kind of backwards,” I say. “What about equal rights? Just because this place is hidden in the mountains shouldn’t mean it gets to play by its own rules, right? And why don’t these people just go live in the real world? If you’re a servant or something here, life would have to be better on the outside.”

  Calian makes a face, as if I asked a question he hoped I wouldn’t ask. “I’ll let your future husband answer that question more fully for you when the time comes. For now, I’ll just say that individuals on the bottom of the social ladder here are incentivized to stay. Anyway, we should be moving on, Princess.”

  I bump into a woman with at least half of her hair dyed platinum blonde. Every tight curl of her hair is dark brown hair woven together with blonde. The woman stumbles back and looks at me like I just threw up on her shoes. “Are you lost, dear?” she asks in a sickening fake sweet voice. “You must have made a wrong turn on the way to the slums. This is the royal quarter. You had better move along.”

  “My pardons, Miss. This is Princess Elizabeth Dowry you’re addressing. She’s currently under disguise for political reasons. I hope you’ll excuse us,” he says, moving past the woman whose mouth is opening and closing like a fish out of the water as we leave her behind.

  I grin, biting my lip. Maybe I don’t feel like I’ve earned the title of princess, but it was certainly fun to see it thrown in that snobby woman’s face. I could get used to this.

  We move quickly through the streets, so quickly that I barely have time to take everything in from the wonderful smells to the people, who seem so similar but different in the smallest ways that they tug at my curiosity.

  “Is this the only city in the Shrouded Kingdom?” I ask suddenly, just as Calian takes us through an inner gate deeper inside the city.

  He laughs. “No. This is just the royal seat of the Burkewoods. It’s certainly one of the largest cities in the Shrouded Kingdoms, but by no means the only city.”

  We step through the gate and I get my first full view of what must be the palace. It looks like what a medieval architect might have dreamed up if they had modern materials and all the tools of the modern world at his or her disposal. Brick accents the outer structure, but there are also smooth, clean lines of a slee
k, smooth black material. I count at least thirty castle-style towers jutting up from the main structure, complete with spiraling windows that lead to the top of each and what looks to be a breathtaking penthouse style room at the top with huge floor-to-ceiling windows.

  Calian doesn’t wait for me to gawk though, and before I know it, we’re stepping through two huge doors as Calian nods with familiarity to dozens of layers of security that watch us pass, deadly weapons strapped to their hips.

  Inside, we’re immediately approached by three women in brown, surprisingly plain dresses that cover them from neck to toes. “Come with us,” says the woman in the center of the group. She has brown hair and big, eager eyes and a kind face. “I’m Marcella,” she says, “this is Kadene.” She nods to the woman at her left, who has black hair and mousy features. “And this is Niera,” she says, nodding to the woman at her right, her red hair is tied into a beautiful braid. Niera keeps her eyes on the floor as she curtsies to me.

  “We are yours, and we have a lot of work to do,” says Kadene. She reaches out, touching my clothes and making a distasteful but sympathetic face. “When we’re done with you, the Prince will not be able to keep his hands off!”

  “Mine?” I ask. “I’m sorry--I don’t understand.”

  “We’re your servants,” says Marcella. “We’ll take care of your every need and desire”

  I frown. “Servants? Like slaves?”

  Based on the body language of the three women, I realize I’ve just said something wrong.

  “Please, I don’t mean offense. It’s just… Where I come from, people don’t have servants anymore.”

  Marcella straightens her dress. “You do not need to apologize, princess. As I said, we are yours.”

  I know I’ve made a terrible first impression, but I’m given no chance to smooth it over when the group of women surround me like butterflies, whisking me away and through the twisting hallways of the palace, up several flights of stairs, and finally up a spiral staircase that must lead to one of the tops of the towers I saw from outside. The stairs take us into a huge, open room. It’s circular and the walls are lined with windows that give a breathtaking view of the city below and the untouched hills beyond. The furniture is modern but with a touch of old world charm, which seems to be the trend here.

  Once they have me upstairs, the three women circle me, fussing over my clothes for a few moments before they take the liberty of starting to pull at my dress and shoes, undressing me.

  “W-wait,” I say quickly. “I can change myself.”

  “Nonsense,” says Kadene. She has a bossy voice and even bossier hands, which are not shy about yanking the zipper open and tugging my dress down.

  “Easy, Kadene. The princess is still adjusting to her new life” says Marcella, who moves in front of me and grips my shoulders gently, locking her big eyes on mine. “I know this is a lot to take in right now, but you must realize how fortunate you are. Every woman in the city would kill to be in your position right now. To be wed to Prince Titus?” she asks, looking to Kadene and Niera, who smirk suggestively back at her. “That is something to envy.”

  I smile a very confused, very overwhelmed smile. While I’m glad it seems like they’ve put what I said downstairs behind them, it’s strange that they know more about the man I’m supposed to marry than I do.

  “I prefer Roark,” says Kadene.

  “Kadene!” whispers Niera, who subtly kicks at Kadene’s leg. When the attention shifts to the shy woman, she tugs on her red hair self-consciously, looking away.

  “What?” asks Kadene. “I just prefer dark hair on a man. And Roark has something about him. Like he’s dangerous. It’s sexy.”

  Dark hair… So that means Prince Titus doesn’t have dark hair. If the two men I saw at the restaurant were the Prince I’m betrothed to and his older brother, that means Titus was the blonde one, the cold one. I shouldn’t fixate on that. Of all the things going through my mind right now, the last thing I need to be doing is trying to figure out what a man is like by dissecting my first impression of him.

