The Wicked Prince

Chapter One

Joslyn

I never hated parties until I became a handler of sorts for Prince Aramis. Now, hearing the word party makes my anxiety soar. I despise him. And parties. But mostly him for making me hate parties. I shouldered past a woman, then another, and another. They’re all wearing sequins and their dresses are so short I’d bet money he’d already seen all of their privates, though that was easy money. After all, this was Aramis we were talking about. Playboy of the century. Partier for the ages. He was quintessentially Jay Gatsby in modern day, if Jay Gatsby had been a prince and had everything and everyone at their beck and call. When I first met Aramis, I’d fallen head over heels for him. At first sight. These days, thinking back on that time, I knew it was because I’d gone to an all-girl school all my life and had very little exposure to boys. When you live in a bubble and with little experiences with boys and meet one in the midst of your hormones raging, well, let’s just say losing my virginity to the one and only Aramis had been a no-brainer. Thankfully, of all the crude annoyances that came out of his mouth, that experience wasn’t one of them. I had to give at least that much to the man—he had a little bit of respect for me.

“Oh, there she is, the bitch in red,” he shouted upon my entrance.

A little bit of respect for me. A little bit. I sighed heavily, turning the lights on, walking over to the table and switching the multicolor stage lights off and unplugging the DJ’s speakers—back, to back, to back, to back. Everyone groaned and complained all at once. I looked around at all of them—disgusting, sweating, inebriated, drugged out, dancing, fucking, sinful creatures, and shook my head, as if I were their mother. Rather than be mad at myself for being this prudish, I turned my glare on Aramis, who was sitting in a chair, much like a throne, with one leg propped up and the other on the floor, a goofy drunken smile on his face.

“Everyone, get out,” I said loudly, still staring at him.

“Aw, but the party was just getting started, Boss,” he said.

“Out,” I shouted. “Out, out, out, out, out!”

“On whose orders?” a random guy shouted from somewhere in the room.

“By order of The Crown. Do you need me to have you arrested?” I yelled even louder.

Everyone seemed to get a clue and rushed out of the room.

“I need to put my things away.” That was the DJ.

“It’s fine.” I kicked away an empty beer can and walked over to Aramis, standing a few feet away from him. “You’re supposed to stay home healing.”

“I’m home.” He sat up in the chair with a flinch. “Fuck, that hurt.”

I shut my eyes briefly before turning around and fetching him a water bottle from the small refrigerator in the corner of the room. I hated that he dealt with pain by getting drunk and high and God only knew what else. The only thing Aramis wasn’t using to ease his pain these days were women and I had a feeling it was because he didn’t love what he saw in the mirror. The fiery car accident he’d been in a couple of months ago had changed him in that sense at least. If I was being honest with myself, I felt bad for him and a part of me wished he would go back to being the playboy who slept around. Mostly, I just wanted him to calm down so that I wouldn’t have all of this responsibility weighing on my shoulders. I grabbed a glass water bottle and twisted the cap off as I walked over to him.

“I had to leave my date with David early because of this party.” I handed him the bottle. He closed his hand over mine and pulled me closer with the bottle. I gasped in surprise, my heart hammering. I hated when he did things like that.

“Your date with David?” he asked, his alcohol-infused breath tickling my nose. I pulled back and tried handing him the bottle again. This time, he took it without pulling me along.