Princely Submission by K.C. Wells
Chapter One
April
If there was one place Prince Jordan would be guaranteed to get a blow job and lose his virginity, it was the US.
Now all he had to do was get there.
He has to change his mind. Except Jordan knew how intransigent his father could be. Once he made a decision, he rarely budged from his position.
This is so unfair.
One month in the USA. One whole month of sightseeing, receptions… So what if there would also be meetings guaranteed to bore Jordan to tears? They were happening in America.
And Jordan would be stuck in Elloria, thousands of miles away, in a land where everyone knew his face, and he couldn’t walk down a street without someone recognizing him.
If I went to the US with them…
It was a pleasant fantasy, one that usually involved escaping the royal clutches long enough to get a mouth on his dick—or a dick in his mouth, he wasn’t fussy. And God knew, he’d been trying to bring about both events—and more besides—for long enough.
How hard can it be to find someone who won’t run straight to my father?
He sat up, the mountain of pillows supporting him as he surveyed his room. It occupied a turret, affording a view of the capital. Except it was more than his bedroom, his refuge from duty, his bolt hole when he needed time alone with his laptop…
It served as a reminder of his failures.
The mirror facing him provided one such reminder—his tattoo. That had been an epic fail. The low bookcases beneath his windows held the books he’d studied, and gazing at them brought Dr. Sajak to mind. Jordan had believed he’d almost achieved his goal, until the salt-and-pepper-haired tutor had gone running to the king. Then he was gone, replaced by Benita Hykel, a formidable teacher in her sixties.
Jordan’s fantasies had been quashed in a heartbeat.
The door to his closet stood ajar, and it was natural his thoughts would go to Rufus. He’d been a little young for Jordan’s current tastes—Rufus had been barely five years older than him—but the opportunity had been too perfect to be ignored. Rufus had been taken on as the twelve-year-old prince’s valet, a job he’d walked into the week after he’d finished his schooling. Jordan hadn’t paid him any attention until reaching the age of seventeen, when Rufus’s hands on him had achieved a much greater significance. So had that beautiful face, and the soft-looking lips that Jordan yearned to crush against his own. He’d employed every artful wile he possessed to persuade Rufus to overcome his fears, give in to his desires, drop to his knees, and open his mouth.
That had gotten him a new servant, Kamil, who had to have been at least a hundred years old—and Rufus had left the palace. To this day, Jordan had no idea whether Rufus had been scared of his father, or his father had found out and had sent him packing. Not that it mattered. The outcome was the same, and if his father had known, he’d said nothing.
Jordan’s riding boots stood beside the closet door, black and gleaming, and his stomach clenched. Two failures for the price of one. Samson, the stable boy, hadn’t succumbed to his charms either, and the head groom, Augustyn, had stepped in at Samson’s request. Jordan had gained a new appreciation of Augustyn’s beard flecked with silver, his broad chest, his muscular arms, and a new fantasy had emerged—one that had come to an abrupt end when Jordan, flushed from his ride, had suggested Augustyn’s hands would be better served on him than on the horse.
After that episode, Augustyn had taken on a girl from the city, to train her as a stable hand. The only person she dealt with on a regular basis was Jordan, and Augustyn was always nowhere near when Jordan went riding.
Yet another door slammed shut, another avenue closed off.
Such rumination was getting him nowhere.
A month remained until his parents would leave for the US, so there was time for one last try—time for a miracle.
Jordan threw back the sheets and lurched out of bed with fresh determination. He would do everything in his power to assure himself a seat in the Royal jet.
That left but one route open to him—lie.
Jordan waited until the last ministers had left the council chamber before entering. His father sat at the oval table, a cup of tea in his hand, and a neat sheaf of papers in front of him. Despite his annoyance at being thwarted at every turn, Jordan admired his father. The people adored and respected the king: his laws were just, and his benevolence was renowned.
If only he wasn’t so unflinching at times. Then he reconsidered. The one person subjected to that particular trait was himself.
He glanced up as Jordan approached.
“Good morning, Father.” Jordan gestured to the chair facing him. “May I?”
King Ludomir arched his eyebrows. “Such civility at this hour. Please, join me.” He bit back a smile. “What have you done now?”
