Princely Submission by K.C. Wells

Chapter Eight

Jordan was in his room for the night, and all was quiet. He’d seemed subdued the last few days, which saddened Stuart. Jordan might have been a royal pain in the ass, but the spark of vitality Stuart couldn’t help liking seemed to have gone out.

Why does he have to push all the time? Why can’t he just accept this is how it’s got to be?

Their trips had taken on a new aspect. Jordan no longer fired back at him with sarcastic remarks or quips about Stuart’s age. Even their most recent swim had been nothing more than Jordan plowing up and down the pool, no communication between them.

Stuart could account for such behavior with one of two theories. Either Jordan finally understood he couldn’t—or shouldn’t—slip away from his security detail, or…

He was planning something, and trying not to make Stuart suspicious.

He did this before, remember? You thought it was all going well, and then he pulled a stunt. What if he’s doing the same thing again?

Even if the second option would create a headache for Stuart, he preferred it to the silent, despondent Jordan who greeted him each morning.

I want the feisty Jordan back. Melancholy Jordan made Stuart yearn to hold him, to cradle him, to tell him everything would be okay—to kiss those full lips.

Feisty Jordan was less of a temptation.

The hotel phone rang, and Stuart picked it up. “Good evening.”

“Mr. Whitmore, this is Suzanne from reception here. There’s a gentleman who says he’s here from Rolling Stone magazine to interview His Highness. I can’t seem to find this interview in the itinerary the king’s assistant shared with me. Could you come down and speak to him? Maybe you can clear this up.”

“Sure, I’ll be right there.”

As he descended on the elevator, Stuart checked his phone. He couldn’t find a meeting either, and it wasn’t like Piotr to make a mistake: the man breathed efficiency. He headed for reception, where a few people were checking in, but only one man stood by the information desk. As Stuart drew closer, he realized with a shock that he recognized him.

What the fuck?

Stuart walked up to him. “I’m Stuart Whitmore, His Highness’s bodyguard. Can I help you?” He couldn’t wait to hear the guy’s story. He glanced at Suzanne and found her staring at the man, a glazed look in her eyes.

Stuart could understand that reaction. Drake Elliott had been making men drool—and do other things—for a few years. He cleared his throat, and Suzanne gave a start. She bit her lip, her cheeks flushed.

“Thanks for the call, Suzanne. I’ll take it from here.” Stuart gave Drake his full attention. “I believe you were about to tell me how I could help you.”

Drake gave him a polite smile. “I’m Mike Douglas, and I have an interview with Prince Jordan.”

Stuart folded his arms. “Really? Wanna try that again?”

Drake frowned. “It’s like I told the receptionist. I’m from Rolling Stone magazine, and I’m here to conduct an interview.”

“Let’s talk.” Stuart took him by the arm and led him away from reception to one of the couches in the lobby. He gestured for Drake to sit, then joined him. “Now, why don’t you tell me the whole story—Drake?”

He froze. “Excuse me?”

Stuart removed his phone from his pocket, tapped on the screen, and scrolled until he found what he was looking for. He held the phone up for Drake to see. “This is you, isn’t it?” When Drake gaped, Stuart smiled. “I’m actually a fan.”

“Well fuck.”

Stuart chuckled. He did a quick search, and the light dawned. “What I didn’t know was that you also do escorting.”

“For about two years now. It’s a little difficult making a living from my videos when people keep posting them for free.” Drake frowned. “Is this on the level? Is this guy really a prince? I mean, that’s what he told me to say. He said he was here pretending to be a prince.”

“Yes, he really is a prince. How did he get in touch with you?”

“I got a message online via the site. He said he wanted me for an hour, and we agreed on a rate. Then he told me what to say when I got here. Except this is one of those hotels where you can’t use the elevators without a key card, so I tried to get Reception to let me up there.”

“Have you called him to let him know?”

Drake shook his head. “He didn’t leave a number. I mean, who does that?”

Someone who doesn’t dare use his emergency-only phone, for fear I’d spot the call.

“I’m sorry you’ve been inconvenienced.” Stuart pulled out his wallet and removed a few bills, then handed them to Drake. “Just so it’s not a completely wasted journey.”

Drake’s eyes sparkled. “It needn’t be—if you’re available.”

Stuart laughed. “I’m flattered, but no. Thanks for that boost to my ego though.”

Drake shrugged. “No harm, no foul. Pity though. You’re just my type.” He stood and shook Stuart’s hand. “Thanks for this.” He held up the folded bills.

