Marcella sits on the edge of my bed while she works on my toe nails. Kadene and Niera are busy around the room straightening things and watering the plants sitting near the windows.

“Are you happy?” I ask Marcella. “Doing the work you do, I mean.”

She gives me a strange look. “Happiness is not for everyone, Princess,” says Marcella. “You’ve told me of your childhood. You know this.”

“I wasn’t happy living with my parents,” I say. “But I wouldn’t have been able to suffer through it if I didn’t think I’d find happiness someday. Do you have that?”

Marcella looks up thoughtfully, chewing her lip. I notice Kadene and Niera have lifted their heads from their work and are listening in.

“I am a servant here, Princess. I mean no offense, but no, I would not say I’m happy. I will serve until I am too old to do so, and then if I’m lucky, I’ll be allowed to live out my final days as an old woman, when I’m too feeble to do any of the things I’ve longed to do.”

“Marcella,” I say softly, leaning forward to put a hand on hers. “Couldn’t you escape to the outside? You may not get a great job, but at least you’d have your freedom.”

“My cousin escaped when she was fourteen,” says Kadene, who steps forward, sitting on the edge of the bed. Her mousy face pulls into an angry scowl. “They found her two days later and slaughtered her like a pig. They didn’t even bring her body back so we could mourn her properly.”

“Who?” I ask. “Who would kill a little girl?”

The three servants lower their heads at the same time, none willing to look at me.

“Who?” I demand.

It’s Niera who looks up finally. There’s an apology in her eyes as she answers. “The royal family, my princess.”

“But why?” I ask. My chest tightens to think of Roark ordering such a thing. He wouldn’t though, would he?

Marcella resumes working on my nails, not looking up from her work as she speaks. “Because those in power here wish to keep it that way. They get to play shadow politics with the outside, visit the outside when they wish, enjoy any freedoms they like, and yet they still get to live out this fantasy they have created, like medieval kings and queens. Everyone wins, so long as they are on the top of the social ladder.”

“Marcella…” I say, failing to find the words to express the guilt I feel. While I know I personally haven’t done anything to cause this, I feel responsible in a way. Even if my power as a newcomer to this place is probably laughable.

“You don’t need to say anything,” says Marcella. “You’re a kind woman, I can tell. If you do become queen some day, just remember me. Okay?”

“Of course,” I say. “I’ll remember all of you. Though I think my chances of becoming a queen are very slim.” My mind plays back the dance and the way Titus finally emerged from the room where he was lying bloodied and unconscious. I had expected him to come confront us, but instead he only glared our way before leaving. And now it has been two days without so much as a call to have breakfast with him.

“You mean because of you and Prince Roark’s love affair?” asks Kadene, who leans forward eagerly like a pigeon waiting for a scrap of bread.

Marcella bulges her eyes at the girl. “Kadene!” she hisses.

“It’s okay,” I say. “I don’t know if you could really call it a love affair.” Unless you want to give my stomach the butterflies. “I have spent some time with Prince Roark though, yes. And I suspect Prince Titus doesn’t approve.”

Niera shares a mischievous grin with Kadene.

“What’s he like?” asks Niera.

I smile a little, searching for the words. “Intense?” I try, but the single word doesn’t seem to do him justice. “He’s like a force. I don’t know if that makes sense. But when I’m around him, it’s like he’s a man who goes beyond the boundaries that hold normal men, like there’s nothing he couldn’t take if he wanted it--nothing he couldn’t do if he chose to. It’s overwhelming and exhilarating all at the same time. I guess when a man like that chooses to spend time with you, it’s more flattering than you can imagine, because, well, he could be doing anything else. Literally. But he’s there with you.”

Niera bites her lip, smiling. Kadene wears a clear expression of jealous wistfulness, and Marcella looks worried.

“It sounds like you’ve done more than just spend time with him,” says Kadene.

Marcella doesn’t bother to scold Kadene this time, and I see the worry deepen in her expression as she pulls at a strand of her long brown hair.

My cheeks redden, but I nod. “What should I do?” I ask.

“Follow your heart,” suggests Niera. “If you feel the way you say you do, you have to choose him. You’d be miserable to let a man like that slip away.”

I’m surprised the shy, redheaded Niera is being so bold right now, but she seems to have a romantic side and it’s making her forget her shyness for now.

