Knights and Kink Romance Boxed Set (102 page)

Your Royal Highness?
“Um, pardon me?” I
say.

Duchess Danyel pats me on the shoulder. “That’s your
title now, hon—I mean,
Your Royal Highness
. Relish it.”

****

Ten minutes later, I’m antsy to leave my royal
chambers and get over to the feast. It’s getting pretty stuffy in
this tiny room as Barlonda, Pegeen, and Danyel all fuss and fawn
over me. And I’m famished—the only thing I’ve had to eat all day is
the Egg McMuffin Pegeen snagged for me by the interstate this
morning. I suppose the lack of food might have contributed to my
repeated fainting fits.

Even if my stomach is growling like a dragon in heat
and the walls of my tiny princess’ chambers are closing in, I can’t
say that I’m
too
uncomfortable. After all, Pegeen/Pegonia is
rubbing my feet, Baroness Barlonda is massaging my neck and
shoulders, and Duchess Danyel is lovingly brushing out my hair so
she can re-style it into something more accommodating of my new
twenty-pound coronet.

Pegeen finishes the foot massage and then pops open
a large plastic Caboodles makeup kit. “You need a major touchup,
Lees. Your mascara’s running from all those fainting spells you
pulled, and you need some more lipstick and powder. You look pale
today, even for you.” She starts rubbing rouge and dusting powder
all over my face before I have a chance to shut my eyes, and some
of the makeup lodges onto my corneas and stings.

“Don’t get powder all over the surcoat!” Barlonda
shrieks, squeezing my shoulders so hard her fingernails leave red
tracks.

“Pegonia, you at least need to let me finish up
Lisa’s hairdo before you start in on the makeup!” Danyel gestures
wildly with the hairbrush, ripping a clump of hair right out of my
scalp in the process.

“Ow!” I scream, and jump off the sofa. “Jesus H.
Christ! Can you three harpies just leave me alone for five
minutes?”

All three women stare back at me, their faces
wearing the same look a puppy gives you when you step on it
accidentally. “We’re just trying to serve you, Your Royal
Highness,” Barlonda finally says, her voice meek.

“Yeah, well, the best thing you guys can do to serve
me right now is to give me some fucking space, okay?” My three de
facto ladies-in-waiting are stunned.

“What’s gotten into you, Lees?” Pegeen/Pegonia
snaps. “The royalty thing going to your head or something? I never
pegged you for the diva type.”

“I’m
not
a diva,” I shoot back, shocked at
how bitchy I sound.. I pause, take a deep breath. “Look everybody,
I’m sorry. But there are just a lot of things stressing me out at
the moment, and as much as I appreciate all the—attention you three
ladies are showering on me right now, I really need to go get some
air.” I turn on my heel and head for the door, grabbing my heavy
coronet from Danyel and dropping it onto the back of my head with
my hair still hanging loose around my shoulders. I find that it’s
actually a lot more comfortable this way. “Danyel, if it’s all the
same to you, I think I’ll just wear my hair down from now on. Do
any of you know where Syr Phillip went?”

All three ladies exchange embarrassed glances, but
say nothing.

“Well?” I hiss. “The Crown Princess of the Middle
Kingdom asked you a question,” I sing. “And
Her Royal
Highness
expects an answer.
Now
.”

“Um, sorry, but we can’t tell you,” Pegeen whispers,
staring at the floor.

“Well, why the hell not?” I demand, surprised at the
harshness of my own voice.

Duchess Danyel fiddles with her own coronet. “It’s
tradition, hon—I mean, Your Royal Highness. The Crown Prince and
Princess aren’t supposed to see each other before they make their
first appearance at the feast as a royal couple. Sort of like a
bride and groom before the wedding, you know. It’s tradition.”

I roll my eyes. “Sounds like a pretty stupid
tradition to me. I’m out of here. See you ladies at the feast.”

I storm out of the private chamber and into the
empty hallway. It appears everyone else has already gone to the
feast.

I start opening and shutting doors up and down the
hallway, searching for another “chamber” like the one I just left.
So far, no dice—I’ve found two broom closets, three conference
rooms, and one fire extinguisher, but no “prince’s chamber.”

Pegeen/Pegonia and Barlonda come dashing down the
hallway after me, tripping over their bell sleeves and flowing
skirts. “Lisa!” Barlonda shouts. “Lisa, don’t look! Please!”

