Royal S.O.B. (A Bad Boy Romance) (4 page)

"Princess
Adelaide Isabella Royce!"

Her
name echoed in the royal court hall.

"The
king has been pleased by Letters Patent under the Great Seal of the Realm,
dated this seventeenth day of April… to declare that Adelaide Isabella Royce be
inducted into the royal household and should have and enjoy the style, title
and attribute of Royal Highness with the titular dignity of Princess prefixed
to her Christian name, or with such other titles of honor."

Hundreds
of dignitaries were seated all around, including the king, his son the prince,
members of the extended royal family, the prime minister with his entire
cabinet, presidents or heads of government of friendly countries, secretaries
to government, senior officials, the press, television crews, and the rest of
the media – there were perhaps a few thousand people present at that moment.

Everything
had happened at incredible speed. It was the wedding of the century, with
virtually every global leader in attendance, and the event was telecast live in
nearly every country in the world. The reception that followed was royal in
every respect, with thousands of people witnessing it in person and millions
more on television. The two families were united; just two common people from
one side joining hundreds of members from the royalty on the other.

It
was a vicarious dream come true for ordinary folk – a rank commoner entering
the royal household. Stuff that fairy tales were
made
of! Everyone was happy for Addie and her mother, at their
incredible fortune. This kind of thing only happened in dreams, or in movies,
or in romance novels, if we're being honest.

The
ceremonies were all complete. Now remained just one ritual, the meeting of the
families. This was an elaborate custom, and the highlight of it was the formal
introduction of the new family members to the king.

In
the royal court hall that evening, the king was present in his ceremonial
attire with all its finery, seated on his throne. His heir the prince and all
his ministers graced the occasion, and foreign dignitaries represented their
respective countries.

The
queen, Addie's mother, was called first. The royal priest escorted her
personally and handed her over to the king, who then seated her next to him as
his consort. Then the introductions of the new queen's family members occurred.
There was just the one, and that's when Addie's name was called out with all
the gusto of a royal personage...

"Princess
Adelaide Isabella Royce!"

She
thought her name was announced twice, but that was just her imagination. No
name was ever announced more than once, and no one to date had disobeyed that
announcement. This was the royal family, if anyone had to be reminded.

The
change in surname did not go well with "Addie", thought Addie. Her
mind was suddenly on her father. She didn't remember a lick about him; she was
but three when he passed away, but remembrance of the man whose seed she was,
and whose surname she'd carried till this day, brought a certain heaviness to
her heart. Along with moisture to her eyes. Now, in an instant, she seemed a
different person – not the good old chatty, charming Addie – but a member of
THE royal family.
Who would have thought?

She
got up, and her elaborate dress made a jingling noise. It had some two thousand
tiny bells stuck in various positions, some of them poking her in awkward
places whilst she'd been sitting. Its train was three meters long, and there
were six little children ready and waiting to carry it just for her. How
simpler would it have been to just walk up, as if receiving a university award,
and then come back and sit at the same place!

Before
she knew it she was walking, her little train in tow, across that large,
imposing hall. Cameras were clicking away, flashes blinking like a million
bright stars; channels covering her stride live, focusing on her brilliant
white dress and the many bells that were ringing for no one in particular.

She
walked up, as instructed, to the king's throne, curtseyed to him, took his hand
and kissed it. It felt rough. She had met this man only once, on the day of the
wedding, when he was sitting next to her mother with a smile that could
brighten up the whole world.

But
that was not all. There was another person whose hand she had to kiss: Her
mum's, the queen's. She was not just her mother anymore, so said the royal
orientation staff (whose job it was to train commoners entering royalty). Her
mother was now the mother of every subject in the kingdom; indeed, she was the
queen mother.

Whatever happened to
the two friends who shared everything between them, back in their little middle
class apartment
,
Addie wondered.

She
went through the motions of kissing her mother's hand – the queen's hand – and
made her way back to her seat. Once again, the shutterbugs and television
cameras purred; the six little kids held her train; the bells jangled
nonchalantly; and she sat down once more.

A
lot more of that happened while she was seated; she did not pay attention to
the rigmarole. It was of no concern to her anyway. Finally, it got so tiring,
she just wanted to get it over with and go home.

Home?

Her
heart skipped a beat. There was no home for her anymore, no home as she
remembered it. No more going back to that neighborhood she loved so much –
middle class though it was. No more getting off the bus (or getting into one)
and taking the slow, leisurely walk through the suburbs to her leafy lane, with
all those tiny tots making a racket on the street. No more of those meaningless
neighborly conversations across picket fences, about the day, the weather, or
just the cat that was sprawling on the road. No more of any of that.

In
its place, she now had a buggy drawn by eight horses. A limousine with six
doors and sixteen wheels. An entourage of twelve page girls that were in
constant attendance. A wing of the palace with seven rooms to herself, not
including three guest rooms.

And
not a moment to herself.

"Come,
let's do something outdoorsy today!" Prince Kenrick pronounced.

And
the only listener in the room – his bosom pal, Patrick.

Kenrick's
father the king's wedding had just concluded the day before. And frankly, the
prince was exhausted from all of the ceremonial nonsense. Now what he needed
was some fresh air. He yearned for the wide-open greens, the sprawling meadows,
the wind in his hair. He craved for long, winding roads, meandering through the
mountains. He just wanted to get out!

