A Great Prince: A Royal Bad Boy Romance (11 page)

Francesca had never fainted in her life, had never even come close.

Until the moment she sat in front of her television and saw Nikolas take a bullet.

The world around her went gray, the men around her disappearing into a blinding fog. Then she saw him, still standing, still moving forward. She could see the bright red flower blooming on his shoulder, but it wasn’t stopping him. The Danubians surged up the steps, overwhelming the
gengzters
.

The men around her were silent as the news anchor tried to keep up with events. “It appears that the king has been shot. Yes, he’s been shot, but he’s… the people are… the Palace has been overrun, we repeat, the Danubian Palace has been overrun by the king and the crowd—”

All her life she’d played it safe, and what had come of it?

But what about the border?
She asked herself.
You marched right up to the fence and forced them to let in the refugees.

Yes, but only after I met him. After I met Nikolas.

She thought about him now, ordering his Irish coffee in a restaurant in Davos, taking what he wanted without permission. She’d envied him, until she’d realized that she could
be him,
or at least, the best part of him – the part that
acted.
Some part of her had known after that day that she didn’t have to sit by the sidelines, just making speeches. That she could act, too.

He’s changed me.

She looked up at the men gathered around the king’s desk, the desk she’d appropriated. The whole Landtag, all twenty-five members of the legislative body, were crammed into the royal study.

“Where is the queen?” she demanded, looking directly at her staunchest enemy, Count Kurt Becker, who had helped engineer the marriage proposal to Nikolas. The old man was the queen’s cousin, and one of her most powerful allies.

“She is… indisposed, your Highness.”

“She’s fled the country,” said Gustav Krupp, the Minister of Foreign Affairs. “With as much loot as she could carry.”

“And the Prince?”

“Gone with her.”

She looked at the faces around her. The men’s eyes darted to the television set, to the split screen scenes of the princess’ supporters outside the Palace, and another revolution in another country, just an hour’s drive away.

All it would take would be a word from me, and the same thing would happen here… and they know it.

“Gentlemen. I ask you to move for the deposition of Queen Alexandra Therese, and the removal of her son Leopold from the line of succession.”

The room erupted. “You can’t do that! It’s not possible! The legitimate…”

She held up a hand, and everyone went silent.

“The Landtag removed the Mad King Alexander in 1875. And the queen is, quite apparently, guilty of murder and regicide. And you all know that Leopold is a monster. A rotten little sociopath.” A few knowing chuckles from the back greeted that.

“And you know one more thing. Those people out there are waiting to see what I have here.” She pushed a sheaf of papers across the desk. “Printouts from the transactions the queen and her supporters have made, laundering money from István Szabó.”

Count Kurt turned red. “This is an outrage! We should depose you instead!”

“Try it,” Francesca said, her cool blue eyes meeting his. “You, Count Kurt, are listed on here, again and again. I think the Landtag may wish to strip you of your titles first. Or second, after the state seizes your assets.”

She looked around the room. There were so many guilty men here, but she needed them. She felt like Caligula, and wanted them to have but one head so she could cut it off.

In time,
she thought,
they will all see justice. But right now, I need them to turn on their weakest link.

“I so move,” Krupp said, knowing like the rest of the men in the room which side their bread was buttered on now.

“All in favor,” Francesca said.

Twenty four hands rose, leaving Count Kurt alone in defiance.

“The law of succession has been amended. As the next in line of the throne, I ask for your acclamation as…”

“Princess,” Krupp said, and at the look on his face, and at those around him, she knew there was a catch.

“Yes?”

“The matter of reunification between Burgenland and Danubia. We wish to press forward. The economic benefits…”

He rambled on as Francesca thought about it, wheels turning.

In their hearts, they don’t really believe anything will change if I am queen. I will take the throne, Nikolas will be secure on his, but the wheels of crime and commerce will grind on, once more undisturbed.

“Leave me. I need to consult with my fiancée.”

“Francesca,” Nikolas said, startled at his own relief at hearing her voice on the phone.

“Nikolas. Your Majesty. Congratulations.”

Nikolas laughed. “Your Highness. And to you.”

“I…” She faltered. “You’re hurt. Have you…”

“I’m fine. I’ve had worse. Are you queen of Burgenland yet?”

