Bad Princess Read online

  ON THE TRIP TO LENORA, Brinley was the quiet one. On the return trip to Estau, it was Finn who sat silently, gaze fixed out the window, hands clenched in his lap. He said a word to no one as they left, not his brother or his parents, not the press, and not Brinley. The two-hour drive to the Lenora airport was torture and the flight to Estau was insufferable. They continued to suffer in silence in the motorcade of dark cars, traveling through the sleeping city to the castle where everyone who should have been sleeping was wide awake as they attempted to clean up Brinley’s latest mess.

  Or perhaps her last mess, if King Edric was to be believed. If she were to divorce she would never become queen, there would be no role for her within the castle, and the people would lose interest. She would be the eccentric troublesome daughter of the country’s much-loved king and queen, a has-been, a blip in the palace’s boring but pristine history books.

  The reporters had shouted at Finn while they left, at first relentless and demanding and then pleading for a response. Was it true that they were divorcing? Did he want to divorce? Had he ever really wanted to marry her?

  No one asked Brinley what she wanted. She wasn’t surprised, but she was angry. Her anger overrode her shame and embarrassment, the mortification she felt at ruining such an important moment for Jedrek and Ilona. Those feelings were somewhat tempered by the look on Ilona’s face, the tiniest glimpse of something real, not the official mask she wore each day for her role as Lenora’s princess. Brinley recognized that glimpse; she was, after all, criticized every day for not doing a better job of hiding her own true self. But she did not know what it meant.

  She did not know what anything meant at the moment. She did not know why the cord was on the stage. She did not know why King Edric was so hasty to announce their divorce at such little provocation, or how he had prepared the press release so quickly. She did not know why he thought he could force them to divorce—he was king, but his power did not extend to determining the fate of the marriage. And most worrying of all, she did not know what Finn was thinking. He wore his stern royal face again, regal and bland, even at three o’clock in the morning.

  Brinley was afraid to break the silence, though she desperately wanted to. It was like finally finding the correct brick to expose a new hidden tunnel, and praying it did not lead anywhere awful. She had taken the risk many times before, but she could not bring herself to do so now.

  Charles was waiting for them at the private entrance, barely able to contain his excitement at the opportunity to usher them to the king’s office for yet another scolding, as keen and eager as a pitbull puppy. Brinley had never wanted to kick a puppy before, but today she was sorely tempted.

  She trudged down the hall to the elevator, Finn at her side but not touching her. He had the uncanny ability to be present and distant at the same time. Her husband in name, but quite possibly not in any other way.

  Brinley’s stomach clenched nervously in the elevator. She felt queasy and reeling from the late hour and the horrible events of the night, but as they ascended she realized she did not feel resigned the way she normally did when she was marched off somewhere to be berated. She was tired, but it had nothing to do with the late hour. She was tired of the non-stop attacks. She was tired of the unrealistic expectations. And she was tired of having no one, not even her husband, stand up for her. She could defend herself when the need arose, but it would be nice if she didn’t always have to.

  Charles gave her a smug look as he held open the door to the office, and Brinley barely managed to resist the urge to stomp on his foot. Instead they shuffled inside to find her parents waiting, Queen Vivienne once again on the sofa, King Luke pacing in front of his enormous desk. They wore silk robes over their pajamas, their faces strained and worn. They had never once looked at Elle this way. The one time she had done something to incur their displeasure, she had been too far away to see it. Despite the palace’s fervent wishes, Brinley had never once desired to be more like her sister. Until now. Now she wished quite desperately to be gone.

  King Luke cleared his throat. “Brinley,” he said quietly. “Finn.”

  They said nothing. Queen Vivienne stared at her fingers, knotted in her lap, and Brinley’s uneasy stomach mimicked the action, tying itself up tightly.

  King Luke cleared his throat again. “I have spoken to Edric, and I think a divorce is for the best. We should not have forced you into something for which you were not ready. This...” He gestured between them, then thought again and gestured to the room at large, the movement intended to encompass the whole of the castle, the kingdom, the world. “Brinley, it is not the life for you.”

