A Curvy Girl for the Prince, page 1
A CURVY GIRL FOR THE PRINCE
A ROYAL ROMANCE
S.E. LAW
S.C. ADAMS
Copyright © 2023 by S.E. Law and S.C. Adams
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
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CONTENTS
About This Book
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Epilogue
Sneak Peek: Sitting in Santa’s Lap
Sneak Peek: Corrupting Her
About S.E. Law
About S.C. Adams
ABOUT THIS BOOK
Haakon:
I know there are rumors about me. That I use women. That I tie them up for my so-called “training.” That I discard them afterwards, with no thought as to their well-being.
It’s all true.
After all, not everyone can handle a Prince of Lysenia because I’m genetically different from most men. The average guy out there has one tool … but I have two.
They’re both massive, leaking poles.
Designed to claim.
With no mercy.
And I’m looking for a curvy girl who can take it all.
Matilda:
I’ve heard about Prince Haakon’s anatomy. The rumors are so wild that they couldn’t possibly be true.
But after our prince calls for a virgin sacrifice, opportunity knocks.
He’s here …
I’m available …
… and I’m eager to receive on both ends.
In other words, I’m perfect for Haakon’s filthy desires. But how do I make him choose me?
This is a follow up to The Prince and His Bodyguards. Yes, the genetics of the Lysenian royal family are strange but altogether amazing because just like Prince Ragnar, Prince Haakon also has two massive clubs … and a forked tongue that can do wonders! Impossible? Not in Romancelandia! As always, my tales contain inappropriate scenes and are not intended for sensitive readers. HEA guaranteed.
1
Matilda
Huffing, I balance a jug of water in the crook of my arm. God knows why Lady Daphne needs so much water, but it’s not my place to ask. After all, I’m a lady in waiting at the Lysenian palace, and while the title sounds amazing, trust me, the job isn’t.
The worst part, I suppose, is that my position is undefined. I’m basically a Girl Friday who does all kinds of errands for a wide variety of people. I’m a secretary; a stenographer; a cook’s assistant; a typist; and even a junior maid on occasion. At this point, I’m surprised I haven’t been asked to muck out the stables.
But I shouldn’t complain because it’s a steady income, and my family needs money. We’re not poor; we’re just not rich either. We’re part of the disappearing middle class in Lysenia, and we seem to be squeezed on all sides. The cost of living is rising, and yet my parents’ paychecks have flatlined for decades. Last year, my dad was unemployed briefly and things got really scary. We didn’t tell anyone, but we were on food stamps and our electricity was shut off for a hot second.
But that experience set me straight because I’m determined to help my mom and dad. My parents deserve better, after all. They’ve saved their whole lives, but all that discipline has hardly made a difference. I know their bank balance is low, even if Maria and Gerald are too proud to admit it. I know that my mother still gets nervous around the fifteenth of the month when bills are due, and that my dad gets stressed whenever he thinks the company might lay him off again.
As a result, I applied for a job at the palace right after graduating from high school, and was hired immediately. I knew that as a lady in waiting, I’d be asked to do all sorts of things, but I had no idea that I’d be on my feet non-stop for ten-hour shifts. Still, even if my back aches and my feet are sore, I’m grateful for the opportunity because it means a steady paycheck. Now, if Lady Daphne would just stop requesting jugs of water all the time, that would be a huge improvement.
Huffing and puffing, I finally make it up the stairs to the noblewoman’s private quarters. Lady Daphne is a relative of the royal family, and as a result, she has a suite of rooms on the topmost floor of the castle. Although the royal family has modernized and updated the palace many times, there’s no elevator to the penthouse level. I think it’s to ensure their privacy. The royal family doesn’t want a huge crowd of staffers descending on them for any reason whatsoever, and this is one way to restrict the flow of traffic.
Wiping sweat from my brow, I begin walking through a series of narrow corridors to Lady Daphne’s suite. This place is such a maze, but I’m almost to my destination when suddenly a door bursts open halfway down the hall, and a young woman stumbles out. She’s comely, except for the fact that her blonde hair is a tangled mess, and she’s dressed in nothing but a sheet wrapped around her curves. I stare, mouth agape.
Then, to my surprise, some clothes and shoes are tossed into the hallway after the woman, her underwear soaring through the air before landing comically on her head. No one makes an appearance though. Instead, the door slams shut, and it’s just the two of us in the hall once more.
I set down the jug, careful not to spill the water, and slowly approach the woman.
“Are you okay?” I ask carefully. “Do you need help?”
As I get closer, I see that she’s actually quite young. I’d estimated the woman to be in her mid-20’s, but now I see that she’s probably only eighteen or so. But the girl doesn’t acknowledge me. Instead, she pulls on her dress hastily before struggling into a pair of scuffed black boots. Then she stands up and takes off running like a bat out of hell.
