Royal Catch, page 7
The queen indicates the elderly servant standing close by. “Albert will teach you how to ride, and then off you go.”
Damn, that’s harsh. Suckers.
The bicycle-deficient princesses are quiet and gloomy, but the other three are chattering happily. The queen looks displeased at the noise.
I take the opportunity to ask my question while she’s already irritated at the others. “Your Majesty, what’s the treasure?”
The queen purses her lips like she sucked a sour lemon. Guess that was one question too many. “That is for the winner to know.”
“Can you ballpark the cash value?” I blurt.
“One more rude remark from you and you’re out,” the queen snaps.
The women stare at me in shock. Apparently, speaking of money really is forbidden, even when you’re on a treasure hunt. Obviously treasure has some cash value, right?
The queen dismisses us in her haughty royal way, but I don’t miss the small smile on her lips. She’s enjoying the hell out of the game.
The eight of us princesses head out the palace doors and over to the road, where three black Mercedes with tinted windows are waiting. I slip into the backseat of one with Francesca and Marguerite. They’re on either side of me—a princess sandwich.
Francesca is a dark-haired princess from a kingdom somewhere in the Middle East I’ve never heard of. She’s quiet, but her dark eyes are sharp and calculating. Here I thought Marguerite was the one to watch, but up close I can see there might be more princesses to consider as serious competition. Elizabeth was right, I do need to look deeper.
A horrible thought strikes in this whole look-deeper thing. Crap. Do not even tell me this treasure is symbolic. I will seriously raise hell if I go through this whole hunt for something deep like “the treasure was within you all along” or “the treasure is nature itself.”
I turn to Marguerite. “I thought since you came up with today’s competition, you might be granted immunity and just watch.”
She shakes her head. “The queen does as she wishes. I’ll bet the clues aren’t even drawn from nature like I suggested. She already traded horses for bicycles. Who knows if there’s even a treasure?”
“You think it’s fake?”
Francesca adds her two quiet cents. “All that matters is who wins.”
“Oh, shut up,” Marguerite snaps.
Francesca turns a lethal glare onto Marguerite, and I suddenly wish I weren’t between them. I’ve seen these women in action. They go for blood and fight dirty, no clean punches.
A stony silence falls, the women each looking out their window.
I breathe a sigh of relief. A few moments later, my mind drifts back to Gabriel, as you do when you’ve seen him practically naked with those magnificent shoulders, glorious chest, his massive…bulge. I want him, even though I shouldn’t. He’s not a stick-in-the-mud rigid royal. He’s a man in difficult circumstances, doing his duty regardless. A man of honor. Damn. I shouldn’t have said I’m a virgin because a man of honor would never cross that line. Maybe I can convince him to do other stuff. Oh, man, I am the worst. Here I am, thinking of my own lusty needs. So what if I haven’t had sex in a year? That doesn’t mean I break character and have my way with the crown prince. Unless…
What if I did? Would it get me kicked out of the competition? Would he show me the door himself?
Stop that! You’re here for Polly, not yourself.
But I might never have a chance to be with his spectacularly hot body again. And, of course, we’d talk. I’m not just about the body. Dirty, raunchy talk.
I’m startled out of my sexy X-rated fantasy when the car comes to a halt. I hadn’t even gotten to the good part yet. Anyway, we just parked by the dock, and it’s another perfect sunny June day on the island with a sparkling blue-green sea and bright blue skies with white fluffy clouds. Paradise. It’s no Tampa, but…
I join the princesses over where a group of bicycles wait. The bikes are cute, red with upright handles, a cushy wide seat, and a basket on the front. I claim one and then have to wait while Albert attempts to teach four princesses how to ride a bike. Albert is too old and stooped to run behind them holding the seat as they pedal, the way most kids learn. Instead he instructs them and waits, looking hopeful.
Pedal, crash! One princess down.
Crash! Another down. She didn’t even get to the pedaling.
The other two princesses balk.
