The 200 Year Bride Swap

(Alicia)

I wake with a start, the incessant buzzing of my phone against my thigh having done the trick. I ignore it, let it buzz to its little heart’s content. Whoever it is can leave a message.

But now that I’m awake, I take note of my surroundings. Oh hell. What did I do?

There are six other people in the room, all completely naked, passed out, and reeking of sex. I recognize Shannon and Phoebe, and Ruben and Dimitri. The other two are strangers – humans by the smell of them.

Phoebe is lying with her cheek in the strange guy’s crotch, while his one hand curled over Shannon’s breast. Her other breast is clasped by Ruben, who is spooning the human girl. Dimitri lies sprawled half over Shannon, half over the human girl and Ruben.

Thankfully, I’m fully clothed. These cargo pants are so tight they need peeling off, anyway. But there is a stickiness between my breasts that smells like someone spilled their seed over it. I shudder and gag, grabbing the closest piece of cloth – someone’s bra – and wipe the mess off with one hand while the other hand holds my tank top open as far as possible. WTF?

The buzzing starts up again, but I leave it safely in its side pocket against my thigh while I sit up and rub my face. I may have partied a bit too much, and this lot clearly did too. Yuck.

I get up and quietly make my way to the door. Where the hell are we? The door leads to a dingy corridor. At one end was another door with an emergency exit sign. The smell of stale beer and cigarette smoke wafted from the other side of the corridor – clearly the way to whatever bar we find ourselves at.

I turn towards the emergency exit, not looking forward to another walk of shame. Thankfully, the door opens easily, and I slip out into the sunlight, blinking at the sudden brightness. The bloody phone starts buzzing again. I fish it out of my pocket and stare at the screen. Hell no.

Without answering, I put the phone back where it came from and look around. I’m in an alleyway next to a dumpster. About 20 feet away cars are zooming up and down a busy street. My feet take me in that direction.

I really should try harder not to end up in situations like this. This is the fifth time I’ve found myself in the aftermath of what was clearly an orgy, yet again instigated by my great party mood. As usual, I’ve remained fully clothed and untouched. It’s just a matter of time and people will start to figure it out, unless I stop being happy. Sighing, I look up and down the street for any clues as to where I might be.

The bar I just exited is on the corner of Juniper and Close Street. Mike’s Bar. Well, that doesn’t help much. I fish my phone out again and type in the location. I’m in an area downtown that I’ve never been to before. Just going by reputation, this is not an area I should be in either. It’s one of those spots we tend to avoid because it’s right on that murky line where several supernatural species’ borders meet.

I think about going back and getting my four naked acquaintances out of that room and this area, but then I hesitate. It’s better for me if I make a clean getaway before they wake up. There’s four of them, they’ll be fine, I tell myself and open my Uber app. Time to go.

My phone buzzes another five times on the drive over to my place. Every time I glance at the screen, note the caller, and ignore it. I don’t have the energy to deal with my father’s lackeys right now. He can wait. Nothing can be that important.

Safely back home, I strip and almost run into a scalding hot shower, scrubbing the filth of the previous night from my skin and my hair. Once clean, I slip on some comfy tights, an oversized hoody and my Ugg boots. I plan on binge-watching something. But first, breakfast.

I really, really want bacon and eggs, but I really, really don’t want to go through the effort of making it myself. And I am too hungry to wait for a food delivery service, so I settle for cereal and milk and start planning what pizza to order for later.

Halfway through my bowl of cereal there is a loud knock on the door. Sighing, I put the bowl down and go to open it. My mood sours as soon as I see who is waiting outside.

“Princess Alicia. You have been summoned,” the dour-faced man in the three-piece suit says before I can close the door in his face. He is flanked by two heavies. They are clearly not going to take no for an answer. Maybe I should have answered those phone calls or at least listened to the messages without deleting them.

For a moment I contemplate closing that door regardless, but from experience I know it won’t work. I could take them – all three of them – but he’ll only send more and where would I hide the bodies? This is a respectable apartment building, and I try to keep a low profile. The humans don’t know what I am, and I’d like to keep it that way.

I stare longingly at the bowl of cereal.

“I’m going to finish my breakfast first,” I tell mister dour-face. “You can wait here.”

“Our orders are to bring you immediately…” he starts, but I hold a finger up and slowly move my hand towards his mouth. Then I use my thumb and forefinger to pinch his lips shut. The shock of my action reverberates through his body, and I see his eyes slowly turn murderous. I smirk inwardly.

