Unprincely Read online

  Unprincely

  Eden Finley

  Unprincely by Eden Finley

  Copyright © 2018 Eden Finley

  All rights reserved.

  Cover Illustration Copyright © AM Creations

  Copy Edited by Xterraweb Edits

  All rights reserved.

  This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher. For information regarding permission, write to: Eden Finley - permissions - [email protected]

  This is a work of fiction. Ashwick is not based on any real country and the royal family are completely made up. Names of real people are used in a fictitious manner.

  Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Contents

  1. Xander

  2. Roman

  3. Delia

  4. Xander

  5. Roman

  6. Delia

  7. Xander

  8. Roman

  9. Delia

  10. Xander

  11. Roman

  12. Delia

  13. Xander

  14. Roman

  15. Delia

  16. Xander

  17. Roman

  18. Delia

  19. Xander

  20. Roman

  21. Delia

  22. Xander

  23. Roman

  24. Delia

  25. Xander

  Thank you!

  Books By Eden Finley

  Xander

  The slap of the tabloid hitting the coffee table echoed around the formal sitting area of my sister’s suite. Her room was hideous and looked like a leprechaun had vomited gold everywhere. It was positively ghastly through hungover eyes.

  Annie summoned me to her quarters at the butt crack of eleven thirty this morning. I would have called her a monster if I wasn’t in enough trouble already.

  “Really, Alexander? Care to explain this?” Her dark hair sat in perfect ringlets, cascading down her perfectly made-up face that was marred by an un-royal-like scowl.

  I grabbed the rag magazine and flipped through it. “Your guess is as good as mine. Who on earth makes magazines anymore? It’s a mystery to me too.”

  “Front page, smartass.”

  Prince Uncharming’s Drunken Antics.

  “Same old, same old,” I said. “I do love this subtitle though. ‘A timeline of the royal’s rapid descent.’ Descent into where exactly? If the tabloids believe I’m going to hell for my drunkenness, we better hope they never find out about what happens behind closed doors. Am I right?”

  “Xander,” my sister said on a sigh. “I’ve been gone a whole month, and this is what I come home to? Straight back into lecturing you about your public image? This behaviour isn’t princely.”

  “My public image is how it has always been. The palace should be proud I’m consistent. That’s better than being an erratic royal.”

  “When are you going to grow up?”

  I stare at my Rolex. “About half past never.”

  “You’re lucky the rules changed right before I was born. If they hadn’t, you’d be first in line and never get to have any fun.”

  “God, if I had to live that life, I’d need a lot of whiskey. And men. Lots and lots of men.”

  “You may be able to party hard, little brother, but you think the world won’t care if they find out you’re …”

  I leaned closer to her and whispered, “Bisexual?” I gasped. “Are royals allowed to say that word?”

  “You think Grandfather will allow you to marry a guy?”

  “If the bill passes, same-sex marriage will be legal in Ashwick by the end of the year.”

  “I don’t think that law will apply to royalty.”

  “Damn. Maybe my wife will let me have a guy on the side every now and then.” A lot of royalty had affairs. From what I’d heard, it was common. “Hey, you think Grandfather has mistresses?”

  Annie screwed up her face. “You’re disgusting. He loves Nanna.”

  “If you say so. I don’t think that man is capable of loving anything.”

  “Seriously, watch them when they’re alone. She’s the only one he gives affection to, and he only does it when he thinks no one’s watching. Kings must not show emotion. He’s a strong leader and can’t seem weak.”

  “Do you think Dad will become a dick when he takes the crown?” I asked.

  “Daddy?” Pfft, Daddy. She always was a Daddy’s girl. “No way. He doesn’t have a dickish bone in his body.”

  That was true.

  When my first bodyguard outed me after walking in on me and my roommate, Carl, at school, I expected the same yelling I got from Grandfather to come from Dad. Instead, he’d put his hand on my shoulder, squeezed reassuringly, and said, “Don’t let your granddad find out about the next guy.” Mum leaned in and whispered Carl was batting above his average by being with me and I could’ve done better. She’d said if I was going to be with a guy, I should’ve made it worth it. I’d tried not to snort.

  But neither of them yelled at me to stop the debauchery like Grandfather did. Nor did they say I was disgusting, a disgrace, or that I was going to hell. Dad simply told me to be sneakier about it, and Mum told me I could find a hotter guy.

  I got the impression had we been a regular family with a normal life my parents would’ve encouraged it.

  Maybe in another lifetime.

  “How was all the politicking?” I asked. My sister had just come back from a tour overseas, meeting with all the important people of the world.

  “I’m going to be the best queen ever. All the boring, stuffy leaders loved me. They think I’m an innocent princess. I’ll have them eating out of the palm of my hand in no time.”

  “Let’s hope you don’t end up beheaded like the last famous Queen Anne.”

  “Jealous?” she mocked. She knew I hated all this royal bullshit.