  “And Titus isn’t dangerous?” asks Marcella, who seems to be so absorbed in her conversation that she has forgotten to take it slow with me. She reaches and unhooks my bra unceremoniously.

  I let out a noise like a mouse that has just been stepped on, scrambling to cover my breasts, but the women hardly notice. Niera is already browsing a closet by the stairs full of clothes that glimmer like they are made of stars.

  “Oh don’t fuss,” says Kadene. “We’ve seen tits before. And hey, these are very nice. Titus will be pleased.”

  I grip myself tighter. Trying to take a step back but I have nowhere to go. I know these women mean well, but the sudden attention is as overwhelming as being tossed into a pool of ice water for me. It’s like my brain is freezing under the scrutiny, and I can do nothing but sit through it while my thoughts play catch up.

  “Titus is a national champion in the dueling circles,” says Marcella, resuming the conversation as if nothing interrupted it.]

  “Only because Roark doesn’t waste his time with competitions,” snaps Kadene, who tugs on my hair a little too hard as she speaks, ripping the pins I had in place free.

  “I don’t think the Princess wants to hear this argument,” says Niera quietly.

  Marcella huffs. “It’s good that she knows what people are saying about the princes. She has a lifetime of gossip to catch up on, after all.”

  “A little privacy would be--” I start.

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” snaps Marcella. “Now give me that dress. Yes, yes,” she says irritably when Niera makes a confused gesture toward a gray dress with flecks of reflective white in the fabric. “Bring it here.”

  “I need my bra,” I say, feeling weak and exposed as I stand between the three women in nothing but my panties--my panties that have little Hello Kitties on them, of all things.

  “With breasts like these,” says Marcella, who makes me gasp with surprise as she reaches out to prod one of my breasts, “wearing a bra might as well be high treason. No, no. A bra will not do at all.”

  They pull the dress over my head, ushering me in front of a full length mirror seconds later. Kadene is doing something with my hair, but even half a mess, I feel like I’m looking at a stranger. The dress is more provocative than anything I’ve ever worn, and it’s like I’m seeing my body for the first time--a woman’s body, not a silly girl who dresses to stay invisible. The mirror reflects a woman who is dressed to demand attention. I look sexy, but I could never go out in public like this. I can clearly see the points of my nipples through the thin fabric, and everybody within a hundred yards will be able to as well.

  The neckline of the dress plunges below the bottom of my breasts, showing more cleavage than it hides, but the slight puff of shape at the shoulders and the way it flares out past my waist makes me look like some fairytale princess--albeit one who is showing way more boob than Disney would ever allow.

  “Yes,” says Marella, who puts her face beside mine and admires me in the mirror. “This will do for now. We don’t have time to wash you up and get things perfect, but there will be time for that tomorrow. Right now… It’s time for you to meet your future husband.”

  4

  Roark

  Titus stands to the side of the throne room, leaning into a mirror and checking his teeth. He runs a hand through his hair before stepping back to flex, turning fractions of an inch until he’s satisfied with the angle. He practices the grin he only uses when pretty women are around, and nods slightly.

  Two thrones sit at the end of the chamber--one slightly larger and more embellished than the other. My mother, Queen Korinthia, sits in the smaller of the two. I lean into the uncomfortable monstrosity that was my father’s seat. He always did worry more about appearing impressive than being practical. But the discomfort of the throne is nothing next to watching my preening brother, who my mother admires with a smile.

  My mother never doted o
n me like she did with my brother and my father was no different. I’ve been like an outsider in my own family for as long as I can remember. Maybe I lack the thirst for power and approval that drives them through every minute of the day, or maybe my mind just isn’t dim enough to be satisfied with the idea of ruling. What man in his right mind would strive to rule? What position or career is more anemic than a king? Power? No. A king offers the illusion of power, the opportunity to grow soft and fat while he bids others to do as he wishes.

  My claim to the throne hangs over me like a curse, and were it not for my brother’s obvious desire to have it, I would gladly give it away. As much as I may loathe the idea of ruling, I can’t let the city fall into Titus’ hands. He would either lead it to ruin through carelessness, hubris, or out of spite, or even a combination of all three.

  “Dear, stop fidgeting with your hair,” says my mother.

  Titus straightens a little, pulling his hand away from his head. “Sorry, mother.”

  “Roark,” says my mother, who speaks to some point a few feet in front of my head instead of to me. “You don’t need to bother yourself with this. Why don’t you retire for the evening? Get some rest in your chambers.”

  I say nothing, staring forward, fixating my eyes on the doors where she will be entering the room at any moment. Elizabeth. She is a pretty little thing. Of that, there’s no question. Over the years, I’ve made a few of the journeys alongside my brother to the outside. I’ve seen snapshots of her life and I’ve seen enough to know she lives a miserable existence. Her family keeps the truth about who she is hidden out of jealousy, and they’ve mistreated her for something she didn’t even know about since she was a child. Now she probably thinks she has received the first bit of good news in her entire life, except she’s about to find out she has been destined to marry a monster her whole life.

  A monster… But who am I to call Titus a monster? He has killed men before, but he kills in the way most powerful men do. He kills for pride or for duty or even boredom. Titus has never killed to feed a hunger in his soul. He has never killed because something dark within him threatened to take control and do much worse if he didn’t. He’s not the one living a lie--pretending to be normal while something hideous lurks within him.