The Cursed Prince🌶️
Jovian Rooke
The quickest way to a happy ending is through a bullshit curse and true love’s kiss. You’d be amazed how well it works. Really, you would. I’ve been using variations of it for years now, and these simpering daughters of lords, all desperate to become queens, fall for it every time. They all think they’re destined to be the heroine of some romantic fairy tale.
The blonde currently kneeling before me is no exception.
Shit. I had forgotten her name. Oh gods, what was it again? It started with an S, I think.
Sarah?
Samantha?
Lord Waldeley’s daughter, at any rate.
She’d cornered me in the garden during her father’s tedious dinner party. Batting those impossible eyelashes over large doe eyes as she asked if the rumors were true.
“Are you really cursed, your Majesty?”
The truth is, when you’re a twenty-nine-year-old prince whose face is carved across every coin in the kingdom, you don’t need to work very hard. They throw themselves at you with alarming regularity. All convinced they’re the special one, the pure-hearted maiden who’ll break whatever curse they think has me in its grip.
The trick is getting to the happy ending.
That takes a special type of woman.
And… Sidney? Well, word was she’d already “compromised” herself with half the knights in her father’s guard. She maintained the innocent act in public. Yet it had only taken a modicum of convincing to find myself sitting on the bed in her overwrought chambers. Golden hair framing her face as she knelt on the worn rug between my legs.
A light breeze whispered through the open window, carrying in laughter and music from the distant ballroom. Where Lord Waldeley was still making a dithering ass of himself before his guests. By rights, I was supposed to be snoring in the blue guest suite two floors down, locked up for the evening by the house guards. Half of whom were now emboldened by too much port, the other half likely still sobbing about the disappearance of…
Selena?
“So, all I have to do to break the curse is give you a kiss?” She asked, vibrating with excitement as she worked to unlace my trousers.
“Not just any kiss,” I whispered, leaning down so my lips brushed against her cheek, “It has to be true love’s kiss.”
“And what makes true love’s kiss different, Your Majesty?” she asked, feigned innocence lacing her tone.
“Well, it’s a common misconception that a simple kiss on the lips will suffice,” I murmured, “True love’s kiss is… lower.”
She bit the corner of her lip in concentration. An adorable gesture and probably rehearsed in front of her boudoir glass. I suppressed the urge to sigh.
When she finally freed what she’d been searching for, her brows rose. “Oh,” she whispered, awestruck. “I see the curse is very… powerful.”
“Ruthless,” I agreed. “Some say insatiable. I am at the mercy of its whims.”
Suzie? Was that it?
She ran her fingertip along my length, smirking as my shaft twitched at the delicate touch. Candlelight danced across her features as she examined my member. Her lips brushed the head before hesitating. A chess player before the final gambit.
“Will I be queen for certain?” It came out muffled, but the question rang clear enough. Her delicate tongue flicked the tip, and I bit back a groan.
“If the curse breaks,” I lied smoothly, “Though I should warn you, it will require thorough attention. These things can’t be rushed.”
Sally or whatever her name was planted a kiss at the crown then drew her tongue, kitten-slow, along the shaft. She paused just enough to let her breath feather over my skin. The room spun for a moment, and I let my head dip back, eyes roving the gaudy gilt ceiling.
That innocent facade melted away as she took me deeper, then deeper still. Her throat flexed around the head, a velvety embrace ringed in heat. Gods, there was nothing refined about the way she choked herself on my length.
Oh, fuck me.
Five seconds in and I had to grip the bedframe.
Damn, the girl had talent. I might actually marry this one.
“I think it’s working,” I gasped, my fingers lacing through her hair as the room filled with the sounds of her enthusiastic efforts.
I jolted as the door to her room exploded inward.
“Sasha!” Waldeley roared, his face the exact shade of beetroot.
Sasha! That’s her name!
For one eternal moment, nobody moved.
Then Sasha gagged theatrically on my cock before releasing me with an audible pop and a trail of spit.
Lord Waldeley lurched on the spot, “Jovian Rooke, you absolute scoundrel! I’ll have your head for this!” he shouted as he attempted to pull his sword from his belt, fumbling around his protruding belly.