“You’re welcome. Let’s think of it as me doing my bit to help out an impoverished actor.” He watched as Drake strolled across the lobby toward the doors.

I’ll say this for Jordan. He’s got good taste in men.

Now all he had to do was deal with the situation. Do his parents know he’s into guys? Then he realized a whole new can of worms had just opened. He tried to hire a sex worker. That had to be addressed.

He got off the elevator and raised his hand to acknowledge Keith who was on duty outside the Presidential suite. As he approached Jordan’s rooms, Dave grinned at him from his chair facing the door.

He stood. “He’s still in there, unless he’s worked out a way to climb out of the windows.”

Stuart thanked him. He waited till Dave was out of earshot before knocking on the door. It flung open, and Jordan stood there, his smile soon fading.

“Can you go away, please? I have a headache.”

Stuart ignored him and walked into the room, closing the door behind him. “I’m sorry I’m not who you were expecting.”

Jordan blinked. “What?”

“The guy from Rolling Stone magazine? He’s left the hotel.”

Jordan’s face fell. “I see.”

“He couldn’t have gotten up here without a key card anyway. You need one to activate the elevator.”

“I didn’t know that.” Jordan pointed to the adjoining door. “Thanks. You can go now.”

Stuart ignored him and glanced at the coffee table where a copy of Rolling Stone lay on top of a pile of magazines. “At least I know where you got that idea from.” He folded his arms. “Okay, we both know he wasn’t a journalist. So, who was he really?” Stuart waited to see what Jordan came up with.

“He was just… someone I met online. I was lonely. I told him I was here pretending to be a prince.”

The lonely part tugged at Stuart’s heart. What if that was why he wanted to hire Drake? For a little male company? Maybe, given his upbringing, Jordan was oblivious.

They needed to talk.

“I’d better come clean.” Stuart sat on the couch and patted the seat cushion beside him. “Sit, please.” When Jordan complied, Stuart leaned forward, his elbows on his knees.

What the hell do I say to him?

He took a deep breath. “It was a good plan. And it would have worked but for two things. The business with the key cards in the elevator, and… the fact that I recognized him.”

Jordan frowned. “Do you know him?”

“I’ve seen him before, but that doesn’t matter right now.” Stuart picked up the tablet and clicked on its browsing history. “So what did you do, type in rent men? It’s probably the first entry.” The site popped up, and he nodded. “Where your plan failed is that you picked an escort who is also a gay porn star.”

Jordan gaped at him as though he wanted the ground to open and swallow him whole. “I didn’t know. I mean, the first time I even watched… that was here in the hotel. And I didn’t see him. I only chose him because he looked…”

Stuart peered at him. “‘Looked’ what?”

“Never mind.”

He cocked his head to one side. “About what you just said. Is that why you hired him? Because you wanted company? Or because you wanted his services?”

Jordan stared at him, his Adam’s apple bobbing sharply.

Stuart waved his hand. “You know what? You don’t have to answer that.”

“You… You don’t look disgusted.”

He frowned. “Why would I be? I’m more annoyed than anything. You had no idea who he was. You could have been putting yourself in real danger.” He softened his voice. “Not everyone is exactly as they portray themselves on the Internet, Jordan. You need to be careful.” Then he rose to his feet. “So that’s two strikes. You know what they say. Three strikes, and you’re out.” He locked gazes with him. “In your case, three strikes, and you know what to expect.” He sighed. “I’m trying to keep you safe. Stop making it so hard for me to do my job.”

Jordan shivered. “I thought you’d be angrier than this.”

Stuart couldn’t bring himself to be annoyed. I can’t blame him for exploring his sexuality. Stuart had been in Jordan’s shoes, wanting that first taste of what it was like to be with a guy. But all Stuart had had to do was walk into a gay bar.

How much harder it must be when you’re a prince.

But Jordan had to grow up and realize Stuart was only doing his job.

“I’m not angry. But we talked about this. There are consequences.” He gave Jordan a half-smile. “Goodnight, Jordan.” Then he opened the adjoining door and locked it behind him.

I think he needs his privacy right now.

The second week of the visit had arrived before Stuart had time to blink. Jordan had been a little less subdued, and there had been glimpses of his quick wit and sharp tongue. Stuart was glad. The episode with Drake had somehow cleared the air. Maybe Jordan had expected a harsher reaction. Whatever the reason, Stuart was happy there was no awkward atmosphere.