“You must try, Your Royal Highnesses,” Albert urges. “The clues are all over the island. It’s too much ground to cover on foot.” When nobody moves, he adds, “The queen will be displeased if you don’t follow the rules.”
That gets the princesses moving. I’ll say this for them, they really do try. Skinned knees and all, even a few colorful swear words. But after an hour, even I can tell it’s just not going to happen. And poor Albert is red in the face from barking out orders, his scraggly white hair disheveled from running his hands through it in frustration.
I stand from where I’ve been sitting on the ground, cross-legged, and stretch. “What if those of us who know how to ride give the others a lift? You could sit on the handlebars or on the seat if we stand to pedal.”
Marguerite, one of the bicycle-deprived princesses, points at me. “Yes! Let’s do that.”
The three princesses who actually know how to ride promptly refuse. It’s every princess for herself out here.
In the end, the four of us take off on our bikes, and the other four, well, they run. And that’s quite a sight for the islanders, who come out of their cute cottages to see princesses break all manner of decorum to run in the most awkward display of athleticism I’ve ever witnessed. They look like a bunch of five-year-olds, running full out with flailing arms. If only I still had my phone to video it. This shit is gold.
~ ~ ~
Gabriel
If my father weren’t so ill and my mother so distraught, I would never play along with this ridiculous game. But my parents are truly happy, smiling for the first time in a good year, which is the only reason I’m standing in the shadows of a cave on the far side of the island, waiting for the princess—the winner—who’s figured out the final clue. My only consolation is that the games will be over soon. My mother cannot help herself from continuing the daily competitions. She and my father are enjoying themselves too much. Yesterday she sent two princesses packing. If she keeps that up, two leaving every day, it’ll be narrowed down to two by the weekend. What she plans to do with the last two for the next two weeks makes me uneasy. She could pit them against each other. She could test each of them separately. Or the more likely answer, which I’m really trying not to think about, is that she has them go on dates with me à la The Bachelor. Knowing the final choice is not entirely up to me, I don’t see why I have to go through all the work of entertaining them. Polly would entertain me just by being herself. Stop fixating on her. I know she cannot be queen, but ever since our kiss, hell, even before that, the first time I laid eyes on her, I was drawn to her. I dreamed of her cheetah heel clocking me on the jaw in the heat of passion the very first night she arrived.
I looked her up online last night. She’s from Beaumont, a chain of tropical islands in the Caribbean with a thriving tourist industry. The few pictures of her show her in hats with veils over her face for modesty, smiling, her dark curly hair tied back. The monarchy on Beaumont has done well in keeping strict adherence to tradition and is well revered by its people. My mind keeps turning over the puzzle of Polly. If she comes from a good traditional family, why does she seem so far from the royal mold? The only thing I can think of is that her time in the US for her education gave her a taste of a different life, and upon return to her traditional home, she went through a rebellious stage. How else to explain her revealing clothes and complete lack of restraint? She says what she wants, does what she wants. She seems very open and free.
Could she manage the role of queen? Or would it represent everything she’s trying to get away from?
I take a seat on a flat rock. This has got to be the strangest treasure hunt in the history of treasure hunts—a series of athletic challenges leads to each clue before finally leading to the treasure. My mother completely disregarded the tame suggestion from Marguerite to use nature as clues. My father came up with the challenges and was quite giddy about it, from what I heard. He was always an athlete at heart. Unfortunately, that is not what these princesses have been raised to be. Sure, they may excel on horseback, but cycling? Throwing a shot put? Kicking a ball past the goalie? I don’t even know what else. I stopped watching on the closed-circuit TV when Marguerite kneed the goalie (poor William) in the nuts, picked up the ball, and tossed it in the net, apparently forgetting she was supposed to kick the ball in. She should be out for unsportsmanlike conduct, but the king and queen find her too entertaining to dismiss. My father laughed until he cried.
Polly was amazing to watch earlier. Once she realized the athletics involved, she put her high-heeled sandals in the bicycle basket and did the remainder barefoot. She kicked that ball hard too, using the side of her foot. It sailed right past William.