I ignore her and keep on checking doors. There are
only two more left before I reach the end of the hallway.

“Lees, seriously, stop.” Pegeen says, her voice high
and pleading. “You
really
don’t need to see what Syr Phillip
is doing right now.” She reaches to grab my arm but I shake her
off.

I come to the last door and hear muffled voices
behind it. I recognize Syr Phillip’s low, ringing baritone, but
can’t make out exactly what he’s saying. My hand closes around the
doorknob. It’s cool and smooth against my palm. I turn it and find
it isn’t locked.

I fling open the door, and find Syr Phillip standing
in the middle of his “prince” chamber. His shirt is off, and he’s
wearing nothing but the plaid boxer shorts I recognize from when he
stayed over at my apartment a couple of weeks ago.

And he’s hugging someone.

Well, more like he’s
embracing
someone. Lady
Ramona of North Fields, to be exact.

Lady Ramona, who has changed out of her smelly Tudor
upholstery costume and is now wearing only her corset and
underskirt, is wrapping her arms around
my
knight and
prince, and she looks about two millimeters shy of kissing him.
Baron Grizzly, Paladar the Passionate, and King Fallon are
there—and they’re all wearing nothing but their underwear, too. All
the men stare back at me, startled, their mouths all hanging open
in little matching “Os”. Lady Ramona pretends nothing has happened,
and moves to kiss my lord. Syr Phillip shoves her aside at the last
possible minute, but I can’t help but notice that he leaves his
right hand resting on the small of her back.

“What the hell is this, an orgy?” I hiss.

“Lisa, sweetheart, it’s not what it looks like—“
Baron Grizzly says, stepping towards me.

“I didn’t ask
you,”
I yell at the old herald.
I push him out of my way and stomp up to Syr Phillip. “Well?”

“Lisa, Grizzly is right,” he replies, softly. He’s
still wearing his prince’s crown even though he’s in his underwear,
and the combination seems absurd. “This really isn’t what you think
it is at all. What are you doing in here, anyway? I’m not supposed
to see you until the feast starts. That’s tradition.”

I scoff. “And what the hell kind of tradition is it,
huh? Hide the prince and princess from each other so the prince and
his buddies can all get laid with the biggest slut in the kingdom?
Because—”

Lady Ramona gasps and turns red. Grizzly takes a
hold of my elbow and tries to drag me away, but I stand firm.

Syr Phillip’s jaw hardens. “Lisa, that was an
absolutely horrible thing for you to say.”

“What the hell else am I supposed to say? You and
your buddies—and the King, for that matter—are all standing in a
room half-naked with someone who has made it very clear to me on
more than one occasion that she wants nothing more than to ruin my
relationship with you. Isn’t that right, Ramona?”

Lady Ramona goes even redder and stares at her feet.
“I—“

King Fallon steps forward. He’s in tighty-whiteys,
but his crown is off and resting on the windowsill. He grabs it and
sets it on his head. “Princess Lisa, I assure you that what was
going on here was completely innocent.”

“Hah,” I sneer. “I don’t believe you, Your Majesty.
I don’t believe any of you. You men are all alike, you know. Cheap
two-timing bastards, all of you.”

King Fallon blinks and shakes his head. “Princess
Lisa, as your King, I must respectfully ask that you withdraw.
Immediately.” The King’s voice is harsh and stern. He jerks his
head in the direction of the doorway, and I sheepishly make my exit
without bothering to give the king the required curtsey. Baron
Grizzly slams the door behind me.

Barlonda, Danyel, and Pegeen/Pegonia are all waiting
in the hallway, white as ghosts. They’ve seen the whole thing.

“Lees, I
told
you that you didn’t need to
know what was going on in there,” my best friend finally sighs.
Barlonda and Danyel just stare at the fleur-de-lis carpeting.

“Yeah, right, because you didn’t want me to see how
my boyfriend is cheating on me,” I shoot back. “Some friend you
are, Pegeen.” Pegeen looks crushed. “And as for you two,” I growl
at Danyel and Barlonda, “thank you both
so
very much for
lying to me in the bathroom about what you were talking about
during your little gossip session. It’s nice to know what you all
really
think of me. You’re right, you know. I’m dumb
and
naïve.”

“Lisa, dear, please just let us explain—“ Barlonda
protests. Danyel keeps staring at the floor.