“That’s dangerous advice, Niera,” says Marcella. “Even the lower classes know Prince Titus has his eyes on the throne. There’s only one way for him to get it, too. Roark would need to be out of the picture. Getting tangled up with Roark would turn you into an obstacle, and Titus has a long history of eliminating obstacles from his path.”

A chill runs through me, making my stomach turn over. “Roark is the eldest brother, though. Doesn’t he have more resources at his disposal? Can’t he protect himself?”

“That’s just it,” says Marcella. “Titus is more or less an open book. He is a brutal man with clear intentions. Most agree he would go to any length to get what he wants, even if it was something as underhanded as poisoning his brother. But Prince Roark is a mystery. There are dark rumors surrounding him, things that suggest he might be far more dangerous than Titus, but no one knows. As far as resources go, Titus likely has the upper hand because Queen Korinthia would throw her allegiance behind him in any dispute.”

“So it would be Roark against the kingdom?” I ask.

“Well,” says Marcella. “It would be Roark and you against the kingdom. Though I wouldn’t put it past Roark to have a few tricks up his sleeve.”

Calian meets me after Marcella, Kadene, and Niera are done prepping me for the day--a routine which still hasn’t managed to stop feeling surreal. Having a team of three women spend an hour making me as beautiful as humanly possible every morning has done wonders for my self confidence. Go figure.

“Prince Roark would like me to escort you outside the palace walls. If you would?” he asks, offering his arm for me to take.

I take Calian’s arm, noting the way he walks with such a straight back it seems like he must have a stick stuffed in his silky leather suit somewhere. His hair is slicked back away from his sharp features as well.

“How have you been adjusting to life as a Princess?” he asks as we make a slow path through the palace, passing servants, guards, and small groups of chattering men and women in expensive clothes. “I had meant to check in with you more often, but the prince has been keeping me busy.”

“I don’t know if I’ll ever adjust to this,” I say. “Am I supposed to?”

He chuckles. “I don’t have an answer for you. Your situation is rather unique. I imagine it must still be overwhelming.”

“It is. I haven’t even been outside the palace since I came here. To be honest, I’m glad Roark wants to meet outside the walls. I’ve been itching to explore the city a little bit.”

“Stay close to Prince Roark on the outside, Princess. The city is not a safe place, especially not in times like these. Your hair will make your identity abundantly clear, so expect attention.”

“Times like these?” I ask, nodding my head in thanks when he holds the palace doors open for me and we begin down the final stretch of path before the gates.

“Turbulent times. Yes,” he says. “I won’t mince words, Princess. News travels instantly among the nobility and the palace, and it travels fast outside as well. The situation between yourself and Prince Roark has reached the public, I’m afraid. Reactions are mixed. Certain factions are… well, they are calling for executions. So please. Like I said, stay near the Prince. Okay?”

I nod. “I will.” I sound more confident than I feel. All my flirtations with Roark and the moments we’ve shared have felt like something I could take back if I wanted, like I wasn’t committing to some huge act of rebellion. Hearing that others talk about it and knowing the entire city is buzzing with the news? Suddenly it all feels a lot more permanent and a lot scarier.

Calian brings me through the final gates separating the palace from the rest of the city. Roark waits outside the wall, dressed in sharp black and a deep blue that sets off his eyes so that they look like sapphires. He rakes a hand through his dark hair and flashes a smirk at me.

Calian slips away, leaving me relatively alone with Roark--if you don’t count the small team of guards standing by the gate or the mulling crowds of city goers passing by in either direction.

“The princess descends from her ivory tower to meet the dark prince,” says Roark with an upward flick of his brow.

“The dark prince, is it?” I ask with a grin. “Are you buying into the rumors about yourself now, too?”

“I never listen to rumors,” he says, reaching to take my hand and kiss the back of it. His lips are warm and soft, calling up memories of the last time they were on me, of where they were on me.

I shiver. “I think that’s probably good, because I’m hearing that we’re at the center of quite a storm of them.”

He shrugs. “Don’t concern yourself with it. Let that be my burden. Come, I want to show you something.”

I let him take me by the hand and lead me away from the gates, noticing the way the pair of us draws open-mouthed stares from civilians. I can only imagine what they are saying, how reckless we must look. I also notice a few unsavory types leaning their heads together and watching us darkly. Those must be the ones calling for executions. I just hope none of them decide to take matters into their own hands.

