A Curvy Girl for the Prince by S.E. Law




Huffing, I balance a jug of water in the crook of my arm. God knows why Lady Daphne needs so much water, but it’s not my place to ask. After all, I’m a lady in waiting at the Lysenian palace, and while the title sounds amazing, trust me, the job isn’t.

The worst part, I suppose, is that my position is undefined. I’m basically a Girl Friday who does all kinds of errands for a wide variety of people. I’m a secretary; a stenographer; a cook’s assistant; a typist; and even a junior maid on occasion. At this point, I’m surprised I haven’t been asked to muck out the stables.

But I shouldn’t complain because it’s a steady income, and my family needs money. We’re not poor; we’re just not rich either. We’re part of the disappearing middle class in Lysenia, and we seem to be squeezed on all sides. The cost of living is rising, and yet my parents’ paychecks have flatlined for decades. Last year, my dad was unemployed briefly and things got really scary. We didn’t tell anyone, but we were on food stamps and our electricity was shut off for a hot second.

But that experience set me straight because I’m determined to help my mom and dad. My parents deserve better, after all. They’ve saved their whole lives, but all that discipline has hardly made a difference. I know their bank balance is low, even if Maria and Gerald are too proud to admit it. I know that my mother still gets nervous around the fifteenth of the month when bills are due, and that my dad gets stressed whenever he thinks the company might lay him off again.

As a result, I applied for a job at the palace right after graduating from high school, and was hired immediately. I knew that as a lady in waiting, I’d be asked to do all sorts of things, but I had no idea that I’d be on my feet non-stop for ten-hour shifts. Still, even if my back aches and my feet are sore, I’m grateful for the opportunity because it means a steady paycheck. Now, if Lady Daphne would just stop requesting jugs of water all the time, that would be a huge improvement.

Huffing and puffing, I finally make it up the stairs to the noblewoman’s private quarters. Lady Daphne is a relative of the royal family, and as a result, she has a suite of rooms on the topmost floor of the castle. Although the royal family has modernized and updated the palace many times, there’s no elevator to the penthouse level. I think it’s to ensure their privacy. The royal family doesn’t want a huge crowd of staffers descending on them for any reason whatsoever, and this is one way to restrict the flow of traffic.

Wiping sweat from my brow, I begin walking through a series of narrow corridors to Lady Daphne’s suite. This place is such a maze, but I’m almost to my destination when suddenly a door bursts open halfway down the hall, and a young woman stumbles out. She’s comely, except for the fact that her blonde hair is a tangled mess, and she’s dressed in nothing but a sheet wrapped around her curves. I stare, mouth agape.

Then, to my surprise, some clothes and shoes are tossed into the hallway after the woman, her underwear soaring through the air before landing comically on her head. No one makes an appearance though. Instead, the door slams shut, and it’s just the two of us in the hall once more.

I set down the jug, careful not to spill the water, and slowly approach the woman.

“Are you okay?” I ask carefully. “Do you need help?”

As I get closer, I see that she’s actually quite young. I’d estimated the woman to be in her mid-20’s, but now I see that she’s probably only eighteen or so. But the girl doesn’t acknowledge me. Instead, she pulls on her dress hastily before struggling into a pair of scuffed black boots. Then she stands up and takes off running like a bat out of hell.

It's only then then that I realize she’s left her panties behind. The lace thong crumpled on the floor is violet-colored, with delicate rosettes at the waist. It definitely looks like the type of lingerie that costs an arm and a leg, so I pick it up gingerly with two fingers and call out, “Hey you forgot this!”

But the girl doesn’t turn. Instead, she ignores me and flees down the hall before making a sharp right. I’m left there looking like an idiot with a pair of women’s panties dangling from my fingers. What should I do?

I make a split-second decision. I admit, I’m not an altruistic person. I could say that I just want to make sure that she gets her panties back, but that would be a lie. I’m not really interested in used women’s lingerie; instead, I’m interested in why a comely young woman was kicked out of Prince Haakon’s quarters. After all, I know the palace inside-out from traipsing up and down the stairs 24/7, and I know the Crown Prince’s personal chambers lie behind that door. So why did he eject this blonde beauty? Did she do something wrong? Even more important, is she okay? When she ran off, it seemed like she was crying, although I can’t be sure.

I stand there only a second longer before turning on my heel. Throwing one last glance at the jug of water in the corner, I decide that Lady Daphne is going to have to wait. There’s a mystery to be solved, and I put my head down and begin chasing the woman, the panties still dangling from my fingers. I’m going to figure out who she is, what she was doing, and most of all, what she means to Prince Haakon.

After all, our Crown Prince is a devastatingly gorgeous man. He’s got night-black hair, piercing blue eyes, and a physique that resembles a Greek god with those broad shoulders and powerful thighs. It’s embarrassing, but I always feel light-headed in his presence, and my knees go weak. I seem unable to formulate words and merely end up smiling like a fool.

Fortunately, Haakon doesn’t notice, or more accurately, he’s never noticed me. There have been a few times when he blinks and cocks his head when I stand in front of him, but that’s all. He never remembers my name, and hardly seems to recognize my face either, although I’m at the palace every day. I suppose I’m just another serving wench to him, and we all look the same.

Still, I’ve heard the craziest things about the men of the royal family, and while they’re just rumors, I’d love to know more. Supposedly, there’s some kind of genetic mutation where the men end up having two dicks. Yes, it’s insane, but all the girls on staff whisper about it, and we love giggling and speculating about Haakon’s anatomy. Does our Crown Prince have two cocks with two sets of balls, or two cocks joined at the base to one set of balls? Do the two cocks even point the same way? Maybe one juts out from his groin at a ninety-degree angle when he’s aroused, but the other dangles downwards. Or maybe the second dick points backwards through his legs, although that would certainly make sex awkward. You’d practically have to be a contortionist to accommodate him then.

Of course, no one has any solid proof of this so-called “anatomical anomaly,” although it’s been rumored to run through their family for generations now. Allegedly even King Fjall has double dicks, and assorted ladies whisper that he fathered our Crown Prince with his upper cock, and then Ragnar, his second son, with his lower cock. That tidbit only made us serving girls descend into fits of convulsive laughter because Fjall is so old that even the visual is gross. But hey, our king was young once, so I suppose anything is possible.

But now, I race down a set of stairs, still hot on the heels of the young blonde. Where is she going? What am I going to find? I hope it will reveal something about Prince Haakon and his special anatomy because that would be incredibly juicy … and very, very dirty as well.