Naughty Prince
782 Words
The Princess’s hands ached.
After returning to her chamber, she wrote two letters—one to the Acharya, seeking forgiveness for her absence from the gathering, and another to the Prince, requesting that the annual tax from Shir village be deferred until the next season. She instructed a servant to deliver them to their respective recipients.
Once the task was done, she collapsed onto the bed. Without realising it, her fingers brushed her lips.
Though she had maintained an outward calm, a storm raged within her. She could not understand what the Prince wanted. First, he had interrupted her sword practice. Then he had taken her clothes. And now—he had kissed her.
She feared another encounter with him would bring nothing but trouble.
Her thoughts were interrupted when her maid entered with a message: the Acharya wished to see her personally.
The Princess sighed and nodded. It seemed she could not avoid him after all.
She unfolded the note—and her breath caught.
The letters had been exchanged.
Which meant the Prince now held the Acharya’s letter.
Panic rose within her. If her request was denied, the entire purpose of her presence here would be lost. She had come so she could return to the village with good news.
She decided to fix her mistake herself.
It was already night. The Prince would read the letters in the morning.
She would replace them before then.
Step by step, Dhara approached the Prince’s chamber and slipped inside. The room was divided into two parts—the work area and the private quarters. She wasted no time, heading straight for the desk.
Where would he keep it?
The desk was immaculate. The Prince was disciplined—even in order.
She searched everywhere. Her breath grew shallow. Dawn was near, and she had not yet found the letter.
In her haste, she brushed against something. It fell to the floor.
She froze.
Silence.
Relief followed as the sound did not stir him. She picked up the fallen object and examined it in the moonlight. It was a half-finished sketch—a woman’s form, drawn with remarkable care. Whoever it was, the artist had lingered over every detail.
She placed it back and continued searching.
At last, she found a box filled with correspondence. Her hands trembled as she replaced the letter and retrieved the correct one.
Turning to leave, she reached for the door—
A force pulled her back. A hand covered her mouth.
Instinctively, she raised her hidden blade to the intruder’s throat.
Moonlight revealed his face.
The Prince.
“Well,” he said calmly, a smile playing on his lips, “a Princess entering my chamber at midnight… and greeting me with a knife.”
Her heart sank.
Everything was ruined now—not only the village’s plea, but her parents’ trust as well.
She closed her eyes in frustration. This night—this visit—had gone terribly wrong.
He stepped closer and murmured near her ear, “Do you know who comes to a man’s chamber at night?”
His hand slid from her mouth to her waist.
She understood the implication all too clearly.
“What are you doing here?” he asked softly, his lips dangerously close.
She could not answer. The pounding of her heart spoke for her.
“No answer?” he said, watching her trembling lips.
The temptation to claim them tested his restraint.
“Shall we discuss this in court tomorrow?” he teased.
“No—please,” she whispered.
His smile widened. “Ah. There is my Princess’s voice.”
He leaned closer, not quite touching, stealing her breath with proximity alone.
“But tell me,” he murmured, “what will you give me to keep my silence?”
She said nothing.
He tilted his head. “Still no voice?”
He brushed her cheek lightly.
“Please, Your Highness,” she whispered, clutching the thin fabric of his nightwear.
“Morning discussions bore me,” he replied. “What will I receive tonight?”
She met his gaze and understood—this was not a request.
“Kiss me,” he commanded.
“Prince—” she gasped.
“Now,” he said, voice firm. “And do not rush.”
She obeyed.
Rising on trembling toes, Dhara pressed her lips to his. His hands moved to her hair, loosening it as though he had waited for this moment far too long.
The innocence of her touch undid him.
He deepened the kiss, claiming more than he had asked for—until at last, he pulled away, breath unsteady.
And the night held its breath with them.
- Writer