“Roark, they are saying your life could be in danger. My life too. I feel like we hardly know each other still. Are you sure you want to do this? I mean, what if you end up not liking me once you get to know me more?”

He stops, turning and backing me into the wall of a store. He plants his hand beside my head and leans down so his hair falls in front of his eyes. “You barely know me? Why, because you don’t know my favorite color? Because you don’t know about my childhood? Fuck that. The past shapes the present, and you see me here. Now. You see what my past has shaped and you know it as clear as day. I know you just as you know me, Princess, whether you realize it yet or not.”

I lean my head forward so my forehead presses into his chest. I can feel his heavy heartbeat pounding steadily, his regular, deep breaths. He’s right, isn’t he? Just because we haven’t spent a ton of time together, it doesn’t mean I don’t know him. I know how his hands feel on me, how he longs to protect me, and that he’d risk everything he has just to be with me. I may not know why, but do I need to? It’s like he said, his actions show the past that has shaped him, and his actions are sending a single message loud and clear.

He cares about me.

“So,” I say, failing to find the right words. “Where are we going?”

He favors me with a rare smile. “It’s a surprise.” Roark extends his hand toward me and waits.

I look at his big, calloused hand and can’t help feeling like taking it will seal some kind of pact, something that neither of us will be able to turn back from or stop once it begins. As much as the thought scares me, my heart also pounds in excitement at the idea of anything involving Roark and myself. The dark prince and I together… A tingle runs down from my chest and to my belly where it blossoms into warmth that floods through me.

I want this. I need it.

I take his hand and he gently pulls me toward a crowded street of the city.

The section of the city just outside the palace seems affluent. We pass through what appears to be a residential section full of huge, towering homes that are large enough to be hotels, but many have a single mailbox outside their ornamental gates. Though the architecture varies wildly, there’s a unifying medieval theme that still gives the feeling that I’ve stepped into some odd portal to the past, and were it not for touches of the modern world here and there--namely the guns worn at rich men’s hips--I could almost believe I really had traveled hundreds of years backwards.

Without car engines running and honking, there’s a completely different kind of noise to the city. I hear only the scuff of feet on pavement, conversations we walk past, laughter from open windows, and even the faint sounds of music from the occasional bar we pass.

I squint up at a particularly large building with rustic stonework adorning the outside. It must be ten stories high, maybe more. “Who owns these places?” I ask.

“The top tier nobles,” says Roark. “We call them quarters, because their women are entitled to dye a quarter of their hair blonde. Many of them are cousins to cousins of mine. Some are from other cities within the Shrouded Kingdom like Lancaster or Deerwood. But Quarters are the only nobles with any real power in royal affairs. A few hundred years ago they won the right to call special councils to petition royal decisions. It’s ultimately just an illusion of power, because the monarch still has final say, but it makes them feel important.”

“It’s still strange to think you’re pretty much in charge of all this,” I say. “All these people and all this wealth, they’re all your subordinates, really”

Roark makes a thoughtful face. “In a sense, maybe. Power isn’t as absolute as it seems. Our history is full of kings, princes, queens, and princesses who have made the mistake of believing their power to be without limit. The nobility and the common people have the only power that matters in the end. They have numbers, and no formal documents or big chairs will ever change that. Betray the people, and they betray you.”

“That seems cynical,” I say.

“When my father was alive, he made me work with tutors every day until I was twenty. I spent over an hour every day of that time studying history. I learned history is full of men and women who think they are above the patterns of the past.”

“If you don’t mind me asking,” I say a little carefully. “I heard you haven’t shown any interest in becoming king, but it sounds like you took your studies very seriously and you know a lot about this.”

“Want to know the truth?” he asks, blue eyes sparkling down at me as we pass out of the residential area and into branching streets lined with shops. “I’ve never desired the throne, but felt one day I would take it. Part of that duty is marrying, though. I can’t become king without a queen, and my mother has the ‘honor’ of arranging potential marriages for me. It’s no secret that she wants my brother to rule, so she has been careful to arrange… disagreeable matches with me.”

“But if she had arranged the right match, you would have accepted?” I ask. I feel hopeful that he won’t answer wrong, even though I don’t think I know what the wrong answer would be.

