Page 9 of Royally Redeemed
“End taxpayer welfare for these [expletive]!” -Maurice, 28
“It is time the monarch wises up! Her Majesty is a star, but her son is a joke!” -Edith, 54
“Send him back to military service to do something useful and remind him of what really matters!” -Edward, 45
“The boy was best when he was in the RAF. Perhaps he should learn to work again?” -Harold, 72
“I am sick of these people having things paid for to run around and be useless when we cannot heat our damn houses!” -Mohammed, 37
“I think he should ask himself what he wants. Will he ever be fit to marry? Have children? It's a shame!”-Cecilia, 45
“It makes the most sense to send you to Wales,” Mum said.
Father had all but given up on me at this point. He sat in a corner so far away that I might as well have not existed to him. Now, while I swung in the wind, he wasreading.
“Send me? What as if I were off to a home for wayward boys?” I scoffed.
I looked to the Fixer’s assistant. She was pretty in a girl-next-door sort of way. I noticed her fabulous tits immediately, but it was her arse that pleased me most. She was curvy. Young. Blonde. I’d have had a go if I knew it wouldn’t get me killed. I assumed fucking the assistant was off the table, but damn if I didn’t consider it!
Of all the people in the room, I wanted to get a laugh out of her. No dice. She shot a disapproving look.
“You should be so lucky!” Mum countered. “Duncan, you need a bloody redemption arc. Abi and Ella brought up anexcellent point about where you could visibly make an impact. We came up with a scheme, and I am sure it will suit better than being banished and loathed forever, yes?”
“Who is Ella?” I asked.
The assistant stared daggers.Well, I fucked that one up!
“Oh, God, I am so sorry. I forgot you had a name,” I tried smoothing things over but made it worse.
Ella passive aggressively smoothed her skirt over and sat, arms crossed. Shehatedme. All hopes of seeing her naked in the future after I won hearts and minds back drifted off into space. There would be no figuring out what was under that navy dress of hers. No. She was gone to me—dead.
Dad took his reading glasses off and shook his head. “Stop while you’re ahead, Duncan.”
“Miss—”
I didn’t know her name.
“Mills,” Mum said. “Miss Eloise Mills. She asked us to call her Ella.”
“Yes. Apologies Miss Mills. I am dreadful with names. Which, in my industry, is a moral failing.”
The girl nodded absentmindedly, not disagreeing.
“Ella, why don’tyouillustrate the proposed solution,” Lady Ferguson glared.
I may not have been her child, but she was allowed to boss me around as if I were. I felt the same pang of guilt I felt from my own mother’s disapproval.
“Um… okay,” Ella said.
“So, we believe a fresh start in Wales is appropriate.”
“Does no one think people will see that for what it is?” I asked.
“Let me finish, please, Your Royal Highness,” Ella said in a sharp, somewhat commanding tone. I wondered if she wasascommanding in bed. Probably not. Girls like her were always afraid to take charge.
“Apologies. Please, go on.”
“There is a shortage of Air Traffic Controllers. And, as such, with your credentials?—”
