Filthy Ever After

  I wanted to say that it sounded magical, and romantic in a sense. But then, Marta and her two awful daughters had received an invitation, which took a whole lot of the glamor off the whole thing.

  “This fucking sucks!”

  I shook my thoughts away as I followed Marta into Portia’s room — a.k.a., my old room before she’d moved in and declared it hers. The poor designer was shaking his head, trying to take new measurements as Portia flailed about the room. To one side, her emerald green dress lay draped over a chair.

  “You did a shitty job, you know!” she barked at the designer. “It doesn’t fit at all!”

  I had to do everything in my power to restrain the giggle. That said, I did feel bad for the poor guy. What he probably now knew but couldn’t say in front of Marta since she controlled the payment for his work, was that Portia had cheated on her original measurements. Renata had too, actually. Neither of the girls were in bad shape or anything, they’d just pretended to be something they weren’t, and now the custom dresses weren’t going to fit at all.

  Portia had tried to slim down way too much for hers, with a corset, and tape, and compression undies and all of that. And Renata had worn stuff under her yoga pants and workout top to give herself curves where she didn’t have any — a stuffed bra, fake hips, and a padded butt.

  I had a feeling Marta knew about this too, but she joined right in with belittling the poor designer for “fucking it up.”

  “You’re right, my mistake,” the poor man fumbled as Renata stormed into the room and threw her blue dress into the pile with Portia’s emerald one. “And of course, I’ll have the new versions ready in two days time!”

  “You’d better, or I’m taking your ass to court for damages!” Marta sneered. The man nodded quickly as he started to gather the dresses. “I’ll make the alterations my top—”

  “Alterations?” My stepmother wrinkled her nose. “For my daughters, when they meet their king with a chance to be his queen? Not fucking lightly! New ones!” she snapped. “New dresses, entirely. And by tomorrow night.”

  The man paled, but nodded, dropping the two reject dresses back to the chair. “Of course, ma’am.”

  “So, that sounded like a lot of fun earlier.”

  I snorted into the glass of wine as I grinned at Vi. “Oh, loads of fun.”

  “Marta tear that poor guy a new asshole?”

  “Two new ones.”

  My friend cringed. “Poor dude.”

  “Yeah.”

  “How hilarious did the two bitches look wearing those dresses once their spanx and push up bras were off?”

  I giggled. “I missed that part, sadly.”

  Vi had been one of my best friends for longer than I even remembered. Her Grandmother, who’d raised her, had been our family cook for years, and Vi and I had grown up playing as best friends in this house. Her grams had passed not long after my father, and after Marta had fired a series of half a dozen replacements, Vi had eventually taken over the kitchen.

  And that’s where we were, drinking chardonnay out of coffee cups and commiserating about my shitty step-family.

  “Well, I’m sure now that they’re getting nice new ones, there’s no way King Rian will be able to resist them.”

  I almost choked on the wine.

  “Oh, I wonder how he’ll even choose?”

  Vi snickered. “And don’t forget, Marta’s an available bachelorette herself. Now he’s got three irresistible possible queens to choose from!”

  “I mean, if backstabbing bitchiness and horrible personalities are his thing, he’s going to have a hard time.”

  Vi laughed as she clanked her mug to mine. “Cheers to that.”

  We drank in silence for a minute before I sighed. "What do you think he’s really into?”

  “King Rian?” Vi shrugged. “Who the hell knows, but I guess he hasn’t found it. Maybe it is whipping people and tying them up, and ball gags and all that.”

  I blushed and she grinned. “Oh, you remember that one, huh?”

  I looked away. “I mean, it stands out.”

  “It’s better than the tabloid that said he was secretly gay.” Vi arched her brows. “No way is a man who looks like that playing for his own team. Or if he is, that’s a crime against woman-kind.”

  I grinned. Okay, she was right. King Rian was gorgeous, and in this rough, commanding, bad-boy kind of way you didn’t necessarily associate with royalty. Yeah, he was King, but it’s not like he walked around with one of those cheesy Hollywood smiles on, or with flowing robes and immaculately shined shoes.