Upon
receiving zero response from Pat, he looked at his friend. There was a bandage
on his head, just above the right eyebrow. The sharp steel of the lunchbox had
narrowly missed his eye.

"What
do you want to do?" asked Pat, under duress to respond.

"Let's
go to town and have some fun."

A
moment of silence.

"Fun
like we had the other day, in the servant room?" Pat asked, his index
finger inadvertently running over his covered wound.

"Hey
come on Pat, I said I'm sorry. But really man, you behaved like an asshole that
day."

"Yeah,
I guess I did."

Pat's
tone was dead serious.

"And
you were a thorough gentleman."

"No,
I behaved like an asshole too," Kenrick agreed.

Kenrick
got up and went to where Pat was sitting.

"It
happens, Pat. Such things happen. I'm royal, after all. I am the ruler."

"Okay,
whatever," brushed off Pat, pushing Kenrick's hand away from his shoulder.

"What
now?"

"Be
a darling, let's get out. Let's go for a long drive, just you and me. No
entourage, I promise."

"All–
all right," Pat sighed.

When
Kenrick wanted something, he
wanted
something.

*****

Thirty
minutes later, they were cruising along the expressway at a hundred miles an
hour – in Kenrick Royce's Rolls Royce Phantom convertible.

This
was the limo that gave Kenrick his name, for this was the same car that he used
to go to primary school in, all those years ago. Today it was still in mint
condition, having been maintained by the royal garage; with the passage of
time, it had earned a kind of 'cult status' in the royal family.

And
Kenrick had come to inherit it.

As
he'd promised, he managed to keep his entourage at bay. A single security
officer had no chance to travel with them, so it was just the two of them.
Kenrick liked his cars – and women – topless, and he had the much-needed wind
in his hair exactly as he'd wanted.

"No,
Pat, actually this is not what I wanted," Kenrick was saying.

Pat,
who was morose earlier, had since snapped out of it. Cheerful now, he was
sitting in the passenger seat, his legs stretched out onto the dashboard.

This
was nothing new with the prince. What he got was not what he wanted – even
after he had craved for it.

"Well,
what is it that you wanted, Sir?" asked Pat, respecting royalty.

"Well,
nothing can beat a bike ride. Remember the Harley I had back at
university?"

Pat
remembered. Back then, Kenrick was a huge Harley enthusiast and member of
multiple clubs. And back then, when he did not have a purring woman between his
legs, he had a purring Harley.

"Yup,"
said Pat.

"Those
were the days."

"Disagree,"
disagreed Kenrick.

That
was his habit – to disagree on something that was eminently agreeable.

"These
are also the days."

Pat
said nothing.

"Wanna
see what I mean?"

What was it going to be
now
,
Pat wondered.

Kenrick
pulled up outside a Harley-Davidson showroom. They got out, leaving the car as
it was, without even locking it. Apparently, his long limo was a familiar sight
in town that no one dared to touch it.

He
stopped at the glass window, admiring the models on display. The latest Harley
had arrived, and it was gleaming expectantly, like a nubile young thing waiting
to be taken.

"Did
you ever realize," he asked Pat.

"What?"

"That
a new bike is like a virgin. Its first rider is the one who deflowers it."

"Oh?"

It
was Kenrick's habit to link everything in life to sex.

"A
new bike also feels like one. Its grip, its freshness, its wholesome body… it's
so much like a young, sexy, untouched woman."

He
swaggered into the showroom, with Pat following him. Someone in a three-piece
suit came out running.

"Your
Royal Highness!" the man said.

"What
can we do for Your Royal Highness??"

Soon,
another four executives landed up, and stood in a phalanx. Pat felt awkward by
all the attention.

"I
came to look at the latest Harley," stated Kenrick, keeping it to the
point.

"Of
course, Your Royal Highness. This way please…"

The
three-piece suit led them towards the latest Harley, the one they saw earlier
in the window. One of the lackeys brought something on a tray, covered with a
purple satin sheet.

"Here,
Your Royal Highness."

Three-piece
suit removed the satin sheet and offered the tray to Kenrick.

It
had a set of keys. Kenrick grabbed them like an eagle swooping in on its prey.

"Come,"
he told Pat as he jumped on the spanking new bike.

Pat,
though used to Kenrick's haughty ways, was not quick on the uptake.

"Pat,
fuck man, come on!" urged Kenrick as he kick started the Harley. He always
preferred the kick option, not the press of a button. That was too easy, and
too unglamorous.

Pat
hurried to the bike and climbed on the pillion. And that was all he remembered.

The
next instant, they were on the highway, burning rubber and terrifying the hell
out of others on the road. Within seconds, Kenrick was pushing a
hundred-and-fifty miles an hour, much faster than the Phantom they had used to
reach the showroom.

"This,
Pat," Kenrick was yelling, and it was not very audible.

"Is
the REAL wind in the hair!"

Pat
was mortally afraid, the way Kenrick was turning behind and trying to talk to
him.

"Look
ahead, Phantom, look ahead!" he kept urging his friend. Because when
disaster struck, it never differentiated between king and commoner – usually.

Kenrick
scarcely heard him. Or, more likely, never paid attention.

Instead
he left the highway and took an interior road, maintaining the same dangerous
speed as he swerved between slow-moving traffic and pedestrians, who he
considered peasants.

On
the pillion, Pat sat with his heart in his mouth.