Princely Submission by K.C. Wells
Chapter Two
Stuart Whitmore got out of the shower and grabbed a towel from the rail. After the accommodation he’d endured during the past week, it was a relief to be in familiar surroundings, even if his apartment was no more than a flophouse for storing his possessions and clothes. He rubbed his hair dry as he walked naked into the living room. The blinds were open, but he didn’t give a shit. If any of his neighbors got off on seeing him in the nude, who was he to spoil their fun?
A brandy before bed sounded perfect, and he poured himself a generous measure. He stretched out on the couch, the glass within reach, and folded his hands behind his head.
I’m getting tired of all this.
His assignments were varied, there was the rush of adrenaline at times, and there was always the prospect of travel, but at forty, after ten years in the same line of work, his priorities had changed.
I want a different kind of life.
He craned his neck to take a good look at his surroundings. Talk about minimalist. There were no photos to be seen. Photos of whom? I’ve got no one. That was his choice, of course. He’d gotten rid of all evidence of Danny once the fucker had decided he wasn’t gay after all, and had gone off to marry some woman he’d met on a dating app. He and Danny had fought and fucked all over the Middle East for seven years, keeping their relationship a secret. The only guy I ever loved, and he took my heart and stomped all over it. Never again.
Stuart’s heart was now locked up good and tight, and no one was getting in.
It hadn’t been a deliberate choice to be celibate, but the bullshit that came with one-night-stands had sent him in that direction. He had no time or inclination for any of that crap. He could count on one hand how many times he’d gotten laid in the last eight years. Back-to-back assignments and a sex life just didn’t work. Not that there hadn’t been offers from some of his clients, the most tempting of which had been from that Russian count who’d invited Stuart into his bed on more than one night during that long, bitterly cold week in Moscow. One glimpse of the contents of the count’s closet had promised a lot of fun, but Stuart couldn’t risk word getting back to Matt, so he’d declined with extreme reluctance.
Life is simpler without complications. And his boss finding out Stuart had tied a client to the bed? That was a complication Stuart could do without. Besides, not one of the guys he watched on his phone or his laptop was ever going to make demands of him. They did their thing and he got off. End of story. And so what if there was leather and all its trappings gathering dust in his closet? That was yet another avenue closed to him because of the job.
Christ, I really am getting tired of all this. Maybe the fact he’d stuck it out for this long was testament to his internal fortitude.
Or something like it.
His phone burst into life with the tone that meant a Skype call. He glanced at the screen and laughed. For God’s sake, Matt, I only got back an hour ago. He clicked on Accept, and Matt’s face filled the screen.
Stuart didn’t wait for him to speak. “You’ll receive my report first thing tomorrow, Matt. A few minutes to breathe would be nice.”
Matt had the good grace to look apologetic. Then he frowned. “Are you naked?”
“Do you know what time it is?” Too late for Matt to be calling, for one thing.
“Sorry, but I wanted to catch you before you crashed. You did a great job. I’ve already had calls from the client, singing your praises. This was a tough one.”
Stuart was too bone-tired for this shit. “I’m waiting.”
“For what?”
“Whatever it is you’re about to spring on me. Because since when do you call me the minute an assignment finishes?”
“Look, I know you’re owed some leave.”
Aw crap. “You bet your ass I am. As of now. I have one whole week of doing absolutely nothing.”
“Yeah, I know, but… something has turned up.”
Stuart rolled his eyes. “Something is always turning up.”
“This is different. How would you like a high-class assignment? No heavy stuff, a real easy ride.”
He snorted. “No such thing in our game. But okay, I’ll bite. What’s the job?” He could always say no, right?
“Bodyguard to an Eastern European prince. We’re providing the security detail for a royal visit over here in May, but the king wants someone specifically assigned to his son.”
Stuart frowned. “Why me? Doesn’t Kennedy normally deal with royalty?”