“Almost. Maybe. The Landtag is on the verge of approving it, but… Well, they want the reunification to go forward.”

Nikolas thought about it. “They think it’s all show. That they’ll still be able to run their little games, that we can’t stop them, we’ll just be figureheads.”

“Yes. I… Nikolas. I know this is absurd, but, I don’t think we can make changes alone. What I mean is, we’re stronger together. As partners. By which…”

“Francesca,” Nikolas crooned. “Are you proposing to me?”

She laughed nervously. “I suppose I am.”

“Strictly on a pragmatic basis?”

There was a pause on the line. Nikolas found himself having a strange feeling – he was nervous. He couldn’t ever remember being nervous. And yet, what Francesca might say next filled him with more dread than a thousand bullets.

“Nikolas, when I met you, you were… a selfish beast.”

“No argument from me.”

“But now. What you did tonight. My god… I… Look. I have feelings for you. And I know it’s extremely weird to say, let’s get married so we can get to know each other…”

Nikolas laughed. “I have feelings for you too, princess. And yeah, it’s pretty fucking weird that we need to have a royal wedding soon, now, before we can start getting to know each other. But that’s how they did it in the old days, isn’t it?”

“An arranged marriage? Yes, I suppose events have arranged it for us.”

“Well, I’m game if you are. I don’t think I’ll regret it. Not…” He paused. “And I wouldn’t just be doing it for my country, Francesca. I think I could get to… like you. A lot.”

“Yeah, I think I could get to like you, too.”

“I’d fight by your side any day, princess.”

He could hear her smile.

“In that case… let’s do it. Let’s fight, side by side.”

For the first time in her life, Francesca Albertine surrendered completely to the bureaucrats of the Palace. Because if there was one thing they knew how to do, it was pomp and circumstance.

Sonia frowned, pins in her mouth as she picked and plucked at Francesca’s dress. “I don’t know why they have to make so much work for me. A coronation and a wedding on the same day!”

Francesca smiled. Her old governess had insisted on managing her fitting herself and had thrown all her energies into it, her “illness” having been a fabrication of the old regime. Francesca’s first act had been to see her reinstated in her home, and her pension tripled.

“Nikolas and I agreed, it’s wasteful to do all this twice. We owe it to the people to keep the costs down.”

“Well, a woman only gets married once. It should be a special day.”

“A woman only gets crowned once, too.”

Sonia laughed at last, as she stood back and examined her work. “That’s true.” She paused. “So, do you love him?”

“Almost,” Francesca said without thinking, startling herself. “I mean, we barely know each other. If we were normal people…”

She sighed, then smiled. If they were normal people, they never would have met. Nikolas would be a
gengzter,
and she would have married some ordinary boring person.

“But he’s a good man, Sonia. He really is.”

“He is
now
,” Sonia murmured.

“Don’t speak ill of my future husband, Sonia,” Francesca said with a wink.

“Well, you’ll have your hands full keeping him honest, I think.”

Francesca frowned. “No… no, I don’t think I will.”

The Eisenstadt Cathedral was packed with dignitaries from around the world, rising from the flower-garlanded pews as Her Royal Highness, the Princess Francesca Albertine, proceeded at a slow and stately pace down the red carpet. The choir erupted into the soaring triumphant coronation march, Handel’s “Zadok the Priest.”

Its resounding chorus of “God Save the queen” echoed off the great stone walls. She could feel the hairs prickling on her arms, on her head, at the…
might
of the ceremony. How few had walked down this carpet, to this sound, to walk up those steps where the Throne of Burgenland awaited.

She wore the gown in which her mother Valerie had been married, and the ermine robe that her father had worn at his own coronation. The priests and nobles around her, Burgenlanders and Danubians, were bedazzling in their bright uniforms, unchanged from the days of the Austro-Hungarian Empire, every detail of their sashes and medals broadcast in high definition around the world.

Legitimacy.
For centuries her ancestors had claimed the “Divine Right of Kings,” the absolute authority over their nations. She had claimed the moral high ground with her actions against the old queen, but it was this ceremony that would officially sever Alexandra Therese’s claims to the crown and her son’s rights as heir.