  She looked at Finn, but he stared straight ahead, gaze fixed on the bookshelves behind the king. He said not a word, and she imagined him being reprimanded by his tutors, his teachers, his parents, and absorbing their criticisms, filing them away as he built up a tidy wall between himself and the world.

  But that was not good enough, she decided, as her father continued to talk and Finn continued not to. He was a man. A prince. Her husband. And one day, possibly, a king. He could not simply stand by idly when things were difficult. That was not good enough. Not good enough for the kingdom and not good enough for her.

  King Luke was still talking. “The role comes with immense expectations and responsibilities, and it’s a tremendous weight to bear. Not everyone is willing or able—or even ready—to take on the burden...”

  “I was born ready,” Brinley interrupted. King Luke stammered in surprise, and Queen Vivienne straightened on the sofa. Even Finn showed a glimmer of emotion, glancing uncertainly at his wife.

  She clenched her fists. “I am a princess, in case you had forgotten. Not the one you were hoping for, but a princess all the same and for all my life. The attacks I endure on a daily basis have only served to make me more ready for this position. I don’t break like an overpriced egg and I don’t bow to the antiquated pressures of the role or other kingdoms.”

  King Luke opened his mouth to interject, but Brinley waved him off.

  “You may think that Latin lessons and table manners and thank-you notes are the only responsibilities of a princess, but you’re wrong. Elle excelled at all those things and now she is gone. My Latin is horrible and my thank-you notes are often illegible, but I am here. This is my home and I am a princess, and one day I will be queen. You made that decision before I was born, you cannot unmake it now. No one in this castle will determine the course of my life. I don’t care what is written in the papers or how many times you repeat it—I may be a bad princess, but I am your only princess.”

  She turned on her heel and stalked out of the room, leaving everyone in stunned silence. Even Charles, shocked by her words, held the door instead of doing his best to prevent her from making a dramatic exit.

  She returned to her bedroom alone, the only space in the castle apart from the dungeon where she ever felt safe, like she was not being judged. How sad to have an entire kingdom at her fingertips but only a few slivers of sanctuary within its borders. What a tragic waste.

  The door opened and Finn stepped through, reaching behind him to turn the lock. Brinley watched him warily, and he watched her, but still said nothing. After a second he unbuttoned his suit, walked to the sofa, placed the folded jacket over the arm, and went into the bathroom.

  Brinley was trembling for a very different reason now, confusion and heartbreak roiling inside her. She had never truly had her heart broken. She had always been in love with a man she never expected to love her back, and though his arranged marriage to her sister hurt and the rumors of his private relationships burned, she had never experienced pain like this, because it had never been hers to feel. Finn could wear his stoic mask for the world, his gray eyes could remain flat and unyielding, but not when he looked at her. She would not be like Elle or Queen Cecille or Princess Ilona. She would not be empty. She would not be dutiful. She would not be good, not if this was the price.

  She stripped out of her dre
ss and into a tank top and shorts, bundling her hair into a knot on top of her head. When Finn emerged from the bathroom in his white undershirt and boxers, she ignored him and went inside to wash her face and brush her teeth. When she finished she returned to the room, her footsteps faltering as she saw Finn getting into the bed, setting his tablet on the nightstand as though this were just a normal evening.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Going to bed,” he replied. “It is late.”

  Since the afternoon in the dungeon, he had been sharing her bed. Things had changed that day, but today they had changed again. She was exhausted and she did not have the heart or the energy to ask him to sleep on the sofa. And she did not know what, if anything, remained between them, but when she slipped under the covers, she did not press close to his side and he did not slide an arm around her shoulders and neither of them said a word as Finn turned off the light and they were enfolded in darkness.

