It took the taxi thirty minutes once it left the city limits to reach the destination. The taxi pulled in front of
a massive three-story mansion. It looked like a small palace. The exterior was tanned stone walls with
tall windows with warm light coming from inside. There were balconies on both the second and third
floors. The front door was frosted glass with large clay planters on either side filled with beautiful
flowers.
Kinsley signed the slip that billed the taxi to LA’s Angels, which would be passed on to the client. She
got out and watched the taxi drive away. Kinsley took a deep breath and ran her hands over her belly-
flattening out any wrinkles she might have gotten on the drive over. She pulled on the skirt of her
powder blue cocktail dress. She wore it often when she went clubbing. It had a short skirt and a low
bust line. Every time she wore it, she got countless free drinks. She hoped the Prince liked it.
Walking up to the door, Kinsley ran the doorbell and waited. She was feeling a little anxious. She really
hoped she could do this. She was hoping the Prince was not some ugly out-of-shape forty-something
kind of guy. She did not know that there were still monarchies in this world. The only royal family she
knew of was the one in England, and she was praying this Prince was nothing like Prince Charles.
The door opened, and a large man with short blond hair and a black suit looked her over. His
expression was unfriendly, and she wondered if they spoke English. “LA’s Angels sent me,” she said.
The man stepped aside and let her in.
As he closed the door, she heard him speak to someone telling them the Prince’s entertainment had
arrived. That was when she noticed he had a very small earpiece in his right ear. “I have to search
you,” the man said. “Make sure you are not concealing a weapon.”
Kinsley gave him an odd look. Her dress was skin-tight, and her handbag was only big enough to hold
a condom, her ID, and her keys; just where did he think she was hiding a weapon? Kinsley held her
arms up and let the man pat her down and check her handbag. He then asked her to follow him.
The man led Kinsley into a large room adjacent to the spacious foyer. The room was very beautiful with
white walls and wood trim with tall Tudor-style windows. The floor was hardwood, and there was a
fireplace. Above the fireplace was a mirror with small wall-mounted laps on either side. There was a
white rug on the floor and three contemporary white couches set up with the fireplace as the room’s
focal point. There was a glass coffee table with candles and a few books on it. Around the couch ends
were bi-level brass end tables. There was a wooden chest with sliding brass doors on the front against
one wall behind the centred couch with glass flasks filled with dark liquors. There was a painting of the
ocean on the wall above it. The ceiling was white like the walls with gilded crown moulding and a
chandelier.
This place was very extravagant — just the kind of place one would expect royalty to lie in. Kinsley
made to sit down, but the moment her bottom touched the couch, another man walked in. He was not
dressed in a suit, but his clothes were clearly expensive. He was a tall fit man with short blond hair and
dark eyes. He looked like he was in his thirties maybe, and she wondered if this was the man she had
come to see. She stood up as the man came over. “You, the girl the service sent over?” He asked.
“Yes, are you the Prince?” She asked.
He chuckled. “No. I work for his majesty.”
“What do you do?”
“Anything he asks,” he said. “My name is Octavius.”
“Kinsley,” she introduced herself and then instantly rethought. Maybe she should have given a false
name. Oh well, too late now. She’d just have to remember it next time.
Octavius looked Kinsley over as if trying to judge whether or not he thought the Prince would like her.
“Ok, follow me,” he said and walked out of the room.
Kinsley followed Octavius out into the foyer and up a set of winding white marble stairs with a gilded
railing. They made their way up to the second floor and then up another set of stairs to the third. Every
hall was decked out with fine décor and beautiful paintings. When they reached the third floor, they
walked down the hall. To a closed door. “You will address the Prince as Your Majesty,” he instructed as
he knocked on the door. “Just wait here a moment,” he then went inside.
Kinsley could hear muffled voices, and then Octavius rejoined her in the hall. “You may go in now,” he
said, stepping aside to let her pass.
Nervous, she took a calming breath and stepped into the room. Once she cleared the door, Octavius
pulled the door closed to give them privacy. The room was large and dark, lit only by the soft flickering
light coming from the fireplace. There was a large king-sized bed, and by the fireplace were two plush
light grey armchairs and a brass end table with a glass of brown liquor and an ashtray.
Relaxed in the chair next to it was a man she could only assume was the Prince. He was a tall, broad
man. His long powerful legs stretched out casually before him. His strong muscled body was dressed in
expensive tanned slacks and a dark purple button-up dress shirt that looked like it was made out of a
material that cost more than her rent. Oddly enough though he was barefoot, he lounged in his chair
like a man who was used to power and privilege and was bored with both. In his hand, a half-smoked
cigar. His shirt was left open, and she could see the well-defined muscles of his flat-toned abs.
Her gaze travelled up that tight-toned body to the face of the man lounging in the chair watching her.
He was very tall, even in his relaxed seated position. His dark chestnut hair was just long enough to
hang in his eyes… amazing smouldering smoky grey eyes that were taking her in with interest. His jaw
was strong and shadowed with short day-old stubble. His nose was straight, and his lips were full.
This man was in shambles, looking like he was a wreck and did not care. But even in this shabby state
of unkempt, the man was handsome. He was young, much younger than she was expecting. If she had
to guess, she would not think he was much older than her.
Kinsley stood there, watching him smoke his cigar and look her over. She did not know what he was
waiting for. How did this work?
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