Prince's Dirty Little Secret (A Royal Secret Baby Romance) (3 page)

The judge ignores my protests. "The Royal Crown hereby sentences the accused to twenty years' hard labor in a re-education camp."

I'm shell-shocked, and everything turns to a blur. Behind me, I hear the guards' footsteps as they step forward to take me away.

Just 24 hours ago, everything was going according to plan. And now this. I just want to be at home, curled up on my couch, reading a B.B. Hamel book and sipping a coffee. It could even be the world's worst gas station coffee. Even the most horrible day back home now seems like a distant dream.

But as the guards approach me, there's a commotion outside the doors of the courtroom. Everyone pauses and I strain to see what's happening.

The door bursts open, and a striking, nearly seven-foot-tall figure sweeps into the room. He's built like a Greek god, and his facial features are exotic, strong, and handsome. His sharp, angular jaw is shadowed with dark stubble, and his coiffured hair sits atop his perfect head.

I instantly recognize him. The Crown Prince Nikolai.

Even in the heat of the moment, a twenty-year sentence hanging over my head, it's impossible to look away from him. His eyes draw mine in, deeper and deeper. His entire body beckons with each motion, muscled, powerful, confident, regal. He's even more gorgeous than in photos. And his presence wraps around me, fills me, touches every part of me.

Every part.

But why is he here?

I look back to the judge, who has averted his eyes in deference. "My prince," he says, staring down at his desk.

I look back over my shoulder to Nikolai.

"You are the American?" His voice is deep, resonant, and condescending. He spits out the word "American" like a piece of spoiled food.

"Yes," I stammer.

He stares into my eyes, unblinking. "You will address me as 'my prince.'"

What the fuck? I bite my tongue, resisting the urge to talk back. My senses are all on high alert. This is so unbelievably weird.

Nikolai speaks to the judge without breaking our eye contact. His gaze penetrates my soul. It takes everything I've got to meet his stare.

"The verdict?" demands Nikolai.

"Guilty, my prince," says the judge in a hushed tone.

Nikolai stares at me, sizing me up. I'm completely aghast that this is happening. It's gone from bad, to worse, to downright unbelievable.

"Nullify the verdict," Nikolai commands, his voice booming through the empty room.

"My prince?" says the judge.

Nikolai breaks our eye contact to fix his gaze on the judge. It's like the Eye of Fucking Sauron locking onto the One Ring. "Nullify it," he says again, audibly irritated. The tone of his voice leaves no doubt that it's an order, not a request.

"By your command, my prince," mumbles the judge. He picks up a pen and begins to scratch out something on the papers in front of him.

Nikolai steps away from his entourage, walking down the center aisle of the courtroom toward me. His boots make a deep, thunderous clop against the floor. He must be 300 pounds of pure muscle and towering height. He stops no more than a foot away, so close that I can smell him. My god. It's pure man.

I'm absolutely furious at myself right now. My body is betraying me. My hormones are backstabbing me.

It's the Crown Prince, the man I hate. And he's making me go to pieces like a little schoolgirl.

He looks me up and down, and I feel his gaze briefly linger on my breasts as he brings his eyes back up to mine. My face flushes. "Are you not grateful?" he says, his voice hard and demanding.

"Grateful for what?" I spit. I instantly regret my tone of voice, but I can't help myself.

He cocks his head, as if he can't comprehend my response. "Then you wish to rot in a cell."

I grit my teeth. "No."

God, he smells good.

"Yet you do not appreciate my grace and mercy."

"Grace and mercy?" I say in disbelief. "This is a mockery of justice. No lawyers, no jury. You just changed the law at will."

He smiles, cocking his head again. "Not so, little pet," he says.

Little pet? The hell? Am I being punked?

"You have pardons in America. Do you not?"

"Okay, my prince,'' I say sarcastically. "You have no idea how America works. The president doesn't burst into a courtroom and overturn a judge's verdict on a whim."

"Little pet," he begins, his voice condescending, but I interrupt him.

"I am not your 'little pet,'" I say, wrinkling my nose at him.

