AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Damn it, I’m just not attracted to him. I do slip my arm through his when he offers it to me, and I let him call a limo for us. My heart thumps when we slip inside, but it’s not because of Will’s nearness, or because he slides his arm around the back of my seat.
My heart thumps because when I run my fingers over the gold chain at my neck, and I curl my hand over the beautiful fabric pooling over my legs, I know I’m going to see him again.
The man who does twist my stomach in knots. The man who, if only for today, made me feel like a princess.
I shouldn’t like it, but I do. And screw it. I’m allowed to feel pretty for one night.
12
Silas
I can hardly focus on the words coming out of Prince Damon’s mouth, because one eye is constantly glued to the door. The Gala of the Press in Farcliff is an exclusive event with royals from a few kingdoms around the area and select members of the press. It’s an opportunity to put aside our differences and come together for a night.
It’s an opportunity for the royal family to shower the press with luxuries and gifts to make sure they stay on our side—but that’s not why I sent Nathaniel and his team to Jazz’s hotel.
I sent them because I want her here. The thought of spending an evening like this without her makes me want to throw myself through a window. I’ve been working hard the past few days, and I’ve mostly succeeded in not making a fool of myself.
But she’s always there, front and center in my mind. I think about her… All. The. Time.
When I eat, I wonder what she’d think of the food on my plate. I wonder what time she goes to bed and whether she’s a night owl or not. I think about her when I get up, when I eat, when I masturbate, when I shower.
Over the past week, I’ve read every single article she’s published. I’ve looked her up on social media and was disappointed-slash-relieved that she doesn’t have any accounts beyond her official channels. I don’t want to be a mega creep, but I can’t help myself. Every spare inch of my mind is occupied by her.
I’ve been living a life of ease, blanketed by alcohol and drugs and women, and this is the first time I’ve actually wanted anything more.
Last week, on the plane, it felt like something broke inside me, and the only way to fix it was to be near her.
“How’s the tour been so far?” Damon, the King of Farcliff’s younger brother, lifts a glass of champagne to his lips.
I shrug. “It’s been fine. Lots of speeches and events. I’m hoping once we get down to Argyle, I’ll have some time to myself.”
“Don’t count on it,” Damon laughs. “Royal tours aren’t known for being holidays.”
I give him a wry grin, stealing a glance at the door.
“Waiting for someone?”
My head snaps back toward the man in front of me as I try to keep my face neutral. “Nah.”
“Silas, you’ve been staring at the door all evening,” a woman’s voice draws my attention to the side. Princess Dahlia, Damon’s wife, spreads her arms. Her hair is pastel blue, half of it twisted into two tight buns on top of her head. The rest of her curls fall down to her shoulders, skimming the straps of her slinky peach turtleneck dress. She wraps me in a decidedly non-regal hug, pulling away to look at me. Her arms stay on my biceps as she studies my face. “You look different,” she announces.
“How so?”
“Less drunk.” Damon laughs. “Last time you were here, you were asleep in the planter boxes by this time.”
Dahlia giggles, hooking her arm around her husband’s waist. They exchange a glance, and I can almost see the strength of their connection. They don’t need words. Damon leans down and nuzzles against her neck as a soft sigh escapes Dahlia’s lips. Their intimacy is so clearly evident, their love on display without them even knowing it. The sight of the two of them makes my chest ache.
Damon was like me, once. He never wanted to be part of the royal family. He looked for release elsewhere, although his particular vice was decidedly more violent than mine. But now, he’s just like the rest of them. Is that going to be my fate, too? I’ll forgo passing out in planter boxes and become a good little prince?
I turn away and grimace at the memory of my last visit to Farcliff. I’ve made a fool of myself so many times, and I’ve never been embarrassed about it before.
But now…is that the kind of man Jazz sees when she looks at me? The party animal? The pathetic royal who can’t make a simple speech?
On cue, she enters the ballroom of Farcliff Castle. My breath catches. Her dress is a deep, rich wine color, and it looks like it was made for her. A slit reaches all the way up to the crease of her hip, and my whole body goes rigid at the sight of her bare leg.
I want to kiss Nathaniel’s shiny, bald head.
Then I see the man on her arm.
