Royally Rebellious: An arranged royal romance (Resplendent Royals Book 1)

Chapter 2

How dare the bartender cut me off! I wanted to get drunk and forget my troubles. This was one more middle finger preventing me from zoning out. I would survive the weekend and move on. Tasked as the official attendee for the Lundhavn court, this was no vacation. It was no holiday for fun times. It was punishment.

My indiscretions finally caught up with me. After months of running around with a woman I loved but could not possess, I got caught. I was too bold. Her husband filed for divorce, but he wasn’t done there. It was a mess! My father paid off her ex to keep things under wraps, but he swore he’d never do it again. Moreover, if I didn’t follow the rules and shape up, he would toss me out and cut me off.

It was fucked, but it was life now. I slogged through the last couple of months holed up in the palace. My father finally released me on official duty. I was here being a good boy, trying to run from what haunted me. My brother and sister-in-law were on their honeymoon aboard the royal yacht in the Caribbean while my parents skied in the Alps. I cursed them all.

I pushed things too far, but I was heartbroken. No one cared. What I had did was despicable, yes. Still, I loved her. I loved her even now! And after all this, she was finally free, but it could not be. Her ex threatened to go public with the details of their divorce if I so much as looked at his ex-wife. It was a risk I couldn’t take.

I was sent to impress women in hopes that one of these royals might marry me. As the spare, I existed to look attractive and to maybe produce children. My socially awkward brother and his wife weren’t a sure thing on that front. Both loathed children. I might have to shoulder that burden.

Any woman of good reputation in attendance was warned by their mothers or older sisters to avoid me. Hell, I may have already dated their older sisters! Marrying me off was difficult. The best I could hope for was a woman who turned a blind eye to my little liaisons and settled for having babies. It would livean otherwise charmed life. I could muster that if there was such a woman.

To this point, I’d had little luck. So, I drowned my sorrows. The only woman I’d had an actual conversation with was Queen Alexandra who treated me like a stupid child. She was a child herself! How would she know better?

I viewed Alexandra as young, boring, a waste of time, and on my list of potential wives! She was saintly. Her grandmother was a family friend—my godmother— but I didn’t know her. It wasn’t unusual to be born into royalty and have ten godparents you never met beyond your christening.

Neandia was a conservative, religious hellhole where dreams went to die. My dear Lundhavn was pleasant and beautiful. There was nothing but low country and sadness in Neandia. If anything, I pitied Queen Alexandra. She was a figurehead in a pointless tax haven.

A blonde with impressive tits sat down by me at my assigned table assigned—a singles table. I hated this. It was forced and typical for any royal occasion where you arrived alone. She was pretty enough.

She asked, “You here alone, too?”

“Yes.” I slammed my pitiful shot.

“Boring.”

“Absolutely. The Belgians are ridiculous. I blame their British connections for them being snoozefests.”

The woman scoffed. “And what would you say if I was one of them?”

I groaned. “I thought… you have an American accent.”

“Raised off and on in the States. Apologies, but don’t shit on my cousins.”

“Your cousins are also mostly raised outside?—”

“Well, fuck off if that bothers you!”

“It’s a fucking compliment, okay?”

I knew who she was now, but it didn’t matter. She didn’t care who I was. I didn’t care who she was. She was gorgeous withlegs up to her neck. I wanted to fuck her with abandon. And, if she’d have me, I would.

“You’re Rick the Prick, right?”

Ouch. Well, I could tell word had spread about that—even to those who didn’t speak our language. I’d gotten a reputation among anyone who spoke English. I’d gone by Rick in college. It was a lot easier than explaining to Americans how to pronounce my given name. A college nickname was now an annoying artefact.

“Most people around here call me Prince Rikard, but sure. You can call me whatever you want when you’re screaming my name.”

She bit her lip. The blonde of the evening was thinking about it.

“You want to disappear?” I asked. “I’m bored. We could get up to trouble.”

She stood and held out her hand. “Why don’t we? You know this place at all?”

I shrugged. “You’ve seen one palace, you’ve seen ‘em all. C’mon.”