Dec 31, 2024
Every princess should have a tiara.... Wouldn't u agree?
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Every princess should have a tiara.... Wouldn't u agree?
Owned. Treasured. Safe. Grounded. Loved. Used. Adored. Spoiled. Hers. His. Theirs.
THEIR PRINCESS <3 jankiedoll rights !!!
His Queen, Chapter One
A prequel to southernpeach13's Princess saga.
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When he first met the girl, she was still a girl, and that, of all the things that happened, is his biggest regret. She was alone, she was upset, and she was young, and it was his responsibility to keep things from unfolding as they did.
And he failed.
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He first meets the Russians in the middle of the jungle, miles away from either of their origins.
Sweat runs down his sides, plastering his shirt to him. There’s a swampy squish under his arms every time he moves. The hair on the back of his neck is wet as if he’s just stepped out of the shower. His feet are roasting inside his shoes. His father insists they remain businesslike and well dressed. He says it makes them look respectable. James thinks they look like two giant white fools sweating to death among the small, brown locals who know better.
Still, he doesn’t argue. The old man is still the old man, and James is still here as his apprentice. He keeps his mouth shut and his ears open.
They’re in the country on a sales trip. Nothing like a little governmental insurrection to boost sales at MARS, and this small country has had more than its share of both governments and insurrections. James isn’t really sure which party is officially in power at the moment - nor, he suspects, are many of the locals. In that respect, his father is right: power is held by the one with the largest gun.
Their clients run their operation guerrilla-style. No swank hotel room meetings for this. The Scots meet them out in the jungle, in the villages. James can’t say all the villagers are happy to see them.
When he meets the Russians, they are on a very different mission. James hears them first, the local dialect being spoken with a distinct accent, to the sound of local laughter.
He comes around a hut to see a dark-haired man smiling in the center of a small group. A cluster of women and children surround him. The man says something and they laugh at his chatter. One of the women corrects him. He tries again, butchers it once more to their amusement. He rolls his eyes at himself, but he doesn’t really seem embarrassed. He hands the woman who corrected him a bundle. One bundle for each woman, then come smaller treats from his pockets for the children. He says something else and no one corrects him, the women moving off with calls and waves of thanks. The man waves, grinning like a pleased fool. He notices James, and gives him a wave too. James returns it, walking over.
The man is a slim beta, dark-haired, even paler than the Scot. Like James he’s in khakis, but unlike James and his father, the dark-haired man wears a light linen shirt and open sandals. James feels a sweaty pang of jealousy. The man extends his hand, still smiling with all the open-faced goodwill of a Labrador.
“Good morning. Are we speaking English?”
He is, but with a Russian accent. Imagine finding a Ruskie out here, and one greeting a stranger with a smile.
“We are. James McCullen the Third. I’m here with my father, for - “
“MARS Industries. I know.”
His smile doesn’t falter, but James can’t quite read his tone. Their handshake ends, and the beta hooks his thumbs in his pockets. He smiles.
“Sorry. What I meant is, we knew you were in the area too.”
“Who is ‘we?’”
“Ah, more apologies. My name is - “
“Baron Eugene Ciserov.”
James’s father appears from the cluster of huts. The heat has everyone’s scent baking off of them and James smells him even from behind him, the alpha alpha male. The Baron doesn’t say anything, but his hands don’t leave his pockets.
“The Baron here is a philanthropist in these parts,” McCullen senior says. “Back here on one of your supply runs?”
“Somehow they keep being needed.”
“So who is ‘we,’ then? Got a team now, do you?”
The Baron’s face lights up a bit again.
“Ah! Da da da da, yes. Well, we both have our partners this time, don’t we? Oi, Stazi.”
He turns and calls something in Russian into the hut behind him. The cloth covering the door moves aside.
James doesn’t believe in premonitions, but in the half second before the curtain moves, he knows what comes next will change his life.
She’s beautiful from the first moment he lays eyes on her. Like her brother, she’s fair-skinned and dark-haired. But while her brother’s eyes are blue, hers are dark as her hair, framed by a pair of glasses which give her fierce, aristocratic beauty a grounding touch. She takes in all three men without frowning or smiling. James feels odd. Like he’s being measured, weighed. Evaluated.
“This is Mr. and Mr. McCullen, of MARS,” the Baron says. “Gentlemen, this is my younger sister, Anastasia Ciserovna.”
James can tell their names mean something to her. The girl’s eyes narrow, looking more sharply at them. Unlike her brother, she steps up and extends her hand, tilting her chin up to meet his father’s gaze.
“A pleasure to meet you, sir.”
If anything, her accent is thicker than her brother’s, her voice deeper than James expected. She pumps his father’s hand with all the assuredness of a fellow businessman, though his hand swallows hers.
“The pleasure’s all mine, lass.”
The corners of her mouth turn up a little more. She turns to James and reaches for his hand.
She’s beautiful. Truly beautiful, long dark hair and big dark eyes. Eyes with depths so far back he can’t begin to fathom, and a kind of living spark dancing in them. A wise wickedness to this beautiful, sweet thing.
Her smile widens at his hesitation. The tips of ivory fangs peek beneath her upper lip, and he realizes the faint sweet scent is not the flower in her hair. An omega? She has more alpha energy than her brother.
She purses her lips and raises an eyebrow at him, and he realizes he still hasn’t shaken her extended hand. He gently takes her fingers, bends down and kisses the back of her hand.
“Charmed,” he says.
She takes her hand back with a look that tells him he’s corny, but he gets to see those little fangs peek out again as she smiles. She turns back to his father. There’s no shyness in this girl.
“What brings you to the village?”
As if she didn’t know. James and Eugene both squirm in place, but the old man grins at her audacity.
“Making deliveries,” he says.
“Oh? Us too.”
That gets James attention.
“What would you be delivering?”
“Food and medicine, mostly,” Eugene jumps in. “Supply lines have been cut to the area recently, and with the lack of clean water, infection rates are still high. We’ve got a load of dry goods and antibiotics. We’re meeting a contact of mine in the area to get them distributed.”
“And you brought your little sister to the middle of a war zone?”
The words are out of his mouth before he can think, and James feels the force of the glare she sends his way. Eugene sees it too and laughs.
“This area is stabilized, at the moment.” There’s a weight to these last words that’s aimed at the arms dealers, but which everyone ignores. “Stazi has been wanting to come with me for years. This seemed like a good way to bring her onto the team.”
“And it doesn’t hurt to have a young lady with you to help connect to the women and children refugees,” the old man says.
“Everything’s a business,” the Baron says drily.
“Well then, we’ll leave you to yours and be about ours,” McCullen senior says. “Baron. Lass.”
Baron Ciserov keeps his hands in his pockets, merely nodding as they leave. His smile is gone. His sister takes the old man’s hand again and shakes it in farewell. That unreadable expression is back on her face. Watching them all. Taking them in. James looks over his shoulder as he and his father round another hut, moving deeper into the village.
A heavy arm lands around his shoulders.
“Put it out of your mind, boy.”
“What?”
His father laughs. Their smells mingle, two sweaty alphas in their ill-advised clothes.
“If you’re anything like your old man, pretty omegas with big eyes and sweet faces are going to get you in more trouble than all the warlords in the world. Trust me, lad: that one’s more dangerous than anything we’re selling. Best leave it alone."
When you gonna let me taste you baby 😈
Happiness looks different for everyone, just nurture what you have, protect your sanctuary and enjoy each other. 💜🖤
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