Jordan feigned surprise. “Nothing.”
The king sipped his tea. “Which translates as, you’ve done something, but no one has discovered it yet.” He leaned back in the wide chair, his elbows on its arms, the cup still in his hands. “Give it time. Your deeds always find their way out of the shadows and into the light. Didn’t the episode with the tattoo teach you that?” He arched his eyebrows. “Did you really think I wouldn’t find out? It isn’t as if you could hide it forever. Kamil would have spotted it eventually.” His eyes glittered. “But I didn’t need Kamil’s help, not when the whole kingdom now knows the prince has a tattoo. You chose your accomplices poorly. I’m sure they promised you complete secrecy, but it was how many hours after they’d finished it that they posted on the Internet?” His brows knitted. “‘By Royal Appointment’ indeed.”
“Father, that was three years ago. I… I’ve matured.”
That earned him another chuckle. “When? Overnight?” He leveled a hard stare at Jordan. “Just because you haven’t been caught in some misdemeanor or other doesn’t mean you haven’t attempted it.”
This was getting him nowhere.
Jordan clasped his hands on the table, his back straight as he looked his father in the eye. “Father, I know I’ve been less than the ideal son these last few years.” He took a deep breath. “I’ve been a jerk.”
The king frowned. “Is that a word you picked up from the Internet? I’m certain your tutors didn’t teach such vocabulary.” He cleared his throat. “Although the less said about one tutor in particular, the better.”
“Father… What I’m attempting to say is… I want to try to be a son you can be proud of. I’m not promising perfection, and I don’t think you’d expect—or believe—that of me, but…” Jordan stood, his chin held high. “The day will come when I must rule Elloria. I need to learn all I can in preparation for that day.”
How he kept a straight face, he would never know.
The cup landed in its saucer with a clatter, and the king narrowed his eyes, his lips pursed. “Can this be true?”
Jordan had known it wouldn’t be an easy task, but he wasn’t about to let the opportunity slip through his fingers. “Elloria’s fortunes are changing, Father, so it is right that I should change too. Maybe it’s time I sat in on your council meetings, to watch you, to learn from you. I know I haven’t undertaken many royal engagements, but—”
His father blinked. “‘Many’?” He smirked. “Try none.”
Jordan squared his shoulders. “I meant, engagements on my own. I’ve watched the military parades from the balcony with you and Mother, I’ve attended the services in the chapel, I’ve—”
“Perhaps you shouldn’t bring up that last item.” The king’s eyebrows shot up once more. “I seem to recall you spending more time trying to catch the attention of one of the courtiers, than listening to the sermon.”
Damn. Jordan had thought he’d been subtle.
Then the king sighed. “Maybe I’m being too harsh. You can’t blame me for distrusting your motives. You haven’t given me much cause to trust you, these past three years.” Jordan opened his mouth to speak, but his father held up his hand. “Hear me out. You’ve obviously given this issue a great deal of thought.”
“I have,” Jordan assured him, his heart pounding at this first sign of a thaw. “You’ve told me often enough in recent months how important—how vital—this trip is for Elloria’s future. You’ll be meeting with business owners and executives, all desperate to work with us. Surely I should be at those meetings too? They need to know who they will be dealing with, once you step down from the throne. They need to know the links you forge now will continue to be strong.”
Please, let this work. Let him hear me. He’d considered his approach all morning, aiming to say all the right things.
Not that Jordan meant a word of it.
The king smiled. “So that’s it. You want to come with us to the United States. I should have guessed your motivation.”
Jordan affected a pained expression. “I’m hurt, Father. You know everything I just said is true. I want to be in those meetings with you, to present the face of the next ruler of Elloria. Is that wrong of me?”
King Ludomir said nothing. He met Jordan’s gaze, and Jordan stared back at him, not blinking, hardly daring to breathe. At last, the king nodded. “I will discuss this with your mother. Maybe there is something in what you say.”
Jordan caught his breath. “Father, I—”
He held up his hand again. “I am not saying you can come with us. I merely say I will discuss the possibility.”
