T R E P I D A T I O N
T R E P I D A T I O N
(n.) a feeling of fear or anxiety about something that may happen.
THEY WEREN'T allowed to leave the palace. They had no contact with anyone except each other, and Paris was getting worried about her plan. It was all she could think about. She wanted it to work so badly, and hoped that the people would believe.
After what Dean had said about his father, she didn't want to give up the throne so easily. Her parents died to protect it. So she was going to fight for it.
Knives and forks clinked against expensive plates as everyone ate. The head of the table was empty, as usual. Dante was always attending meetings in other countries and frankly, it made them all more relaxed. Even the guards were more lenient towards them. It seemed they were only uptight when their boss was around. Dean himself was always gone, only coming back to the palace late at night and giving no explanation to anyone about his recent whereabouts. Tonight was one of those nights.
"What did you girls do today?" Mr. Ivy cleared his throat, looking at his daughter.
"Dad, don't try to normalize the situation," Bleu rolled her eyes. "We're hostages. It may not feel like it, but in two days' time, we're either dead or back home. Most likely the former."
Paris placed her hand on the beautiful blonde's lap, gently squeezing it to calm her. Bleu squeezed it back in silent apology.
"And who would not feel at home here?" Natasja said in her signature accent, albeit a bit loudly. Most likely for the benefits of the guards listening to the conversation. "This palace has everything."
Bleu smirked. "I should give you a full tour of our home next time. That is, if these stupid idiots let us go."
"Bleu," her mother scolded. "Our lifestyle is a privilege. And don't say such things."
Paris smiled, laughing softly under her breath. Her Bleu had been on edge for the past two days, and it seemed the only time her mind was off their situation was if they were asleep.
"Sorry, Mom," Bleu apologized. "I'm just anxious, I guess."
"We all are," Kael said while slicing her steak. "Time does that to you."
"Speaking of time," Daemon Ivy directed his attention to the two exotic lovers sitting across from him. Bleu rolled her eyes again, knowing her dad's tactics of ignoring the situation by trying small talk. "How long have you both been in the Academy for?"
As the conversation continued, Bleu silently ate. Paris is quiet, she noted for the nth time in the past two days. After their mind-blowing sex that night, Paris had been a bit aloof. Bleu worried she had taken things too far at such terrible timing, and constantly scolded herself for it. Paris probably regretted it.
Suddenly, the hand on her thigh shifted. Bleu almost jolted in surprise, seeing as how the hand had moved higher. When it had reached the edge of her drawstring-shorts, it stopped, resting there. Bleu looked at Paris. She was calmly eating like nothing was happening.
God, she's gorgeous. Bleu couldn't help the thought that popped in her mind. Paris' jaw worked as she chewed, and her long eyelashes shadowed her cheeks when she looked down at her plate. Her rich, wavy brown hair was tied up in a messy ponytail, revealing her neck and side features to Bleu's view.
Paris must have felt her looking, because soon green eyes connected with blue ones. Bleu looked away quickly, suddenly finding her broccoli interesting. She didn't know why she was embarrassed to be caught staring after all they've done together, but it was probably because of her major crush on the princess beauty.
"Bleu, do you mind passing the cheese please?" Kael asked.
"No problem." Bleu reached for the board filled with different types of cheese and moved her arm to pass it to Natasja, so that she could pass it to Kael.
As she did so, the hand on her thigh slipped inside her shorts and Bleu almost dropped the platter.
"S-sorry," Bleu stuttered but otherwise delievered it safely. They continued their conversation, with both Kael and Natasja busy answering both parents' questions about their life in the Academy.
Paris' fingers softly rubbed against the seam of Bleu's underwear, and the feeling of the outline of her finger on silk just about let her go undone.
No one was looking; the guards had left the room after seeing no suspicious movements from them. Bleu's parents and their two female bodyguards were too engrossed in their conversation to pay attention to the two girls at the other end.
Paris was still eating with one hand like nothing was happening. She chewed, she drank, she swallowed, and she rubbed. Bleu grabbed her wrist when her father asked Paris if they were doing ok.
"Yes sir," Paris smiled. "We're fine. The food is good."
To which Daemon replied with a smile and went back to their conversation.
Paris then continued her ministrations to the now flustered Bleu. Her long, golden hair was loose, and swept to the side of her neck, creating a curtain. To others, it looked like Bleu was picking at and staring at her food, but to Paris, who had a full view of her face, it was a different story. Bleu had her eyes closed, a frown marring her beautiful features as the princess found her clit through her lingerie and rubbed it.
"Par, what are you doing?" She whispered harshly.