  Brinley lay on her back, tense, staring at the invisible ceiling. She was very aware of Finn beside her, but he could have been a slab of concrete for all the warmth she felt. Tears welled up in her eyes and trickled over her temples, making her ears itch as they pooled inside. She turned her head to clear them, doing her very best not to make a sound, not even a sniffle. She had worried on her wedding night that she might be like one of the princesses of old who were forced to consummate their marriage. Now she worried she might be one who lay next to a man who felt nothing for her. She had lived her whole life with people who disdained her; she would not live the rest of it that way.

  She felt the fumbling glance of Finn’s fingertips on the back of her hand, then his clasping touch as he held her, the tiniest bridge between them. She did not know what it meant, if anything. If he was simply being kind or if he was trying to see what more he could do. Brinley did not move. She did not tighten her grip and she did not pull away. Finn struggled to say what he meant sometimes, but he had shown her things since that day in the dungeon, shown her he cared for her, shown her that she was wanted.

  After a minute she felt him shift, the mattress dipping as he turned onto his side, facing her. His free hand reached across to rest on the flat plane of her stomach, ascertaining that she was still there, still alive, still his wife. But sex was not enough. It was good, but she had already decided that good was not good enough anymore.

  “What are you doing?” she asked quietly.

  “Say yes,” he replied.

  “Why?”

  “Because I want you to.”

  “Do you want to divorce?”

  “No.”

  “Then why didn’t you say so?”

  “It would do no good.”

  The words settled around them like a net.

  “You are giving up?”

  “No,” he said. “I am just not wasting my energy. They can order us to divorce, but they cannot enforce it. They already know this. Pointing out what they know is useless.”

  “You should have said so.”

  “They already—”

  “Not for their benefit,” Brinley said. “For mine.”

  Finn was quiet for a long, long time.

  “Brinley,” he said eventually. “I do not want a divorce. I will tell them tomorrow.” When she didn’t reply he added, “I will go wake them and tell them right now, if you prefer.”

  “I think I was set up to fail tonight,” she said instead. “With the egg. And that cord. It shouldn’t have been there. I know no one will care, but it wasn’t my fault. The party wasn’t an announcement, it was an ambush.”

  “Why would someone do that, Brinley?” Finn’s tone was overly patient and it aggravated her.

  “I don’t know, Finn.”

  “The night was for Jedrek and Ilona, not you.”

  “I know that. Who would benefit from turning the focus to me?”

  He sighed. “I cannot say.”

  She took his hand from her stomach and eased her fingers from his. “You do not believe me.”

  “I believe it is late.”

  “And you will not waste your energy on this conversation.”

  He sighed again and turned on the light. They both blinked in the harsh glow, at the truths it showed. They had known each other their whole lives, but not like this. Despite the wedding with the white horses and the doves and the roses, their marriage was not a fairy tale. It was not a fix or a solution or a fantasy.

  “I do not consider you a waste of energy,” Finn said tightly. “But what do you want me to say? There is a conspiracy to make you look like a bad princess? That all the things that have happened over the years have been someone else’s doing? Tonight you confirmed that the photo with the professor was real!”

  “It was two years ago!”

  “I know you wish I would speak up more,” Finn snapped, “but sometimes you could do with saying less.”

  Brinley glared at him. “I will start now.”

  He rolled his eyes. “Fine.”

  “Fine.”

  They flopped back onto the mattress and Finn switched out the light. Now Brinley was trembling for yet another reason. Sure, Finn had not said what she hoped to hear, but at least he had said something. At least the mask had fallen away and she had spied the man beneath it again, been reassured that he was still present.

  And then, in case she still had any doubts, Finn rolled again, this time on top of her, his mouth finding hers easily, like it was meant to be there. Brinley didn’t argue or push him away. She didn’t know quite what their relationship was or what it would become; it was still early. Too early to judge. What she did know was that she wanted Finn with every ounce of her being, and feeling his weight on her was its own kind of reassurance. They fumbled out of their clothes, grunting and gasping at each heated touch. He was rougher this time, and Brinley found she did not mind it at all. He was so big and broad, the expanse of his shoulders perfect to dig her nails into, his strong thighs spreading hers just the right way.