I was told three of them were working on the last clue, which would lead to a hike to this cave, balancing a stack of blocks on their head. The things my father thought up! At least his mind still works, even while his body is failing him.
I’m in the shadows, so they won’t see me until I want to be seen. The camera is at the entrance to the cave and doesn’t reach this far back, which lets me relax. I played in this cave as a boy with my younger siblings. There are ledges and hideaways, perfect for a clubhouse or, when we were older, privacy for meeting a girl. That was before the hammer came down over nondisclosures and keeping the royal gift covered. Ah, the stupid carefree days of youth.
Suddenly my younger brother by a year, Phillip, appears, grinning ear to ear. “Well, well,” he chortles, stepping into the cave, smiling some more at me.
Before he can get a jab in about my active participation in this ludicrous game, I close the distance and growl, “Where have you been?”
He brought an insane wedding planner into our home and let her run wild with a wedding full of people in stuffed-animal suits. And then the wedding planner, who claimed to be some by-blow of a previous king, sabotaged a second wedding on the same day. The palace was in chaos, and then Phillip disappeared right along with the wedding planner.
“Nice to see you too,” he says. “I wanted to lie low after that furry wedding debacle, and I knew you were pissed about the wedding planner I hired. I went to Monte Carlo to see Adrian.”
Adrian, our youngest brother, is a card shark. He loves a good high-stakes poker game.
I spear a hand through my hair. “Did you know about this bridal competition?”
He hesitates, and I have my answer.
“Fuck, why didn’t you warn me?”
“I couldn’t tell you. You were already so mad about the wedding stuff. I thought you’d have a conniption over the bridal competition, and I didn’t want that anger directed at me. It wasn’t my idea.”
I shake my head. We haven’t brawled in years. I’m above that now. Mostly.
He turns to look out the cave entrance—still no princesses—and turns back to me. “So…here we are. What made you go along with it?”
I straighten my spine. “It’s my duty.”
“Your duty is to hide in a cave?”
“Fuck you.” I don’t put a lot of heat into it because I’m actually glad he’s back. Being so close in age, we’ve always been tight. And he’s one of the few people not put off by my sometimes gruff manner. I blame it on my Viking ancestors. I should be leading men into battle or conquering new worlds. Instead I’m bound by civilized royal tradition. It takes great strength to do one’s duty, to think of the greater good of your country, of your family, above yourself. That doesn’t mean it’s easy.
He smiles. “One more thing. Our brothers and sisters have been summoned. They’re supposed to check out the remaining two candidates this weekend.”
I go cold. I’m sure they’ve been summoned because of our father’s declining health too. It will be difficult and painful for everyone involved. I keep that to myself.
“Wonderful,” I snarl. “Everyone should have a say in my wife.”
He claps a hand on my shoulder. “Stay strong, brother.”
I can hear the smile in his voice, even if he’s wise enough not to let it show on his face. I barely resist slapping him upside the head. “Piss off.”
He leaves, chuckling to himself. I return to my flat rock in the shadows to contemplate the indignity of my life.
A short while later, Marguerite comes into view, walking carefully along the shifting sands of the dune. No one else is in sight. A block falls off the stack of three on her head, but she doesn’t bow out like she’s supposed to for failing the task, she keeps going. I see now this was the true test. Full effort by the rules or bow out. The queen of Villroy does nothing halfway and must follow the rules prescribed by royal traditions. Marguerite definitely can’t win now, entertaining or not.
A blond woman comes into view behind Marguerite, and I’m shockingly disappointed not to see wild dark curls. I thought Polly would have this locked down since she’s the most athletic. The blond woman suddenly falls to the ground, her ankle twisting in the shifting sand, the blocks scattered around her. A moment later, she carefully stands and limps away, bowing out.
Marguerite is nearly upon me when Polly makes her way up the dune. I’m on my feet, silently cheering for my horse in the race.
