The Innocent Affair
Another day has come and the afternoon suns flare fiercely toward their highest peaks. Slivers of sunlight pierce through the picture window, forcing its way through the undrawn curtain's tiny gap. I hear the water running in the background but not a sound is being registered. Everything seems distant whenever I succumb to my deepest thoughts. Such thoughts are the bane of my existence; something that I can never be rid of. But then again, without them, I might as well not live for they keep me sane.
I am kneeling on the bathroom floor with my hands stretched over the bathtub as I give it a last good scrub. The faucet valve squeaks some as I turn the handle off. My eyes then take in the spiralling motion of the water as it gurgles down the plug-hole. To this, I sigh deeply. My shift here has finally ended and it is time for me to take my leave before he returns to his chamber.
He being my lord and master – the Crown Prince of Vegetasei.
I am a royal maid, tasked to perform chores within the Royal House, specifically the prince's abode. Daydreaming and engaging in deep thoughts are my only form of escape while I run through mundane task after mundane task. For the millionth time, I go over in my head how I came to be in this place. It feels like it was only yesterday that I arrived here; solely to live and serve the Saiyans. And I freely admit that it is all I know.
My story began approximately 3,641 days ago. Earth day measurement, that is.
Ten years ago I was taken from my home and brought here to work. I was too young to understand the turn of events at that time. As I entered my teenage years, with seven days short of my eleventh birthday, all I could think of was my party, pony rides, cake, and presents – lots and lots of them.
Sadly, all I could remember was an ear-shattering explosion just before my house collapsed. The flames engulfed and burned my home down to the ground, not too far from where my parents laid dead.
In my solemn hour, I ran and hid away like a frightened child but grieved like a mournful widow for the loss of my home and family. I took refuge in the bushes of the compound and whilst, created a subconscious block where I did not have to feel any more pain. But before the numbness took over my senses, I whimpered out my aching heart and cried myself to sleep.
Voices were going back and forth not too far from where I was. At first they were soft, and then they were loud. My eyes popped open, and then there was only silence. I shifted upright and scooted backwards. My back hit a dead end and I hugged my knees to my chest, wide-eyed and trembling in fear as I waited for them to go away.
But they did not go away.
Instead, feet shuffled closer and a large hand pushed away the leaves that were concealing me from open view. He was a huge man with dark hair that ran all the way back to his calves, and when he knelt down on one knee, the muscles on his legs bunched up like the metal arm of a beastly excavator. His dark eyes had the same colour as his hair, and they analysed my pitiful form as he took a long look at me.
I bit my inner cheeks and stared back fearlessly, albeit the same fear fed upon me like a parasite. I dared not make a sound. I dared not look away.
The quiet moment passed us like a ghost and he extended a hand towards me. I flinched slightly when his thick finger brushed away a lock of blue hair that was matted against my face. Seconds later, he gave me a small crooked smile, be it pleased with my youthful appearance or my shocking state of disarray. He then gestured the same hand for me to take. I gave a cautious glance between his hand and eyes, and like a moth fluttering towards the flames and its inevitable doom, my tiny fingers reached out for it.
He took my hand and gently pulled me out of my safe place.
He led me into a space vessel and then immediately put me into a tiny cell wrapped by four grey walls. I stood amidst the darkness of the tiny room as I waited for his return. But he never came back. A weak glow radiated from the ceiling like a dying firefly, but was constantly attracting my attention as I cramped myself in the lonely corner.
I pretended that it was the moon, of which I would fawn over through my bedroom window nightly. My lips moved in accordance to the lyrics of songs I knew by heart, pretending that it was my Mama singing me to sleep. At this I realised that pretending made me remember; at the same time, it also made me forget. Occasionally, the slit on the door would open to reveal a plate of food and a bowl of water. It was all the action I ever looked forward to for as long as I was in there. This went on for days, weeks, perhaps months. For how long, I would never know.
The ship finally landed and the same man came back. He kneeled down to level with my height and slapped a weird-looking device around my right ankle. It was the first time I ever heard him speak as he firmly said that if I ever removed it, people would know, and I would die. Afraid for my life but not understanding why, I believed him and blindly obeyed. Nodding my head was all I could do.
He stared at me just like he did that night. A tiny grin graced his lips, this time a little warmer; a little softer. He looked to be in the age range of early twenty's but his smile reminded me of kindly old Mr. Echlin's, my personal butler. The cell's dim light casted a dark shadow over his face and no doubt mine's as well. Even as he was on his knee, I was still very much shorter and had to tilt my head to look at him.