  She groaned at the sublime feel of him, over her, around her, everywhere. He hid such passion beneath his serious exterior, so many banked emotions, and she thought of those locked rooms they had spied on tonight. She wanted to open the windows and doors for him, invite him in and urge him to explore.

  Finn appeared to be very much on the same page, dragging his lips over her jaw and her throat, across her collarbone, her breasts. He planted open-mouthed kisses over her stomach, dipped his tongue in her belly button until she had to stifle a laugh and push him away, then he splayed her thighs wide with his big hands and put that devious mouth to work between her legs.

  Brinley snatched a pillow and clenched it in her teeth to muffle her moans of pleasure as Finn applied himself to his task with singular focus. His thumbs spread her slick flesh, opening her even more for his tongue, delving inside and swirling through her juices, groaning his contentment with each taste. He teased and tormented her, fingers stroking closer to her clit but never quite close enough, until finally he fastened his lips around the throbbing bud and sucked hard.

  Brinley yelped and arched her back, hips thrusting into Finn’s waiting hands. He pinned her down and continued to feast on her, making her writhe and gasp, helpless to defend against his sexual onslaught. Not that she wanted to stop him. She very much wanted to make him work faster and slower and harder and softer and so many other things she could not remember the words for.

  She groaned loud and long into the pillow as he slipped two fingers inside her pussy, her inner muscles clinging to him greedily, thrilling to the rough handling.

  “Lose the pillow,” he grunted, reaching up to pull it away from her face.

  “I can’t,” she replied, fumbling to take it back, barely able to breathe. “Someone will hear.”

  “Let them hear. They will stop this talk of divorce.” He punctuated each sentence with a rough lick across her too-sensitive skin, and Brinley trembled all over.

  “They will start a new conversation, of an even
more embarrassing nature.”

  “What’s embarrassing about having your pussy eaten?” Finn asked mildly.

  It was dark in the room, but Brinley was certain her glowing red face was now visible. “Finn!” she exclaimed. “I can’t—You can’t—How—You say nothing at all most of the time, then you say that?”

  “Would you prefer I say nothing?” he asked, lowering his head. “I can accommodate you.” He accommodated her until she wailed into her hands, hips thrusting into his face as he licked and sucked her through the never-ending tremors. She finally sunk into the blankets, wrung out by the orgasm.

  She felt the mattress shift as Finn stood, and in the dim glow from the moon she could see his silhouette cross to the bathroom. He didn’t turn on a light, but she could hear the water running, and pictured him washing his face. Washing it clean of...her.

  She was grateful again for the dark. It was sexy and embarrassing all at the same time.

  She heard him fumbling and knew he was grabbing a condom, and she watched him return, standing next to the bed as he stroked himself and gazed down at her prone body.

  Brinley had very little strength left, but she used what energy she did have to roll onto her side and reach for him, her fingers finding his ass, digging into the tightly clenched muscles. She opened her mouth for his cock and drew him in, hearing him hiss in agony above her as she took him as deeply as she knew how. His hand fluttered near her head, as though he weren’t certain he could touch her during this intimate act, and she took his hand and held it as she slid to the ground to kneel before him. She found his cock again, stroking it with her tongue, tasting him, heat and passion and man, and she brought his hand to her hair and gave him permission to show her what he liked.

  He liked control, she soon learned. He liked guiding her movements, showing her what he needed. He held one hand at the base of his cock, jerking himself roughly, and used her mouth on the rest of his hard length, gently at times, less so at others. Brinley clutched his thighs and squirmed at his feet, turned on infinitely more as she discovered this side of her husband. She had gone down on him in the weeks before, but he had always allowed her to control the act, leaving her to gauge his reactions to determine if she was pleasing him or not. Tonight’s shared honesty had given him the courage to show her this part of himself.