  “So, so jealous.” I swallowed hard and tried to pluck up the courage to ask her for a favour. She was my sister, and I loved her, but what I had to ask went against palace rules, and she was always a stickler for those. “Hey, you know how I’m your adorable little brother and you’d do anything for me?”

  “Mm-hmm …”

  Wow, hard to miss the suspicion in that. I’d be offended if didn’t have every right to be wary. “Are you available to go to this shindig for me that Mum and Dad are dragging me to this week?”

  “What is it?”

  “You know, pose for the camera, talk to people about how great being a royal is. Easy. Then some showboating motorcade and then home. You could do it in your sleep.”

  “Why don’t you want to go?”

  I ran a hand through my dark hair. “Carl messaged. He’s in the country for some work meeting before he runs back to … wherever it is he moved to after school.”

  “Sounds like true love,” she quipped.

  “Nope. It sounds like getting laid.”

  Her lips pulled into a thin line. “What would you do without me?”

  “You’ll do it?” At her nod, my face lit up. “You’re the best sister ever.”

  “I love NDAs,” I panted as Carl and I collapsed on his bed. The rough stubble of a man’s mouth was the biggest turn-on, and Carl had great stubble. My lips were swollen in the best possible way.

  He had his own villa along the coastline of Ashwick, and the sound of ocean meeting cliff mixed with our heavy breaths.

  We were a small European nation—about the same size as Luxembourg but with a fifth of the population. Carl grew up here but always travelled for business. He was rarely ever
here, so we needed to make the most of the time we had.

  Since I knocked on his door a few hours ago, it’d been nothing but blowjobs, fucking, and showering. Rinse and repeat. We were both sweaty messes, and I was on the verge of being spent. My muscles ached.

  “Non-disclosure agreements make things more fun,” Carl said. He rolled on top of me and attacked my mouth, ready for yet another round.

  I gripped his short black hair and pulled tight, taking back the control he was trying to steal, but before I could get into the kiss, the dreaded ringtone I loathed blared through Carl’s apartment.

  “Damn it.” I slammed my head back on the pillow.

  Darth Vader’s theme “The Imperial March” continued to ring.

  “Your Highness, don’t answer it. I’m only in town for one night.”

  If the ringtone hadn’t killed my orgasmic buzz, reminding me of my title would’ve done it. “Sorry, you know what that ringtone means.”

  “Total boner killer. Got it.”

  I reached for my pants on the floor to find my phone. A tortured “Fuck me” fell from my mouth at what was on my screen.

  “That was the point,” Carl said dryly. “Guessing your grandfather has other ideas.”

  Missed call (3): His Royal Dickness. King of Asswick.

  “Did my phone go off earlier?” How did I miss three calls?

  “Maybe when we were in the shower?” Carl climbed out of bed and headed for the bathroom. My eyes followed his skinny ass as he went. He wasn’t my usual type of guy. Apart from stubble, the thing I loved most on a man was muscles. But Carl was convenient, and it was slim pickings for a bisexual royal.

  I’d known Carl since our parents shipped us both off to boarding school in England. We referred to our hook-ups in the beginning as last resort fucking, seeing as we went to an all-boys school, but it became an awakening for both of us. He realised he loved cock, and I learned I didn’t discriminate between sexes. How un-noble of us both. Carl was an earl or some shit, which made us perfect for each other—in the whole, meaningless hook-up with no risk of the tabloids finding out kind of way.

  There was a bang on Carl’s bedroom door followed by Roman’s voice. “Prince Alexander?”

  The king was probably freaking out about me not answering my phone, and I wouldn’t have put it past him to call my security detail.

  I slipped on my jeans, sans underwear, and let Roman in. There had been countless bodyguards before Roman. He was the first one not to go running to Granddaddy about my extracurricular activities. I figured it was because he was the youngest bodyguard I’d been assigned and he wasn’t as uptight as the others. He didn’t give a shit who I spent my time with, so long as I didn’t slip my security detail to do it.

  “Roman Elliot, my big, strong protector. Finally taking me up on my offer to join us?” I taunted. Roman was straight, but that didn’t stop me from hoping he’d say yes. Just once. He was my type of guy. His muscular frame filled out his suit perfectly, making him look like the poster boy for the royal guard. I’d always wanted to see what was under the jacket, shirt, and tie. I was sure I could get him to agree to a three-way with a girl and me, but it hadn’t happened yet.

  He usually laughed off my antics, but tonight he remained stoic. “Prince Alexander—”

  “What’s got Grandfather’s dick in a twist this time?”

  Roman’s face paled, and he ran a muscular hand through his golden caramel-coloured hair. “Uh, sir—”

  “Sir? Shit just got real. Did someone kick the bucket? Please let it be the old dude.” My joking tone made Roman flinch. “Fuck, what is it?”

  Roman cleared his throat. “Where, uh, is your … uh, friend?”

  “Bathroom, why? Anything you say, he can’t repeat.”

  “That’s not why I’m asking.” With precision and purposeful movements of a trained soldier, Roman headed for the bathroom and knocked. “Carl? You might need to be here for this. The prince is going to need you.”