"Are you scared, child?" he asked in a low whisper, as if he was telling me a secret.
My mind raced to discern my feelings of the moment. I may have been a child, as he had put it, but I knew my emotions like they were the back of my hands. They were mine and mine alone to determine what I should feel and not. Was I fearful? ... Indeed I was.
"No," I responded in a tiny soft voice.
He looked pleased with my answer because he reached for my face, extending a finger to push away a stray strand of hair from my temple. This time, I did not flinch. Again, he seemed pleased. A pat on my head showed as much.
Even though I did not question him, I figured it was his way of showing his own version of compassion. That was the last I ever heard or saw of him before they ushered everyone out of the vessel. I was immediately presented, more like given, to the Royal Family.
Part of me was eager to meet the King and Queen, but the sound of my own inner voice badgered me as it told me to keep a vigilant mind. Several girls of different races including myself were led into the throne room. As we appeared before the monarchs, the King sneered at some of us with much disinterest and disgust, save for a few of the older ones. The Queen, however, gave the rest of us an eyeful before giving a man, whom I believed was one of the councillors, a nod of approval.
We were then sent away, the younger ones to the servant's quarters and the older ones to what they called the women's quarters. It was easy to turn a blind eye to wherever some of the rejected ones were being sent to. I fell into the first category, which I figured was the better sort than the other two.
They lined us up in a white room, where we were stripped down bare, inspected, and screened. We were given shots and some kind of foreign liquid substances to drink. When asked, they conveniently said that such substances were meant to boost our immunities in the duration of our indefinite stay here. After that, we were sent to our tiny individual quarters, of which I shall forever be thankful for. They took my freedom. Privacy was the last thing I would want to lose.
I learned about the existence of the young prince when three maids, including myself, were instantly assigned to him. There were at least ten other existing maids upon our arrival and I wondered how could one boy need a house of his own with that many help. It wasn't in my position to ask such a question unless a death wish was in tow, so the query was dropped and eventually forgotten. Our sole responsibility was to tend to his enormous house that was situated in the palace's West Wing. While the other girls did the sweeping, mopping, and washing, I did the dusting, laundry pick-up, and cleaning of the bedroom and bathroom. It was then I began to truly hate my life with a passion.
Most of the royal servants were at least ten to fifteen years older than me and thus no common interests ever crossed our paths. There was simply nothing to talk about. They'd mind their own business as I would mine, lest one of us get punished or worse, sentenced to the death penalty for hearsay and deceit. But I knew the real reason to such detachments. They never wanted to associate themselves with me – the young girl who was a glutton for punishment.
My temper and spitfire nature had both earned me reprimands and punishments enough to last me two years in one. Some nights I'd return to my meagre quarters and cry for my past. Other nights, I'd gripe for my future. I did that often and was punished for it just as much. Being born into a rich family was not by choice, but neither was this hellish life. News travelled fast in the palace, thus my situations were always conveniently escalated, where the monarchs would hear about the rebellious maid in the prince's household.
Actions such as indefinite suspension and public beating were sanctioned to bestow upon me, to serve as an example for the others should they scheme to revolt. But as legal property of the prince, he had enforced his will in the matter and had me taken off the radar. Whatever drove him to do so was considered madness in the eyes of his sire and matriarch. After much debate, they succumbed to their only heir's whim, in spite of the absurdity behind his demand. They simply brushed it off as one of his many acts of defiance but they didn't let me off as easy as I had expected. I was returned to the servant's quarters and then placed under strict supervision, having forced to undertake mandatory disciplinary measures from the slave warden.
The torments they put me through had me silenced but, luckily, not broken. And when they were done with me, I became a domesticated and docile individual. I rarely spoke or made eye contact with people ever since. They might as well have my tongue and eyes removed, but that would be a death wish in itself.
As much as I hated to say, if it wasn't for the prince's objection to my demise, I would have been dead or both mentally and physically damaged by the hands of the imperial court. It made me cringe to admit that I owed it to him to learn the sound of silence, in the very least.
Perhaps I should be grateful to still be able to breathe.
Since then, I became painfully aware of my hideous curiosity for the prince. I'd watch him from afar and he'd draw my glance towards him with every move he made. He was a difficult child – arrogant, proud, and entitled.
From the sidelines, I'd watched him grow up, becoming more and more like the young man and prince he was supposed to be. I came to learn certain things about him, mostly nonspecific and minor details, like the food he loved to eat, the colour he'd rather see in his personal space, and with the slightest of interest, the kind of women he fancied.
