His Royal Heinous

Does Prince Edward Have a New Love Already?

Less than twenty-four hours after breaking things off with longterm main squeeze Lauren Mallory, Prince Edward was spotted coming and going from Dot Swan, the workplace of none other than—get this—Isabella Swan. Don’t let the last name fool you! Isabella—called Bella by friends and family—is none other than the younger sister of Esme Platt, royal fiancée to Prince Carlisle. If that wasn’t enough to raise eyebrows, this afternoon Emmett McCarty, Private Secretary and sometimes bodyguard to Prince Edward, was also seen entering Dot Swan. According to our sources, McCarty brought a rather sizable floral arrangement to Bella Swan’s floor.

Thinking there was a decent chance His Royal Highness dumped Sourly Mallory for Baby Sister Bella, we did a bit of digging. Much to our surprise, we were unable to find any evidence Prince Edward had even met Bella prior to yesterday.

It’s not as far-fetched as it seems—Bella has spent the majority of her adult life in the U.S. After graduating from Princeton University, she moved to Silicon Valley to work for Dot Swan. It wasn’t until early this year that she returned to The Westerlands, at which point Prince Edward had already left for his most recent “humanitarian mission”, making the possibility that they would have interacted prior to this week very unlikely.

Regardless of how it started, Esme’s plain-jane sister is nothing like the glam party girls he usually dates. Who knows? Maybe he’s following his brother’s example and looking to settle down.

There’s one thing we do know—if Prince Edward doesn’t treat Bella well, the upcoming Royal Wedding will be mighty entertaining!

COMMENTS (showing 5 of 212)


Bella? I’m looking at the pics you guys posted of her. Is her nickname meant to be ironic?

Royal Watcher1

What, every time Prince Edward takes an interest in a woman, we’re supposed to think he’s screwing her?


@royal watcher 1 — duh. Yes.

Lady in Waiting

If they’re sisters, why do they have different last names?

Troll E. McCavetroll

Uh…what planet have you been living on? Esme’s father died when she was a baby. When she was at university with Prince Carlisle, they bonded over both having lost a parent. Her mother remarried and had a daughter with hubby number two. Dude, it is known.

I spend the rest of the drive to the Palace trying to calm down. Losing my temper would only give His Royal Vomitous the upper hand, and that’s the last thing I want. Visiting Prince Edward in his apartment is procedurally no different from visiting my sister. It’s a lengthy process, so I use the time it takes to go through the various security checkpoints formulating my game plan. When I’m finally ushered into his living quarters, I know exactly how I’m going to play it.

His Royal Vomitous stands when he sees me. Though there’s nothing remarkable about the white dress shirt and dark trousers he’s wearing, somehow they make his features that much more striking—his hair seems redder, his jaw stronger, his green eyes more piercing. I won’t even try to pretend I don’t find him physically attractive—it would be impossible for me not to. The man is gorgeous. That being said, he isn’t so gorgeous that I’m able to forget what a douche he is.

“Hello, Isabella.”

“Your Highness.” I curtsy as I speak and, though I hate every second of it, there’s no way I’m giving him the satisfaction of prompting me to do it. In doing it of my own volition, I retain at least some power.

For the briefest of moments, I could swear he looks disappointed.

“You look lovely.”

I glance down at my rather utilitarian business suit and shrug. “If you say so, Sir.”

He drums his fingertips against his leg as he looks at me. If I didn’t know better, I’d think he was nervous.

“Thank you for the flowers. You didn’t have to do that.”

“I disagree. Besides, I wanted to.”

“They’re gorgeous.”

“I’m glad you thought so, but I can’t take all the credit—your sister told me what you liked.”

“Does Esme know you invited me to have…” I curl my index fingers into quotation marks. “…dinner with you?”

His eyes narrow. “Of course. Why wouldn’t she?”

“Is she aware of the fact you were speaking metaphorically?”

“Excuse me?”

“I read the non-disclosure agreement you wanted me to sign.” I take it out of my bag and wave it front of him. “By the way, I loved the way your lawyer defined ‘intimate encounter’, even if I do have the distinct impression cunnilingus was only listed for show. Just so you know, Sir, the only anal intercourse we’ll be having involves this document and Your Royal Asshole.”

He smiles. “Well, as long there’s also a signed copy for my records—”

“Ugh!” I roll up the non-disclosure agreement and smack him on the side of the head with it.


I’m not sure what compels me to hit him—only that I can’t seem to bring myself to stop.

