Royal Pain

Chapter Three

The light shone on Constance in broken rays, too bright for her, even with her eyes closed. Her mouth was dry, her eyelids were sandpaper against her eyes, and her body ached. She moved, hissing with pain when she rolled to her side, her temples pounding. She remembered being at The Hive, and remembered Anthony and taking Ninth Cloud, but why did it feel like she had been hit by a truck? There was no recollection of her and Anthony actually having sex, kissing sure, but they were interrupted by something...someone.

"Mornin'," a gruff voice said from somewhere in the room as she really did not want to open her eyes for any reason.

"What are you doin' here?" she groused, trying to move but was met with blinding pain. Her hands went to her head, pressing at her temples to ease the tension. Never had she possessed a hangover this horrid before. Maybe it has to do with something that James Barnes was talking to her.

"Well, my orders are very clear," Barnes replied.

Was that a growling response?

"What? To ruin my life and all relationships I have?" She tried to sound menacing but it was a weak question if at best. She pulled the covers over head, noticing that the sheets weren't her normal cream 800 count cotton sheets. They were burgundy and a jersey knit. She pulled them back and squinted at her surroundings, trying to get a bearing on where she was at.

"I don't think Anthony Stark is anything more than a drug dealer who takes payment in sex," Bucky replied with little interest, "and I was hired by your mother to protect you until the police figure out who poisoned your father. And with you being the heir to the throne, it's possible the same person or persons who killed the king would be after you. Either to kill you or to influence you."

How could he sound so nonchalant about this?

"Did you just insinuate that I'm a whore?" Constance exclaimed, sitting up straight despite the aching in her head. She found him sitting in a modest dark colored chair, most likely to be made of pressed wood or maybe pine.

"Your words, your highness," he shrugged, pushing up to walk towards her. She never really got a look at him the first time they met, mostly because she was aggravated to no end from gaining a bodyguard she didn't want, but now she had to keep her mouth from falling open at how he looked. He was as tall as Steve, but built completely different, muscular all around instead of just broad shoulders that her previous escort had. His thighs were thick and she could see the muscles flexing underneath the dark jeans he wore as he walked towards her; his shirt was not as constricting, hiding any definition his torso had, but she knew he was solid just by how the t-shirt hung on his pectorals and how defined his biceps and forearms were. It was the first time she noticed him without long sleeves, but his left arm wore one of those compression sleeves athletes wore and there was a glove over the hand. None of that concerned her, just made the mystery of him even more alluring. Her mind wandered down the path of what he would look like without the shirt and how low his jeans hung on his hips, but she was yanked from the small fantasy by his gruff voice.

"Hey, eyes up, princess."

Constance snapped her gaze up to his, squinting as he was standing by the window now, the sun streaming right behind his head. She could see a little glint of laughter on his face, but only if she focused, but the pounding in her head was maddening.

"Maybe you shouldn't go to The Hive anymore. Possibly not take any more recreationals?"

"You're a pain in my ass," she muttered, falling back down onto the bed, "and where the hell am I?" Her senses seemed to slowly return to normal, things didn't seem too bright or smell as acidic as she thought, and the sheets were actually comforting. She turned to face him, waiting for his answer and got a whiff of something from the pillow: sandalwood, patchouli, lavender, and what she could describe as spicy.