There were times when he'd speak to me, usually when a chore was demanded to be done. I didn't mind for I liked it when someone talked to me… when he talked to me. He would not give me a second glance but I knew that he noticed me, and for that I realised I have been noticing him far more than I should. Thus, from a hideous curiosity, it turned into a hideous attraction.
He wasn't that much older than me, perhaps two or three years apart, but I always thought to myself, 'Have I gone mad?'
I could just imagine the news that would travel to every ear across the planet, or worse, the universe; The Prince of Vegetasei and his chambermaid; in other words, impropriety and defamation to the crown prince and the Royal Family's name. Those allegations would immediately warrant me a capital punishment – exile or a clean decapitation.
Once, I heard an older maid say, 'The only affection you could possibly get from the prince is when he takes you to bed for one glorious night and then disposes of your broken body in the morning… if you make it through the night.' She had then turned to me specifically and warned with an underlying tone, as if she knew of my innermost desires for the prince.
'Hear this, child. You are now 16 and the youngest here, but when you become an adult woman, you'd understand why he is the last person you'd want to be acquainted with.'
If only she knew, but I would forever bind this secret to myself and bring it to the grave with me. No one must ever know of my yearnings for the young monarch, including the young monarch himself.
Wisely, I kept to myself, silently nodding my head in acknowledgement as I placed the laundry basket in the washroom. I'd heard her, but I did not listen. I have grown up to be a woman, and like a human female at heart, I become fond of things and people. I was constantly searching for something or someone to love and be loved.
I struggled to learn to keep an open mind; an open heart. Looking at life from various perspectives was something that I do to keep myself sane. Thinking helped too, and playing pretend in the privacy of my own mind was a bonus. As the years rolled by, I grew into a quiet shell and nearly stopped talking – no more whining, no more complaining. I remained silent and adapted to my new home.
And sometimes, if I remember, I'd miss my real home – Planet Earth.
Earth has become a distant planet that I read off the books.
I scoff and shake my head at that thought. In all of Saiyan history, I am possibly the only person on the entire planet to be punished for reading.
The servants are never allowed to read, or bluntly put, be educated. It is my misfortune that I will never allow my brain to deteriorate either. The prince's study room is my favourite place in the house to dust and clean, mainly because that is where the literary mother lode resides. It is where books of Saiyan culture, history, science, politics, and law are all housed at, stringently arranged on shelves upon shelves. I always tell myself that one day, I will finish them all.
Reading has become an oddity in my life, thus I would take even the smallest opportunity to read, despite it being a strict prohibition. Saiyago is a spoken language that I understand all too well, what with after having lived here for a decade. But comprehending the written native words is a feat; a challenge, and one to three pages are all I can afford to indulge before someone becomes highly suspicious of me. But with each day, I'd read a little faster; recognise words a little better.
My daily routine is the same – dust and clean the prince's study as he sleeps, change the bed sheets once he awakens, and then move on to wash his royal bathroom and collect his laundry when he is out.
So here I am, finally finished with cleaning the tub. I put away the equipment and stand up to straighten my dress. My eyes skim around the room, giving myself a ghost of a pat on the shoulder for another job well done. I absolutely adore the spacious lavatory, especially the heavy blood red drapes that hang from the ceiling and flow to the floor as they tastefully mould against the gold-painted walls and pillars. The sink has a distinctive carving to it, being made of a mixture of pearl dust and marble, but the real sight to behold in this luxurious room sits from across said sink – the bathtub, which takes centre stage and naturally dulling the rest of the other features. I am certain the tub could easily fit up to ten people all at once.
Again, I shake my head for I can never understand these royals. Why does the prince need this much of space, when he obviously doesn't need it?
He has grown taller and more angular, and if anything, more majestic in his manner. From a difficult child who was arrogant, proud, and entitled, he has come to be an arrogant, proud, and entitled man. But he is the prince and he has his rights to be and act as such, so long as he deems fit. Furthermore, he is the object of my desires. If this was Earth, he would be called my 'crush'.
Enough with talks of the prince.
In my time here, I have learned to like some of the chores. For instance, I love scrubbing the tub, something about polishing the precious stones of which it is made of and seeing it shine after a good wash always gets to me. It is like an accomplishment, regardless of how menial it seems to be. As of now, I simply have to wrap up the place before I proceed to the next task.