  No, the King of our kingdom had been known to go out in leather boots, jeans, and a motorcycle jacket. He had tattoos tracing up one full arm, and probably elsewhere too, I thought with a blush. He was more biker, or rockstar or something than he was “King,” at least in terms of how he carried himself and dressed.

  King Rian was hot, plain and simple. And I’d be lying if I tried to claim that I’d never once thought about him, well, like that. Any girl with a pulse had thought about him like that though.

  “So did Marta burn those dresses?” Vi sighed and shook her head. “What a fucking waste, huh?”

  But I caught her eye, and slowly, she frowned as I shook my head.

  “Nope.”

  “No?”

  I grinned. “I, uh, may have taken them. You know, for safe keeping.”

  My friend’s eyes lit up. “Um, we’re trying them on, now.”

  “Vi, c’mon—”

  “Nope, let’s go,” she beamed at me as she jumped off her kitchen stool and grabbed my arm. “C’mon, it’ll be fun!”

  “Holy shit,” Vi breathed.

  I blinked, not quite believing it myself as we started at our reflection in the mirror of my basement room.

  “We look fancy as fuck."

  I grinned. Holy shit indeed. Vi was right. I’d put on Portia’s cast-off emerald dress, and Vi had donned Renata’s blue one. They hadn’t fit my stepsisters one bit. But on us?

  …They looked like they’d been tailor-fit.

  The emerald one fit to every inch of my slender frame like it’d been painted on, and the blue one that’d been baggy and shapeless on Renata looked gorgeous on Vi with her natural curves.

  “I mean damn!” Vi shook her head.

  “Yeah, seriously.” I smiled wistfully. “Too bad we don’t have invitations, huh?”

  Vi was quiet a second as we checked ourselves out.

  “And if we did?”

  She said it quietly, like she was testing the waters.

  “What do you mean? We don’t. Only Marta, Portia, and Renata are listed on the invitation, you know.”

  “Yeah, well what if we had our own invitation?”

  I grinned, playing along. “Well, then we’d get to this ball and pretend to be fancy, obviously.”

  Vi grinned and started to slip her dress off.

  “Say no more.”

  I frowned as she carefully took the gown off and slipped her kitchen whites back on. “Hang on, what are you saying?”

  “I’m saying say no more,” she winked. “Look, I have to go prep for tomorrow. Keep the dresses somewhere safe though okay?”

  I nodded, confused but hugging my friend goodnight before she skipped up the stairs.

  I dreamed of castles that night. And slow dances. And the rough, inked, strong hands of King Rian circling my waist and pulling me close. The dream turned darker, and I imagined those hands of his moving all over me — tearing my gown away, and running over every inch of my body. The pleasure burned through me as I dreamed of his mouth on me, and of mine on him. My thighs pressed tight together as I imagined him touching me there between my legs, and then spreading them to pull me onto his lap.

  I woke up gasping into my pillow with both of my hands buried in my soaked panties.

  But the heat was still here, burning hot, and the fantasy wouldn’t go away. My fingers moved faster, rubbing over my aching clit and my slippery lips a
s I pictured the gorgeous, hot as sin King claiming me as his own — thrusting into me, and making me scream right there on his throne.

  I came gasping into my pillow, my heart racing and every one of my thoughts firmly on the very gorgeous, very untouchable, completely-not-going-to-happen King Rian.

  Chapter 3

  Emilia

  The royal ball was three days later. As promised, the shaking, sweating designer had returned with new dresses for Renata and Portia — dresses they still bitched about, but at least they fit. The first versions were forgotten, hidden away in my closet down in the basement.

  I’d been kept plenty busy over those days though, running all sorts of errands for Marta and my stepsisters as they preened and got ready to go meet King Rian. It was almost comical to watch, if it didn’t also light a little fire of fury inside of me at how unfair it was they they were going while I was going to camp out in front of my hand-me-down laptop down in a basement all night.