There had also been fewer flagrant attempts to flirt with him, and for that, Stuart was profoundly grateful. His resistance was wearing thin.

The weekend was almost upon them, and then it would be time to leave New York for the warmer climes of Los Angeles. It was only then that he recalled one of the items on Jordan’s wish list.

He’s behaved himself. I think he’s earned it.

Stuart got on his phone and started looking. He grinned when he saw the ad. Perfect. Jordan was going to love it. He messaged Piotr with the details, and Piotr replied that he’d see what he could do. Then Piotr messaged to ask if Stuart had brought a tux. There was to be a ball the final night of their visit, to be held in the hotel.

Stuart had forgotten all about that too.

His phone pinged, and Stuart glanced at the screen. He smiled when he saw Piotr’s screenshot. The man works fast.

He walked along the hallway to the Presidential suite, where the last meeting of the day had just concluded. King Ludomir seemed thrilled with the way negotiations had gone during the East Coast part of their visit. Hopefully, California would prove to be as successful.

Stuart waited outside the room until the guests had left, then went into the meeting room. The king and Jordan were in conversation, and Stuart had to smile. Little remained of the prince he’d met in Elloria: the young man speaking with his father appeared confident and serious.

Maybe this visit was what he needed to finally grow up.

Stuart cleared his throat. “If I could borrow His Highness for a moment, Your Majesty?”

King Ludomir nodded. “Please feel free to join us for dinner this evening, Mr. Whitmore.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty, but unfortunately neither I nor His Highness will be able to attend.” When Jordan jerked his head toward him, Stuart smiled. “We will be at a show.”

Jordan’s face lit up. “Really?”

“Well, you did say you wanted to see one. I’m just following instructions.” And watching Jordan light up like a Christmas tree made his efforts worthwhile.

The king patted Jordan on the back. “Enjoy yourself. You’ve earned it today.”

Jordan beamed, then hurried over to Stuart. “What are we going to see?”

“Kinky Boots.” Stuart had seen it twice already, but he didn’t mind seeing it again. Judging by the gleam in Jordan’s eyes, Stuart had chosen well. “We’ll order something to eat before we leave for the theater. Remember to thank Piotr—he found the tickets.”

“I will.” Jordan’s smile just wouldn’t quit. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

A night at the theater, with seats in one of the boxes, seated next to a handsome young man? What was there not to like about that?

“Do we have to get a taxi back to the hotel?” Jordan asked as they left the theater. “I’d rather walk.”

“Sure, we can do that. It’s only eight blocks.”

They strolled along 8th Avenue, heading north, surrounded by people who had probably just walked out of some theater or another. Jordan could still hear the songs in his head. He’d loved every minute of the experience. Then he sighed. “I don’t think I could ever do that.”

“Do what?”

“Wear heels. I don’t think I’m in the slightest bit… kinky.”

Stuart laughed. “I did it once.”

“Seriously?” Jordan tried to imagine Stuart in a pair of stilettos, but it just wouldn’t come.

“It was when I was in the military. We were overseas for the holidays, so we decided to put on a show. Guess who got to appear in drag. God knows where they got the heels from. I wasn’t going to ask, put it that way.”

Jordan bit his lip. “Please. Tell me there are pictures.”

Stuart snorted. “There had better not be.” He glanced at Jordan. “Did you have a good time tonight?”

He nodded. “Will there be theaters in LA? Could we do this again?” The New York part of the visit was coming to a close, but they still had California to come.

Stuart stroked his bearded chin. “Hmm. Let me see. You know, finding a theater in Hollywood might prove tricky.”

It took a moment for his words to sink in. Jordan hit him on the arm. “You’re mocking me.”

“And you’re hitting me. I have a gun, remember?” Jordan laughed, and they lapsed into silence for about a block. Stuart cleared his throat. “So, is there anything left on your list of things to do in New York? You’ve still got one day left.”

Don’t remind me.

“Nothing I can think of.” Nothing I can tell you about.

“Well, I’ll give it some thought.”

Jordan had already given a lot of thought to a particular issue. He’d felt a pang of guilt when Stuart had announced the theater visit. Why did he have to do something so nice? And he hadn’t told Jordan’s father about the Drake business either.

Not only that, he hadn’t treated Jordan any differently once he’d learned Jordan was gay. Not that Jordan had come out and said as much, but inviting a guy to his room for sex had to be a giveaway. Stuart was no fool. But Jordan had expected more of a reaction, and when it hadn’t materialized, he was left in confusion—and gratitude.