Without a word, I turn towards the kitchen and pick up my bowl again. I take a seat at the counter and start eating while old dour-face is slowly popping an artery in his brain. To his credit, and the heavies surrounding him, he doesn’t move or squeak. Good boy. I do notice that at least one of the heavies is trying very hard to keep a straight face. I better not catch his eye or we’ll both be in big trouble.

When I’ve finished eating, I make a point of rinsing my bowl and spoon, then drying them and meticulously putting it away. On any other day they’ll be left in the sink until I’ve built up enough dirty dishes to warrant a proper wash. But nope, not today. Today, I’m deliberately stalling.

After I place the spoon in its spot in the drawer, I open the pantry and grab a muesli bar, slipping it into my hoodie pocket. Who knows when I’ll get to eat again today. In my mind I’m already saying goodbye to that pizza.

I turn towards the three men and grab my keys.

“Right, now where we?” I say as I walk towards them. Dour-face doesn’t say a word, he just turns and starts walking, clearly expecting me to follow the trail of steam coming out of his ears. I do so obediently, patting myself on the back mentally for playing nice. One of the heavies fall in next to me, the other one takes the rear. Right.

I don’t have to ask who sent them or where we are off to. I know. I also know not to even try asking them what this is all about. They either wouldn’t know or wouldn’t tell me. So, the car ride to the palace happens in a tense four-hour silence, during which I play candy crush on my phone and occasionally stare out of the window.

We drive through several villages on the way there. Maybe it’s just because I haven’t been here in nearly two years that I notice how tired everything looks. Echoes of the kingdom’s former prosperity are still there in the distinctly tall yet quaintly elegant buildings, but there’s a stench of lingering neglect clinging to the landscape.

Here and there I spot weeds growing through a crack in the pavement. Public buildings and private houses all show signs of time’s gentle erosion. Peeling paint here, a rusty, skewed fence there, some sagging roofs and dusty shopfronts.

The lawn of a once pristinely manicured playpark near the library of one of the bigger villages is now overgrown, the grass stretching tall in defiance of the absent mower. It’s not that the place has fallen into ruin — it’s more as if it’s grown tired, no longer cared for with the same fervor that once infused every brick and stone with pride.

It has taken him 12 years to get his people to no longer care.

We drive through the gilded palace gates, and I cannot help but make a glaringly obvious comparison. The place is immaculate. Is that a new fountain? Holy hell, the 15-foot-high monstrosity is oddly elegant despite looking like it is made from solid gold…. Not a sag or a speck of rust or a wayward weed anywhere in sight.

I encounter very few people as I’m escorted through the pristinely kept palace. Those who I come across are all servants who readily stop what they’re doing and bow politely. Although I don’t miss the eyerolls directly preceding the act. Nothing new there.

Dour-face and the heavies deliver me to the gilded doors of my dear father’s office, after a quick rap on the door. At the call to come in, dour-face pushes the heavy doors open and steps inside.

“Princess Alicia, your Highness,” he says like a funeral director as he bows towards the figure sitting behind the massive desk.

“Thank you, Miles. You may leave us,” my father says in his deep baritone, and the lackey promptly leaves the room, adding a bombastic side-eye as he walks past me. I’m tempted to giggle, but my loathing for being in this room stops me from acting on the temptation.

The doors close with a heavy click behind him, sealing me in with the one person I’ve spent years avoiding. The office hasn’t changed much since the last time I was dragged in here. Same dark wood. Same ridiculously oversized desk. Same faint smell of leather and whatever expensive cologne Daddy Dearest currently bathes in. Everything about this room is designed to remind visitors who holds the power.

“Took you long enough,” my father addresses me as soon as the doors closes. His voice, as usual, drips of sarcasm.

I look at him, the imposing figure in a suit that likely costs more than a small house, as he remains seated behind his desk. Instead of answering, I shrug. I know it would annoy him.

He tries not to show it, but I spot the slight tick to his right eyelid as I do that. I smirk inwardly. I’m not going to make this easy for him. The only reason he’ll summon me is because he wants something. I’ll do my best to make him sweat for it.

I enjoy him squirming silently while he’s quite clearly trying to work out how to ask whatever the hell it is he wants to. Then I cross my arms over my chest and stare at a spot over his right shoulder – patiently waiting.

“Take a seat,” he grinds out, glaring at me. My gaze returns to his and I hold it.

“No thanks. I’m sure this won’t take long.”