Today marks the day I last saw my parents. Seven days more and it will be my 21st birthday, no doubt I will be spending it all alone. I didn't think it is possible for one to feel anymore sadder. Distant thoughts of my people creep into my mind. The idea of turning 21 years of age is something to be celebrated for but the notion seems so foreign to me. It is as foreign as I have felt about the last ten years of my life.
My fellow peers continuously contribute to the desolation I have come to know of. I always wonder why they have never taken a liking to me, and the grudge only continues to grow with time, as I have. Their detestation for me becomes a passionate hate crime, simmering at the bottom of their very souls. Again, I wonder why. More times than not, I think I know the answer but dare not assume.
One evening, as I was about to retire, my warden had informed me to dress provocatively the next day. When the matter came into question, the light had been shed.
Word had it that the prince had promised some of the men his best house maids in return for their loyal servitude. So after receiving news of it the warden had been quick to effectuate a subtle influence on His Highness, making me one of the top choices. This was so I'd be sent away, and they'd be rid of me. It was favourable to them, but not to me. I didn't want to be given away.
On the day of the selection, the maids were aligned into a single file as the prince screened us right before the arrival of his men. When he came closer, he had walked past me at first, but then took a step back and gave me a firm once-over. He became annoyed and I was immediately taken off the list. It didn't help that I had been the only one excluded.
Since then, I have been dubbed a 'royal leech', 'regal parasite', 'blue bloodsucker', and the likes.
The name-callings continued for a long while. In truth, such insults only served to infuriate me even further for I have never once tried kissing the prince's boots, much less rub shoulders with him. There is nothing I can do or say to stop their mouths from running but the painful aftermath remains that I have to suppress the anger and swallow the scornful verbal abuse.
Three deadly cold winters coupled with the killing heat of two summers later, today, things are beginning to look up for me. And by saying so, I mean that people have finally ceased with the name-callings. I don't know what or how that happened but they left me alone ever since the prince lost his legendary temper one morning, some time a month ago. I am glad that I wasn't there to bear witness to his fury. Hearsay has it that two maids were disintegrated on the floor they stood on.
The tub is now dry and I proceed to return the cleaning tools back into the compartment just below the sink. The giant mirror before me beckons for me to give it a look, and as I succumb to its silent plea, a ghost is all that I see staring back – a skeleton of who I used to be.
My eyes skim down my maid attire.
I wear a long-sleeved black dress that hugs my curves at all the right places. The edges of the hem has half an inch of frills sewn on them, which fall just above my knees. Such uniform is complemented by a pair of black pantyhose and platform dress shoes, making my legs slimmer and my appearance, taller. A black satin choker encompasses my neck like a ribbon, embroidered with the prince's personal insignia which indicates that I am his property. The dress' neckline edges are sewn with white lace. It tastefully wraps my breasts with its low cut design while showing a sufficient amount of cleavage – not enough to appear raunchy but enough to look very much the royal maid I am supposed to be.
This is how the prince prefers his household help to look at any given time. At times, for image's sake and in the presence of his guests, we would be made to work and serve in three-inch high heels, which fashion style seems all too familiar to me.
I take in my defined jaw line, the deep grooves of my collarbones, my bosom, and my tiny waist. I look to be extremely frail and pale, and my body seems to be screaming at me, accusing me of depriving it food and proper nutrition. No doubt the lack of them contributes greatly to my slim figure, to which I am somewhat thankful for, but as long as I am not starving myself, it doesn't become an issue. And besides, no one starves in the prince's home.
A small while bonnet rests upon the top of my head like a crown, neatly framing my wispy bangs. I look into my own soft blue eyes before sweeping them over my long cerulean tresses, which are pulled up and tightly tied into a high ponytail where its tip flows and reaches the arch of my back. These two traits obviously add on to the account that I possibly possess something which the rest of the maids, or females for that matter, didn't.
I am a fair homosapien with blue eyes and hair.
This is my curse. Perhaps this is the reason why the prince refuses to give me away, and possibly a greater reason why they are not very fond of me.
A loud crash from the living room snaps me out of my pitiful reverie. I freeze and my eyes widen as they dart towards the closed bathroom door. My ears perk up as the sound of shuffling feet drifts across the room, causing me to backpedal on my heels, away from the sink. All signs of sound gradually ceases just as quickly as they came, and my wary eyes remain glued to the door. Suddenly, another crash happens, louder this time and closer to the bathroom. Startled, I jump and gasp.
Who would break in to the prince's house?!
The beatings of my heart increase, pumping abnormally faster and deeper than usual. Never have I been subjected to face an intruder, possibly on my own, in the prince's home. No trespasser in his or her right mind would dare infiltrate this house!