Maybe I should abandon my plans.

Except he couldn’t. He’d wanted this for so long.

And if I don’t do it now, I’ll never get the chance back in Elloria, where everyone knows me. Where I’ll one day be King. The anonymity granted him by the visit was too good an opportunity.

It had been such a good evening, and Jordan wasn’t ready for it to end.

It doesn’t have to. This could be the night. Stuart will never know. No one will know. I’ll be back before they discover I was even gone.

His heart raced. It has to be tonight. And Jordan would have to ensure he didn’t get caught this time.

Stuart closed the adjoining door, then removed his jacket. It was almost eleven o’clock, but there were no meetings the following day.

Let’s see what I can come up with to put a smile on Jordan’s face. The show had definitely done that. He kicked off his shoes, sat on the bed and got out his phone. They’d seen a lot of New York’s sights already, but the last day had to go out with a bang. Something different. Something… special.

Jordan had earned that.

Fifteen minutes later, he had a couple of options. Let’s see if he likes the idea of a cruise around Manhattan Island, or a tour of New York’s Catacombs by candlelight. That last one was certainly different.

Stuart got off the bed and wandered over to the door. No sound came from the other side, but he knew Jordan’s habits by now. He’ll be on his tablet. Stuart knocked on the door.

No reply.

He knocked again.

Nothing.

Stuart opened the door and peered around it. The suite was in semi-darkness. “Are you okay?” He went through the living room to Jordan’s bedroom. “Jordan?”

The bed was empty.

Stuart’s heart sank. Shit. He dashed back to his room and picked up his phone. He opened the app and groaned. Jordan was on West 52nd Street, between 7th and 8th Avenue.

That was it. Stuart was officially pissed.

He shoved his feet into his shoes, grabbed his jacket, and was out of the door in a heartbeat. He stabbed at the elevator button with his finger, and Dave came out of the bodyguards’ suite.

“What’s the hurry?”

“No time. Got a prince to catch,” he said in a low voice as the doors opened.

“Aw shit, not again.”

There isn’t going to be a next time. Jordan had just run out of chances.

Once outside the hotel, he went south for one block, then sprinted all the way, heading west, glancing at his phone when he stopped at intersections, checking on Jordan’s progress. As he crossed 8th Avenue, he spotted him, standing in the middle of the sidewalk.

Stuart caught up with him and grabbed his arm. “Going somewhere?” he asked, a little breathless from his exertion.

Jordan’s eyes widened. “How—”

“Never mind how—I’m more concerned about why. But we’re not gonna discuss it here. We’re going back to the hotel. Now.” He glared at Jordan, as though willing him to argue the point.

Jordan stared at his feet, his arms hanging limply at his sides. All the fight seemed to have gone out of him.

“Nothing to say?”

Jordan raised his chin. “Would it do any good?”

“Not really. Not now. I’m all out of goodwill where you’re concerned.” He pointed along the street. “Start walking.”

Jordan shuddered, then did as he was told. Stuart strode beside him, telling him to keep up. “What… what are you going to tell my father?”

Stuart snorted. “If I were you, I’d be more concerned about what happens next.”

What disappointed him was that Jordan had given him no choice but to follow through on his threats. If the circumstances had been different…

They reached the hotel, and Stuart walked with him to the elevators. “How did you get out of the hotel?” he asked as they got on. Dave had been on duty in the hallway outside Jordan’s room.

“I waited until Dave went into his room, then I crossed the hallway and went down the emergency stairs.” Jordan’s voice was flat.

“I didn’t hear you close the door.”

“You weren’t supposed to. I was trying to be quiet.”

The doors slid open, and they got off. Stuart marched him to their suite, his heart pounding. Once inside, he shut the door, his pulse racing.

“If you’d wanted to do something so badly, you should’ve told me.”

Jordan snorted. “As if you’d have said yes. And why ask for permission when it’s easier to ask for forgiveness later—assuming you’d found out.”

“Don’t give me that crap. That attitude does not fly with me, and I’m pretty damn sure it wouldn’t wash with your parents either.” Stuart scraped his fingers through his hair. “Look, I get why you dislike me, and that’s fine. But this… disrespect is crossing the line.” He pointed to the chair by the window. “That one will do.”

Jordan stilled. “For what?”

Stuart looked him in the eye. “Do you really need to ask?”

His mouth fell open. “You wouldn’t.”

Stuart arched his eyebrows. “Ya think?”