Royal S.O.B. (A Bad Boy Romance) (2 page)

Addie
stepped off the bus at the university campus and switched off her iPod.

She
was your quintessential middle class student. Satchel on the shoulder, a
textbook in hand (which she kept reading when on the move), ballpoint pen stuck
in her hair (holding it temporarily in a makeshift bun), and mobile phone on
silent mode in her pocket ("something that vibrates between my legs,"
she once famously said).

She
was also dressed quintessentially – bright-colored tee and jeans, with an
optional tweed half jacket. It was more or less the campus uniform, not just
her outfit but that of most of her compatriots as well.

That
morning, as she walked towards the library, her mind was in a whirl. It was the
far end of the academic year, lectures were practically over, her attendance
was above par, and most of her classmates were sitting at home, ostensibly
'studying'.

Then
what was
she
doing on the campus?

By
all standards, she had been an outstanding student. Pursuing her graduation in
English, she was a budding litterateur of sorts; she had already got some of
her poems published in leading writing magazines, and a couple of her papers
were with reputable journals. She would enter her final year in a few months.

Everything
about her was middle class. Her mother was a schoolteacher (also English – she
had instilled a love for the subject in her daughter), and Addie lived in a
middle class neighborhood. With their limited income, her upbringing was middle
class. And being conservative, needless to add, her thinking was also firmly
middle class.

Not
that being middle class was a social slur or something. Very comfortable in her
own skin, Addie was not one to brook nonsense. She inherited this outwardly
haughty nature from her mother, a proud single parent. An only child, she lost
her father when she was barely three. Her mother dedicated her life to bringing
little Addie up – giving her the best in everything as much as she could
afford. Mother and daughter shared a deep bond, almost like friends, or even
siblings. There were no secrets between the two.

It
was a great family ambience with just the two of them around; often, it
resembled an all-girls dorm. There were no men around, and honestly, they never
missed the species. Addie was fine with her mum also doubling up as her dad,
and the older woman's focus was so much on her daughter to even think of men,
or worry about the supposed lacuna they might have caused in her life. It was a
self-contained world, a happy ecosystem, with no room for any discontent.

Why,
then, was a storm raging in sweet Adelaide's head?

It
was all, oddly enough, thanks to her mom. No, nothing that she did herself, but
something that transpired which changed things dramatically for both of them.
What some people might describe as a stroke of luck had now become a Damocles
sword hanging above her head.

Call
it her middle class mind refusing to accept change. Or shunning a welcome upgrade
in their social status. Because, this bit of supposed good fortune was going to
change her life forever...

Her
mother was being considered by the king, no less, for marriage.

A
man who was pushing sixty, the king had been widowed over five years ago. All
he had was a son, the royal heir, who was born late and who had hardly been in
the kingdom all his life. The prince had been abroad – schooling in Switzerland
and studying at university in various other places across Europe – after which
he enlisted in the Royal Air Force, serving his kingdom in a myriad of
capacities. From all accounts, a worthy and honorable young man, and well
deserving to succeed his father.
On
paper, anyway.

Lately
the king's health had been a matter of national concern. That, and the
coincidental return of the prince, had necessitated a woman's presence in the
royal household. Of course, there were women aplenty – by way of the king's
aunts, sisters and other relations. But that one woman who would oversee the
affairs of the royal family, personally look into matters concerning the king
and his son, and honor a hundred other commitments falling under the protocol –
that woman was not to be found. Most important of all, the kingdom's subjects
needed a queen.
 

The
royal family had been on the lookout for a woman to fill this extraordinary
position for some time. Addie had been reading about it all over the
newspapers, but she would have never guessed her own mother would be chosen as
that woman.

How
exactly they zeroed in on her mum was a mystery to Addie. Maybe the royals had
their own ways and means to do these things surreptitiously. The stealth agents
– perhaps they were pressed into action. In times of peace – and these were
times of peace – this was probably how they kept His Majesty's Secret Service
busy.
That, however, was enough to end
her personal peace
, mused Addie.