“Explain my ass. How about
I
explain
everything to you? Here’s how I see the whole situation. You all
have been lying to me the whole time. Syr Phillip is a cheating,
slimy womanizer who never loved me—he just wanted a pretty,
well-dressed girl-toy to be his Queen. And you all knew it the
whole time, didn’t you? Didn’t you?”

The three women don’t answer.

“What’s more, all three of you had your own agendas,
too. Pegeen, you just wanted the prestige of being a royal
lady-in-waiting. Barlonda, you just wanted to use me to get the
attention you needed for your Costuming Laurel. And Danyel—“ I stop
there. The bawdy old duchess stares straight into my eyes with her
trademark mixture of tenderness and abrasive humor. I think she’s
even smiling a little—something that enrages me all the more.
“Well, to be honest, Your Grace, I don’t know what the hell
your
agenda is. You’ve been Queen of two different kingdoms
already, so I don’t know what more you could possibly want. But I
think it goes without saying that I cannot associate with any of
you any more.”

With that, I turn on my heel and head toward the
small dressing room where my belongings are being stored. I stop
short and turn back around for a moment. “Oh and by the way,” I
say, pulling the heavy silver crown off my head and tossing it to
the floor. “Tell Syr Phillip he can have this thing back. I’m
leaving.”

PART THREE

Chapter
23

I have become the first Crown Princess in the
history of the Middle Kingdom to abdicate before even making my
first official royal feast appearance.

Well, technically I haven’t abdicated
yet
. My
abdication won’t be official until King Fallon and Queen Marguerite
accept my resignation, something that so far, they both have
refused to do.

Three days have passed since Syr Phillip won Crown
Tournament. I haven’t spoken to or seen him since I saw him
standing half-naked and wrapped around Lady Ramona. And I will be
perfectly content if I never see nor hear from him again.

In fact, I think I’d be perfectly happy if I never
saw
anyone
ever again. To think, just three days ago I was a
princess. People actually addressed me as Your Royal Highness, just
like I was Princess Diana or even Princess Leia from
Star
Wars.
But today, I might as well start calling myself “Princess
Doe,” the name they gave that poor unidentified woman the Dayton
police found decapitated on the banks of the Little Miami
River.

I’ve been lying here in my bed ever since the
taxicab that cost me two hundred bucks to hire all the way from
Erlanger, Kentucky dropped me, still wearing my tournament gown,
off in front of my building Saturday night. My beautiful Italian
Renaissance gown is crumpled into a twisted ball on the floor of my
bathroom, the same place it’s been for the past three days. I’ve
been crashed out—naked—in my bed ever since I got home, only
getting up to pee, order pizza, or to scavenge in my kitchen for
something to nibble on in bed. I haven’t gone in to work at all,
and instead of calling sick every day like I’m supposed to, I left
an all-purpose voicemail message on Brad’s office phone over the
weekend that somebody—I didn’t say who—in my family died and I’ll
therefore be out until further notice. (I didn’t have the guts to
call Brad during business hours and have a person-to-person call
about how I’m so depressed about my knight in shining armor turned
out to be a two-timing fink that I can’t get out of bed. )

But knowing Brad, without any corroborating evidence
that somebody in my family actually
did
die recently (and I
can hardly rely on Pegeen to provide it after the way I treated her
the other day), I think it’s safe to assume that I’ll soon be out
of a job in addition to being out of a boyfriend and out of the
right to inherit the royal queenship of the largest “kingdom” in
the modern world.

I glance around the room to survey just how pathetic
my surroundings have become. My bedroom is more trashed than ever,
with the remnants of the past three days’ worth of my self-pity
covering almost every square inch of space.

At least four boxes’ worth of crumpled used Kleenex.
Two empty pizza delivery boxes—one from Domino’s, one from Papa
John’s. Nine dirty plates, five with congealed, re-microwaved
cheese baked onto them. Sixteen dirty glasses—four with dried
Ovaltine dregs coating their insides, the rest stinking of two- and
three-day old beer leavings. A half-eaten bowl of cereal sits on my
nightstand, the milk starting to curdle into cottage cheese. But
the crowning achievement of my three-day journey into self-hatred
is the now-empty bottle of Jack Daniels that rolled over and
spilled onto the pile of laundry under my bed at some point, making
my bedroom smell like a distillery.