She ascended the steps of the dais, where two empty thrones awaited. She cut her eyes to her left, intending to look only for a moment. But she couldn’t help but do a double take.

There was Nikolas, as she’d never seen him, in a brilliant white uniform, snugly fit to highlight his firm body, a purple sash across his torso, an unadorned gold circlet as his crown, and a single medal on his chest.

By right, he could have worn a salad’s worth of ribbons, but he had chosen to wear only this one – the Danubian Cross, the nation’s highest award for bravery in battle. When the Danubian people heard that he’d be attending his wedding without a single medal (“I haven’t earned a one of them,” he’d said frankly), they’d insisted on awarding him the Cross for his actions on the night of the Revolution.

Nikolas’ black armband stood out starkly against his white uniform, the sign of his mourning for Karl Lengyel… and a reminder to everyone watching what it had taken to arrive at this moment.

At her double take, the somber and serious-looking king winked at her. It took all her self-control not to smile.

She sat on the throne, and the archbishop brought forth the Imperial Crown of Burgenland.

“Francesca Albertine, will you solemnly promise and swear to govern the Peoples of the United Kingdoms of Burgenland and Danubia, according to our laws and customs?”

“I solemnly promise so to do.”

“Will you to your power cause Law and Justice, in Mercy, to be executed in all your judgments?”

“All this I promise to do. The things which I have here before promised, I will perform, and keep. So help me God.”

The Archbishop took the Crown from the velvet pillow and put it on her head.

The crown was heavy, three pounds of pressure on her skull. It was meant to be heavy, meant to symbolize the burden she was taking on.

“God save the queen!” he said.

“God save the queen!” the audience assented.

The guests bowed, their heads down – save one man, who solemnly nodded but held her gaze. In that moment, she and Nikolas were the only two people in the cathedral.

She rose from her throne, and turned to Nikolas. He came forward with Erik, his best man.

With her father dead, she had asked her old servant Klaus to fulfill the role of giving away the bride, and his wife Amelia to be her maid of honor. It was what she would have wanted anyway, but she also know that the symbolism at this moment was powerful – two common people, not nobles, standing by her side, sending a clear message as to whose interests she would serve.

They faced the archbishop. He spoke the words that would bind her to Nikolas as husband and wife. Now at last they could look at each other, and Francesca had to marvel.

How I dreaded this… I was so sure I was going to have to marry the worst man in the world.

Nikolas smiled, and her heart clutched. She knew it was absurd, marrying a man she hardly knew, and yet…

And yet, what’s most important about him, I do know. He is a good man… a great Prince.

He smiled at her. “I, Nikolas, take thee, Francesca Albertine, as my lawfully wedded wife, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and health, until death do us part.”

His hands were rough, a laborer’s hands, a reminder of how he’d come up from the streets, but he took her little bird hand gently in his own and slipped a ring on her finger. She held her breath, afraid she’d gasp at the sensation of his touch.

She’d intended to give Nikolas her father’s wedding ring. But his fingers were much too thick, she’d discovered, when she’d had him try it on for size.

“If it doesn’t fit…” Nikolas grinned.

She blushed. “You’d better not.” And yet… the idea that the rest of him might be just as oversized was… In the end, she’d had the ring melted down into a thinner, wider band.

She put it on his finger, the steadiness of her own voice surprising her. “I, Francesca Albertine, take thee, Nikolas, as my lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and health, until death do us part.”

And then, at long last, they kissed, not the mock kiss they’d given the cameras what seemed like years ago, but a real one, a… felt one.

Nikolas’ lips were soft on hers, even as his stubble, shaved only hours ago but thriving again, burnt her chin. She felt like she was falling, as if for one moment she could just be a woman and not a queen.

The crowd’s applause and cheers gave them cover to speak for a moment.

“Not yet, Majesty,” Nikolas whispered in her ear, his breath hot and his words rich with promise. “Time for all that later.”

“You think I’m lusting for you, Majesty?”

“Far be it for me to guess what goes on in the mind of a queen?”

“What about what goes on in the mind of a bride?”

“Hmm… I might have an idea about that.”

At last, they were alone, the doors of their bedroom shut behind them with great ceremony by the Palace Chamberlain.

They regarded each other nervously, like two teenagers.

