Owned By the Prince by Tristan Rivers
Chapter 5
Blair
Ibarely sleep all night, my head full of memories trippier than any dream. I witnessed an orgy. A man’s life was saved in front of me – by one of the princes of Anglia. And then he kissed me. Prince Max kissed me. Each time I whisper those words to myself, adrenaline sparks in my chest, like a firework getting ready to go off. He was one of my all-time biggest teenage crushes – those incredible green eyes sparkling on the cover of magazines. That thatch of messy, golden-brown hair. The most handsome of all the royals. And when he went into the army, I loved him even more. He wasn’t a pampered aristocrat—he was going to be a hero, risk his life for his country. As I toss and turn in bed, I remember the flash of his bare torso when he spoke to me on the balcony, all hard, rugged muscle. The body of a soldier. Of course. He’s just come back from active duty. And the way his body felt against mine, his mouth so hungry and needy. I’ll never see him again, I know that, but I want to remember the way he held me, that kiss, exactly as they happened, so I can keep them safe inside me forever.
My phone rings with an unknown number. I answer it.
“I heard last night went well, my dear.” Genevieve’s voice is bright and crisp.
“Yes,” I say. If you don’t count someone almost dying and me freaking out a member of the royal family.
“I have another assignment for you,” she says. “As an executive assistant. It starts this morning. Pack a suitcase, my dear. You may be staying for a little while.”
“I can’t,” I blurt out. “I need to go to school.”
“Don’t worry, that will be dealt with, and you’ll be very well compensated.”
“But—” I protest.
“My dear, you don’t pass up an opportunity like this. A car will come around to collect you in one hour. Be ready.” The phone goes dead. I stare at the blank screen of my phone in desperation, my thumb poised over return call.
That will be dealt with?What does that even mean? Although I’m starting to get the idea that the agency is capable of dealing with anything at all and I’m going on this assignment whether I like it or not. I swipe my phone screen across to the photo I look at twenty times a day. Caleb, my baby nephew, looking up from his crib, his blue eyes wide open and toothless gums showing in a grin. He’s suffering from a rare auto-immune disorder, and the medical bills are sky-high. Almost everything I earn gets sent to his mama, the oldest of my six brothers and sisters. When I heard he was sick, I was ready to quit school to work full-time, but when I discovered it could be a long haul, I hung on, knowing I’ll earn more when I get my education.
I get out of bed and hit the shower. Short of anything else to wear, I put the skirt suit on again, matching it with a white, button-down shirt. I pack most of my other clothes in a small suitcase. I’m sure none of them are appropriate, but what choice do I have? As I grab a bagel and an apple for breakfast, my phone rings again, announcing that the driver is ready for me.
It’s the driver who took me to the Armani store, and we’re in the same sedan. Not a secret address this time then. I watch as the driver negotiates Londis morning traffic for 45 minutes until the roads become quieter and fields open on either side. It’s a clear spring day, some swatches of blue showing through the typical gray clouds, and the landscape looks lush and pretty. It’s the first time I’ve been outside of Londis since I’ve been here, and it’s nicer than I expected. I’m kind of enjoying the journey. Or I would be if I had some idea where the hell we’re going. I stare at the back of the driver’s cap in exasperation. There’s zero point in asking him.
The roads keep winding through countryside, high hedges that I can’t see over, for another hour until we arrive at a set of tall, black, wrought iron gates. A black sedan is parked on either side of the gates, and a long, gravel driveway stretches in front of us, lined by trees. The driver slows right down. The gates slide open, then close as soon as we pass.
We go along the long driveway, which is straight, but then curves to the left just at the end. A building comes into view, maybe three times the size of the place I was at last night. The car comes to a stop right outside the door.
“Where are we?” I ask, figuring he’s got no reason to be secretive any longer.
“Montgomery Palace, madam.”
I gape. And then I laugh like a maniac. I thought the Apotheosis building was palatial. How naïve I was. This is a palace. It’s vast. There’s a long line of windows across the front, and the building stretches a long way back as well. It’s made of beige-colored stone and very grand, but in an understated way. After the driver gets out and opens my door, I clamber out uncertainly. “In there, madam.” He gestures toward the front door.
“My suitcase—” I go toward the trunk.
“He bows. It’ll be brought for you.”
I shrug. I’m starting to get it. In this world, you fulfill the role you’ve been given, and everything else gets done for you. I take a deep breath and walk toward the front door, wondering who’s going to greet me today—Genevieve? Carmel?
The door opens, and a tall figure fills the doorway. My heart flips. It’s him. He’s in a pair of khaki cargo pants and a navy-blue tee, and his hair is tousled. He looks hotter than ever, and I swallow hard. That torso. Those lips.
Something passes across his eyes—relief? Then his face hardens again.
“Blair,” he says, his voice deep but a little scratchy, as if last night took its toll on him, too. I’m too stunned to speak, a bunch of questions hurtling through my brain.
“You want me to work for you,” I say eventually. Not the smartest of observations, but my brain is struggling hard to keep up.
“Come through. My footman James will show you to your room, and then I’ll inform you of your duties.” An older man with pure white hair steps out of the shadows and dips his head in a little bow.
“Ma’am,” he says.
Before I can say anything else, Prince Max turns on his heel and strides along a marble hallway, then disappears through a door. I sigh and follow James up a stunningly elaborate, curved staircase as obediently as a child.
James shows me into a room with the biggest bed I’ve seen in my life. It has a gold coverlet, and all the trimmings in the room are gold as well. The white walls are decked with old portraits of hard-faced people from another era—uh, members of the Royal Family, I guess. Heavy red rugs cover the floor, and there’s a real fireplace. Somehow, my suitcase is already in the room, sitting on a little shelf. James sees me looking at it.
“One of the maids will unpack your suitcase for you, ma’am.”
“It’s okay, I can do it,” I say, weirded out at the thought of people going through my old jeans and sweats.
“And for now, His Highness has requested that you wear the clothes that have been laid out for you.” He gestures to the bed where there is indeed a black garment. I blink, not altogether surprised that I didn’t notice it initially.
“Will there be anything else, ma’am?”
“Uh, no.”
James bows, and confused, I dip my head as well before he exits the room, closing the door behind him.
The moment he’s gone, I rush over to the black thing and pick it up. And I let out a little shriek. It’s a slip. Satiny with a lace panel on the back, thin straps, and very short. Like, no longer than mid-thigh. Even worse than that, there’s something underneath it, a pair of lace panties. And nothing else. I crumple onto the bed, staring at the slutty outfit in dismay. He’s brought me here to work as his…prostitute? Because he met me at the orgy, he thinks I’m cool with being paid for sex? Angry tears spring to my eyes. I ball up the hooker outfit and throw it as far across the room as I can. Which isn’t very far because it’s as light as air. In different circumstances, it would be very hot. But right now it makes me feel cheap. And no one’s going to make me feel that way. I’m done with this shit. I storm over to my suitcase, snatch it up, and head for the door. Only to discover that it’s locked.