They’re neck and neck within seconds because Polly is strong and determined. They both stop short at the cave entrance. Marguerite tilts her head, letting the remaining blocks fall. The challenge was to scale the sandy dune with the blocks balanced on their head, so the blocks are no longer required.
Polly neatly plucks the blocks off her own head and sets them on the ground. “This is the final clue, the cave.”
Marguerite’s brows furrow. “The treasure’s in a cave? You go in.”
“Then you forfeit?”
“Just check if there are any bats or snakes in there. Then we’ll both go in.”
Polly shakes her head. “If I go in first, I’m getting the treasure.” She’s matter-of-fact, not angry about Marguerite throwing her to the hazards of an unknown cave. Like me. Ha.
They both stare at the cave. I wait, silently urging Polly to take the lead. Nothing in here but us hungry wolves.
Polly turns to Marguerite. “You think there’s spiders in there? I mean, I don’t care about bats. They’re sleeping in the daytime like cute little mouse vampires. But spiders?” She shivers.
“This is silly,” Marguerite says. “I’ll go.” She takes a step forward and turns back to Polly. “Are the snakes around here poisonous?”
“Relax, I’ll go. If anyone’s going to be devoured by a giant anaconda, it should be me. After all, I’m the lowest princess on the totem pole.”
I clench my jaw. She shouldn’t talk about herself like that.
Marguerite is still working her angle. “Bring the treasure out, and you can keep most of it.”
News flash, ladies, you can’t have only most of me.
Polly tilts her head, considering. “If I do that, I’ll be the winner. You’ll be second place.”
“That works. I’m not worried. There’s still weeks left of the competition, and I was first place yesterday.” The whole negotiation is surprisingly cordial and restrained.
Another woman appears on the dune.
“Go!” Marguerite hollers, giving Polly a shove.
Polly takes off like a shot into the cave.
I step forward into the light, and she throws her hands in the air and screams bloody murder.
“Relax, it’s just me,” I say.
She smacks my shoulder repeatedly. “You scared the shit out of me! What’re you doing skulking around caves for? Where’s the treasure?”
Somehow I know this isn’t going to go over well. She really wants some kind of compensation for her efforts. I don’t know why exactly, but I give her the benefit of the doubt that it’s for a good reason. I fear I’m halfway in love with her. One hug, one kiss, and I’m a goner. All because of her and her rebellious free spirit.
I take her hand. “Follow me.”
She follows me into the darkness, and I pull her close, my arms lightly wrapped around her. She’s trembling. I really did scare her. “I’m sorry I startled you.”
Her arms wrap tightly around my waist, and she presses her cheek to my chest. Then, seeming to realize she’s hugging me, she suddenly drops her arms and lifts her head. “It’s fine. Just point me in the direction of the treasure.”
I tighten my hold on her, hugging her or restraining her, I’m not sure. All I know is she’ll be furious when she hears the treasure news. I do the only thing I can think of in these circumstances, holding a feisty sexy woman in a dark cave, I kiss her, one hand on her jaw, holding her in place, my arm banding around her waist, keeping her close. It’s a hard demanding kiss meant to distract her, and she responds like I lit a fire under her. Our tongues do battle as her fingers tunnel into my hair, and her leg lifts and wraps around mine. It’s the hottest kiss of my life, urgent and wild. I’m rock hard. I cup her firm ass, pressing her against my aching groin.
“Did you find it?” Marguerite calls into the cave. “Are you still alive?”
Polly breaks the kiss, breathing hard. “Fuck me,” she whispers in a low curse. “You’re the treasure, aren’t you?”
I drop my hold on her and hold my temper in check, speaking in a fierce low tone. “You don’t need to sound so disappointed.”
She speaks in an equally fierce low tone. “I need real treasure. Gold, jewels, cash.”
I stiffen, doubting her for the first time. She sounds mercenary, and I know her kingdom has a thriving economy. “What do you need it for?”
“My kingdom.”
“They’re doing well with tourism already.”
“It’s not the country I’m helping. It’s a person. A really important person to the kingdom.”