  Again, it’s not like Renata or Portia, or even Marta for that matter were unattractive women. I mean, they cleaned up well, and they were fashionable with clothes and makeup and all that. But it was their horrible, toxic personalities that made the idea of any of them settling down with King Rian almost funny. He’d have to be a psychopath to want anyone like them in his presence, let alone as his bride.

  …Or at least, that’s what I kept telling myself. It was weird, as the days had counted down to the ball, I’d gone from thinking Rian was this hot, untouchable celebrity to almost having this sort of crush on him. Maybe it was the idea that by that night, he’d have a bride picked, and he’d go from this single fantasy to married, which would ruin the fantasy.

  “Wish us luck!”

  I didn’t say anything as Marta and her girls posed by the front door in front of me, their limo waiting outside to take them to the palace.

  “Emilia!” Marta snapped. “Wish your fucking sisters good luck! If one of them snags King Rian, you may even get to come to the wedding, you know.”

  Lucky me.

  “Have a fun time,” I mumbled. Marta rolled her eyes and turned for the door. Portia gave me the finger and followed.

  “Enjoy the basement,” Renata sneered.

  When they’d gone, I scowled as I headed back to my room. I knew it was silly to be this pissed, or jealous. I mean, it wasn’t like any of those three were possibly going to win King Rian’s heart. But, someone was that night. And that annoyed me more than I knew it should.

  I’d settled in front of my laptop and fired up Netflix, when suddenly, there was a knock at my door.

  “Hey.”

  Vi slid in, biting her lip as she closed the door behind her and hurried over to me.

  “Hey, I was just about to start watching—”

  “Forget what you were going to do,” she whispered gleefully, her eyes big.

  “What’s going on?”

  “Still got those dresses?”

  I blushed. “Yeah. Go ahead, laugh.”

  “Oh, I’m not laughing.” She dug her hand into the pocket of her jeans and yanked out an envelope. “For you. For us, actually.”

  I frowned quizzically as I took it from her hand and opened the flap. My fingers slid in and pulled out two…

  “Holy shit,” I breathed.

  The paper was soft, the ink gold. And there were two of them. There, in my hands were two official invitations to King Rian’s royal ball.

  “Where the hell did you get these?!” I hissed.

  Vi grinned. “I made ‘em.”

  “Hang on, you what?”

  “I made them!” She beamed at me. “I snuck into your step-bitches room and took some pictures of the official invitation, and then I made ones for us.”

  “These are incredible!”

  “Hey, you know how good I am with details and frosting piping on cakes and stuff.”

  It was true. Vi had actually won awards for the incredible art she did on top of cupcakes and pies and things. She’d actually gone to art school to be a painter for a few years before she’d taken over for her Grams in the kitchen here. And the invitations were maybe her best work ever. They were perfect — the gold lettering flawless and the gilded edges looking as real the actual invitation that my stepsisters had waved in my face for the last week.

  Suddenly, I look up at my friend. “Wait, you’re not actually suggesting that we do this, are you?”

  “Suggesting? Oh, no.” Vi grinned wickedly. “I’m saying we’re doing this. Get those gowns, lady. Tonight, we’re sneaking into the hottest party in town.”

  I stared at her. “Vi, this is nuts.”

  “I know, but c’mon! We’ve got the dresses, we’ve got the invites. Why not? Are you going to tell me the idea of some other girl snatching up King Rian doesn’t irk you?”

  I blushed. “That’s not it.”

  “What if Portia gets him, huh? First your bedroom, then your—”

  “The fuck she is.”

  My eyes went wide at my own outburst, and my hands clamped over my mouth. Vi just grinned.

  “Knew it.”

  “Oh, knew what?”

  “That you’re crushing hard on King Hottie.”

  “I’m not crushing on him. What are you, twelve?”

  “Emilia! Come the fuck on! Let’s do this!”

  I chewed on my lip, my fingers twisting together. “How would we even get there?”

  “I’m pretty sure your dad’s collection hasn’t been driven in years, and if I remember him correctly, he’d think this would be a perfect time to take one for a joyride.”