Why
they opted for a widow for a widower was inexplicable. The way Addie saw it,
any number of spinsters would have been ready to become the next queen, and yet
the mantle fell on a single parent with a twenty-year-old daughter.
Strange were the ways of royalty
, she
surmised.

"Addie!"
someone called her.

"Hey,
Phantom!"

There
was only one person on Earth who called him that: Patrick. That clever boy who
had, years ago, nicknamed Kenrick this after the luxury limousine.

"Pat!
Where the hell in the world are you?!
"

"I'm
here, soaking in the soothing blue waters of Mauritius. I knew you were hiding
in that enormous mansion of yours in the country."

"Come
on over here, we'll have a blast," suggested a desperate Kenrick.

"I'm
bored already."

"In
just three days? Got nothing to do?"

"Right.
Not for me, not for my dick."

"Shall
I bring some exciting pussy over for His Highness?"

"Nah
– not that again. I… I need something else."

"Don't
tell me you're swinging the other way!"

"No,
you bastard. I want some honest fun. And I don't know where to get it."

"Just
stay right there. I'll take a flight tonight."

"So
you'll be here early morning," confirmed Kenrick.

"I'll
send the limo."

"Do
that, Your Royal Highness."

*****

Suddenly
the world looked a brighter place for Kenrick.

That
was the kind of fun Pat was. Kenrick would be down in the dumps, for no
particular reason, and Pat – by his sheer presence – would light up, and
lighten up, the proceedings. They had met in school as young chaps.

He
still remembered it vaguely, like a fading soft focus film clip – the first day
that they had met, in year two. When a shy, seven-year-old Pat walked into the
class and sat next to him, he had no idea that Kenrick was a royal. Quite
unwittingly, he proffered a Phantom comic book to Royce, another echo to the
name that he would use to address him later in life. So, in a sense, it all
started with that name.

That
was the beginning of a friendship that carried on all throughout school, the
university and the Air Force. Gradually, as they grew up, little Pat understood
that his friend Kenrick was somehow superior to others.

His
teacher instructed all of the children to address Kenrick as Your Royal
Highness. It seemed a rather long name for a little kid. He just liked to call
him Kenrick, or even Ken – and he did it, secretly, when no one was around. And
his friend "Ken" didn't seem to mind.

Pat
could never understand why such a long car pulled up at the school for such a
small boy. Often Kenrick could never even be seen through the car window – he
would disappear somewhere below, sinking into the plush leather seat.

Then
there were the two governesses and half a dozen tall, big men who accompanied
this little boy. Security, his mum said, when he told her about the fearsome
looking hulks. Mom also told him that Kenrick was the son of a king, hence all
the fuss.

"Is
my dad a king, too?" little Pat had asked.
 

"No
my dear," answered his mum, giving him a hug.

"Your
dad is a commoner, and so are you and me."

"What
does that mean, Mummy?" he asked again.

"It
means your friend will become a king when he grows up."

"And
what will I become?"

"Why,
you'll become a handsome young man, my dear!"
 

"But
I'll never be a king."

"No
my sweet, that's only for the royal family."

*****

The
following day, he discussed this with Kenrick. His friend seemed upset.

"But
I want to be a fireman," he confided to Pat.

"That's
not possible," replied Pat.

"You
have to become king."

"And
do what?"

"And
rule all of us."

"How
do you do that?" Kenrick wanted to know.

"I
have no idea," answered Pat.

"But
I can ask my mum about it."

"But
I like firemen," Kenrick persisted.

"And
I like their uniform. I'll look big and strong in it."

"Okay,"
offered Pat.

Kenrick
seemed thoughtful.

"Do
kings have a uniform?" he asked his friend.

"I'm
not sure. I'll ask my–"

"You'll
ask your mum about it. Right, got it," interrupted Ken.

The
next day Pat confirmed: Kings do have a uniform.

"But
it may not be as good as a fireman's," he warned Kenrick.