It's only then then that I realize she’s left her panties behind. The lace thong crumpled on the floor is violet-colored, with delicate rosettes at the waist. It definitely looks like the type of lingerie that costs an arm and a leg, so I pick it up gingerly with two fingers and call out, “Hey you forgot this!”
But the girl doesn’t turn. Instead, she ignores me and flees down the hall before making a sharp right. I’m left there looking like an idiot with a pair of women’s panties dangling from my fingers. What should I do?
I make a split-second decision. I admit, I’m not an altruistic person. I could say that I just want to make sure that she gets her panties back, but that would be a lie. I’m not really interested in used women’s lingerie; instead, I’m interested in why a comely young woman was kicked out of Prince Haakon’s quarters. After all, I know the palace inside-out from traipsing up and down the stairs 24/7, and I know the Crown Prince’s personal chambers lie behind that door. So why did he eject this blonde beauty? Did she do something wrong? Even more important, is she okay? When she ran off, it seemed like she was crying, although I can’t be sure.
I stand there only a second longer before turning on my heel. Throwing one last glance at the jug of water in the corner, I decide that Lady Daphne is going to have to wait. There’s a mystery to be solved, and I put my head down and begin chasing the woman, the panties still dangling from my fingers. I’m going to figure out who she is, what she was doing, and most of all, what she means to Prince Haakon.
After all, our Crown Prince is a devastatingly gorgeous man. He’s got night-black hair, piercing blue eyes, and a physique that resembles a Greek god with those broad shoulders and powerful thighs. It’s embarrassing, but I always feel light-headed in his presence, and my knees go weak. I seem unable to formulate words and merely end up smiling like a fool.
Fortunately, Haakon doesn’t notice, or more accurately, he’s never noticed me. There have been a few times when he blinks and cocks his head when I stand in front of him, but that’s all. He never remembers my name, and hardly seems to recognize my face either, although I’m at the palace every day. I suppose I’m just another serving wench to him, and we all look the same.
Still, I’ve heard the craziest things about the men of the royal family, and while they’re just rumors, I’d love to know more. Supposedly, there’s some kind of genetic mutation where the men end up having two dicks. Yes, it’s insane, but all the girls on staff whisper about it, and we love giggling and speculating about Haakon’s anatomy. Does our Crown Prince have two cocks with two sets of balls, or two cocks joined at the base to one set of balls? Do the two cocks even point the same way? Maybe one juts out from his groin at a ninety-degree angle when he’s aroused, but the other dangles downwards. Or maybe the second dick points backwards through his legs, although that would certainly make sex awkward. You’d practically have to be a contortionist to accommodate him then.
Of course, no one has any solid proof of this so-called “anatomical anomaly,” although it’s been rumored to run through their family for generations now. Allegedly even King Fjall has double dicks, and assorted ladies whisper that he fathered our Crown Prince with his upper cock, and then Ragnar, his second son, with his lower cock. That tidbit
But now, I race down a set of stairs, still hot on the heels of the young blonde. Where is she going? What am I going to find? I hope it will reveal something about Prince Haakon and his special anatomy because that would be incredibly juicy … and very, very dirty as well.
2
Matilda
The blonde is certainly more athletic than she looks. I wouldn’t expect a skinny girl wearing high-heeled boots to be able to run so fast, but she leads me on a crazy chase. The girl clatters down a spiral staircase in the back of the castle before bursting into a dirt courtyard below. Then, she flies across the square before exiting the castle walls and disappearing into the surrounding neighborhood.
Of course, I do my best to follow although I’m not exactly an athletic person. I’m actually very curvy, so it’s awkward as my big breasts bounce and my thighs jiggle. Fortunately, the dress I’m wearing is a loose homespun shift, and it doesn’t impede my movement. Even better, as a lady in waiting, I’m allowed to wear flat shoes, so I have on cute Mary Janes with padded insoles. They’re a life-saver, I tell you. When you’re on your feet as much as I am, comfortable shoes are a must.
But the girl leads me on a crazy chase. We snake through the streets of Old Town, wending this way and that. She accidentally knocks some fruit off a stand, causing the vendor to bellow with rage, but she doesn’t stop. Meanwhile, plump oranges bounce out onto the street, forcing me to skip and jump like a fencing champion.
Then, the blonde practically barrels down an old lady with a cane, and I rush forward to help.
“Are you okay?” I ask breathlessly. “Oh my god, that woman is insane.”
The grizzled old crone merely snorts, planting her cane firmly on the ground.
“That Lizzie has always been an odd duck,” she spits into the dirt floor. “Or should I call her “The Gilded Lily” now?” she adds in a dark tone.
By now, I’ve lost the blonde, but the old lady looks at me with slanted eyes.