“You know, Isabella,” he says, blocking his face with his hands, “nothing turns me on like a woman who isn’t afraid to get physical.”

Just like that, my arm drops to my side.

“Now that you’ve gotten that out of your system, are you ready to discuss this maturely?”

“Right, Sir.” I roll my eyes. “Because using a legal document to hit on someone is so mature.”

He laughs. “Maybe not. But I’d say it’s probably on the same level as using a legal document to hit someone—wouldn’t you agree?”

I sigh. I hate that he’s right—almost as much as I hate the fact I lost my temper in front of him. I don’t know who that was earlier, but it wasn’t me.

“Anyway,” he continues, “I told you the NDA is standard procedure, and it is.”

I fold my arms across my chest. “You honestly expect me to believe that you ask everyone you meet to sign that exact document?”

“What?” He scrunches his face and shakes his head. “No, of course not—just when I like someone. It’s my way of making sure I’m prepared in case our relationship should progress to something…more. And for the record, cunnilingus is not on there for show.”

I ignore his innuendo. “You like me?”


Right. He doesn’t even know me.

“I’m sorry. The NDA as written is both insulting and presumptuous, Sir.”

“Not really. If you think about it, it’s no different from…” He shakes his head, sighing. “May I look inside your purse?”


“Humor me.”

Sighing, I hand it over. It’s a bizarre request, but it’s not as if the Palace Guard hasn’t already been through it.

After a moment of rooting around, he holds up a condom. “Now who’s being presumptuous?”

It’s all I can do not to strangle him.

“Oh please, Sir. That’s hardly the same.”

“Isn’t it?”

“I’ve carried condoms in my bag for years. It doesn’t mean I expect to get laid. But on the off-chance I do, I don’t want lack of protection to ruin the moment.”

“Has it occurred to you that I might view the non-disclosure agreement similarly?” Something on the condom wrapper catches his eye. He squints at the condom wrapper for a few seconds, then looks back at me, laughing.

“What’s so funny, Sir?”

“Your protection expired two years ago.”

My face feels as if it’s on fire. So what if it’s been a while since I’ve had sex? It’s none of His Royal Heinous’s business. As embarrassed as I am, I don’t let it show. Instead, I look him straight in the eyes and say the one thing I know will rid me of him once and for all.

“I didn’t sign the NDA.”

He stops laughing.

“So it would seem neither of us is protected—doesn’t it, Sir?”


“Now, Sir, if you give me back my bag, I’ll be on my way.”


“No?” I repeat, thinking I misheard him.

“Obviously, if you want to leave, I won’t stop you. But I’d like it very much if you’d stay and have dinner with me.”

“I’m not signing the NDA.”

“I’m willing to risk that.”

It’s then that it hits me: I’m on a real date with a real prince. If he’s willing to go bareback—metaphorically speaking, that is—whatever is going on between us means something to him.

So I think about it. I could get over the puke, the so-called humanitarian missions, the tabloid headlines. I might even be able to get over living in a fishbowl. I look across the room at His Royal Highness. There’s something in his eyes that makes me want to stay. Then I remember he’s yet to give me permission to address his by his first name.

That’s something I can’t get over.

“I’m sorry,” I say, “but I think I should be going.”

“I understand.”

My hand is on the antique doorknob when I hear his voice.


I turn to face him. “Yes?”

“Is it because of…” He gestures to the room around him. “…well, this?”

It’s a real question, and it deserves a real answer.


“Thank you for your honesty. Good evening, Miss Swan.” His face is blank as he nods at me.

A small movement of his head—that’s all it is. But it says so much, and I pick up on all of it. Most loudly, it tells me that any familiarity between us is now in the past. Of its own accord, my right foot moves behind my left heel. I bend my knees, but not grudgingly and not out of coercion. I don’t know why I do it—just that in this moment, I can’t imagine doing anything else.

“Goodnight, Sir.”

I don’t doubt leaving is the right thing to do. Yet later, after I crawl into bed and close my eyes, all I do is wonder what would have happened if I stayed.

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  1. on 28 Jul 2013 at 8:35 pmSusan

    Ouch! This chapter hurt. Edward was disappointed when she curtseyed to him on her own. Yet he enjoyed her hitting him with the NDA. He wants to be viewed not as a royal but as an average man. So his shield went up not when she refused to sign the NDA but when she wanted to leave “because of all the royal entrapments” which told Edward that she would never see him as anyone other than a Royal Prince.