Royal S.O.B. (A Bad Boy Romance) (6 page)

"You
received an invite, Your Royal Highness."

It
was the governess telling Addie.

"Again
with the Royal Nonsenseness!" she retorted in mock anger.

"Sorry,
my child," said the old lady.

"It's
the conditioning of fifty years or more. Won't go away so easily."

"Okay,
granted," the princess replied affably.

"Now
tell me Mrs. Bradford, what's this invite all about. Who's it from?"

"From
the prince. Prince Kenrick."

"Ah.
My new stepbrother."

"Yes."

They
were sitting in one of the inner chambers, technically the large dressing room
of the princess. It had big walk-in wardrobes, with mirrors wherever the eye
could go, and dressing tables with a series of bulbs dotting the outlines of
huge reflections – like the kind seen in green rooms of actresses, only on a
much grander scale.

There
were hundreds of garments in the wardrobe, and plenty of makeup materials on
the dressing table (plus more inside the drawers), but Addie had no interest in
any of it. In fact, she did not even have a look.

To say she felt like a fish out of water, would be putting it too mildly. She
missed her old relationship with her mother, missed her home, missed the little
things about her way of life in that middle class suburb from which she was
uprooted rather abruptly. And unceremoniously. There were enough ceremonies within
the royal household, but not a moment of reflection on the kind of life that
went on there.

Thankfully,
she found a blessing amidst the chaos: Mrs. Bradford. She was like an oasis in
the desert. Addie took to her like a fish that had found water again, and
latched on to her for dear life. It was no exaggeration to say that the old
lady filled in the space left vacant by her mother – that was how crucial her
role was.

Mrs.
Bradford was this gentle soul who had spent her entire lifetime in the palace,
serving the royal family in different capacities. She was brought in from the
country as a young girl, and she had gotten married to an overseer in the
palace. But within a year, her husband had died, and she'd been living alone
ever since. Many a royal personage of today had been tended to by her frail
hands.

"How's
he, Mrs. Bradford, my new stepbrother?"

The
old lady was silent.

"Would
you call him, in your style, 'a fine young man'?" Addie persisted.

She
seemed hesitant to agree or disagree.

"Mrs.
Bradford, please don't worry so much," Addie tried to assure her.

"First
off, I'm not even serious about my question. And then, if at all you say
anything to me, it'd stay firmly between these two."

Adelaide
pointed at both her ears with her index fingers.

"My
child, you're like a daughter to me," Mrs. Bradford's lips trembled.

"I
can't lie to you."

Addie
waited.

"My
advice would be – stay away from Prince Kenrick."

In
spite of herself, Addie smiled.

"Of
course, Mrs. Bradford."

She
placed her hand on the old lady's arm.

"Thank
you for your, ah, warning. But ma'am, please understand I'm not this
impressionable young girl who's just waiting to fling into the arms of any
royal male. I know how to take care of myself. So please stop worrying!"

Mrs.
Bradford's eyes turned moist.

"The
corridors in this palace are smeared with lust, my child," she said, with
a quiver in her voice.

"And
who knows it better than old Mrs. Bradford…"

I probably touched a
raw nerve
,
thought Addie. And she felt guilty about it.

"Now,
now, Mrs. Bradford, let's talk about something else, okay? I'll tell you about
my childhood? About how we lived our lives out there among the 'common folk'?
You're a commoner like me, so you'll know what I mean…"

She
managed to divert the old lady's mind away from Prince Kenrick's ongoing torrid
trysts for a moment.

That
little chat done, Mrs. Bradford left for the kitchen to fix tea for Addie, and
the latter was left alone. That was when she was reminded of the invite from
her new stepbrother.

What
was to be done in such a situation? Could she refuse the invite – she was a
princess, too? Or, being a newcomer inducted into the royal household late, and
coming from her commoner background, was she expected to display her immense
gratitude for this mess that she'd found herself in?

She
could not decide one way or the other. Best was to ask the kind woman's advice
on this touchy matter, even though she felt bad for doing so.

When
the old lady walked in with her tea tray ten minutes later, she broached the
subject.

"What
do you think I should do, Mrs. Bradford?"

The
governess thought for a moment.

"There's
no way you can say no, I suppose," she supplied.

"This
is the heir apparent to the throne inviting you, after all. But you're a
princess in your own right, you have privileges too. You could exercise
them."

"So
I
can
refuse?"

"No,
you mustn't."

"Then
what privileges are we talking about?"

It
was a catch-22.

"You
could delay the inevitable," Mrs. Bradford offered.

"How
would that help?" Addie wanted to know.

"Well,"
Mrs. Bradford's voice went to a whisper.