Paris shrugged. "You're high strung. The last time you were like this, you practically raped me. So I'm trying to calm you down."
"It wasn't rape if you were as into it as I was," Bleu gritted out. "And just so you know, you have the worst timing in 'calming me down'."
"Is that right?" Paris quickened her pace, making Bleu grip the tablecloth and suck in a breath. "I'll wait for the perfect time then."
Right when Bleu was about to reach her peak, Paris stopped. She pulled her hand out from the panting blonde's shorts and eyed her glistening fingers.
"Wow. Your underwear isn't waterproof at all," the princess chuckled. Making sure their company wasn't looking, she leaned in close and wiped some of the moisture on Bleu's pink bottom lip. "Oops. You got something there." She whispered a fraction of a second before slowly licking it off.
Then she leaned back quickly and went back to eating her dinner as if nothing happened.
Bleu was in shock and totally turned on. How dare she not finish her?
She growled and attacked her food with vigor she didn't know she had. She was going to get her back.
Just as she was finishing her vegetables, the door swung open and Dean walked in.
Bleu could feel her parents tense up at his presence, and she knew it was because they felt betrayed. They still didn't know about Dean being on their side, but that was for the best. The less people knew, the less compromising it is. Natasja and Kael watched him like hawks as he took his place right across Paris and Bleu. He reached for bread and bit into it hungrily.
"Sorry I'm late for dinner," he apologized over the mouthful. "I had some business to attend to." He made eye contact with Paris when he said the last part.
Was he working on our escape?
As if reading Paris' mind, Dean subtly nodded his head.
Paris smiled. The timing was perfect. Two days before the actual day. Fingers crossed that this was going to work.
She felt a tap on her leg and she looked at Bleu questioningly.
"May I talk to you for a second?" She whispered.
Paris nodded, "Meet me back in the room."
Bleu then cleared her throat, excusing herself from the table and walking out. Paris watched her with concern, and excused herself as well to follow. She meant after dinner, but it seemed like whatever it was the blonde wanted to talk about, it was urgent.
She didn't miss the look of brief jealousy on Dean's face at their little interaction, but there really was nothing he could do about it. Bleu liked her. It's not like she had any power over who Bleu preferred.
"What did you want to talk about?" Paris had a slight frown marring her blemishless face as she crossed her arms. As soon as they had both got inside the room and Paris had closed the door behind her, Bleu had started pacing immediately.
"You and Dean are in on something I have no clue about," Bleu stated, almost angrily. "What's going on? What plan were you talking about?"
Paris sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Bleu, please don't be upset about something like this. I have reasons for not telling you."
"And those are?"
"I can't risk it being compromised. What if you were held at gunpoint? Would you be able to stop it?"
"You've got to be fucking kidding me," Bleu scoffed. "You're more concerned about your stupid plan than me. Are you telling me that if I was held at gunpoint you'd rather I was shot than tell your plan?"
Paris groaned. "That's not what I meant and you know it."
"Well then instead of arguing about something so stupid, tell me!" Bleu stomped her foot and Paris was taken aback at how childish the blonde was being. "Also, I think I'm about to have my period."
God, no wonder. Might as well just tell this brat. And so Paris did.
Outside, a dark figure walked away.
It's been two days. Two days since Dean finalized the plan and set things in motion. Four days have gone by since their abduction. Tonight was the party. Tonight was going to determine whether they were going to walk free or stay dead.
Paris stared at her reflection as she stood proud and tall. Her gown's intricate gold weaves winked in the light of the dressing room. Her hair was expertly pinned up into a simple, elegant updo bun. The golden necklace around her neck fell delicately over the V of her gown. Her earrings matched it, further accenting her regal look. Her stylists rotated around her, pinning her hair here and retouching her makeup there. They spoke to each other, and never to her. Paris could tell they had worked on the high-end fashion industry in some of the famous cities of the world. Nothing but the best for the Grimaldis.
Despite her calm composure, Paris' heart throbbed against her chest in anxiety and anticipation at what's to come. Tonight, the world would be watching.
When everything was done and she was looking nothing less than perfect, she calmly picked up the tips of her gown and walked out to the hallway. Her heels clicked against the marble floor and echoed across the vast expanse of space.
Bleu was already at the lobby area. It was one of the many that the palace owned.
As usual, she looked stunning. Her simple white gown cinched at her slim waist like a lover. It had a high royal collar, making her slender neck seem more impeccable. A single silver flower draped over the front of the side of her slicked back hair.
She held her arm out and Bleu took it. The blonde's hand slid down her arm to lace their fingers together. Then she softly smiled and leaned over to kiss the princess on her cheek.