“Why are you chasing Lily? What do you want with us Old Towners? You’re clearly not from here.”
I don’t hesitate.
“No, I am from here. Well, I live in the suburbs now, but my family has roots in the city. But I’m trying to find Lily because she forgot something, and I’d like to return it to her.”
The old lady merely squints her eyes at me.
“Oh really? What?”
I hesitate for a moment because we’re in a questionable part of Old Town. I guess I was so busy with my chase that I didn’t notice we’d entered what’s euphemistically called “the Street of Pleasure.” Yes, you guessed it: it’s the Lysenian red-light district, and like any red-light district, there are all sorts of shady-looking people wandering about. There’s a prostitute dressed in a negligee, leaning against a wall smoking as she beckons to passing men. There’s a man trying to get gullible passerby to join him in a game of three card monte. And all around us, the crowd bubbles with activity: from stalls selling fried snacks to children begging for coin, to a juggler, tossing his pins high in the air before catching them in one fell swoop.
“Well, um,” I hem and haw, looking around. “Lily forgot a personal item, and I’d really like to return it myself.”
The crone merely spits onto the dirt again.
“Personal? Give it to me,” she commands. “I’ll see it delivered.”
I smile wanly because actually, I really want to find Lily and ask her about Haakon. If I hand over the lost pair of panties now, I may never be able to talk with the frightened girl, and my adventure will be over.
I take a deep breath.
“Well, I’d actually like to return it myself,” I say in a slow voice. “Do you know where she is? Do you think you could take me there?”
The old woman cocks her head at me again, looking like a babushka with a raggedy brown cloth wrapped around her head.
“No,” she snorts. “You’re not from here and we don’t trust strangers. Lily won’t see you.”
I sigh then, biting my lip. Should I pull out the lingerie? It seems so scandalous to proffer a pair of panties in public, but then again, this is the Street of Pleasure. They’re probably used to seeing this kind of thing, if not worse. With a reluctant sigh, I give in. I open my hand, and revealed in my fist is the scrap of purple lace.
“This is what I want to return,” I say in a low voice, stepping closer to the crone. “See? It’s a very personal item.”
The old woman cackles with laughter.
“Oh yeah, she’ll want those back alright,” the woman says. Then she throws me a speculative look. “You in her line of business?”
I cock my head at her.
“What line of business would that be?”
The old lady merely lets out a hoot of laughter while stomping her cane in the dirt with mirth. Then, she points down the street to a rickety two-story with a wooden sign that reads, “House of Silk.”
I stare. What is this? A silk store? A fabric shop? That seems unlikely, seeing that we’re currently on the Street of Pleasure, but I shrug and smile.
“Thanks,” I call while trotting away. “Appreciate your help!”
The woman merely cackles again, her beady eyes following me. A cold frisson runs down my spine, but I ignore the sense of disquiet as I stop in front of the wooden door. This is where Lily lives? It seems odd because it looks more like a tavern of sorts. But maybe she’s a bar wench, or a waitress. Who knows? With a confident shake of my head, I knock, and when the door swings open, my life changes forever.
3
Matilda
“So what do we have here?” a middle-aged woman with flaming red hair asks. She’s smoking a super-long cigarillo, like the kind Audrey Hepburn made famous in Breakfast at Tiffany’s. I smile wanly. Doesn’t she know that smoking kills you? There are so many carcinogens that it’s shocking.
As if in answer, the woman blows a puff of smoke in my face, making me collapse into a coughing fit.
“Um, hi,” I manage through watery eyes. “Is Lily here?”
The woman leans against the door jamb, looking me up and down, before taking another puff.
“And who are you?”
I smile, my eyes still watery, as I wave my hand in front of my nose, hoping to dispel some of the smoke.
“I’m a friend,” I say. “Lily left something at the palace, and I wanted to return it.”
The woman’s red eyebrows go up. Does she dye those to match her hair? Upon close inspection, I see that the roots of both her eyebrows and her hair are a dull brown. Ah-ha! No doubt, all of her is fake, including that big bosom beneath the dress with its too-tight lacings.
“The palace, hmmm?” she says. “Well, why didn’t you say? Come on in.”
Then, she props the wooden door open with her back, allowing me to enter. I step into a dark space, and it certainly looks like a tavern. There are wooden tables and benches in the low-ceilinged room, reminiscent of a German beer hall, as well as a long wooden bar on the side with loads of alcohol carefully displayed on racks behind it. There isn’t much décor to speak of, except for some low-hanging lights of the rustic variety, as well as some weird looking trumpets on the walls.
“Those are flugelhorns,” the red-headed woman remarks, noticing my gaze. “They’re native to Lysenia.”
“Of course,” I say hastily. “I’m Lysenian, so I should know.”
The woman smirks, her crimson lips curving into a pout.
