I'm Falling for a Royal Prince {OG BOOK 1}

Chapter 8: Truth in the Garden

"Excuse me," my mother questioned in disbelief.

Somehow, she'd lost the courage in her voice. It was evident that she quickly transformed into a nervous wreck. Her tray began to shake and her angered brows lost their arch. "I apologize, Your Highness. I... don't know what came over me," she weakly replied, keeping her dark eyes glued to the floor.

"As I'd expected," my mother muttered. "Leave, both of you," she quickly demanded.

Both women rushed out of the drawing room. My gaze stayed at the door.

I didn't know what to call the girl, Sydney or Folashadé. Either way, she lied to me about who she was.

_________

The following day, I couldn't be bothered with anything. I was still upset with the fact that I'd been lied to. And for what? I don't know her, so what reason did she have to lie to me in my face?

I wanted to question her about it, get to the bottom of things. But I couldn't find her anywhere. I refused to ask Gina about her because I knew it would raise questions, such as, 'are you sleeping with her'. And knowing the type of man that I am, I knew that if I told her the truth, she still wouldn't believe me.

I groaned as I threw my head back onto my pillows. My phone's notification ringer went off, signaling that I got a text. I grabbed my phone and examined the message.

'We'll be over in an hour'

"Oh, Abby," I grunted, covering my face with my palm. I forgot they were coming over.

"Well, better get a quick smoke in before they come," I said to myself as I reached beneath my bed to grab my pack of cigarettes.

I pulled one out before grabbing my lighter and heading to my balcony.

I lit the lighter and placed my cigarette between my lips. I inhaled the smoke, enjoying the lightweight feeling it had given me just from that first inhale. I looked down at the castle's garden, admiring the breathtaking view I had just from my balcony. The name of our gardener escapes me, but I was willing to thank him for the beautiful landscape.

In the midst of my silent admiration, I couldn't help but to see two figures not too far within the garden. I squinted a bit harder to try and get a better view. It was our gardener and Sydney, or Folashadé--I am unsure of her name.

I watched as the two pulled one another into a long embrace.

I refused to stand there and watch them any longer. I burned out my cigarette and rushed out of my room. I knew that if I didn't make it on time, I wouldn't get to talk to her.

I knew that by the time I would make it outside, she wouldn't have left the garden yet. Unless she ran, which I doubt.

I waited near the entrance of the hedge sector because I knew she would have to come across here to leave.

I waited and waited until one thing finally hit me. What was I going to say to her? I've spoken to upper-class afro-Europeans, but never have I ever spoken to a lower-class African American. Any Americans that I'd spoken to were rich politicians or annoying reporters, and neither of those were the same as talking to a working-class black woman.

I knew they were different and had to be approached with caution. Movies may seem stereotypical, but they were my only way of learning how regular black people reacted to others. Some were cordial, others were rude.

When I'd first spoken to her, I was angry. I wasn't thinking. But now that I'm sober, I realized that this is scarier when I have to initiate conversation with her.

Honestly, Vince, you don't have to do this. She's a fucking MAID for fuck's sake! What are you afraid of? Pussy.

Just as I was going to voice my reply to my insulting conscience, the maid, whose name is rendered indecisive, walked past me.

Her attire would give my mother a heart attack. A white, oversized t-shirt hung limply on her left shoulder. She was short, so the shirt stopped a little past her mid-thigh. I wasn't sure if she had anything beneath it, but I was certain that she was not wearing a bra. Her bare shoulder, and the small perk of her nipples told me so.

She lazily glanced at me before looking away. For some reason, that infuriated me.

"Hey," I bellowed, catching her attention. She stopped in her tracks and visibly tilted her head back in annoyance. I frowned at her actions. "Come here," I demanded and almost immediately, she did as I said.

She stood a few feet before me with a lazy expression on her basic features. "Yes, Your Highness," she responded in a faintly irritated tone.

I froze, unable to come up with a single thought. Her half-assed demeanor made it seem as if my attempts at enforcing authority were next to futile.

"Do you want to lose your job," I suddenly snapped, causing her to become more alert. A hint of fear flashed through her dark eyes as they gradually widened. "Well?"

"No! No, I don't," she hastily replied.

"Good, so tell me, why did you lie to me about your name," I inquired, staring into the depths of her eyes.

"He remembers that," I heard her mumble under her breath as she looked away.

I ignored her and opted on waiting for her reply.

"Um, well... do you want the truth," she asked anxiously.

"No, I want a lie," I said with sarcasm.

The corners of her full lips twitched into a half-second smile, which in turn, almost made me smile.

"Okay... well, I'm just going to put it like this, when I dislike someone I tend to answer whatever question they ask with a lie," she said quickly, as if to ensure that I wouldn't understand her.

But I did. I understood everything that she said.

"You dislike me," I asked, furrowing my brows.

"Yes," she replied sheepishly, avoiding eye contact. She'd been doing that this whole time, avoiding my gaze.

Silence settled in as she continued to stare at the stone finish of the hedge entrance arc.

"Listen, I understand you dislike me... I get that, but you will respect me--"

"I do respect you," she interrupted.

I glared at her. "Clearly not, because you just interrupted me," I said solemnly.

"Apologies, Sir," she replied as she bit down on her bottom lip.

My groin stirred in my trousers as I averted my gaze from her lips, unfortunately, landing on the sight of her taut nipples, visible through her shirt.

"May I go now, I'm very tired," she pleaded as her slender shoulders slumped.

"No," I shook my head. "I... I really admire what you did yesterday. In the drawing room. I never saw a maid voice her opinion like...," I trailed off, noticing the exhausted and annoyed traces of her features. "I'm sorry, is the prince's opinion unimportant to you," I immediately snapped at her lethargic form.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry," she moaned tiredly.

I held back a groan before allowing her to leave. She wasted no time in making her departure by power-walking out of the garden.

But regardless of her heavy desire to get away from me, I had a desire of my own, and that was to get between her legs.

_____________

Okay, before anyone asks why Shadé told the Queen her real name in front of Vince, I have to ask: would you rather lie to the Queen or the Prince? The one who has less power, right? Clearly Miranda has more power than Vincent, for now.

Vote, Comment, Follow

XOXO

~Kira