“Good sir, your daughter has already had my head,” I quipped, gripping my trousers as I jumped up and sprinted to the open window. “Sasha, my apologies, I must take my leave.” I climbed into the window leaning forward to gauge a way out as Waldeley spun around like a dog chasing his own tail.
“Wait!” Sasha called out with her hand outstretched toward me, “Did I break the curse? Will I get to be your queen?!”
“I’m afraid it was not true love,” I said, as I dipped my head in a bow before pushing off the ledge. Sasha’s enraged cry and left shoe followed me out the window as I hit the roof below and took off running. Another shoe bounced off the thatch a hair from where I stood. Say what you want, but the woman had good aim.
I scrambled up the slippery straw, blundering to stow away my manhood. Somewhere behind me, Lord Waldeley bellowed for blood and summoned the house guards, their boots thumping up the stairs in a chorus of doom.
Above me, stars blinked in lazy disapproval. I paused on a chimney, casting a glance over my shoulder. Lord Waldeley lumbered at Sasha’s window, waving a candlestick like a banner of war. Sasha hung out beside him, hair wild and cheeks flushed with the fury.
The first arrow hissed past my ear, the guards’ shouts echoing through the night. I flung myself flat. Two more feathers zipped by in the dark, polite as could be, missing by a country mile.
They were real arrows, but not aimed to kill. There’s a distinct difference, as any prince frequently on the wrong end of a lord’s favor can attest. These guards were shooting to impress the old man, not to impale the crown prince. High treason was still a punishable offense even if you were only following orders.
My boots lost traction on the dew-slick thatch, skidding me only a half foot from the mossy edge. The drop below wouldn’t kill me but would definitely put a dent in my swagger for a few days.
A row of cypress stood like silent soldiers in a line by the building. I braced myself, then leapt, reaching for the tree. For a terrible half-second, my hand closed on nothing but air. Then in a frantic, mad grab I found myself clinging to a musty nest of sap and needles. Much closer to the ground, at least. With all the finesse of a fledgling trying to take its first flight, I dropped to the lawn below.
Now I just needed my ride. I whistled, sharp and twice. Then once more. A tune as familiar as my own heartbeat. A shrill whinny pierced the night air as the most gorgeous creature in the world burst from the stalls. A snarky white mare bred especially for royal fuck-ups, the incomparable Alibi.
“Did you think the commotion was for someone else?” I shouted as the mare thundered toward me, her perfect white tail streaming behind like a flag of truce. With only a second to spare I sprinted, met her at full tilt, and threw myself into a running vault.
Alibi did not slow.
In fact, she sped up, eyes wild and ears flat in protest. Alibi never enjoyed being summoned at an uncivilized hour. I landed mostly upright in her saddle, grabbing the reins, and received her usual commentary—a huffy whicker that translated to: “You’re a fucking idiot, Jovian. One of these days, I’ll let them catch you.”
“Just go!” I hissed, heels digging in. Alibi broke into a dead gallop, tearing through Lord Waldeley’s marigold beds. Insult to injury and whatnot.
As we rounded the reflecting pool, a fresh volley of arrows pelted the night. Most whistled past. But one echoed with a dull thunk as it planted itself into the dirt, missing Alibi’s left flank by half an inch. My loyal partner screeched to a halt, hooves gouging sod as she spun in place and glared up at the parapet. Arrogant bastard that I was, I could only cling for dear life as she snorted her outrage.
I twisted in the saddle and yelled, “Did you just try to shoot my horse?!”
The archers suddenly found something infinitely more interesting on their own boots.
“Apologies, your Majesty!” called the one, voice trembling. “Orders! Lord’s honor, and all that!”
Alibi sidestepped the next two tactful arrows with ease. However, she ensured the guards saw her very pointed, very judgmental gaze as she trotted… Yes, trotted… Through the main gate, head and tail held high in condemnation.
I let the tension roll off my shoulders, glancing back once to see if any house guards dared follow. Per usual, they had no such appetite for pursuit. It’s hard to chase a man you know you’re not allowed to kill, only maim a little.
