His Royal Braveness

Exclusive! Prince Edward and Bella “Not-a” Swan
Are More Torrid Than Ever And Here’s Why



It’s without a doubt the most unlikely match of the decade. What His Royal Highness Prince Edward could possibly see in Esme Platt’s plain little sister has been the source of much conjecture. A Masen Palace insider gave us the exclusive scoop—and it’s better than anything we could have come up with. Apparently, she cured him of his terrifying fear of responsible people.

Spit your beer out onto your keyboard? Yeah. That’s exactly how we reacted here at Royal Bitch.

According to our source, “His Royal Highness has never reacted well to the idea of toiling away at a profession, and being around productive members of society only aggravates it further. It goes back to when His Royal Highness finished university and arrived at the Royal Military Academy for Officer Candidate School. Less than six hours into orientation, he became so panicked that medics had to remove him from base. That’s how intensely he fears people who work for a living. It was easier for him to bear the shame of being the first male issue of the Masen Dynasty not to serve in the military than face his fear head on.”

What happened that day is legendary. Who by now hasn’t heard all about how after giving a press conference about how much he couldn’t wait to join his fellow countrymen in Iraq, His Royal Highness spent five minutes in fatigues only to have a massive anxiety attack and outbreak of hives? Who doesn’t remember the Royal Family’s lame explanation? A spokesperson for Masen Palace claimed the unfortunate incident was caused by Prince Edward’s well-known polyester allergy, but no one made any attempt to secure uniforms made entirely of cotton. Instead, the Prince was given an Epi pen and sent on a humanitarian visit.

Our source went on to explain, “Isabella Swan has changed all this. She doesn’t freak him out the other people with jobs do. He started off slowly, only being around her. After all, she’s where she is in life because of her father, and he can certainly relate to that. After experimenting with various sessions of carefully controlled exposure to other employed people, His Royal Highness felt confident enough to visit Isabella at her place of employment. He didn’t stay long, but his visit was without incident. Since then he’s visited Dot Swan’s national headquarters many times. On his most recent excursion, he didn’t even have to pop a benzo. It’s a huge relief to him, the idea that in time he may be able to stop being a drain on our country’s resources. And he owes it all to her.”

Okay then.

We take journalistic ethics very seriously here at Royal Bitch. Being the first with a story is important to us, but we’d never risk our reputation by posting something we weren’t 98% sure was true. More than that, we don’t like to get sued. Though the Royal Military Academy incident is well-known and seemed to corroborate our source’s claims, we remained unconvinced and hit the photo archives. Surely there are pictures of Prince Edward standing there in one of the bespoke suits he wears around town surrounded by smallfolk doing their jobs. Finding one would blow a huge hole in the Not-a Swan-saved-him-from-himself theory our usually reliable Palace insider seems desperate for us to believe. Much to our surprise, we could only find one—a pap photo snapped of him entering Dot Swan last week.

“Her Majesty says she’s a keeper,” our source said, “and if he does anything to sabotage this relationship, she’ll cut off his allowance.”

We’re thinking an engagement is imminent.

COMMENTS (showing 9 of 897)

swatchdogs-N-dietcokeheads

LMAO. I ‘d completely forgotten about the Royal Military Academy thing. Does this guy have any redeeming qualities?

 

His Royal Gayness

You must not have seen the pics of his penis. YUM

 

Boners for Bomer

Give it up, eldergay. Even if Prince Edward is closeted, and we all know he is, he’d still never go anywhere near your geriatric ass.

 

Lauren M

I could have sworn Edward was allergic to latex, not polyester. Hmm.

 

Lady In Waiting

You actually fell for that line? LMAO. Guys only say that so they don’t have to wear rubbers. Hope His Royal Penis didn’t give you His Royal Herpes.

 

My Narcissistic Alias

I see you there, Troll E. McCavetroll, pretending to be Sourly Mallory. You’re not fooling anyone except Lady In Waiting, and that’s hardly an accomplishment. Despite her valuable insight into the male mind, we all know she’s not the sparkliest jewel in the royal scepter.

