“Motherfucker!”

I swore as my toe banged off the flagstone of the walkway, pain buzzing through my whole leg. I hissed, swearing again and flipping off the uneven stones of garden path. I whirled, storming deeper into the rose garden before my heel twisted on some other bullshit “weathered” stone, twisting my ankle along with it as I swore again.

“Goddamnit I hate this wedding,” I muttered to no one, since I was alone in King Milton’s gardens. I yanked my heels off, wincing as I rubbed my tender toe and sore ankle before I padded barefoot down the path some more.

I mean, it was one of my best friend’s wedding, and I knew I was supposed to be all fucking smiles and selfies and champagne. But yeah, no. Here I was giving the finger to pathway stones as I stole away to get a moment to myself. And really, Callie, the bride-of-the-hour, should’ve hated this wedding too. And she did actually, I mean she was marrying King Milton for God’s sake — this awful troll of a king, all so he would settle her parents’ debts. It was a pretty shit deal if you asked me. But then, I wasn’t one to talk much either. I had my own crap to bitch about.

Which is exactly the reason I was sneaking out through the side garden entrance of King Milton’s castle to sneak another drink and some alone time with my thoughts. I knew I should have been back there with Callie on her sham wedding day, and I would, later. But first, I indeed to decompress.

I glanced around, muttering another string of swears under my breath as I reached under my knee-length bridesmaids dress and snagged the little metal flask tucked into my garter belt.

Hey, this girl comes prepared.

The whiskey burned, but I swallowed it back, feeling the heat ease through me. I needed the burn — the escape from my whole predicament. And from him.

Ugh.

Welcome to the twenty-first century, where women of royalty were still expected to marry people they didn’t want to. In Callie’s case, it was to settle a debt and save her kingdom. That was actually pretty noble, even if it was a raw deal for her. But me? Nope, I just came from old fashioned, hard-ass, snob-nosed family, who’d “decided” it was time for me to get married. At nineteen. How shitty is that?

And even worse, they’d decided that my friend’s sham wedding was the perfect place for me to be formally introduced to my future sham husband. Fitting in a way, and I might have laughed at the irony if didn’t want to swear at it and drink instead.

Which is exactly what I was doing.

Prince Franklin Smothers, the fourth. I mean God, even his name was like a wet blanket. Smothers. I was going to be smothered by Prince Smothers. I really wish I could have laughed about it, but all I could manage was a pathetically forced chuckle. I’d always been a free spirit. Well, that's what my aunt called me. My parents called me a problem child — a hellion. And they were maybe a tiny bit right. But I just saw it as my duty to rebel against the bullshit they imposed on me, you know? Where they had rules like brick walls, I was going to be a damn wrecking ball. And even if I knew I had to meet Prince Wet-Blanket-McSmothers, I wasn’t going to do it with a smile on my face, that’s for sure.

Not this Duchess, thank you very much. Or at last, if it was a smile, it’d be one painted on there with alcohol. I ambled through the gardens, past roses and exotic plants. Callie might be marrying a troll, but his rose gardens were pretty amazing. So, she’d have that I guess.

I meandered past the bushes, through some stone arches into a side field. This one had been turned into a temporary parking lot for the various limos, town cars, and foreign sports cars of all the royalty here for the wedding. My eyes lingered on one drab grey, boring, old looking town car, and I wondered if that was Prince Franklin’s.

Yuck.

I mean, it wasn’t quite as horrible as Callie. She’d never even dated — meaning Milton was going to be her first and only.

Barf.

I wasn’t supposed to have dated either, what with my “position” and our family’s “reputation,” but that hadn’t stopped me. I’d even gone all the way with one guy. It’d been pretty lame, and really fast, but at least I’d gotten it out of the way. It’s not like I “didn’t get what the big deal with sex was.” I knew it was supposed to be amazing, it’s just that my one time had sort of sucked. But at least I’d had that on my own terms, and I wouldn’t be losing my v-card to Prince Franklin Smothers.

I meandered past limos and town cars, sipping on my flask until my eyes landed on something gorgeous.

Wow.

The vintage Rolls Royce was beautiful — gleaming chrome, shining black, exquisitely detailed. I wasn’t even a car girl, but damn was that thing gorgeous. It was the kind of car that just looked like sex on wheels — moneyed, exclusive, luxurious sex on wheels, that is. I took another sip of my whiskey, grimacing as my eyes lingered on the car.

And then I scowled.

Yeah, it was pretty alright. But then, it probably belonged to another Prince Franklin, or a King Milton. It was some other rich, snobby, entitled, weak, rich asshole of a guy who’d bought good taste. The thought made me scowl even further, and I narrowed my eyes at the Rolls. Pretty, but owned by a douchebag.

I took another swig.

A dickhead car for a dickhead royal.

I paused, the wicked thought teasing into my head. And slowly, I grinned. I glanced around. The guards and the chauffeurs were clear on the other side of the field. Slowly, I slipped my heel off, hefting the shoe in my hand and holding onto the metal buckle between two fingers. I brought it to the side of the car, and as the giggle started from in my throat, I started to draw.

…A dick, naturally. A full shaft, a big, thick head, and two heavy balls, scratched across the side of the priceless car.

I giggled again as I added some pubes above it, snorting at how hilarious I was. And I was just finishing with the last little touches, when suddenly, the voice behind me made me scream as I dropped my shoe.

“The fuck are you doing?!”

I gasped, heart in my throat as I whirled. My pulse skipped a beat, my whole body froze, and slowly, my eyes dragged up every single inch of his huge, imposing, muscled body. They landed on a pair of glinting blue eyes, and my heart stopped for a second. Gorgeous blue eyes, thick dark hair, a scruff on his chiseled, perfect chin, and a regal jaw clenched tight. The older, beautiful, powerful looking man towered over me, and there was fury behind his face.

“I—”

The fight or flight impulse took over, and I whirled. I even started to just make a run for it, but his hand shot out like lightning and caught my wrist fast. I gasped as he tugged, spinning me around and slamming me back against the car as he moved into me. My pulse roared through my ears, the heat from his large body sizzling into my skin.

“I’m going to count to three, you little brat,” he growled. And then I want to know exactly why you just scratched a cock on my fucking car.”