"You
could postpone it citing ill health, or something like that. Prince Kenrick
likes to travel a lot, so with any luck, he could be gone any day now that the
wedding is over. Later, when he returns – we'll cross that bridge when we come
to it."

That
seemed workable. It also suggested that she was not too eager to meet him in
particular, or to mix with the royals. A certain distance was always good, and
an image of being inaccessible couldn't hurt, either.

She
shot off a regret reply citing her inability to meet anytime soon owing to an
unexpected indisposition.

"That's
haughtiness, that's arrogance!"

Kenrick
was barking at the top of his lungs. Pat was still in bed – recovering from
their late night binge of debauchery the day before. They had gone to this
themed pub somewhere in town, and returned only in the wee hours of the morning.

"It
happens, Pat, it happens," Kenrick continued in the same vein.

"It
happens when a commoner who's slept on the floor gets to taste the royal
four-poster bed."

Pat
opened his eyes wide, showing his commiseration. At least, that was what
Kenrick was expecting of him.

"What
a fine piece of news first thing in the morning!"

It
was past eleven, and it seemed something serious was the matter. Something had
dented Kenrick's ego.

Pat
got up and sat on the bed, and then Kenrick came up to him and flung a piece of
royal stationery into his face. He caught it mid-air and fixed his eyes on the
content.

"This
is what happens, Pat, when you get what you don't deserve, and you never sweat
at getting it."

Pat
glanced at the letter, written in a beautiful hand. He thought all royal
correspondence was typewritten. This seemed a welcome change.

"But
she says she's indisposed, Kenrick…" Pat submitted, meekly.

"Indisposition,
my foot!" Kenrick settled for a milder expression. Usually, it would have
been an expletive. And Pat was thankful for that.

"Guess
what, guess what," Kenrick clapped his hands in excitement.

"I
know what to do! I just know what can bring this ungrateful bitch down to her
knees!"

He
came and sat next to Pat on the bed.

"Pat,
trust me, I know what to do, and I'll do it. You just watch!"

This
was vintage Kenrick. And who could tell it better than Pat, his partner in
crime for as long as either of them could remember.

Kenrick,
Pat figured out long ago, was that lethal serpent that could never be shunned.
The serpent would strike, come what may. And yet, here was that one time when
the serpent was stung back. And how.

Kenrick's
mind traveled back to the time when they were at university. They were on a
study tour to the interior country, as part of a rural project. The objective
was to understand pastoral life, something that was changing fast, before it
became history. All students were to submit a report after the tour.

Well
Kenrick went into the tour expectant of an adventure or two, but he never
bargained for what unfolded. They were visiting homes in a pastoral village,
and Kenrick went into a small farm run by a widow. He was not very happy with
that, but it was sheer chance.

Reluctantly,
he went inside the house while Pat was checking out the home dairy in the next
house.

The
prince went in and knocked. There was no response. He knocked again, his
patience drying up fast. That was it, he wanted to go back, when a faint
womanly voice called out.

"Who's
there?"

Now,
that was a question no one ever asked of Kenrick. He was the most famous
personality in the country, second only to his father. His was the most
frequently searched name on Google in that part of the world, for Christ's
sake. His was the face that was the most well-known. And here he was being
asked who he was.

"It's
me," he said, in spite of himself.

This
was the real backcountry, probably they had no idea about him.

"Me?"
came the voice.

"Who's
this 'me' that I don't know about?"

His
arrogance did not allow Kenrick to answer. Instead, he stepped further inside
in search of the voice. His face would be the passport to recognition, he thought.

He
went to the back of the house; that was where the voice seemed to come from.
There was a cow shed there, and half a dozen bovines. But here there was no
human being.

Then
he saw: through the legs of the cows, a woman sitting and milking one of the
animals. He could not see her face still, just the jet of fresh milk streaming
into a steel vessel, accompanied by the appropriate sound effect. This had to
be the owner of that voice.

"Hey!"
he called out.

The
jet stream stopped. A female head popped out from under the udders of the cow.

It
was the sexiest face he ever saw.

It
was not a pretty face in the conventional sense. But the half-open eyes, and
pouting nose, the full lips and cheeks that were hiding just under her high
cheekbones… Just her face was enough to give Kenrick a hard-on.

"Who
are you and what do you want?"

Her
screeching voice gave him a shudder. That was always the problem with women
like that, when they opened their mouths for any reason other than to accept
his cock.

"Can't
you see I'm busy? I still need to milk three more cows, and I started at five
this morning. And then I need to deliver the milk to the cooperative in the
village square. Who will do all that – you?"

That
was more than a mouthful. Non-stop. And to the heir apparent to the throne.
The future king, no less.

Kenrick
liked it immensely.