  I snorted. My dad had kept a garage full of vintage cars, and she was right, they were still there, undriven for years.

  “That Charger is begging for some fresh air, don’t you think?”

  I shook my head. “No, definitely the Mustang.”

  Vi grinned, and I suddenly caught myself.

  “You’re totally into this.”

  I groaned. “It’s a terrible idea.”

  “It’s a great idea.”

  I took a shaky breath. “If we do go, the second one of us gets too weirded out, or if it seems like we’re going to get caught, we leave immediately, alright?”

  Vi nodded eagerly, grinning. “So that’s a yes?”

  I sighed, feeling the heat tease through me as I glanced towards the closet where the gowns were hanging.

  “Yeah, I think that’s a yes.”

  The gorgeous muscle car rumbled to a stop in front of the valet stand, and my pulse jumped about five times faster than it’d even been beating on the drive over.

  This was it.

  We were inside the palace grounds, right by the entrance to the ballroom. They’d checked our forged invitations at the main gate, and even if my held breath had felt like hours, they waved us through in seconds. I glanced over at Vi, who was looking great in Renata’s cast-away blue gown.

  “We’re really doing this, huh?”

  “Oh, we’re doing this,” she breathed, her own nervousness showing a little. Vi was always the bold one, but there was no hiding how out of her element she was right then.

  “Miss?”

  I smiled up at the valet and opened the door, stepping out of the car and thanking him before he took over and pulled the car out of sight. Vi and stood at the base of the stairs going up to the gilded, brightly lit entrance to the ball, both of us just staring.

  “Yeah so, this is…”

  “Fancy?” I breathed.

  “Fancy as fuck.”

  “Good thing we’ve got fancy as fuck dresses?”

  She winked. “Good thing.”

  Around us, all sorts of other attendees were heading up the stone steps into the ballroom — and a lot of them were women. Gorgeous, titled, royal women. Sure, I was technically a lord’s daughter, but that didn’t mean much. Not when that lord was dead and his land and titles taken over by Marta the witch. No, Vi and I were both very much out of our element.

  We
might have had convincingly nice gowns, but it felt like the other women there just outclassed us in every regard. They were more elegant, more used to this sort of finery. They carried themselves like walking into the hottest social event of my life was just an average Friday night for them, and maybe it was. And they were beautiful.

  My spirits started to sink as we climbed the stairs. Yeah, no, the people around us were real royalty, not pretend like Vi and me. At the main door, we were given golden masks. I’d forgotten about that part. The masks, like the whole ball itself, were part of the old-world tradition of the King of Bandiff finding a bride.

  Vi grabbed my arm as we stepped inside, nodding across the gilded room full of candles and royalty and waiters passing around champagne.

  “Are you seeing this?” She nodded her chin at two couples standing to one side. “Do you know who that is?”

  I did. I mean, the first man — older, with a silvered beard and the much younger, gorgeous woman on his arm — everyone in Bandiff knew. Duke Xavier was one of King Rian’s closest friends. There’d been an attempted coup years back in our kingdom involving Xavier’s ex-wife and his new bride’s father. The two and others like them had plotted to blow up a children’s hospital in protest of Rian making the country more progressive. He wanted an elected government and not just a bloodline of royalty, and some of those in power had balked at the idea.

  The plan had been foiled though, in no small part due to Xavier’s loyalty to his friend the King. His bride, the Duchess Lola, had once been his ward. And it was Rian who’d helped the two of them out of some trouble in a neighboring kingdom months before when Lola’s father had escaped prison and tried to cause her harm.

  Next to them stood another well-known face — King Hayden of Rince, with his bride, Queen Callie. I grinned at the sight of them. They’d been a very popular tabloid story after Hayden had stollen Callie away from her would-be-husband, an arranged thing, on her very wedding day. King Milton, her former arranged fiance, had turned out to be quite the piece of shit, so their story was a popular one. I’d even heard that someone wanted to make a movie of it.