AN: Didn't Naveen ever make the connection between the waitress he met off the boat and the princess he met at the masquerade? Probably not. But if you think about it, she's probably the first woman to ever reject him, but she's also the first woman he ever loved. 3

As he made his way down the street, Prince Naveen spotted an exotic-looking, dark-skinned waitress cleaning tables on the outside patio of a restaurant. Now this is what he came here for! Jazz, and women. Lots of women. Beautiful, New Orleans women.

He had just come off the boat from Maldonia. It wasn't a long trip, but quite a busy one; the prince had hooked up with the entire female crew and every single single woman passenger on board (as well as a handful of the taken ones). Now he was on a quest; to conquer a good ol' working-class American girl.

Naveen waltzed over to the woman and sidled up next to her, smiling his most attractive smile. Her back was to him as she collected dishes from the butter-yellow table. He took a moment to appreciate the subtle curves of her neck and shoulders, and the tension that her dress created against her back as she moved. When she still didn't notice him, he stroked his little guitar a few times in song, and then held out his hat to her; an invitation. She turned around and quickly looked him up and down, analyzing the situation. After a moment's hesitation, the waitress turned her nose up, gathered up her tray, and disappeared inside. Not interested.

He simply shrugged it off and continued walking.

Wait.

What?

The prince stopped dead in his tracks. A confused expression crinkled his young, carefree features. Had he just been… rejected?

Naveen spun on his heel, expecting her to be sitting at one of the tables, waiting for him, leaning over herself as she slid her panties from under her skirt and down her legs, kicking them off cabaret style. But the table was empty. He backtracked a few steps and peered at the face of the building. Maybe she was waiting in the doorway, both hands pressed firmly to either side of the doorframe with a "come hither" look that made all the heat in his body rush to his groin.

But she wasn't there, either.

This wasn't how this was supposed to happen.

How dare she.

How dare anyone refuse the prince. Especially a woman. Especially when he holds his hat out for a dance.

Naveen thought vaguely of returning to the docks to pick up a couple of the diehards he had stepped over to make it this far. He contemplated it for a moment, but his pride wouldn't allow him to leave now.

He had every right in his mind to march inside and demand her respect. He could tell her boss, get her fired; no businessman wants his business to have a bad reputation, what with the employees disrespecting visiting royalty and all.

"No! Please!" she'd cry, clasping her hands together in a plea. "Where will I go?"

With a smirk, Naveen would hold out his arms, shrug and say, "If you are truly sorry, I suppose you could come stay with me. My hotel room is very nice. The bed is easily big enough for two people… no? Suit yourself. Abinaza. Have a nice life."

As he would walk out she would throw herself at his feet and beg to go with him, and he'd smugly think back on how if she wouldn't have rejected him in the first place, she would never be in this situation. He would have relieved the tray from her hands and sweet-talked her into seeing his side of things; he would swoon her and court her as much as a gentleman would. He would chastely kiss the back of her hand, then move to her palm, then the tips of her delicate fingers. At this point, she'd be flustered and would modestly whisper something of etiquette and polite defiance in a thickly dripping accent as he began leading burning kisses up her slender arm.

But it was too late for that.

He could face her dead-on without getting upper management involved. He could blackmail her, threaten her with royal punishment. When a woman does not bow to the prince in Maldonia, she gets arrested for insubordination and heavily fined.

Of course, this wasn't Maldonia, and Naveen had his own idea of royal punishment.

He briskly walked inside the restaurant and scanned the room for the waitress with the brown skin. There.

He was going to approach her and give her an ultimatum; give in to him, or pay the price. She would react in one of two ways; immediately repent and allow him to slide her hand into his pants, or she would resist and reject him again. In which case he would use subtle force to make her quit her rebellious streak.

Approaching her from behind, Naveen caught her when he was sure no one was looking. He hooked an arm around her waist and whispered hotly into her ear, "Excuse me, I would like to have a word with you." She angrily shrugged him off and turned around to face him, although her nervous glances gave her away. Naveen ticked his head to one side, signaling that they should move outside and away from people. She silently agreed, giving him an incredulous look, picking up her tray before following him out the door.

All according to plan.