Do I remain in this room and wait for the trespasser to find me, or do I open that door and investigate?
I hear laughter.
It is feminine, obviously belonging to a female.
Is the intruder a woman?!
With a mind of their own, my feet slowly move towards the door. My trembling hand reaches out for the knob and with measurable strength and not-so-stealthy skills, I pull it back, leaving just enough space for me to peep through.
There are times when I wish I could withdraw my actions, and this is one of them. I suppose this can also be added to my list of biggest regrets.
What I am seeing has not only had me taken aback but my viewpoint of the prince has been completely altered. He and an unknown Saiyan woman are messing around in bed, tearing each others' clothes off. The only thing I am grateful for is that they have their backs to me. The fact that they aren't aware of my presence keeps me brazen enough to stare. They scare me though, what with their slapping and choking each other. Such violence, these Saiyans possess. They couldn't just leave it behind on the battlefield, could they?
But who am I to judge?
I close the door as discreetly as I can, making sure not to make a sound. The door closes in on her giggling, a trait that is absolutely uncharacteristic of a typical Saiyan female. I hear him respond to her angrily as if he is reprimanding her, which strangely made her laugh even harder.
How can anyone give or like that kind of treatment?!
My mind crumbles and I clutch my heaving chest. Frustrated, I start to pace the room.
Oh, why did I have to open the door? What do I do now?!
Do I walk in on them, run out of the room, and risk getting punished?
Or do I remain here, wait for them to finish and be discovered, and then get punished?
A quiet hopeless whimper escapes my throat and I drop down to the marble floor beside the bathtub. I pull up my knees and press my hands firmly to my ears. With eyes tightly shut, I hum to my favourite song to drown the sounds out. I go to think about happy thoughts, like my favourite colour, the taste of chocolates and ice-cream, my tenth birthday party and the happy smiles on my parents' faces, the prince's face-
I shout fervently in my mind as my eyes pop open. They dart towards the door while I press my back further into the wall, reeling back in horror.
What in Saiyan hell was that?! How can I imagine his face when he is out there- with… with- Oh, what have I gotten myself into?!
Very quickly I resume my earlier position. Clenching my eyes, I lean my forehead on my knees this time. I press my hands against my ears once more, so hard till my head starts to throb. Instead of happy thoughts, I decide to repeatedly recite the Saiyan battle and war constitution in my mind. So far, I have been doing well with drowning out the noises.
It must have been fifteen minutes or so when I finally open my eyes. My wary ears strain to pick up any sound they might have made, but thankfully, there is none. A part of me is relieved, but I am still very much alert. I start to get up and very slowly, tip-toe towards the door while applying the same skills of stealth I had just moments ago.
The door clicks open and it was then I realise that my list of biggest regrets will never end.
The rugged female is now on top of him, her back to me. While she rides him from above, he is thrusting his hips upwards, an action so hard and fluid that even knocking the wind out of her isn't fazing me at all. In all actuality, it is making me feel things that I know I shouldn't be feeling. I suppose I should react more prudishly but there is something about the way he moves that amazes me.
In all my life, I have only heard stories about sex or passionate consummation after marriage – or on Planet Vegeta, during mating – but never once engaged myself in any such discussions.
As I watch the man carelessly thrust his hips and emit groans of pleasure, my throat begins to feel dry. My breathing quickens, going in accordance to his rhythm. I cannot see his face but his erotic grunts and moans fill my ears.
A lump forms in my throat and I swallow hard, unable to draw my eyes away. I stand here, completely frozen in place, as I shamelessly peep at the intimate tryst. I stabilise myself with one hand gripping on the knob while the other clutching tightly against the side of the door. I pull my bottom lip in and bite on it. After a while, he stops thrusting and simply lets his hands fall to the side while she works him. His hands clench the bed sheets, his fingers digging deeply into the fabric. I cannot help but think about how those are the very same sheets I have replaced just this morning.
I observe the way the muscles on his arms and legs flex, so strong; so powerful. At that, I unconsciously bite my lip again as my mind spirals into a spinning vortex. Whatever rationality left within me struggles to prevail, forcing me to look away and go hide. But I didn't. Instead, my feet nail themselves to the floor as I continue to watch him. Mesmerised, I am, till I can no longer see anything else but him. A few moments later, they stop moving, and before my mind can even register anything else, the prince gets up and leans forward, pushing the woman back.
He then pushes her down to the bed and in that instant, his lust-filled eyes meet mine.
He pauses, and I freeze, paralysed with fear.
