The caddies fall behind as we walk toward the green. “No worries,” I tell the lad, because I have a feeling if I make an issue out of it, Aloysius will take it out on him. But when it’s a nest of snakes trying to latch on-offering a rim job with their flicking, forked tongues-it’s revolting. You would think having your arse constantly kissed would be enjoyable, even just a little. I’ve walked a mile in his shoes-and they’re filled with shit. How did Nicholas put up with this for all those years? I used to think he was a drama king.

Apologize to the Prince for your incompetence.” “We’d best have decent balls on the next outing or I’ll personally ensure you never work the links again. I hate politicking even more than I hate golf.Īloysius narrows his eyes at his caddie.

With fakery and false smiles and butcher knives to the back. “The brand of balls makes all the difference.” “Point well made, Prince Henry,” Sir Aloysius says. If I’m supposed to be the Great Royal Hope for my country, we’re all well and truly fucked. To be good.Ĭhrist, my stomach rolls every time I think the word. It’s what Parliament-members like Aloysius and Beelzebub-expect. Decorum is what my grandmother, the Queen, demands. Upstanding, even if it kills me-and it definitely might. Now I have to be the Henry no one wants to hang around with. The fun, carefree Henry that everyone wanted to be around. If they say behave, I get drunk and spend the weekend screwing all three of the Archbishop’s triplet nieces. In the last year, if I’ve been told once, I’ve been told a thousand times-the heir apparent must act properly.īut I’ve never been very good at doing what I’m told. Which is the title I’m now saddled with, thanks to my older brother falling in love-the bastard-abdicating the throne, and marrying his wonderful American girl. Beneath the station of the Crown Prince, heir to the throne of Wessco. Because I’m not supposed to say things like that anymore. Lord Bellicksbub, pronounced fittingly similarly to Beelzebub, Earl of Pennington, covers his gray beard with his aged hand and coughs, his eyes darting away uncomfortably. I pass the club to Miles, my caddie, and turn briskly to face the men responsible for my afternoon of torture.

“What was that, Your Highness?” Sir Aloysius inquires. Hell, at this point, I’d settle for an energetic Quidditch match. I like my sports the way I like to fuck-wild, loud and dirty.įootball is more my game. At least I think that’s the correct term.

Royally Matched by Emma Chase