The provocative prince - S01 E03
Read Story: SEASON 1 EPISODE 3
Hi, beauties! This ^ is the new portrayal of Vincent. Y’all have no idea how hard it was to find someone that fits this a-----e, but Adam will do just fine.
As the Prince of Wales and Duke of York, I knew that I would eventually have to bring an heir into this world. With that future destined for me, I made a mental note to myself that I would allow my child to do whatever they wanted, so long as it was legal, particularly for their birthdays. No matter the age, a person’s birthday should be a day solely dedicated to them. They should at least be allowed to do the one thing that they found peace in doing. For me, that was being in the air.
I found so much peace with being in the air. Whether it was being in a hot-air balloon, para-gliding, or my personal favorite, flying a helicopter. The latter gave me control, something I seem to lack in my daily lifestyle. But it wasn’t just me that didn’t lack control. My 17-year-old sister, Genevieve, and 24-year-old brother, Rodney, lacked just as much control over their lives like myself. I was… a fairly obedient heir, particularly regarding my Royal duties and maintaining a good image in the eyes of the public. However, there was only one thing that I asked of them to ignore and that was my sex life.
But, of course, my parents never listen when I asked them to mind their business. Like now, my father was standing over my shoulder watching me text a colleague.
“Pa,” I groaned and immediately locked it once I noticed his looming presence. I wasn’t texting anyone secretly, just Griffin, a fellow friend from the Royal Air Force that undergone training along with me. “Stay out of my phone,” I warned as he chuckled and went around the length of the table.
Today was Valentine’s Day, and my 27th birthday. God, I was aging faster than whole milk spoils. I remember when I first turned 18, and I could finally drink. My father brought every alcohol brand he knew; nothing cheap, of course. I was born a Prince for a reason. And for that reason, he felt that I deserved top tier quality.
“I’m just making sure you aren’t messaging any of your whores,” my father replied jokingly, finally sitting his arse down somewhere. I eyed him, my eyes shrinking into narrowed slits. My eyes were already small, to begin with, thanks to my father, but now he has me glaring slitted daggers at him while he laughed at my expression. Nothing was funny about what he just said.
“Happy Birthday, Your Royal Highness,” I heard a light feminine voice greet before me. Her presence took me out of my aggravation as she set a tall, rectangular box in front of me.
“Thank you, Abby,” I thanked her and took the present. “Where is, Griffin,” I inquired as Troy, my guard, took the present from me.
“He’s almost here, I’m certain,” she replied sweetly. Abigail Finch was one of my… friends; one of my long-lasting friends. She had a milky pale complexion from the cold winter that England’s weather brought in, but her hair was a fiery red color. It was a beautiful contrast. Her eyes were hazel, with very visible green flecks adorning her beautiful irises. Her neck was long and constantly reminded me of the many times I’ve left a hickey on her slender throat. Abby had an impressive body, she wasn’t too skinny, but neither was she too big. She was perfect and every time I had sex with her, I would secretly thank Griffin for blessing me by introducing this woman to me. I’m sure she felt that she was most likely to become my wife because we’ve been f-----g for five years now, but there were a few issues.
One, my parents hated her. Even now, my mother was blatantly glaring at Abby and my father sat beside me with a hard frown as I held Abby’s hand.
Second, Abby was not Royal material. Her father was the Duke of Swindon, but just because her father had a life peerage title didn’t mean that she was fit to be a Princess or a Queen. She was just sloppy. Very sloppy. She’s been on the news countless times for DUIs, getting into arguments
and constantly saying some questionable things on her social media. Even I had to side-eye her sometimes.
STORY CONTINUES BELOW
Third, Abby was in a public relationship with Andrew Garrison, an older English actor that I didn’t pay too much attention to. He was actually at this party as we speak, but I didn’t see him so it didn’t matter.
“What are you doing tonight,” I meddled quietly, slowly releasing her soft hand.
“Nothing important,” she insisted slyly until my father loudly cleared his throat in irritation.
I gave him a quick look before turning back to Abby. “I’ll text you, Love. Tell Andy I said thanks for coming,” I told her, receiving a sensual smirk in return.
When she was no longer in earshot, my father felt the need to comment. “You’re lucky he’s just an actor and that you’re my son. Otherwise, he would have given you a run for your money for sleeping with his woman,” my father surmised.
“He won’t find out, Pa,” I waved off as I stared at the large crowd mingling and conversing in their formal attire. The night was ending soon, and I couldn’t wait to get away from this crowd.
“Sure he won’t. When are you going to get rid of that hag?” My father interrogated with a stoic frown.
“What for,” I chuckled. I knew he was serious. The public never caught me with a woman on my arm, but my family and the castle staff assumed I slept with over twenty women. And I can assure you, it’s really a lot more than that if we’re counting since I’ve been sexually active.
I wasn’t as bad as I was when I was in my early twenties. Now that I think of it, it was a day where I f----d two women; one in the morning and the other after lunch. Followed by a threesome with a beautiful Victoria’s Secret model and her best friend later that evening. Don’t ask me about names because I promise I won’t recall.
“Vincent, you need to get married soon and bring a new heir into the family. Stop messing around with these women who don’t respect themselves,” my father lectured.
“Or cherish the power between their legs,” my mother quickly chimed in.
“Mimi,” my father hissed, using her nickname for Miranda. He was the only one I’ve ever heard call her that.
“Am I wrong, Matt? Everyone knows that the power behind a successful King is a Queen with a powerful core.” Were they flirting? My mother, Queen Miranda, was a poise and confident woman who wasn’t afraid to inject her thoughts into any conversation. My father, King Mathias of the United Kingdom, was like her protector. I’ve seen his intimidating stature turn into jelly at the slightest call that my mother made. And it made me sick with envy because I wasn’t certain that I’d have that with my future wife.
“Well, let’s see how-,” I hastily interrupted them.
“I’m going to go throw up now,” I stated, not bothering to hide my disgust. They both glanced at me, remembering that I was there.
“But Vincent, on a serious note, your mother and I want to see you experience fatherhood and marriage with a beautiful blonde Queen by-,” I cut him off once again.
“Well, she doesn’t have to be. She can be a brunette too,” my mother retorted.
“I’m confused. Does she only have to be white? Can she be Spanish, Asian… African? If I brought home a woman like that, would you lot be happy for me?” I quizzed them. I’ve been with so many women of distinct races and ethnicities, I wanted to know what their views were.1. Well, we would prefer for the British bloodline to stay pure so we would hope you aren’t trying to… darken things.” My father really tried to say that as non-offensively as he could. But despite how he said it, he was right. I wanted to keep the British blood pure…..