“Sure, but… Look, they want someone who isn’t easily manipulated. Their words. I said you had a rep for not pulling punches or being politically correct. They almost bit my hand off, they were that eager.”
“Who is ‘they’?”
“I spoke with this guy…” Matt glanced at something out of view of the webcam. “It’s pronounced Pie-ter, but it looks weird. Anyhow, he’s PA to the king.”
“Does the king know my rep too?” Stuart grinned.
Matt nodded. “Apparently, he’s heard of you. Remember that job in Saudi last year?”
He groaned. “Don’t remind me. That guy’s advisers fought me at every turn. He did too. Stubborn fucker.”
“Yeah, but you stood your ground. You stuck to your guns. And because you did, there’s an Arab ruler sitting in his palace right now who’d be in the ground if it weren’t for you. That’s why I think you’re the right man for this job. I thought that even before they asked for you. So does the king. If you can stand up to the ruler of an Arab nation, you can stand up to a prince of Elloria if you need to.”
“Elloria? Where the fuck is Elloria? Sounds like some place you just made up.”
“Pull up a map of Europe. Then find the Ukraine, Romania, and Moldova. Where they all meet, there’s this little country. That’s Elloria.”
Stuart smelled a rat. “And why does the royal family of a tiny country need protection? Or do they think the US is full of guys with assault rifles at every corner?”
Matt leaned toward the camera. “Do you know what rhodium is?”
“Some kind of metal?” The name sounded vaguely familiar.
Matt nodded. “A very rare metal. It’s used in catalytic converters. And since every country—well, most countries—in the world are committing to reducing toxic emissions and having to come up with more stringent ways of tackling air pollution, catalytic converters are big news.”
Stuart yawned. “Is there a point to this lecture?”
“All you need to know is, there’s a supply deficit of rhodium, and the demand for it has risen. So has the price. Right now, rhodium is seventeen times costlier than gold, and about twenty-five times more than platinum. The Washington Post reported burglars in the US have begun sawing off cars’ exhaust pipes in search of rhodium in vehicles, after prices hit a record high. It’s got other uses too.”
“This still sounds like a lecture.”
“Okay. You find rhodium when you mine for platinum and palladium. South Africa accounts for about eighty to ninety percent of the total of the world’s rhodium. However… in recent years, Ellorian geologists discovered platinum and started mining it.”
Stuart finally saw the light. “And now they’re mining rhodium.”
Matt nodded again. “Nowhere near as much as South Africa or Russia, but it’s caught the attention of car companies here in the US. And all those companies want to make a deal with Elloria.”
“So that’s why they’re coming here on a visit?”
“Yeah. They’re going to New York City and then LA. The king wants to meet with all the car company bigwigs before he signs any contracts.” Matt shrugged. “Plus he gets to see a bit of the good ole’ US of A.”
“And the prince? What about him? How old is he? Please, don’t tell me I’m expected to babysit some kid.”
“Relax. He’s twenty.”
Okay, that was better. “What’s he like?”
“Well, if you’re interested, you’ll see for yourself next week. The king wants to meet you first before he decides.”
“Where?”
“They’ll provide you with a return air ticket to Bucharest, where the royal jet will take you to the airstrip in Elloria, and then by car to the palace. They asked that you plan on spending a couple of days there.”
Stuart was still trying to figure out the catch. “What kind of place is Elloria?” Given its location, it sounded like it could be the back of beyond.
“I Googled it. Beautiful place. Kind of a medieval-looking palace, narrow cobbled streets, painted houses… The sort of place you see on postcards. You’ll have some time to sightsee, I’m sure.” He paused. “So what do I tell them? Are you interested?”
“If I go there and I’m not happy about the job, can I say no?”
“Sure you can.” Matt squinted at him. “But why would you wanna turn down a dream job?”
“It might be your idea of a dream job. That doesn’t mean it’s mine. Is there any threat of danger?”
“I don’t think it’s that kind of a job. The PA I spoke to was a little vague on why the prince needs a bodyguard.”
