1. H E N R Y

"Come in, Godfrey." The room, adorned with classic furnishings and antique fixtures, takes on a subdued ambiance as the middle-aged man gracefully enters. His splendid hair, neatly gelled, exudes an air of meticulous grooming, adding to the pomp and circumstance that always surrounds him. "Your father is here to see you."

I exhale audibly, a subtle roll of my eyes betraying my reluctance. "I'll be down in a moment."

"Okay, sir," Godfrey acknowledges, his voice carrying an undertone of deference. He turns around, adding with formality, "Your highness."

The room, draped in regal tapestries and bathed in the soft glow of ambient lighting, holds an air of restrained opulence. The scent of aged leather and polished mahogany furniture lingers as Godfrey makes his exit, leaving the room with a quiet sense of anticipation.

I finish the remainder of my whiskey, its rich amber hue reflecting the subdued elegance of the surroundings. Slipping into a silk Gucci robe, I take a moment to relish the luxurious texture against my skin before descending the grand staircase.

As I reach the foot of the stairs, my father greets me with a disapproving look, his presence casting a shadow over the room. The tension is palpable, heightened by the classic decor that bears witness to generations of royal encounters.

Here we go.

Turning around, I settle onto the plush couch, the soft fabric embracing me as I prepare for the impending conversation. My father takes a seat across from me, and Godfrey, ever the meticulous attendant, re-enters with two glasses of whiskey. The crystal-clear glasses catch the ambient light, casting dancing reflections across the room.

"Father, please, we've had this discussion before," I sigh, my voice carrying a note of weariness as I navigate the intricate dance of familial expectations.

"Henry, please." The room, adorned with regal tapestries and the soft glow of vintage chandeliers, sets the stage for the familial tension that simmers beneath the surface. I turn around, meeting my father's gaze, a silent challenge lingering in the air.

"Never mind," he sighs, the weight of unspoken concerns casting a subtle shadow across the room. The scent of aged leather furniture mingles with the aroma of polished mahogany, creating an atmosphere that bears witness to generations of royal discussions.

I turn back around, settling onto the plush couch, the luxurious fabric cradling me as my father takes a seat across from me. Godfrey, the ever-present attendant, enters with two glasses of whiskey, the crystal-clear vessels catching the ambient light and refracting it into dancing patterns.

My father gulps his drink before letting out a sigh, the subtle clink of the glass against the mahogany coffee table echoing in the room. "We have important business to discuss."

"If it's about the court case, I've sorted it out," I reply, the rich amber hue of the whiskey reflecting the subdued elegance of the surroundings. The room, with its classic furnishings and timeless decor, becomes a stage for the unfolding conversation.

My father looks at me in surprise, the nuances of familial dynamics playing out in the exchange. "And what was the outcome?"

"I paid the fine." The admission is met with a sudden outburst from my father, his voice reverberating within the regal walls.

"Goddamit, Henry!" The room, accustomed to the tempestuous displays of royal emotions, absorbs the intensity of the moment. Over the years, I've grown accustomed to these outbursts, learned to navigate the storm, sometimes even diffusing it before it fully erupts.

"You weren't supposed to do that; you were supposed to cut a deal with them. We talked about this."

"You talked about it; I listened. With all due respect, father, your idea wasn't going to work," I reply calmly, the air in the room thick with unspoken disagreements and generations of differing perspectives.

My father pinches the bridge of his nose, a gesture of frustration that seems to echo through the room. "Explain it to me, please."

"Well first off, their business was going bankrupt, so what deal were we going to cut with them apart from putting them out of their misery by giving them a considerable sum of money they were going to blow again. Paying the fine was the only way to avoid a drop-in shares and unnecessary drama."

A few moments of charged silence linger between us, a testament to the unspoken acknowledgment that I had hit the mark. The room, adorned with regal tapestries and the soft glow of antique sconces, seems to hold its breath, awaiting the next exchange in the ongoing father-son discourse.

"You're right, son. Excellent job." My father's words, though conceding the point, carry a certain weight, the subtle tension in the air refusing to dissipate. I can't help but smirk, injecting a note of playful challenge into the atmosphere. "Try to smile next time when you say it."

My father chuckles, the sound resonating against the polished walls of the room. "You're not out of the woods yet. You need a wife." The mention of the term 'wife' elicits a cringe, a reminder of the ongoing familial expectation.

"Father, we've spoken about this."

"Frankly, I don't care. You need to start settling down, Henry. You're a king for God's sake," he says, his frustration evident in the force behind his words. The room, with its classic furnishings and muted colour palette, provides a backdrop to the familial clash.

I shake my head, a subtle defiance in my gesture. "Yes, I am a king, Dad, but I don't want some trophy wife who will sit beside me on the throne with no brain. I need a real woman, father," I assert, the determination in my voice resonating against the opulence of the surroundings.

My father sighs, a gesture that carries the weight of parental concern. "Look, Henry, get yourself a real woman, but do it quickly before I put your brother as a temporary king."

