A Very Awkward Romance

A Prince's Frustration

Esbeth sighed very loudly and all but melted once she was in the carriage with her mother.

"Thank you, mother. My nerves were wearing thin. I am truly sorry if I disappointed you with the prince. But I really can not stand the thought of being royalty." Her relief was palpable, even to her mother.

Esbeth's mother patted her hand gently, her expression filled with maternal understanding rather than disappointment. The carriage jostled along the cobblestone streets, the lights of the castle fading behind them.

"My dear, you never disappoint me," her mother says softly. "If anything, I admire your honesty. Most girls would pretend interest just to secure a title, but you'd rather stay home with your books than become queen. Of course, your father might lose a few hairs over who you will marry in the future..."

The carriage lanterns cast dancing shadows over the streets as they ramble along, and it makes her all the more aware of how different this world is from her own. Relieved, she leans back against the plush velvet seat. The tension that had been coiling in her shoulders since their arrival finally began to unwind. With a sudden jolt, she sneezed hard, and she was overcome with a sense of dread that she could not quite trace.

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Meanwhile, back at the palace, Prince Ambrose stood on the balcony of the ballroom, overlooking the courtyard. His fingers gripped the stone railing tightly enough to turn his knuckles white as he watched Esbeth's carriage disappear through the castle gates.

"She actually left," he muttered to himself, his voice raw with frustration. "That little b***h had me trapped with those giggling hens while she got away completely."

The debutantes continued their relentless pursuit below, their high-pitched laughter grating on his nerves like fingernails across slate. He was supposed to be charming them, showing interest in their hobbies and family connections — but all he could think about was how much he wanted to bend Esbeth over the balcony railing and f**k her until she screamed for mercy.

"Hello, son. Has your evening been fruitful? Are there any ladies who catch your interest? If so, I will invite them to tea." His mother said calmly as she stepped out onto the balcony in search of her son. Prince Ambrose turned sharply at the sound of his mother's voice, his jaw clenching as he forced a polite smile that didn't reach his eyes. The last thing he wanted right now was to discuss potential brides when the only woman he could think about was currently driving away in a carriage.

"Fruitful?" He repeats with bitter amusement. "Mother, I've spent the last two hours listening to women drone on about their family crests and dowry negotiations."He ran a hand through his hair, the gesture betraying more frustration than he'd like to admit tp his mother. Her hopeful expression only made his mood darken.

"No," he says curtly, "There's no one here who interests me enough for tea, let alone marriage."

"Then why are you so frustrated?" She asked with genuine interest. Prince Ambrose's jaw clenched at his mother's perceptive question, his eyes flashing with something dangerous as he turned to face her fully. The moonlight caught the sharp angles of his face, highlighting the tension radiating from every line of his body.

"Because one particular lady managed to make me want things I shouldn't want," he admitted through gritted teeth. "She's infuriating, impossible, and completely untouchable — and all I can think about is how badly I want to f**k her until she forgets her own name." His crude words hung between them in the cool night air, his voice dripping with frustration and raw desire. His hands ball into fists at his sides as if physically restraining himself from acting on those impulses. The only evidence of his mother's disapproval over his language was in the way she raised a single delicate brow.

"So yes," he continued darkly, "I'm frustrated because the one woman who has captured my attention is also the one woman I can't have without causing scandal."

"Why would it create a scandal? Who is it?" She asked him patiently. Prince Ambrose's expression darkened at his mother's questions, the wine he'd been drinking tonight clearly loosening his normally guarded tongue. He paced away from her along the balcony railing, running both hands through his hair.

"It's Esbeth Pendleton," he finally admitted to her, his voice low and rough with frustration. "The one who looks like she'd rather set fire to this palace than become queen. She's beautiful, infuriatingly innocent, yet somehow manages to be the most tempting woman I've ever met."

"Esbeth Pendleton? Why would that cause a scandal? Her father, Duke Pendleton, is a close friend of your Fathers. Those two would be overjoyed by the match." His mother quietly stepped closer.

"You think I want to marry some innocent debutante who looks at me like I'm the devil incarnate? Who would rather burn down the palace than spend one night in my bed?" His voice rose with each word, betraying how deeply Esbeth had gotten under his skin. The moonlight catches the way his hands shake slightly as he grips the balcony railing.

"I don't want a political alliance or a convenient bride," he continues harshly.

"Oh my beautiful boy," She chuckled and held his hand in one of hers as she brushed the hair out of his face with her other.

"You speak of naivety as if you yourself are not. Let me tell you some things that may shock you. When I was to marry your father, I was terrified. I almost ran away. My mother sat me down and told me I had to lie in his bed and let him touch me until he was satisfied. I was warned it would hurt. That is all I knew. I would rather have jumped off the highest palace balcony than let your father, or any man near me, after that description. Proper ladies are raised ignorant so they can remain pure for their husbands. We do not get the experience that men do. Exploring ourselves freely without judgment is impossible. But your father was persistent before we married, and he won me over. And I am glad he did. And those feelings you are having over her, those are not political or feelings of convenience."

Prince Ambrose's breath caught in his throat as his mother's words sank in, the reality of what she'd described hit him with sudden force. His own ignorance of female sexuality — about how thoroughly society has failed to prepare women for what awaits them in marriage — suddenly felt like a physical blow.

"You mean..." He starts, his voice barely above a whisper. "You mean Esbeth might actually think I'm going to hurt her? That she's been told all her life to fear men and their desires? By the gods," he breathed out, "if I knew she was that innocent when I cornered her earlier..."