  I stumbled back towards the crumpled sheets on the bed. It smelled of sex and irresponsibility. “Just tell me.”

  Instead, Roman grabbed the remote from the nightstand and turned the TV on.

  On screen, a reporter stood in front of the obnoxiously royal palace. Even the gates were made of gold, for crying out loud. The woman’s blonde hair had been haphazardly thrown into a bun, and her makeup was minimal—as if there wasn’t enough time to make her pretty enough for TV.

  “Again, it has been confirmed. Christian and Prudence Holbrook, Crown Prince and Princess of Ashwick, along with their daughter, Princess Anne, were in the motorcade attacked by extremists.” She went on to say something about retaliation for signing an ally deal with another country, but it was all ringing in my ears. “We’re waiting for a statement from the royal family, and we will keep you updated as the story progresses throughout the night.”

  Carl, at some point, had emerged from the bathroom and sat on the bed next to me, but I was too numb to notice. “You need to call your grandfather back,” he said and rubbed a soothing hand over my back.

  Carl and I weren’t a touchy-feely kind of couple. We were the true meaning of fuck buddies, so his hand provided no comfort. Roman’s touch would be more soothing, but the guy had a thing about personal space. He didn’t like me in his.

  I shook my head. I couldn’t call my grandfather.

  Roman lowered himself to his knees in front of me. “Sir.”

  I stared right through him.

  “Prince Alexander,” he tried again.

  Was this what going catatonic was like? I couldn’t form words.

  Roman cupped my head and forced me to look at him. “Xander.”

  That brought me out of my trance. I’d asked him repeatedly over the last two years to call me Xander, but he always refused to.

  “Where’s my family?” I croaked.

  “I’m so sorry.” Tears welled in Roman’s eyes. The news wasn’t going to be anything good when a man who was paid to remain emotionless was on the brink of tears. “We need to get you to the palace.”

  Protocol was to tell the royal family of a death before alerting the media or the rest of parliament. If they needed me at the palace …

  “Who? Which one? I can’t … I have to know now.”

  Roman shared a look with Carl before his brown eyes met mine and softened in sympathy. “All of them, sir. As of tonight, you’re the crown prince of Ashwick.”

  Well, fuck.

  Roman

  The prince was dreaming again. Or remembering, maybe. He was awake, but everything was going in one ear and out the other. He wasn’t responding to his name, and his gaze wandered around the ornate royal offices as if seeing them for the first time. Xander may have been in here countless times before, but he now looked at them as if realising they were the four walls he’d have to see day in and day out in his future.

  The king was in his nineties but looked like he’d already died ten years ago. Tabloids had been theorising for years it was time for him to abdicate or die. Now that Prince Christian was dead, I assumed it pushed back the king’s retirement or death a few years. I wouldn’t put it past Edmund to be stubborn enough to refuse to die and have God listen to him. Prince Alexander was only twenty-four and in no way groomed to take over the throne. There had been two in line ahead of him, and that number was only going to grow when his sister got married and had kids. He wasn’t born for the crown.

  “For Pete’s sake, boy,” King Edmund grumbled.

  I hated the way he talked to Xander—always belittling him, putting him down, and implying he was weak because he enjoyed the company of men. He constantly asked me if I’d taken Xander to see Carl or any of his other “friends.” I never told the king the truth about Xander’s life because I knew what it would mean for me. It was the same as the three guys before me. They got a buttload of money to sign an NDA—on top of the one they signed when they started working for the palace—and then they’d disappear wi
th their buckets of cash. I would never do that to Xander.

  I’d been in love with him ever since I was assigned his detail, but could I tell him that? Hell no. Even if he’d throw me a bone, I still had to work for him. It was why I tried to keep him at arm’s length and refused to let myself call him Xander to his face. I couldn’t get too close. Getting comfortable and used to being around him wasn’t a good idea because one day I wouldn’t work for the palace anymore and I’d never see him again. A commoner didn’t call up the Prince of Ashwick and say “Wanna catch up?” And as far as I knew, Xander didn’t know I was into guys. He’d joked about joining him, and God knew how close I’d come to taking him up on the offer, but I preferred to keep him in the dark about my orientation. Too complicated otherwise, and I didn’t do complicated.

  My life was about order.

  I joined the military straight out of high school and became a member of the royal guard as soon as it was offered to me. Xander was my first and only charge, and I wasn’t going to fuck it up.

  Edmund slammed a giant stack of papers down on his office desk, making Alexander snap out of what was most likely a memory of his parents or sister.

  Since it happened, Xander hadn’t shaved, he’d barely eaten anything, and he definitely hadn’t showered. It’d only been a week, but according to the king, that was a week too long to grieve the loss of his family.

  “You need to pull yourself together,” Edmund said. “I’ve given you your space, but now you need to get to work. The funerals are in three days. You need to get a suit tailored, get a haircut, and for God’s sake, shave that fuzz off your face.”