Hell no.

"You wouldn't."

My father chuckles, a wry amusement in his expression. "Believe me, Henry, I would."

I scrutinized him closely, the stern lines etched on his face conveying a seriousness that demanded my attention. The room, bathed in the soft glow of antique lamps and adorned with regal tapestries, seemed to amplify the weight of our conversation.

"Okay, I'll make a plan."

"Good." My father's smile, a rare display of approval, added a touch of warmth to the room. "I know you'll make a great king, Henry, but behind every great king is an even greater queen."

I sighed, the expectations of royal lineage pressing upon me. "I know, Dad, and Mum was a great queen. She still is, and I want to marry a woman just like her."

"I'm glad." As he walked toward me, the familial bond between us echoed through the room. I stood up, and we shared a hug, the regal ambiance providing a backdrop to the intimate moment. Walking him to the door, I opened it for him, watching as he made his way back to his Rolls Royce, which awaited him in the yard.

With his departure, a sense of relief washed over me, and I closed the door behind him. Making my way back upstairs to my bedroom, the opulent surroundings seemed to carry the weight of familial expectations, a silent witness to the unfolding dynamics within the royal family.

"I do apologize, my dear, for keeping you waiting," he addressed the skinny brunette lying naked in his bed. The room, with its canopy bed and luxurious furnishings, bore witness to the clandestine encounters that unfolded within its confines.

"It's okay, my King," she replied with a smirk, the atmosphere tinged with an air of secrecy.

"Now, where were we?"

She giggled, a flirtatious note in her laughter. "You were about to devour me."

I, however, hesitated not in revealing myself to her, a moment charged with anticipation. As I removed my pants, her gasp echoed through the room.

"I don't think I can take that," she stammered.

I grinned, attempting to inject a sense of reassurance. "Of course, you can, baby. I'll be gentle."

Her sudden change of heart became apparent as she hastily scrambled off the bed, collecting her clothes. "I have to go."

I watched her bolt out of the door, a frustrated groan escaping me as I put my pants back on.

A rhythmic knock interrupts the quietude of the room, drawing my attention from the affairs of the royal desk. With an air of detached authority, I respond, "What do you want?"

"Sir, it's Lord Montgomery; he is on the phone," Godfrey replies, his voice carrying an undertone of deference.

I reach for the phone on my desk, the polished surface reflecting the subdued glow of antique lamps. "Hello."

"Dude, it's that time of the week."

"Archie, is it Tuesday already?" The casual exchange unfolds against the backdrop of regal tapestries and classic furnishings.

Archie laughs, his voice echoing through the room. "Well, duh, dude. Ashby and I will be there in an hour to pick you up."

"Awesome, I'll be ready." I hang up the phone, the room reverting to a tranquil ambiance.

I retreat into my bathroom, the soft lighting creating a serene atmosphere. After a refreshing shower, I emerge, meticulously prepping my hair before stepping into the opulent expanse of my walk-in closet. Contrary to expectations, I eschew ostentation for refined simplicity, confident in my ability to dress impeccably.

Choosing a pair of black dress pants and a white shirt, I leave the top buttons undone, cultivating an air of effortless elegance. A pair of formal dress shoes completes the ensemble, while a glance at my Rolex watch serves as the final touch. Exiting the wardrobe, I grasp my phone and wallet before descending the grand staircase.

"Godfrey," I call out, the regal ambiance of the house bearing witness to the unfolding preparations.

Godfrey emerges from the kitchen, his posture reflecting a sense of readiness. "Yes, sir."

"I'm going out for the night. Ensure that everyone leaves here on time and that security is airtight before going to bed," I instruct, the weight of royal responsibility evident in my tone.

"Yes, your highness," he nods, the formality of the response underscoring the hierarchical dynamics.

"And I'm sorry for lashing out at you earlier. I should not be taking my frustration out on you," I add, the confession carrying a note of genuine regret.

He looks at me and smiles, "It's alright sir, apology accepted."

Beep, beep!

"The boys are here; I'll see you later, Godfrey."

Exiting the regal abode, I'm met with the sight of a luxurious limo parked outside my door, a testament to the grandeur of our plans for the night. The passenger door swings open, and Archie steps out with a mischievous grin.

"Look at His Royal Highness," he chuckles.

"Hello to you, Goldie locks." Archie's long, dirty blonde hair cascades past his broad shoulders, a distinctive feature that has become a subject of playful banter between us. I've urged him countless times to get a haircut, but he insists that his hair possesses some sort of magical charm. Idiot.

Following suit, Archie's twin brother, Ashby, emerges from the limo. I can't resist a teasing remark.

"Well, well, well, Rapunzel decided to join us this time."

Ashby, maintaining his composure, retorts, "Shut up, Henry. You're the one that had me on guard duty last week," his laughter punctuating the banter.

Unlike his brother, Ashby's long hair is well-kept, a stark contrast to Archie's more unruly appearance. The playful camaraderie unfolds against the opulent backdrop of the evening.