"It's
better to be a fireman than a king," Kenrick responded, with finality.

Sitting
there in the present moment, dwarfed by the tall blades of grass, Kenrick
laughed.
Thank God he'd remained a king
– okay, a king-in-waiting.

Firemen
never had half the fun.

*****

The
following morning, Kenrick arose early. He wanted to go receive his friend from
the airport.

"I'd
advise against it, Your Royal Highness," informed the Chief Security
Officer, coming in to the guests' reception area of the manor.

"And
why is that?" asked Kenrick, biting his tongue to suppress the tide of
expletives rising inside his mouth.

"There's
a terror threat at the airport, Your Royal Highness," replied the man.

"We
have orders to not let you leave the manor."

"No
shit!" Kenrick could contain himself no longer.

"What
the fuck man!"

The
officer just stood there, his head hung, studying the ancient tiling on the
floor.

"Don't
you know he's my best mate?! In fact, my only mate?" Kenrick yelled at
him.

"Yes,
I understand, Your Royal Highness… We'll bring Patrick to the manor safe and
sound – and fast."

"I
know you will, you moron," snarled the prince, his voice deliberately low
now.

"But
is it the same as me going to welcome him, you bum?"

"It's
not, Your Royal Highness," the officer replied promptly.

Kenrick
gave a pause, still fuming.

"So…
nothing can be done about my going personally?" he asked, finally, his
voice still low.

"I'm
afraid not, Your Royal Highness."

"Then
go fuck yourself!" he yelled, the entire manor shaking under the impact of
his disgust.

*****

The
officer kept his word. They retrieved Pat and brought him to the manor faster
than usual.
He was probably rushed
through the immigration
, assumed Kenrick.

Their
reunion was tumultuous.

"Hey
Phantom!" Pat yelled, momentarily oblivious of his new surroundings.

"You
bastard!" Kenrick yelled back, throwing royal protocol to the winds.

They
hugged each other, lifting each other up in turns – they were meeting after a
year.

"Come,
let's go to my chambers," suggested Kenrick, when they were done with the
excitement of the welcome.

"Can
I go to my room, need to have a wash first?" asked Pat. Unlike Kenrick, he
was always a stickler for hygiene and cleanliness.

"Okay,
have it your way," conceded the prince, and joined the head housekeeper
who would take them to Pat's room.

*****

"So…
my dear Phantom has been experiencing 'the royal boredom'," announced Pat.

He
had had a wash, they'd eaten breakfast, and now they were in Kenrick's chambers
– relaxed and all by themselves.

"Oh
my word," replied Kenrick.

"Thank
God you landed up. One more day and the kingdom would've lost its heir."

"That
means – 'Pat saved the king!' Please send Letters Patent to amend the
anthem."

Kenrick
laughed. Already he was feeling better.

"So
tell me," he thumped Pat on the shoulder.

"Been
fucking around a lot?"

"Me,
no!" replied Pat.

"You
know I've been traveling. And I have a golden rule: When with a backpack, never
have two people on your bedroll."

"Oh
– why's that?"

"These
days, Phantom, you can never tell. I've been all over Asia, and while the girls
are nubile and sexy, hygiene is a casualty. I want my dick going into safe
nooks and crannies."

Kenrick
laughed again.

"If
I was like you," the prince said through laughter.

"I'd
never have my ticker ticking."

"Ticker?"
asked Pat.

"Yup,
my pussy counter."

"Ah
that," smiled Pat in acknowledgment.

"What's
the score – I want up-to-the-minute."

"Well…
up-to-the-minute…" Kenrick pretended to read an imaginary meter.

"It
says three-hundred-and-ninety-two."

Both
friends roared wildly.

Pat,
who was sitting by the large Victorian window, suddenly seemed distracted. He
was looking outside.

"What
is it?" asked Kenrick.
 

"My
word," swallowed Pat.

"And
who might these birds be?"

"Birds?"

Kenrick
got up from his grandfather chair and went up to the window.