I have been caught, and I swear that in that second, my lungs have burst and my heart ruptured.
He stays still for a second, possibly stunned by my being there, before he proceeds to act as if my presence didn't faze him at all. He flips the woman over on her stomach – none too gently – and then repositions himself behind her. He grabs her nape and carelessly pins her head down to the mattress. In that short transition, his eyes never left mine.
My senses return and I quickly turn away, albeit rooted to the floor with my fingers still clutched tightly on the door. The woman's moans return, indicating that they have resumed their activity, and for a very good reason, I wish my ears would fall off at the sound of her voice. But his groans trump her noises, travelling into my ears and arousing me to a level I have never achieved before.
I cave in to the desire and very meekly, turn my attention back to the room. And there he is, staring back at me with an intense gaze as he digs in to the woman, as if he had been waiting for me. My lips part at the sight of his face and the desperate need to tightly grip on to something beckons. My fingers curl and the nails scrape lightly against the quality timber of the door. He looks at me as though he is searching for my weak point, and he knows perfectly well that he has found it.
My body is beginning to feel hot and bothered, and a weird kind of heat starts to pool at the bottom of my stomach. With intensity comes sensuality, and he blatantly uses my own weakness against me, warming me up through foreplay with his coal-black gaze.
I repeatedly lower my eyes to the floor and then back up at him. My mind is barely registering their groans and moans as they begin to fade into the background. I bite my bottom lip and as our eyes lock once more, he speaks.
"How bad do you want to come for me?"
His voice is low and husky, sounding almost desperate; his face is flushed and burning with desire. I cannot look away. Just how bad do I really want to come for him? He is doing things to my body; things that I cannot fathom or even begin to describe, much less understand! I stare into those darkened orbs, and as if I could see the reflection off of them, I know that all he is seeing… is me.
How does one answer such an upfront question?
Much to both of our amusement, the oblivious woman, in her lusty haze, responds to him but neither one of us registers what she said. His thrusts quicken, and so did his breathing. My body begins to tremble even more and just as the heat in my tummy starts to spread all over my skin, he pulls out from her and pumps his hardened shaft. Seconds later, the prince grunts, and a white substance splatters all over the woman's back like a jet stream. I lower my eyes and fixate my gaze upon his appendage; how engorged it looks from here, and how stubbornly it seems to be resisting to remain hardened.
I glance up at him as he falls back to sit on his heels. His chest heaves dramatically to draw in precious air.
"Get out," he demands gruffly, his eyes on mine. I know that the order isn't meant for me.
I finally pull away from the door and close it gently, cutting away his muffled voice as he repeated his order of dismissal. I pace the room once more and then lean against the wall, as if there is a safe place somewhere within these walls where I can be. I face the tub and tilt my head up to stare at the ceiling. I whisper a silent plea as I pray for a favourable outcome, whatever that may be.
"You can come out now," his quiet voice travels through the door.
Mildly startled, I inhale sharply and my eyes dart to the source. I move backwards hastily and my back hit the sink counter. I whip around and look into my own reflection, my hands quickly reaching up to my face. I am blushing and there is no way on Vegetasei that I can remain in here as I have wished. His Highness has called and I will have to go. But looking like this?!
I summon my courage and warily approach the door, my numb fingers pulling it open to reveal the room. The prince is leaning against his bed post – thankfully his lower body is wrapped with a towel – with his arms firmly folded. My eyes take in his chiselled half-naked body and my blush deepens the moment I look into his eyes. Despite feeling flushed with fever and embarrassed with being discovered, I can still feel the arousal he is evoking.
The intensity in his gaze is too much and I lower my head to look away. Fearfully, I address the prince.
"Your Majesty," I breathe out. I dare not look up for I know that if I do, the heavy lust would still be burning in his eyes. In spite of my desire for the prince and all the undesirable hearsays about him, the last thing that I want right now is to be taken by him; and surely not immediately after another woman. All I want as of now is to take off, to be away from his presence, if only for a little while.
"May I be excused, my lord?" like a mouse, I squeak in a quiet and tiny voice.
I feel his eyes pierce through my head, and regardless of my fondness for the man, I have never been more afraid in my life. After what seems and feels like an eternity, I dare a glance at his face, and a few seconds later, he finally responds with a simple grunt.
I curtsy upon receiving his consent, and without further ado, allow my feet to take flight as I head towards the bedroom door.
Without so much as a backward glance, I run out of the room, then out of the house, and straight into my quarters. It is an evening that I will forever debate if I should remember or forget.
To be continued…
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