"You are whatever I say you are," he says serenely. His face is absolutely coated in arrogance, and I want to sock him like I did to Chad back at the party. Of course, no matter how mad I am, and no matter how much I can't control my mouth, I'm not actually dumb enough to hit the totalitarian monarch of North Molvania.

Even if some part of me is really curious to know what it feels like to touch him.

"Why the hell are you here?" I say. "Why would I possibly be of interest to you?"

I expect him to reply with some egotistical, arrogant remark. Or something about me being a bargaining chip. But what he says shocks me even more.

"Because," he says, "I was expecting you. And I knew of your beauty."

I feel heat building inside me. I have no idea how to handle this situation.

"I… you… what?" I stammer. Even the judge is perking up, looking at us instead of the papers in front of him. Even he's watching this show unfold.

"You do not think I know who crosses my borders?"

I shake my head in disbelief. How could he have known? "You're gonna let me go, right? What about Ashley?"

"I did not say that." He ignores my question about Ashley.

My jaw twitches angrily. "I want to see my friend," I say. "And what do you want from me?"

Nikolai pauses for a moment before chuckling softly to himself. "For you to accompany me to a ball at the royal palace. Tomorrow. I require a date and you would be simply perfect."

I'm utterly baffled. "Are you fucking kidding me?"

"Quite the lip on you, woman," he says. "I simply think it a remarkable opportunity to further our countries' diplomatic relations."

I shake my head in bafflement.

"And," he says, "I have not yet had the pleasure of dating an American girl."

My jaw drops. "You can't just 'date me,'" I say. I try to pinch myself, because this has to be a nightmare.

"You wish to test me?"

"Dating… is when two normal people like each other."

"You do not like me?"

"No," I say, "I don't like you."

"He scoffs and regards me with disbelief. "Never before have I experienced such insolence."

I believe him. "Just send me to the camps. Get it over with."

He laughs quietly. "Your brazenness intrigues me. Call it a date. Or do not. It matters not."

"What if I refuse?" I say. I'm not actually sure why I'm arguing with him, considering the alternative.

He smiles. "Impossible." He turns to one of the guards in his entourage. "Bring her to the palace." He looks at me, pausing. I see a flash of emotion in his eyes. Is it… sympathy?

"And arrange for her to see the other girl."

Without another word, he turns and exits the courtroom with a flourish. I stare at him, my mouth agape, as he leaves, a perfect physical specimen with all the authority in the world.

I'm a captive in a foreign country, a prince wants to take me to his royal ball… and I'm absolutely furious about it.

The world has truly turned upside down.

T
HEY PUT
me in another government van and we drive. We're going to the royal palace, I guess. I'm not afforded the privilege of knowing what's happening to me. This time, at least I don't have a burlap sack over my head. I try to clear my mind while I stare at the lush landscape outside. But I sit facing a guard, a younger, harmless-looking guy who keeps trying to catch my eye.

"Hey," he eventually says. "You of America?"

I nod yes.

"What is like?"

I eye the other guard in the backseat, who's more grizzled looking. He's got to be be the one in charge here. He raises his eyebrow, waiting, an implicit approval for me to speak. He seems curious himself. I'm not sure if I should talk, but I do.

"Well," I say, "It's big. It's modern. There are huge stores you can go to, and buy anything you want."

The younger guy's eyes widen. "Chocolates?"

"Yeah," I say. "And cookies, and cakes, and ice cream."

His eyes appear on the verge of popping out of his head.

"What else in America?"

"We vote for our president," I say, "and we have freedom."

The younger guy looks excited, but the older guy grunts angrily. "Enough," he says gruffly. The younger one sighs, clearly disappointed. I dare not say anything else.

Instead, I turn my attention back to the landscape outside. The country is rich with free-roaming wildlife, an ironic contrast to the population living under the government's iron boot. Though, the road is rough and poorly maintained, and every few minutes we pass by a section of forest that's been completely logged and stripped. Areas where they've no doubt mined deposits of precious metals underground.

I can't help but replay my encounter with the Crown Prince Nikolai over and over again. He was every bit as arrogant and dickish in real life as I thought he'd be—not that I'd ever actually expected to meet him. But he was even more handsome than in photos. He had that North Molvanian exoticism, and he had it in spades. The less I tried to think about him ravaging me, the less I could help myself from doing so. In the fucking courtroom, of all places.

