Page 19

I want it to, but every time I close my eyes, I see a sea of faceless men in their dark tuxedos, feeling the pain of the throne all over again. I relive the feeling of heavy hands on my shoulders and wrapped around my wrists. I feel thatthingtearing inside of me.

I feel the sticky warm heat of Whitaker’s cum.

So instead, I stare up at the ceiling from the massive bed, counting the crystals hanging from the chandelier overhead. Yes, there’s a chandelier over the bed, and giant, gilded columns framing the four corners. The fabric is both soft and itchy–golden thread woven through purple silk. The room is cavernous, ridiculous, and completely on brand with these lunatics.

I absorb the sounds of my room, the sigh of the bedsprings when I move, the wind rattling the doors to my balcony, a faucet dripping in the bathroom. I memorize the texture of the air, cold and crisp and somehow old. I let my thoughts gallop toward anything that isn’t the memory of the ceremony, and sometimes those thoughts gallop right off this island and back to the Dukes.

Because I can always run back home.

Eventually, the soft glow of dawn appears through the windows.

A pang in my lower belly forces me to roll to the side. Across the room, the dress–the Velma Kang twenty-thousand dollar dress–hangs on a floor-to-ceiling mirror like a hovering ghost. In the pale morning light, I can see how the bodice is bunched, twisted from where Pace grabbed me on the balcony. The semen is dry now, invisible to the eye, but I know it’s there, just like how I know the reason the hem is frayed and the skirt is a wrinkled mess isn’t from a night of dancing and fun. Each tear, each bit of damage, tells a story, but none more so than the dark red spot just below the waistline. My blood. Blood used to sign away my life. In the dead-still quiet of my rooms, the words of the covenant come swimming back:the Princess will serve & obey her Prince, she will sever all other Royal ties, she’ll treat her body as a temple…

These were the only parts I could bring myself to read before admitting defeat, and that’s exactly what it was. A loss. No victor, no spoils. Just me, caving the moment things got too rough. It smarts to accept how much I’ve underestimated the Princes’ depravity. A better woman–aRoyalwoman–would have come prepared for something that vicious. She wouldn’t have fallen for the shiny facade, the veil of golden glitter.

Just as the sun begins to rise, there comes a knock on my door.

I jolt upright in panic, my wide eyes fixed to the knob. I’d locked it the night before, fully aware that nothing can keep these men out if they truly want in. I’m not foolish enough to think that. But after having everything stripped away, I needed some kind of barrier between myself and them.

A second knock comes, this time louder.

I find my voice, calling out, “Just a minute!” Scrambling to the edge of the bed, I wince with each movement, a sharp pain radiating outward from my vagina. Easing my legs over the side of the mattress is a feat in and of itself, not just because of the pain, but the enormity of the bed itself, and it takes a moment for me to work up the courage to stand.

When I do, my whimper emerges low and pained. It’s a different sort of hurt from the night before, as if the sting has had time to settle into my flesh, making itself a home there. The throb is deep and dull as I pad carefully across the room, just short of a waddle.

I press my ear to the door. “Who is it?”

“It’s Stella!” replies an obnoxiously chipper voice. She says her name like it’s an intro to her own sitcom. The exclamation point is an audible thing. “I’m your handmaiden.”

My face scrunches. “Handmaiden?”What the fuck.

“I’m here to help you get ready,” she clarifies.

I give the door a dubious stare. “Er, thank you,” my hand twists in the cotton of the nightgown that had been laid out for me on the bed when I got to the room the night before, “but I can do it myself.”

There’s a pause, and then, “But… Princess, it’s my job to assist you.”

My perplexed stare shifts to a glower as I turn the lock, easing it open just a crack. I flinch back at the sight that greets me.

Stella is right up against the crack, face snapping into a wide, beaming grin as she stumbles back. “Oh! There you are! Gosh, you really are pretty.” She’s short and petite, maybe even younger than I am, but she feels as big as a fucking h-bomb, posture straight and vibrating with energy. “Everyone said so, but you know, it’s East End. No one would ever call a Princess anything less than stunning.” Dark, almond-shaped eyes smile back at me just as much as her thin lips, and the pair of glasses perched on the bridge of her nose doesn’t lessen the effect. “But here you stand like a ray of light! I’ll just pop right in and get you started.”

“Look,” I try, taking a deep breath. “I really don’t need help getting ready, so you don’t need to bother yourself.”

Stella’s happy expression plummets. “Oh.” Her long black hair is plaited into a loose braid that hangs over her shoulder. She twirls it around her hand as she casts her eyes away, shoulders drooping. “Okay then. I guess I’ll just find something to keep me busy. King Ashby doesn’t like idle people. Maybe there’s something I can clean, or someone else I can…” she swallows loudly, “... serve.”

The implication makes my stomach turn, and before I know it, I’m swinging the door open. “Ugh, fine, just–”

Stella prances past me, her miserable expression immediately exploding into a sunny grin. “Wow, look at your room–it’sgorgeous! And freaking huge!”

I turn, taking it in for the first time in the daylight. It is gorgeous. And huge. I knew that from the sheer size of the bed and the chandelier but, really, it’s extraordinary.

And I’d rather be anywhere else.

In the daylight, the columns are so thick they look like they must be holding up the ceiling–a ceiling, I realize, that is made of marble. Just like the floor. The bed sits on a platform and the entire wall behind it is a tufted, thick cushion, framed in an intricate golden design. In the center, just over the middle of the bed, is an inlaid design of metalwork and jewels. A crown.

At the foot of the bed is a long bench, the fabric a deep purple velvet. Sconces the size of floor lamps hang on either side of the bed.

I’ve heard of this bed–or gossip that I thought was perhaps an urban legend. The Crown Bed. The Princes and Princess may change, but the bed remains.