“We…” Nikolas blushed, looking down. “We don’t have to…”

Francesca looked at her new husband, his coronet ever so slightly askew. The former playboy had become as shy as a schoolboy.

She looked at the medal on his chest, earned in battle. And yes, she looked at his well-fitted trousers, where the tailor had attempted to cut the fabric to conceal the details of the Royal Package. And had failed.

She crossed the distance between them and took his hands. “Nikolas. I want you.”

He looked up, startling her. His face was hot with lust, with passion. “And I want you, Francesca.”

She shivered, and he pulled her in, embracing her, warming her. He whispered in her ear. “Turn around.”

Francesca complied. Nikolas began to undo the many small buttons on the back of her dress, the tip of one finger trailing down her back as he exposed it. She drew in a sharp breath as electricity radiated outward from her spine.

He pushed her dress off her left shoulder, brushing her skin with his lips. She let out the breath she’d been holding, tilting her head back against Nikolas’ chest.

Nikolas put his massive hands on her slim waist, almost encircling it, brushing her sides and eliciting a little groan.

She felt his grin, his face pressed into her shoulder. He was proud, she could tell, of the pleasure he was giving her.

She’d expected… what? A passionate taking, an aggression, but not this. He was moving so slowly, because… no, not because he was being gentle.

“You’re torturing me,” she whispered.

“Am I?”

“Yes.”

“Do you want me to stop?”

“No.”

He brushed the fabric off her other shoulder, taking care with her mother’s dress as he pulled it down. She pulled her arms out of the sleeves, instinctively hugging her bare breasts.

Nikolas put his arms across hers, enfolding her, stroking the skin on her forearms. Then, just as she relaxed, two lazy thumbs grazed her breasts, gently moving her arms out of the way.

His sandy fingers on her nipples made her dizzy. He cupped her breasts, measuring the weight of them.

“Our children will eat well,” he murmured.

She laughed. “Children, plural?”

“An heir and a spare, right? And a spare spare. And a spare spare spare.” His hands swept over the small of her back, peeling her dress over her hips, so it fell to the ground.

“You want that many children?” she asked, as he lifted her easily out of the dress and into his arms, like a bride ready to be carried over the threshold. She would have shivered at another time, clad only in her underpants, but she was warm now, so warm…

“I was an only child,” Nikolas said. “It was lonely. I want a house full of princes and princesses.”

He laid her down on the bed, and went to his knees on the floor before her, undoing the clasps on her shoes.

“Just think of all the alliances we could make, with all those children,” Francesca murmured.

Nikolas laughed, his hands traveling up her legs. “So practical.”

He crawled up the bed on all fours, until he hovered over her, his face alight with excitement. She reached up to undo the buttons on his brilliant white tunic.

Nikolas reared back onto his haunches, a wicked gleam in his eye. He yanked at the tunic, buttons flying everywhere, exposing his bare chest, hard and firm, with a single tattoo emblazoned on it.

At the sight of it she laughed, pulling him back down onto her. “A royal crown. Really?”

He grinned. “You wouldn’t believe it. It happened one night when I was a
gengzter.
Drunk, with my buddies. They used to laugh at me, called me ‘Prince Niko’ because of my ancestors. One day they got me so drunk I passed out and… when I woke up, there it was.”

Francesca laughed, stroking it with her hand. His skin was so soft, the flesh beneath it so firm, the opposite of his personality, hard on the outside and warm beneath. His scars told the story of his life, the round ones, the slashes, the gouges…

“It was your destiny.” Her hands dared to travel down his torso to his waist.

Nikolas stopped her, held her hand, bracing himself with one strong arm. “Still time to change your mind, princess. We can wait.”

Her free hand did what her imprisoned hand couldn’t, reaching for his groin.

Francesca’s eyes widened. “My God…”

Nikolas sighed. “Yes, I know. It’s a burden, to be so large. So many complaints…”

She laughed mockingly. “So many, I’m sure.”

He looked at her evenly. “You’re a virgin, aren’t you? I don’t want to hurt you when…”

“I am a virgin. But also a seasoned horseback rider. My hymen is long gone.”

“Is that so?”

Nikolas settled his weight on top of her. “Does this hurt?”