"Happy birthday," she whispered.
They walked to the two giant doors that would lead to the ballroom. Two royal guards were already stationed there, and they opened it for them. Behind the door, there were already people milling around. Everyone wore dresses, gowns, tuxedos, and suits. Some were talking to each other, others were on their phones, and some were bobbing their head to the modern music. It was a mix of victorian and modern era, of old and new. To keep the integrity of the palace and royal family, people came dressed formally, beautifully. However, they also brought some part of their own inner millennials, adding a touch if the modern world to their outfits and so on. Paris noted one young man wearing gucci slip offs with his suit.
She saw movement in her peripheral vision and saw a group men and women follow behind Dean as he led them in. From an outsider's point of view, it might look like he was simply showing them how to get it or escorting them through. But Paris knew different.
A microphone's hum sounded before her Uncle's voice boomed.
"Welcome! Today marks the day that bastard-" He points to a man across the room who was raising his glass of champagne. "-was born. Happy birthday prime minister." He was obviously tipsy. Across the room, his closest friend and confidante laughed loudly, and everyone went back to their own doing. Thy came for a luxurious night at the palace, not Dante Grimaldi's pathetic attempt at entertainment.
Paris knew there was a multitude of people outside as well, hoping to get pictures and autographs of the celebrities that were invited to the Prime Minister's birthday. This was the perfect setting.
"I wasn't done speaking," Dante's slightly slurred voice came back on. "My niece, the princess, is with us here today."
Paris' head whipped around so fast she felt pain shoot up her neck. What is he doing?
Dean and Bleu both looked just as shocked. Natasja and Kael were across the room, bodies ready for a fight.
"To celebrate her 18th birthday," her uncle smirked. "Simply that. This is her first time back in Monaco, and she knows nothing about its people. However, it's always nice to have a family member on board."
The crowd murmured in confusion. Paris' heart doubled in panic. He was attacking her first, publicly. He's telling them all that even though they knew she was alive, she wasn't fit to rule because she was raised in a different country.
"And I know it's hard to say goodbye, but it has to be done somehow." He gestured to the guards and they quickly moved towards Paris and Bleu. "Say goodbye to the throne, princess. I want what's best for my people, and it's just not you."
At this point the crowd was trying to catch a glimpse of the princess. Could it be? They murmured.
The guards were coming closer. Paris didn't even think. She dodged them, kicking her heels into the foot of one and making him howl in pain. She ran towards the stage, to where her uncle was. Before he could react, she had grabbed the microphone from him.
"You little-" His hand reached out to grab her, but Kael blocked him. She did a martial arts move and had both his arms pinned behind his back in a second. Natasja had two handguns pointed towards the guards that tried to advance towards the stage. Best bodyguards ever.
"I am the Crown Princess," Paris said firmly into the microphone, her hand shaking. She looked to see that the group that Dean had brought in were actually newsreporters and paparazzis, all had their cameras out. They were broadcasting live. "I am Paris Antoinette Grimaldi, daughter to the Crown Prince Nikolai and the Duchess Antoinette."
At the mention of her parents' names, everyone in the room gave gasps of surprise and awe. Murmurs and exclamations were heard. They didn't need a DNA test to see that Paris Grimaldi was the splitting image of her parents. The princess was alive.
"I know you're doubting me, after all, everything my uncle said was true," Paris continued in a stronger voice than she felt. "But I made a promise to my parents. I promise to work as hard as I can to know all I can about my country. I am young, yes, but I love my motherland and would die for it without a second thought. I will do my best to serve you, for the best interest of my people. This is all I have left of my parents."
"Is this some kind of joke?" the Prime Minister spoke. "You're a child. What do you know about running a country? All your sentimental shit is useless in the real world. Think realistically, logically for pete's sake!"
"Her argument is better than my father's," Dean's voice boomed from the middle of the crowd. Everyone moved to make space for him as he moved towards the man that made his life a haunting nightmare. "I have proof."
Dante stopped struggling in Kael's stone-like grip. "Dean? What are you doing, boy?" His teeth grinded against themselves. "I swear to god the things I'm going to do you-"
"I'm fucking done being afraid of you," Dean growled. "It's time the world knew about the monsters running them!"
The screen popped up behind them, showing the one video that changed everything. Bleu's eyes widened.
No, it couldn't be.
She looked at her parents, begging them to tell her that what she was seeing and hearing weren't true. That it was a terrible joke.
She didn't care that her dress was beautiful. She slumped to the floor, her knees giving out. Tears streamed down her face as she watched the video.
"A pleasure working with you, Mrs. Ivy."
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