I transfer the weight from one leg over to the other and keep staring at him.

“Very well. Your time to serve your kingdom has come,” he blurts out. Well, I was right. That didn’t take long at all.

Serve my kingdom. Interesting choice of words from the man who’s spent most of my life making sure the kingdom barely remembers I exist. I’ve never been invited to cut ribbons, wave from balconies or smile prettily beside the rest of the royal family. Apparently whatever service he has in mind doesn’t require legitimacy.

I cock an eyebrow at him.

“Really? How interesting,” I reply, careful not to reveal that he has managed to pique my interest. What the hell is he on about?

In his most regal manner, he leans back into his plush leather chair and hooks one leg over the other, looking only ever so slightly schmuck.

“You’re getting married in a month. I’ve got a team already working on the preparations. It would be in your best interest to give them your full cooperation. A woman called Chiara will be in touch.”

The blood in my veins turn to ice and my breath stall in my lungs, but I hold my composure, desperate to not let any detail of just how much his words had thrown me filter through. I’m pretty sure he can hear my accelerated heartbeat, but I’m going to ignore that little fact.

Married.

The word sits between us like something solid.

A month. Thirty days, give or take, and he has apparently already arranged the rest of my life without bothering to mention it to me until now. My fingers dig into my arms where they’re folded across my chest. I force them to relax before he notices. Whoever this mystery groom is, whatever bargain my father has struck, I want no part of it.

Breaking eye contact, I spin on my heels and walk towards the door. “Good luck with that,” I sling over my shoulder as I reach for the handle. He is there, blocking my way before I can even reach it.

He moves so fast I barely register him leaving the desk. One second there’s polished wood and several feet of blessed distance between us. The next he fills the space in front of me, broad shoulders cutting off my route to the door.

Every muscle in my body tightens.

“You’re not running from this one, Alicia,” he spits out, and I retract my hand as if I’ve just touched fire. The last thing I want was any kind of contact with him.

“I’m not even in the race,” I reply coolly. “You have a daughter who are obviously a much better choice for this particular type of duty.”

He grins, one of those ugly ones that was born out of pure malice. He doesn’t even bother to address my comment.

“This is not an opt-in kind of mission, Alicia. This is me, ordering you as your king, to do your duty to your family and your kingdom.”

“Whomp-whomp,” I reply, my voice dripping with boredom. He doesn’t move, but there’s another little tick in that eyelid that makes me zing in my petty little win to get on his nerves. Inside, I’m exploding in angst at the prospect of what he wants me to do, and anger at his audacity to try and push this on me. On the outside, I’m acting bored and uninterested as hell.

He reaches out a hand to clasp my shoulder, but my flinch backwards makes him retrieve that hand slowly. The tick is more prominent now.

My body reacts before my brain can stop it. I hate that. Hate even more that he sees it. His eyes flick briefly to the space I’ve put between us, and something cold settles into his expression. He remembers. Of course he remembers.

“You can act as bored as you’d like, but it’s not going to help you avoid what’s coming, Alicia.”

I fold my arms over my chest again and look up, straight into his eyes.

“If this is so important to you and the kingdom, you should be giving them the real princess, the legitimate one,” I say. The tick increases slightly, and he blinks to get rid of it. “Me? Not worth as much.”

I know I scored a hit, but I don’t revel in it. Instead, my anger is starting to simmer to levels it probably shouldn’t. Screw him.

For once, I want him to say it. Admit that I’m the disposable daughter. Admit there’s a reason he’s sending me instead of Charmaine. But his silence tells me more than any answer would.

“Once again. This is not up for discussion. This is an order.”

I shake my head, incredulity seeping through my every pore. “Huh. Good luck with that. There’s nothing you can say or do that will make me follow that order.” But I cringe inwardly as the words leave my mouth because we both know that’s not true – he wields the powers of domination and manipulation.

I try to brush past him without making any kind of physical contact – mission impossible given his sheer size. His hand whips out lightning fast, latching painfully onto my upper arm. I recoil inwardly at the touch, even though there’s no skin-on-skin involved, a shudder running visibly through me. Then he lowers his head so that his hot breath rushes past my ear.

My entire body locks. His fingers tighten through the fabric, not enough to injure, just enough to remind me that he can. My pulse pounds against my throat. Anger I can handle. Threats aimed at me I can handle. Whatever comes next, I’m already preparing myself to throw it straight back in his face.

“I would think very carefully of the consequences of disobedience on this one. Especially what that might mean for Luka.”