 

Lady In Waiting

OMG Prince Edward has a bedazzled Prince Albert? Wouldn’t that tear up your vag?

 

Anony

Edward’s polyester is total bullshit. There are pics of him attending a match in the Nether Regions wearing a football jersey. I have the same one. It’s 100% polyester.

 

Troll E. McCavetroll

I think Anony means The Netherlands. Prince Edward doesn’t wear ANYTHING when visiting the Nether Regions. He’s allergic to latex, remember? And don’t worry, Lauren. I’m sure it’s only a cold sore.



 

He didn’t just say…I mean…what?

“If your jaw drops any farther, Bella, I might have to take it as an invitation.”

I close my mouth, gnashing my teeth together with an embarrassingly loud clack. He throws his head back and laughs this rich, hearty laugh that seems to come from somewhere deep inside him. It’s real, it’s mesmerizing, and for a moment, all I do is sit there and listen.

Then I realize he’s doing it at my expense—and I’m livid.

“You know, Sir, lying to me is one thing. But lying to me when I’m naked? Not only is it cruel, but it’s completely unforgivable.”

“First of all, you’re not naked. Secondly, whether or not you have clothes on doesn’t matter. I wouldn’t lie to you, period.”

“Oh, I believe you—just like I’m sure Her Majesty’s Army doesn’t mind if an officer takes a few months off every once in a while to go on…” I curl my fingers into quotation marks. “…humanitarian missions.”

He stops laughing.

“Seriously, Bella? This? From you?” He folds his arms across his chest and rests his back against the wall perpendicular to the bench. “You of all people should know you can’t believe a word of what you read.”

I know he’s right. What’s more, I want to believe him. If he’s telling the truth, it means he has at least one redeeming quality, and I can stop hating myself for being so attracted to him.

Because I am so attracted to him—and I wish more than anything I wasn’t.

“My disbelief has nothing to do with what I’ve read, Sir. The night we met, not only did you reek of pot, but you were so drunk you threw up on me. If that’s not behavior unbecoming of an officer and a gentleman, I don’t know what is.”

“I knew you’d bring that up. You know, at first your attitude was what made me like you. I couldn’t stop thinking about how great it was to finally meet someone who was both attractive and completely unimpressed with my title. But the more time I spend with you, the more convinced I become that underneath it all, you’re really just a hypocritical bitch.”

My body temperature increases exponentially, and my eye starts to twitch from the massive amount of effort I’m putting into not throttling him. I close my eyes and take a few deep breaths. I don’t speak until I feel confident that I will remain calm and not raise my voice above a normal, conversational volume.

“Let me get this straight. I’m a hypocritical bitch for being angry you threw up on me?”

“No. You’re a bitch for refusing to accept my sincere apology for throwing up on you, you’re a bitch for reminding me I threw up on you every chance you get, and you’re a hypocrite because we both know that if I dared to react to your violation of my privacy the same way you’ve reacted to a tiny bit of vomit, you’d think I was a spoiled, self-entitled asshole. I’m willing to own my mistakes; I wouldn’t have shown up at your office the next day if I wasn’t. If that wasn’t enough for you, too bad. I refuse to debase myself by groveling.”

Fuck not yelling.

“You refuse to debase yourself? Isn’t that precious! You want to know what’s debasing, Sir?” I hurl the word Sir at him as if it were an insult. “Having to do this…” I rise from the bench, stomp my right foot behind my left heel, and bend my knees. “…each and every time I see you. You know what else is debasing? Your insistence I address you using a title you’ve done nothing to earn. Let me tell you something I’m sure no one else will ever have the balls to tell you: sincerity and forced genuflection are incompatible. If you’re going for one, you have to forgo the other…”

He rises from the bench and moves toward me. His wide-eyed stare is intense, but I can tell he isn’t angry—the corner of his mouth is twitching as if he’s fighting a smile.

“Don’t stop on my account,” he says.

“I lost my train of thought.”

