Chapter 5

THE BUBBLING JACUZZI MADE MY LIMBS SIGH IN HEAVENLY SYMPHONIES, LIBERATING ME WITH ITS SENSATIONAL PRESSURE.

Ria and Nessa both submerged themselves in the mauve marbled hot springs, then came up for air, moaning breathlessly.

"It's been a while since we've done this," Nessa said, getting off the hot springs to join me in the jacuzzi. Her slender body was covered with a drenched white towel, clinging tightly to her every curve.

"Too long," Ria agreed, snatching a neck rest before joining us.

"This place is heaven," I sighed, closing my eyes as I relished the pressure of the warm water on my back and through my aching limbs.

"It's one of our favourite places," Nessa babbled excitedly, "When your foot is healed, we'll bring you to the gardenia garden and greenhouses full of interesting vines and leaves. OOh! THere's also the recreational gym and the clubhouses--"

"We'll show her around," Ria chuckled, cutting Nessa off. "When she's all healed."

"It's much better than yesterday," I informed them, "but I don't think it's wise for me to wear heels. The press conference is tomorrow."

"What are you going to do then?" Nessa's eyes brimmed with worry as she combed her hair with her long curvature fingers.

Ria rubbed her pointy chin, her wise eyes in deep thought. "You're pretty tall, I don't think you need heels."

"Sir Carlos is pretty adamant on the issue."

"It's still your decision though. Just wear a long dress. I have a pink dress full of chiffon at the bottom. It drags on the floor. You can borrow!"

"Thank you Nessa but they already picked a maroon dress for me which covers up to my knees."

"Still--"

We were interrupted by a knock on the Cedar wooden door of our private royal spa. Ria stood up first to see who it was while Nessa tried to convince me to wear her frilly pink gown.

"Who is it?" I could hear Ria's unbothered tone before opening the door.

"Oops, I got the wrong room," a male voice chuckled, attracting Nessa's and I's attention. It was prince Eric with just a small black towel covering his waist, smirking at the underdressed heiress before him.

"Eric, that's not our room!" another male shouted from the background.

"What he said," Ria grumbled, her poker expression inhibited.

"Wait, surely I have seen you somewhere before," he said, raking Ria's delicate and curvy body, "I would never have missed such a fine lady." He licked his lips, simping instantly.

Oh no, does she need help?

A face that fierce, so expressionless, an exterior so bold and tough--you think she needs help? Asked the stupefied banshee.

I guess not.

"I'll be honoured to learn your name, beautiful," he said huskily, putting his ripped arm by the doorway and over her head seductively.

"Mary Riallyn Heracily, heiress of London," Ria answered, folding her arms but not pulling away.

"I've never heard of such a wonderful name, it's music to my ears," he charmed and took a wisp of her wet hair and twirled it around his finger.

Ria shrugged while Prince Eric's gaze hardened, wondering why she was so unaffected by his charms. Ria's composure remained expressionless.

"There's a gala party this weekend, if you have nothing to do, you can come as my date. We should get acquainted."

"Are you done yet?" She asked instead.

"Ye--no."

Ria rolled her eyes and brought her knee up to his precious jewels.

Ouch!

"Ow Fuck! Yo-you--"

Ria slammed the door closed and locked it before he could continue his profanities, leaving me and Nessa in shock.

We watched her dip back in the jacuzzi.

"What?" She asked us, "The guy deserved it and I've been wanting to do that a long time ago."

Nessa and I looked at each other and shrugged it off. The guy deserved it after all.

After the long and relaxing spa treatment with the royal girls, I made my way through the endless giant halls and towards the West Wing where Sir Carlos' office resides.

"This is becoming a habit now, you just visited me this morning Clarissa and twice a day of the past three days, " Sir Carlos complained as he took another drag from a sweet dandelion scented cigar.

"I just want to talk about the heels you were so concerned about, " I explained, sitting down on a burgundy coated Davenport. His black marbled desk adjacent and his lion-headed staff even closer. I gaped at it with interest.

"What of it?"

"I have an idea, I can wear those high heeled biker boots. It supports my injured ankle, it's comfortable and also stylish."

"Not bad, I'll get into it right away. When you touch up in the powder room before facing the press conference, your boots will be there." He glossed over his computer and jotted down notes on his black notepad with a fountain pen.

"Sounds good. Will you be there tomorrow?" In all honesty, I really hope so.

"If I get to finish this pile of shit and without your constant nagging, I might finally have time for myself, " he said, pointing to the mountain stack of papers on his desk.

"Okay, I'll come to visit again tomorrow after the conference." I stood up to leave, bidding a secret farewell to his lion staff who I imagined to have wished me good luck.

"Don't forget to go over your speech for the commoners. They love the crown prince so don't falter or mess up, " he reminded as he dropped his cigar in a bronze ashtray.

"You won't have to worry for a thing, " I assured him as he shook his head. We both knew how unpredictable the outcome of a conference could be.

Upon leaving the grouchy advisor, I worried about the fact that I haven't spoken with the Crown prince. What if our plan to make it seem like playful banter doesn't work? Would he tell the mass what had truly occurred? Perhaps then I could finally get an answer as to why he loathes me so much.

But do you really want to know? Asked the banshee. What he thought of you?

Of course.

The sun was setting, illuminating a deadly glow on the horizon. I sighed my problems away, now that the day was about to end. I'll start worrying about it tomorrow.

But the problem at hand resurfaced, making me face it directly.

Prince Gavier appeared as I turned to a corner and he was still in his burly fencing gear. My mouth went dry at the sight of his sweaty head, droplets fell like pearly dew by his temples.

The urge to hide was imminent yet it was too late. He had already seen me prancing in the West Wing.

Out of a sudden, he unsheathed his fencing sword just as we were steps apart and thrusted forward.

Fortunately, my fast reflexes saved my neck from being severed as I ducked quickly, snatching the knife I strapped under my royal blue dress.

I blocked his thrusting of the thin sword as I crouched low, waiting for an opportunity to retaliate. His stance was sturdy so tripping him would be impossible but I was at a disadvantage with a weapon so small.

Whimsically, I rolled sideways just as he began his series of thrusting again. Closing the gap, I punched his hand that was holding his silver sword and pointed my knife to his neck. My small victory smirk was evident yet it taken away a second later.

The prince maneuvered his head and took my knife with his teeth. His big calloused hands took my arms and pinned them against the nearby pillar.

"What the heck is your problem?!" I was finally able to speak up.

He threw my knife behind him and trapped me against the pillar with his body, his hands locking my arms above my head.

"At least you can protect yourself, " he said, his husky voice making me shiver, "But you can still get killed."

"What do you mean? Is this about tomorrow?"

Are the people of his country going to kill me because I attempted to slap his face?

He let go of me and began to walk away without answering my question. How rude.

I watched as his forlorn form vanished at a corner before sliding down the pillar I was pinned against.

Does he make your heart race? Asked the banshee curiously.

So much. So much I thought it would burst

Is it because he just tried to kill you?

No, it's something else. Something I'm not familiar with. Something else entirely.