He laughs a little, coming to a stop outside a huge gothic style building that looks to be eight or ten stories high. “Probably not, no. Most arranged marriages involve one willing party, and call me a savage, but I want my woman to want it. All of it,” he adds with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

I blush, looking away. “I see. And you can tell when a woman wants… it?” I ask.

“Of course.” His thumb brushes my burning cheeks as he tilts my head up gently. “Flushed cheeks are usually the first sign. Dilated pupils are also a dead giveaway,” he says as a smirk creeps across his face. “Hardened nipples tend to send a pretty clear message as well.” He moves close, making a shield with his body between myself and the people traveling down the street, and then he brings a hand up to cup my breast.

I gasp, chest rising with the force of my inhalation, pressing even more of my breast into his hand. My nipples are like rocks now, hard and eager, begging for his touch. “Roark…” I whisper.

“All these are just hints, though,” he says with mock sadness. “Unfortunately the only way I can be completely certain a woman wants me is if she’s wet.”

“Guilty,” I say, and then I clap a hand to my mouth when I realize I spoke out loud.

Roark barks a laugh, but his humor quickly melts into something more predatory--more intense. “You know I can’t just take your word for it. I’d need to be sure. Absolutely sure.”

Words fail me now, so I settle for gulping down the loudest swallow in the history of swallows.

“But it just so happens I was bringing you here to show you my getaway.” He gestures to the huge building behind me. “My home away from home. I refused to carry servants to keep the place clean though, so it gets a little dusty at times. I hope you’ll forgive me.”

I nod quickly. My throat is still so tight I can barely breathe. I look down, realizing his hand is still cupping my breast. “Are you going to…” I ask.

He flashes his white teeth. “Let go of your breast?”

“Yes,” I say. “Not that you have to, I was just…” I clear my throat, looking away with freshly red cheeks.

“I suppose I’ll need to let go long enough to get you inside and down to my play room.”

“Your play room?” I ask, feeling a little confused. “Like with an Xbox?”

He throws his head back and laughs again. “Like with ropes, whips, and lots of leather.”

My throat closes up again but my pussy pulses with need and heat. I didn’t even remotely expect this when I woke up today, but if I had, I don’t think I would’ve been able to sleep. My life has been a blur since I’ve come here, and since I’ve met Roark, it has been a blur punctuated with the moments we’re together. It feels like all I do is wait for those moments--hope for them. It makes me feel dirty to want what he intends to do to me, like I’m one of those freaky girls you see walking around with collars on or something. I never understood why they would want to do that, and maybe I still don’t understand it. I just know I want it.

Roark takes his hand from my breast and uses it to guide me inside, through the main doors and past the beautifully decorated foyer and living spaces. He takes me to what looks like an office with a huge bookshelf dominating the far wall. He pauses in front of the shelf and scratches his chin thoughtfully before he seems to remember what book he wanted. As soon as he tilts the book outward, there’s a sudden grinding of stones from deep within the walls. I think I’m seeing things at first until I realize the bookshelf is retracting into the wall by some unseen mechanism. Roark steps into the darkness beyond and flips a switch, casting light on a large, attractive room filled with tools and devices that make it look a lot like the palace dungeon might if it had a tasteful makeover.

“Wow,” I say.

“Yeah,” says Roark. “I know what you’re probably thinking. You’re wondering how many women I’ve done this with before if I have something like this in my house. Believe it or not though, I’ve never used this. I bought this place as it is, and the owner already had this room here--a man after my own heart, I suppose. I had it redecorated and replaced all the equipment for sanitary reasons, but I don’t think I ever intended to use it--not until I met you.”

“So the things we did together… You really don’t normally do that kind of thing with women? I thought before you were just saying that as a line to make me feel special.”

“Not at all,” he says. “Might explain why I never had the interest some men have in women. Then again, maybe I was just waiting for the right one to come along so we could experience it together.”

My skin tingles. I want to believe him. The idea that a man like this could really be exploring such an intimate part of his sexuality with me for the first time makes my heart lurch. It seems too good to be true. I'm just me. Simple, plain, me. And somewhere beneath it all I still feel like this is an elaborate prank, like a TV crew is still going to pop out at some point. But here he is--Prince Roark--standing in front of me. Flesh and blood, and my God is his flesh sublime.

“What now?” I ask breathlessly.

“Remember when I said I have a hundred years worth of things I want to do to you? Well, we’ve got to start somewhere.”

I bite my lip. “And where is that?”