The remark about wanting someone who was not easily manipulated had piqued Stuart’s interest. “Maybe I’ll find that out when I go see him.”
Matt beamed. “I’ll email the palace right away and tell them you’ll come.”
“Hey, wait a sec. How long is the assignment for?”
Matt’s gaze was way too innocent. “Didn’t I mention that part? They’ll be here for a month.”
Stuart gaped. “One whole month?” Usually his jobs were anything from a couple of days to two weeks at the most.
“Yeah, but think about it. You’ll sleep in swanky hotels, fly from place to place in a royal jet… Not seeing any downside to all this, I gotta say.”
Stuart glared at him. “Then you’d better hope this job is as good as you’re making it out to be. Because if it isn’t…”
“One last thing. If you do accept the job? You’ll need a tux.”
“What the fuck for?”
“Because we’re talking royal receptions, balls… these guys are gonna be wined and dined on two coasts, I’m telling ya. And you’ll need to fit in.” He grinned. “Get some sleep. I’ll be in touch.” He disconnected the call.
Stuart sat up and reached for the brandy. He knocked it back, coughing a little as it hit his throat.
A month. This prince had better not be an asshole.
Then he smiled to himself. He had ways of dealing with assholes, prince or not.
Five days later
Stuart emerged from the sky bridge to find an airport official holding up a card with his name on it.
“I’m Stuart Whitmore,” he said as he walked over to him, clutching his bag.
The man smiled. “If you will follow me, please?” He led Stuart past the desk and along the concourse. “Your passport and bag will be checked before you board the jet, which leaves from the private terminal.”
When they reached Security, the man waved a badge, and the armed guards stood aside to let them through. Stuart found himself outside in the brisk morning air, walking toward a jeep.
“Have you been to Bucharest before?” the official inquired as he drove them away from the main terminal.
“No, and I get the feeling I’ve seen all I’m gonna see.” He hated overnight flights. He could never sleep, which meant he generally arrived at his destination cranky and tired. “Do you know how long the flight is to Elloria?” Maybe he was exhausted enough to grab some shuteye on the plane.
“It takes an hour.”
The jeep pulled up outside a small building, and the official led him inside. Another official and an armed guard were waiting for him. They checked his passport, then passed his bag through a scanner.
“All done,” the official said with a smile. “If you’ll follow me, I’ll take you to the plane.”
Stuart walked out of a door at the rear. A sleek jet stood on the tarmac, its engines making a dull roar.
He nodded appreciatively. “Gulfstream G550. Nice.”
The official turned to look at him. “You know of such things?”
“I’ve flown in a couple.” They headed for the steps that led up to the door, where a well-dressed young woman awaited them.
“Your passenger,” the official told her. He extended a hand, and Stuart shook it. “I wish you a safe trip, Mr. Whitmore. I’ll see you on your return.” Then he descended the steps and went back to the building.
“I’m Joanna, and I’ll be taking care of you during the flight.” She stood to one side to let him step into the plane, then gestured to the right. “Take a seat, please.”
The interior was luxurious, with cream leather seats and couches, enough for maybe fourteen people, thick carpet covering the floor, and everywhere there was the gleam of varnished wood inlaid with a delicate design executed in thin strips of gold. Stuart sat in the nearest seat and strapped himself in. Joanna waited until he was done before handing him a card.
“Here is the safety information for this plane. The exits are clearly marked, and I’ll be sitting at the rear. Should you require anything, simply press that button.” She pointed to a black disc on the ledge below the window. “Can I get you something to drink?”
“Don’t suppose you’ve got any coffee brewing back there?” Stuart thought he’d caught a whiff as he got onto the plane, but he could have imagined it.
She smiled. “I certainly do. I’ll bring some to you. We’ll be taxiing as soon as clearance is given.” She walked away.
Stuart sat back to enjoy the ride.
