Page 29 of The Royal in Room 3

SOREN

The next morning, I woke up in the guest room instead of Jude’s bed. That should have been my sign that nothing would go right. For one, I was used to sleeping in late, but Jude woke me up at seven. To be fair, I did wake up, but immediately after he left, I went right back to sleep. The next time he walked into my bedroom, the loving Daddy from last night was gone, replaced by a stern one who insisted that, since I didn’t obey him and get dressed, he couldn’t drive me to get breakfast as he’d planned, so my punishment was to make us both breakfast instead.

Me making breakfast?

The idea was so preposterous that I stared at him in shock, thinking he wasn’t serious, especially when he looked that damn hot, looming over me in faded jeans and a sleeveless T-shirt already damp with sweat, even though it was only eight in the morning.

I almost gave him an alternate suggestion of what he could eat for breakfast, but given the stern look on his face, I didn’t think he would be amused.

“Something simple should be fine.” He walked over to the window and pulled the curtains back, letting in sunshine so bright that I pulled the blanket over my head.

“I’m not hungry,” I lied, words muffled under the cover of the blanket.

“But I am, little prince.” I felt the weight of him sitting on the bed before the covers were removed from over my head. “You haven’t forgotten our arrangement, have you?”

“I didn’t expect it to start so soon.”

And being the responsible adult didn’t seem so tedious on paper, but the prospect of making breakfast terrified me.

“Are you saying you want to end our agreement?”

My eyes flew to his face as a feeling of dread sank inside my gut. “No, that’s not what I’m saying at all.”

“Good.” He cupped my face, leaned in, and planted a kiss on my forehead. “There’s bread you can toast and eggs and sausages. See? I’m a reasonable man. That shouldn’t take more than fifteen minutes. I’ll be back in an hour.”

Before I could protest that I didn’t know how to make any of that, he was gone. I wasted ten minutes contemplating whether I really wanted a Daddy if he was only going to wake me up so early in the morning and make me do chores. Then I remembered I was just a deposed prince with a degree in monarchical history and ceremonial diplomacy who had no way of surviving alone in this country and hauled myself out of bed.

I needed Daddy more than he needed me.

Unfortunately, I took half an hour in the shower, which I found impressive given my usual morning routine could take a couple of hours at best. A lifetime of being a slow riser with someone to run my bath and dress me hadn’t exactly made me the most efficient person.

I borrowed clothes from the closet in the room, but they weren’t exactly my size. The blouse—because that was exactly what it was—was cropped high on my stomach to show off my belly button, and the flowing white cotton ankle-length skirt couldn’t be zipped all the way, but what other options did I have?

I thought I looked cute. I’d occasionally worn lacy apparel beneath my clothes while in Belvaria but had never dared anything this risqué. It was one thing to have a third prince who had no prospect of being king one day be gay, but, as open and accepting as Belvaria was, that sentiment wasn’t extended to the royal family and cross-dressing.

The skirt rustling around my legs as I walked felt great, and I twirled, feeling happier than I had in a long while.

Until I walked into the kitchen.

As if he’d understood my predicament, Jude had laid out the ingredients for me to make breakfast, but he had underestimated me. When I finally got the toaster to work, it spat out two blackened slices of bread. I figured they were still edible. The darkness had come from one of the toaster’s settings, after all. Surely manufacturers wouldn’t intentionally include a setting that destroyed food.

Every egg I cracked sent pieces of shell into the bowl, but I got most of them out. I couldn’t get the stove to light no matter how many times I turned the knobs, so I added salt and pepper to the eggs and shoved the bowl into the microwave instead.

Now for the sausages. Maybe I could put them in the toaster? It seemed logical enough, since bread went in and came out hot. I dropped two sausages into the slots and pushed down the lever.

Maybe cooking wasn’t as hard as I’d thought. Feeling proud of myself, I opened the fridge to figure out a beverage. I didn’t dare mess with the coffee machine. There were way too many buttons to push, and I wasn’t about to press my luck.

An explosive sound cracked through the kitchen, and I jumped back with a cry as the microwave door rattled. Yellow eggs splattered across the inside, streaking the glass. I threw the door open and eggs ran out onto the counter and the floor.

At the same time, thick gray smoke poured from the toaster as the machine made a faint sizzling sound, followed by an unpleasant smell that spread through the kitchen far too quickly. I abandoned the microwave and ran over to the toaster. The steel wires on the inside were gleaming red, burning fat, and charring the sausages.

“Nonononono.” I stuck my fingers inside the toaster oven to rescue the sausage.

Pain shot through my fingertips.

“Ow!” I jerked my hand back and shook it wildly, staring at the reddened pads of my fingers. In hindsight, reaching into a machine filled with heat was not one of my better ideas. Neither was making breakfast, though that had been Jude’s idea, not mine.

As if the kitchen wasn’t already in chaos, the smoke alarm started screaming.