"Are the other two joining us tonight?" I inquire.

They both nod affirmatively and respond, "They are at the club already."

A smile graces my face. "Sweet, let's get going then. We don't want to keep the ladies waiting."

Collectively, we pile into the limo, the plush interior enveloping us in luxury as we embark on the night's escapade. Ashby pours me a glass of whiskey, and I gulp it down in one swig, prompting a cautious glance from him.

"Dude, are you okay?" Ashby's concern is evident as we navigate the vibrant streets in the limo.

"I'm frustrated, man. Hoping to take a girl home tonight," I confess, the city lights casting a warm glow inside the vehicle.

Archie, always ready with a quip, chuckles, "I told you hiring sex slaves was a bad idea."

"I should have listened," I sigh, the weight of my unsuccessful endeavours evident in the exhalation. "The last girl didn't even last."

Archie's laughter ripples through the limo. "Not tight enough."

"No, she said it was too big," I lament, the absurdity of the situation amusing even the twins.

"Your poor soul, you must have the worst case of blue balls," Ashby laughs, the camaraderie of the moment amplifying the levity.

But as if the universe enjoys playing games, a shift in the conversation introduces a more serious undertone.

"That's not all; my dad shows up giving me the marriage talk," I disclose, the city lights outside painting a mosaic of colours on our faces.

"Again?" Ashby's incredulity is palpable. "That's like the fourth time in the past two weeks."

"I may have someone for you," Archie interjects, a sly grin playing on his lips.

I raise an eyebrow, curiosity piqued. The city skyline unfolds outside the limo window, a tapestry of urban allure.

"Penelope Harding."

The name has a charming ring to it, echoing through the vehicle's luxurious interior.

"I'll get her to come to the club with her friend Sophia, and you'll like her."

Scepticism lingers in the air, and Ashby, ever the protective friend, voices his concerns, "Are you sure about this, Archie? She's our best friend, more like our little sister. I don't want this fool here messing with her."

"I'm right here, you know," I interject, the gravity of the impending introduction overshadowed by the banter within the limo.

"I'm sure," Archie replies but that did not help put Ashby at ease, why was he getting so protective over her? I must meet her.

The sleek limo glides to a stop, the city's rhythmic nightlife pulsating around us. As the door swings open, a symphony of music from the club welcomes us, amplifying the anticipation of the night. Stepping onto the pavement, the atmosphere is charged with energy, and the surrounding women let out a collective scream, calling our names. This reception, an affirmation of adoration, fuels the intoxicating sense of being desired – a heady elixir of fame and allure.

Navigating through the crowd, our entrance becomes a procession of charisma, every step an acknowledgment of the collective infatuation. It's a mesmerizing experience, the club's neon lights casting a kaleidoscope of colours on the enthusiastic faces of our admirers. The throbbing beat of music reverberates through the air, melding with the laughter and excitement that envelops us.

We make our way to the back of the club, where our VIP haven awaits. The journey feels like a triumph, a triumphant march to a sanctuary reserved for the privileged few. Sebastian and my younger brother Chris are engrossed in conversation, their animated gestures hinting at the nature of their discussion.

"Hello, boys, why so serious?" Archie quips, settling into a seat beside Sebastian.

Sebastian chuckles, "We were actually talking about you three stooges."

"We do apologize for being fashionably late. Henry here took his sweet time with his makeup," Ashby teases, shooting me a playful wink.

I roll my eyes, "Very funny."

Summoning a waiter, we place our orders – a bottle of whiskey, vodka, gin, and rum, a symphony of spirits to fuel the night. Water is ordered for Ashby, who, in a fleeting commitment to health, claims to be on a diet. The vibrant scene around us continues to unfold, a tableau of desire, laughter, and camaraderie against the backdrop of the club's dynamic ambiance.

As I sweep my gaze across the opulent expanse of the elite club, my eyes hunt for a potential companion for the night. Amidst the pulsating lights and the palpable energy, a captivating figure captures my attention – an enchanting afro crowned by chocolate brown skin, plump lips that beckon under the seductive allure of the disco lights. The mysterious woman is a vision, a magnetic presence in the swirling sea of bodies.

"Henry," Archie's voice breaks through my reverie.

"Yeah," I respond, my attention torn between the enchanting stranger and Archie's call.

"What are you looking at?" he inquires, his curiosity evident as he squints in the same direction.

"Not what, but who," I reply eagerly, my finger pointing toward the beguiling woman who has enraptured my focus.

"Oh, she's here," Archie exclaims with infectious excitement.

"Who?"

"Penelope," he reveals, a mischievous grin playing on his lips.

My reaction is immediate, a silent acknowledgment of the unexpected twist in the night. Penelope, the revelation hangs in the air, and a surge of anticipation electrifies the atmosphere. The royal balls, as I affectionately call them, tighten in a blend of surprise and delight. Penelope, a hot mamasita, makes her presence felt in the grandeur of the elite club, an unexpected turn in the tapestry of the night's possibilities.