He doesn't even deserve his good looks. He lucked into them, just like he lucked into the royal bloodline.

And why is he playing this game with me, of all people?

I guess life gets boring when you have more wealth and power than you'll ever need. I'm just entertainment for him.

But me? My head spins. I'm going in circles. It makes no sense. If he's bored with Molvanian girls and European princesses, he has a million foreign girls lined up to meet him. Including Americans. Hell, even Ashley fits the stereotype of a hot American girl better than I do. Why me and not her?

Soon, we begin to ascend a hill. It's long and flowing, and our altitude increases slowly. But I can see where the road leads—to a giant black compound up in the mountains. I've seen it before in pictures.

It's the Caprion Royal Palace, made of solid black marble. A charming medieval castle it is not.

When we enter the palace grounds, we pass a heavily armed perimeter sentry. It's a squad of five or six men armed with huge, black automatic rifles, guarding the palace gates.

The two army guards exit the van, motioning for me to step out. I do so, taking in the full majesty of the palace. It's enormous and magnificent, and up close I see that the black marble swirls with ivory inserts. It's more like some ancient temple than a castle, and it seems to threaten everything around it. The marble's blackness absorbs the sunlight, and I sense that the palace contains secrets locked deep inside.

Secrets of oppression, control, and elite power.

The guards lead me inside. The interior of the palace is also black marble. It's unlike any building I've ever seen, and oozes opulence. There are no windows. The lighting is all dim and artificial, yet oddly soothing. The walls are adorned with oil paintings, the corners of the rooms furnished with golden statues and sculptures of antiquity. Almost like being on some alien planet.

We stand in the foyer, waiting. I wonder if Nikolai is meeting us here. I hope not. I need to find a way out of here, out of this crazy experiment. Away from him.

Before he makes me do something really crazy.

A clean-cut young man comes around the corner into the foyer, emerging from the deep innards of the compound. He wears a perfectly tailored blue suit that's so crisp it must have gallons of starch soaked into it.

"Jenna Duval," he says, smiling thinly. His voice sounds… really condescending. "I am Gaius. You are now a guest of the Crown Prince. This means that you are under his protection, an honorary citizen of the Democratic Republic of North Molvania."

"I don't want to be an honorary citizen."

Gaius seems far less amused by my antics than the Crown Prince was. He doesn't smile again. "Desires are irrelevant. You are free to move about the palace grounds. But if I were you," he says, "I'd be careful not to stick my nose anywhere it doesn't belong."

"Okay," I say curtly. I feel my eyes start to roll, but I think better of it, and force them to remain stationary.

If I can move freely, then maybe I can find a way out of here.

"Your royal guards will escort you to your quarters, at which time you may rest or proceed to the dining hall on the upper level to eat. Please," he says, "Feed yourself well. We wouldn't want a guest of the Crown Prince to go hungry."

"Okay," I say again blankly. I don't want to give them the pleasure of thinking I'll enjoy any of this. Because I fucking won't. "When is he coming here? And when do I get to see Ashley?" I ask.

"The Prince will see to you when he's ready," says Gaius cryptically. He gives me one final, very insincere smile. "Enjoy your stay," he says. He turns and walks back, deep into the belly of the compound.

On cue, the younger guard speaks up. "Follow," he says in his thick accent. We turn and walk down a side corridor, toward what appears to be residential quarters.

The guards take me down the hall. We pass at least a dozen doors on the left and right sides of the corridor, but we don't stop at any of them. We proceed all the way to the very end of the hall, which terminates with two French-style double doors. They must extend twenty feet up to the black marble ceiling. The younger guard steps ahead of me to hold open one of the doors.

It's… my room?

Its magnificence takes my breath away when I step inside. There's a Victorian-style bed, king size, draped in gold and purple quilts and throws. The perimeter of the bed is cascaded with black lace that encloses the bed like a cocoon. The walls are painted with classic murals. Live vines and flowers decorate the walls and furniture. It's the pinnacle of excess and luxury.