The coffee was good, and the sweet pastry that arrived with it was even better. It felt as if they were hardly in the air before Joanna announced they were getting ready to land. A glance through the window revealed a carpet of fields, with tiny towns clustered here and there. He spotted the airstrip as the plane banked, a single runway with a small terminal. The landing was smooth, and Joanna strode briskly to the door to open it. She pushed out the steps, and gave Stuart a sunny smile.
“Welcome to Elloria, Mr. Whitmore.”
Stuart descended into bright sunshine. Several feet away from the end of the airstrip was a gleaming black car, next to which stood a man of average height, with a neat goatee and mustache. He smiled as Stuart approached.
“Welcome to Elloria, Mr. Whitmore. I’m Piotr, PA to his Majesty King Ludomir.” They shook hands. “The driver will take your bag. Please, get in.”
The driver opened the rear door and after handing over his luggage, Stuart climbed in, Piotr joining him on the other side. As they pulled away from the terminal, Piotr said, “I’m not sure if you’ve had any dealings with royal clients before. I’m here to brief you on protocol.”
“I assume I address the king as Your Majesty, and the prince as Your Highness?”
Piotr nodded. His lips twitched. “You’re not what I imagined.”
Stuart resisted the urge to chuckle. “So I’m guessing you’ve not had many dealings with Americans. Were you expecting someone who chews gum, talks loudly, and wears cowboy boots?”
Piotr flushed. “Forgive me. You are quite correct. I had indeed expected somebody far more… stereotypical.” He nodded toward the window. “Your first views of Elloria.”
Matt had nailed it—Elloria was beautiful.
As they drove through the narrow streets, Stuart got glimpses that built up a picture in his mind. Warm sand-colored stone glowed in the sunlight, and it was everywhere, in the walls, the graceful arches, even the paving that covered the main square, where it seemed almost polished by the wear of feet. A clock tower stood at one end, its red roof rising to a spire.
What Stuart loved most was how green the place was. Trees lined the wider roads, growing denser as they neared the steep hill to the north of the city. There were flowers, bright splashes of fuchsia and lilac that adorned the houses, blossoming above doorways and below windows. The half-timber houses were colorful too, some painted in shades of blue, pink, white and terracotta, their dark timbers standing out against the paler walls.
A wide river snaked through the city, spanned by several bridges constructed in brick or stone, and along its banks the houses benefited from balconies overlooking its glistening calm surface.
“That’s the palace up there,” Piotr said, pointing.
Stuart peered through the window. It seemed more like an imposing fortress than a palace. Its walls and turrets had been built from warm red stone, and ramparts surrounded it. The palace sat on top of the hill, emerging from a thick mound of lush trees, with yet more foliage showing above the battlements.
The car wound through the narrow streets, climbing higher until at last they were in a courtyard. The driver popped the trunk, then got out to retrieve Stuart’s bag.
“This way.” Piotr led him up the short flight of steps to the impressive main doors set in an archway of sculpted stone. But as they stepped through them, Stuart came to a halt. Instead of a dark, gloomy interior, what greeted him was a surprisingly light space. White marble covered the floor and walls, and the multiple windows let in the sunlight.
“And this is not what I expected,” he murmured. He followed Piotr through the hallway with its vaulted ceiling, to a staircase flanked by stone balustrades. At the top were two large doors, and Piotr opened them. Stuart entered what had to be a royal audience chamber. At one end the wall was draped in purple satin, in front of which was a dais with two thrones. The black-and-white tiled floor was empty, but for a single chair facing the thrones.
“Feels more like an interrogation than an interview,” Stuart muttered.
“Well, we can’t have that.”
The words, although softly spoken, made him jump, and Stuart jerked his head. Beside him stood a tall man in his early fifties, Stuart estimated, in a smart gray suit, his blue eyes sparkling.
Stuart wasn’t the only one who jumped.
Before he could utter a word, Piotr bowed his head, then addressed Stuart. “May I introduce His Majesty King Ludomir of Elloria.”
Shit.
