3. Chapter Two
Chapter Two
Anew Harold stepped into the waiting area of Kron Tress.
Two sets of eyes, both hazel, rounded like tractor tires when they spied me with Gus at my side. Houghton, my bodyguard, and Vetra, my personal assistant, gawked openly for several long moments before snapping out of the shock. Both rose as Gus began gushing over Houghton.
Yes, my protector was a stud. Six foot six, two hundred eighty pounds of former professional wrestler from a small town in Canada, Houghton Pierce was massive.
He wore plain black clothes, wore no jewelry or tattoos, and had not one strand of hair on his head.
To be blunt, the motherfucker didn’t need ink or piercings to intimidate.
Simply sucking in air was enough to put most people off.
And if that didn’t, he could bend a human body into a swan origami in under ten seconds as well as body slam anyone who dared to give me a sideways glance.
Just last month, I’d seen a rowdy protestor who grabbed me as I exited a hotel be slapped down to the ground and wrangled into a cobra clutch in under five seconds.
Houghton carried no gun, just a taser for those times when a stepover toehold facelock just wasn’t enough to get a submission call from a would-be attacker.
The stoic Canadian had been with me for six months now, and we’d shared perhaps a hundred words in that time.
Vetra Livari, on the other hand, was the exact opposite of Houghton.
She stood a whopping five foot two in her standard and practical two-inch heels.
She came to work for me seven years ago and somehow managed to not only put up with my stupid bullshit through my young and rowdy years but kept me from utter disgraces that would have seen me banished from ?stermon after having my titles stripped and doing a walk of shame ala Cerci Lannister from the Cathedral of Saint Bjarke.
My father knew of only a quarter of the awful shit I had done thanks to Vetra.
Fifty years old, slim, always properly dressed and possessing a magical tote that held everything she or I might need at any time.
Silver hair cut short and small glasses, she managed me better than either of my parents ever had with a firm hand along with a no-nonsense attitude.
“That’s a new look for you, Your Highness,” Vetra said as the surprise left her face.
I took that shock as a small win. Little shook Vetra.
Even walking into a rather risqué threesome when I’d celebrated my thirtieth in St. Barts to find me servicing two men as a worn-out woman cheered us on from a chaise lounge in the corner.
All of five minutes passed before the celebrants were hustled out a side door after hastily signing NDAs while withering looks from Vetra sent me under the covers to hide.
“I’m feeling it. Next week the curls go straight, which will be the only straight thing about me,” I replied, pulling on a soft sweater as Houghton moved to open the front door for me.
Vetra paid for the styling as I waved at Gus before being hustled into a bright blue Range Rover that Houghton adored.
Rumor had it that he’d ordered it with armor plating when I’d told him to buy something new that he preferred for our outings.
He disliked the Jaguar my previous guardian had liked, saying it drew attention.
Once I was tucked into the backseat with Vetra climbing in to sit at my right, Houghton closed the door and took his place behind the wheel.
I preferred to keep my staff light so no driver, at least not when I wasn’t in ?stermon.
Father insisted on such shit when home to keep up appearances, but I found just having one guard and one drill sergeant was enough outside the borders of my homeland.
“Would you care for some water or a clean shirt, Sir?” Vetra asked, opening her bag of many wonders and glancing at me over the top of her glasses. “I know the tiny bits of hair that fall into your collar chafe your delicate skin.”
“You’re being sardonic,” I said as she handed me a clean shirt, neatly pressed, still in the dry-cleaning wrapping paper.
She never cracked a smile, but I caught the imp in her blue-brown gaze.
“Those tiny bits make me itch. I’m filled up with water.
Gus insists on pouring bubbly spring lilac water down my throat to cleanse my colon.
I’ll shit like a damn goose for the rest of the day. ”
After wrangling into a soft tee, I pulled my sweater back on as Houghton maneuvered into traffic.
I loved having a flat in Oslo. The people, the city, everything was clean, safe, and welcoming.
Yes, the natives could be considered reserved, but we ?stermonians were also viewed that way by the outside world.
“I suggest you order bananas, rice, applesauce, and toast at lunch since you’re scheduled to meet Veronica Clark for dinner at eight to go over your role in the launch of her new perfume.”
“You’re telling me to eat the brAT diet.
Do I look like I’m three years old?” I asked as we passed the Oslo Opera House.
“Don’t answer that. Did Mother mention anything about our season tickets here?
I’d love to see Don Carlo as I missed it the last time it was in Oslo, as I was in Singapore for that wildlife fundraiser event to advance local species protections. ”
“Is Dominik Sagen playing the lead role?” She folded my hairy shirt and placed it in her tote before removing her trusty electronic tablet.
“So I’ve heard,” I replied as I settled back into my warmed seat. Fall always brought out the chills for me so as soon as the first leaf turned yellow, I was in sweaters and coats.
“I’ll reach out to her secretary to see if they’ve made arrangements. Speaking of the queen, she wishes to remind you that you’re to return home next week for a familial meeting with your siblings about the fall festival this year.”
“What about it?” I wiggled about. The mention of going home to face my father irritated me as much as little snippets of hair down my back. “And why do we all need to go in person? She knows quite well how to do a group video chat. She does them weekly with Gilda, Anders, and Mitchell.”
“Perhaps she would like to see her children in person more often than once a year for Christmas?” I rolled my eyes. “You did ask, Sir. I cannot speak for the queen, nor would I dare to assume her reasonings. Shall I respond that you will attend?”
“Yes, yes, of course. Are all the boys going to be there? Anders?”
“Former Prince Anders is unlikely to be in attendance,” she quietly replied to dash the flicker of hope.
“No, of course.” I sighed heavily. Having Anders home made me feel less like the odd duck.
Other than Rani, who was now in Kensington working with my sister-in-law, there were no other queer people in Dragens Abborre, the castle I’d grown up in.
“Is this just a testosterone-filled family gathering, or will the wives and children be there?”
“I believe Lady Alva will be coming with Prince Ivar, but Princess Karina will be staying home with the children, as they are all suffering from runny noses.”
Rani would be there. That made the notion of sitting down to chart out a monstrously large autumn fete for the entire nation far less horrid.
Sitting back in my seat, my ass warm, wound in rich cashmere, I drifted off as Vetra typed away.
To moonlit nights in the south of France wound around Rani Adhikari, his lean body moving underneath mine as we lost ourselves in each other.
Dark brown eyes, tan skin, thick ebony hair that curled when wet, and lips to make a man lose his senses.
I’d never quite discovered a man or woman who touched me like Rani, and God knows I’d tried.
Hundreds of people had tumbled into and out of my beds. But Rani…
Well, Rani was head and shoulders above the rest.
And I’d fucked that one special thing up just like I had fucked up so many other things in my wild past. Running an idle hand through my new hair, I wondered if changing one’s ways was as easy as changing one’s hair.
Surely not, or every asshole out there would be less of an asshole.
But small changes. Small changes. Those were easier.
A Chinese proverb about a man who removes a mountain begins by carrying away small stones came to mind.
I’d been flicking pebbles from the base of the Kilimanjaro of wastrel behavior I’d built up for months now.
Maybe I needed to move up to a bucket and trowel. Possibly something larger.
“Can you order me a wheelbarrow from Amazon?” I asked, which got me that sharp ‘what the hell is he on about now’ look from Vetra.
“What color, Sir?”