“Thank you, Father.” Jordan bowed his head, and left the council chamber. His instincts told him nothing more would be gained by pursuing the issue. The temptation was huge to find his mother and loosen her up to the idea, but he sensed that would only confirm his father’s suspicions.
Let them talk about it.
And in the meantime, Jordan was going to hide away in his room with his laptop. He had some research to do.
If this came off, he needed to have plans in place.
Dinner was over, and Elise had poured the coffee before withdrawing from the dining room. Since that morning, Jordan had not brought up the topic of the visit. Some inner voice told him to bide his time, to not appear too eager.
The door to the hallway closed, and his father glanced at his mother, who rose to her feet.
“I will leave you two to talk.” She gazed at Jordan, her eyes warm. “It’s good to see you growing up at last.” Then she gestured to the remaining servants to leave the room. She walked away from the table and out of the door, and a servant closed it behind her.
That was all it took to quicken Jordan’s heartbeat. He used every ounce of strength he possessed to remain silent, waiting on his father.
At last, the king coughed. “Your mother and I have discussed the visit, and we’ve decided you’re right. You should be there.”
There is a God. Specifically, a God who looked after horny virgins in need of release.
Jordan gave a brief bow of his head. “Thank you, Father. I won’t let you down.” Or at least, I’ll make sure you never find out what I get up to.
“I’m sure you won’t.” The king’s eyes held a glint that unnerved him a little.
“Maybe tomorrow, I can look at the itineraries planned for the visit, to acclimatize myself with the—”
“Not so fast.”
Jordan froze, his heart thumping. “But you said—”
“I know what I said, and I meant it. You shall accompany us. But…” The king regarded him with an unwavering stare. “There is one proviso.”
Jordan should have known it wouldn’t be that easy. “Yes?”
“You will have a bodyguard assigned to you at all times.”
He smiled. “Of course, Father. I would expect nothing less.” Jordan could wrap any of the security team around his little finger. How else had he managed to get out of the palace to get that damn tattoo in the first place? “May I choose who it is to be?”
“That will not be possible, I’m afraid.”
It didn’t matter. Jordan was confident he could outwit any of them. “Then you’ve already chosen?”
“Not exactly. I’ve approached an agency in the US, one of whose operatives comes highly recommended. I hope to interview him soon, if he’s available. You’ll get to meet him then. He and others from the agency will form our security team.”
There was a heavy feeling in Jordan’s stomach. “You’re hiring strangers to protect us? Why not our own people?” Not that he gave a damn about the rest of the team. An unknown bodyguard was also an unknown quantity.
“Think about it. Our people know Elloria—they are not familiar with New York or Los Angeles. This agency will provide us with operatives who know the terrain.”
“Then why do I need my own bodyguard?” As if he didn’t know.
The king’s eyes grew flinty. “You don’t have to agree to my condition, but if you don’t, you will remain here.”
Jordan sagged into his chair. “I see.”
“And as to the itineraries…I will expect you to attend meetings, as you suggested.”
Jordan widened his eyes. “What about sightseeing? Surely I’ll get some time to—”
“I did not say you would attend all the meetings, but you must attend some.” His father tilted his head to one side. “Jordan, you’ve had the opportunity to live your own life so far, without worrying about future responsibilities. But you’re right. It’s time to face up to those responsibilities. So… if you can rein yourself in for a few hours each morning, the afternoons will be yours to do your sightseeing.”
Jordan sighed. “With my babysitter as a permanent shadow.”
The king nodded. “At least you’ll get to meet him before we arrive in New York next month.” He got up from the table. “Then you agree to my condition?”
“Yes, Father.” It wasn’t as if he had any choice in the matter.
“Excellent. I’ll have Piotr add you to the itinerary and the accommodation.” He walked around the table to where Jordan sat, and laid his hand on Jordan’s shoulder. “I am proud of you for the maturity you’ve shown in this matter. I know you won’t let me down.” Then he left the room.
Jordan stared at the snow-white tablecloth, his head spinning.
I do not need a babysitter.
At least the interview would give him the measure of his bodyguard. If he was anything like the men already protecting the royal family, Jordan would have no trouble at all making his escape.
If he’s like them…