Before she could even cross her arms or get a word out, Naveen threw the tray from her hands and slammed her to the table. She cried out, but it was muffled by the prince's lips on hers and the sounds of breaking glass as the mugs and glasses hit the concrete. Pressing the whole of his weight atop her to minimalize resistance, he attacked her mouth with such a fury that she began furiously fighting back, beating her balled up fists against the flat, broad plane of his chest. He moved his body on hers, parting her legs with his hips, and her heart nearly stopped. She finally succumbed to his advances and flattened her palms against his sweater vest. He could feel her tense body loosen and then tense again with need as she grabbed his collar and pulled him closer, wrapping her legs around his waist to fuel their passions. Naveen finally broke the kiss for air, and looked at her face; her swollen lips, her black, hungry eyes. He could swear he'd never been turned on so much before in his life. His plan was backfiring; she was seducing him.

Achidanza. She was good.

His pleasant reverie was disturbed by shouts from inside the restaurant.

"What's all t'at racket?"

"I heard glass breakin'."

"Is Tiana 'right?"

Faldi faldonza.

With a groan, the prince peeled away from the waitress on the table and quickly scrambled up. He grabbed her by the hand and dragged her into the nearby alley, where she eagerly opened her mouth and legs for him. Naveen grasped her wrists and held them above her head before pushing her against the brick wall and joining her mouth with his. Something about this being in broad daylight and she being in her work uniform made it all the more pleasurable. Of course, the prince had done the deed in public places before, but never this public, although only passersby who glanced into the alley would know what was going on.

Naveen wrapped a dark hand around her even darker thigh, reveling in the feel of her silky skin, and hoisted the waitress' leg up, pressing himself between her legs. She gasped and bucked wildly, like a mare needing to be tamed. He was grinding against her now, and he parted her lips with his tongue to elicit even louder moans from the woman squirming in his embrace. His free hand traveled up her leg and under her dress to tickle the hot spot between her legs. Naveen stroked her once and felt a shiver run through her body. This made him pause and smile into the kiss, which caused the waitress to heave herself up and into his hand. He rubbed her for a bit, causing her to shudder each time, before sliding his hand under the elastic band of her knickers and pulling them down.

In turn, she began loosening and removing his tie to gain better access to his neck, which she trailed with kisses and bites down to his collarbone. The prince brought his hand back up and clumsily unbuttoned the top of her dress, which she then eagerly slid her arms and torso out of, leaving everything bare above the waist.

He took a breast in his hand and mouth and suckled ravenously, and he could feel her breath increase in rapidity as she dug fingers into his hair and back. As he ran his fingers up and down her sides, she reached down to tug at his pants and pull out the need that was rubbing him raw. Naveen hissed at her warm touch and she gripped him, almost malevolently, or at least he thought so.

He took hold of her other leg and lifted that up, too, wrapping her legs around his waist once more and positioning himself while simultaneously pushing her dress up. She brought both arms up and took a hold of his toned and tanned shoulders, bracing herself for impact. Naveen brought his face back up and buried it in the space between her throat and shoulder, sucking, and pressed the tip of his desire against her womanhood. As he was about to close the gap between them, to thrust into her, to cause her to scream and clench her muscles around him so deliciously that he would inhale sharply and hold very still to keep himself from pounding her senseless, he was interrupted.

"Prince Naveen!" came a nasally voice from somewhere down the street. "Prince Naveen!"

Agitated, but too dazed to be easily distracted, Naveen lazily turned toward the voice as the waitress also stopped her ministrations of his shoulders. Lawrence came huffing and waddling towards him at a speed that even surprised the prince.

"Prince," he wheezed, "Naveen. You mustn't stray again."

He continued in that obnoxious lisp of his the costs and benefits of not staying by his side, but Naveen tuned it out. He turned back to his waitress, but she was gone. He looked down to see his pants not around his ankles, but buckled neatly at his waist, with his shirt tucked in. He looked up to see that he was still standing in the street, a few paces from the restaurant where he'd first laid eyes on her. He turned around to see that, yes, she was gone, and he was still rejected. Instead of a handful of satiny black flesh gleaning with a thin layer of perspiration, all he had was a ukulele.

With a sigh and a groan, Naveen ran a hand through his hair and continued walking through New Orleans, his royal lackey at his heels.