“That’s not all you lost.”

Before I can ask him what he’s talking about, he’s picking a towel up off the floor. This is when I realize I’m standing here wearing nothing but my see-through white underwear. Right away, I hide my nipples with one of my arms, and my face with the hand of the other. A second or two later, the absurdity of the situation hits me.

As I lower my arms to my sides, all I can do is laugh.

“I should just give it up. I mean, what’s been seen can never be unseen, right? Not that it matters, Sir, but when did I—”

“When you stood up to curtsy.”

I’m giggling as I roll my eyes. “Figures. No good ever comes from that.”

“I disagree.”

“Heh. You would.” I return to the bench, sighing. “When we get out of here, do you think you could forget…” I gesture to my body. “…this?”

“No,” he says, sitting beside me.

“What do you mean, no?”

“No, I don’t think I could forget seeing your body. What’s more, I don’t think I want to.”

I study his face. “You aren’t lying, are you?”

“No.”

There’s something about his eyes that makes me believe him. I take a moment to think about everything he’s told me since we’ve been in here. As hard as I try, there’s one thing I can’t seem to wrap my mind around.

“So you’re really in the army?”

“Yes,” he says, nodding. “Why is this so hard to believe?”

“It isn’t. It’s just…shit. I don’t know how I can say this without offending you.”

“Just say it. I won’t be offended.”

“Okay. So I understand why you wouldn’t want anyone to know you were in Afghanistan—I can only imagine the security issues that would create. What I don’t get is why you’d let the entire world think you’re a fuck-up?”

“Best cover ever, isn’t it?”

“I guess. But was it really necessary?”

“It was if I wanted to see action. Look, every man in my family does some kind of military service. It usually goes something like this: After university, we attend Officer Candidate School. Upon graduation, we’re given very safe and very boring desk jobs here in The Westerlands. We do absolutely nothing remarkable but are awarded medals anyway so we have shiny things to put on our uniforms on special occasions.

“When it was time for me to join the army, I wanted no part of that. We had troops in Iraq, and I asked my father what would be involved in me joining them. My grandmother met with the Commanding Generals, and they decided I could go as long as my family was willing to foot the bill for the three members of the Secret Police who’d have to go with me.

“Less than twelve hours after the Palace sent out the press release, Al-Qaeda had a bounty on my head. As long as Al-Qaeda knew I was over there, the troops serving with me would be in too much risk. But if no one knew I was even in the army…”

“Wow.”

He laughs. “Could you try not to look so astonished?”

“Sorry. It’s not that I don’t believe you, I just see you so differently now.”

“I’m glad. Anyway, it’s because everyone thinks I’m a fuck-up that I’ve been able to do two tours of duty in Iraq and one in Afghanistan. As far I’m concerned, it was worth it.”

I can’t resist the urge to tease him. The words that come out of my mouth aren’t new, but this time, everything about them is different.

“You know, lying to me is one thing. But lying to me when I’m naked?” I shake my head. “Unforgivable.”

“Ah, but you aren’t naked.” He wraps his arms around me and pulls me against him. “I just wish you were.”

Our lips are about to touch when the door flies open.

“Your Royal Highness? Are you in here?” Angela freezes when she sees us, her face two parts shock to one part panic. “I..uh..sorry!” She vanishes as quickly as she appeared.

I’m still in Edward’s arms, and neither of us makes any move to change this.

I feign annoyance. “You didn’t make Angela curtsy to you.”

“She couldn’t have curtsied; her jaw was in the way.”

I’m laughing as he tightens his arms around me.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I know what I should do, but I’m not ready for this to end. Would you like to have dinner with me tomorrow? It would have to be at the Palace. As much as I’d like to take you out, it’s just not practical for me.”

I don’t even have to think about my answer.

“I’d love to, Edward.”





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  1. on 24 Aug 2012 at 4:35 pmIonlymeanttostayawhile

    Only just stumbled on this story. You are a great writer and I was rereading Counterpoint when I noticed it. Looking forward to your updates.

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