E! Network commissioned me to write a short fanfic about The Royals and I couldn't have been more excited!

It started with a super hawt bodyguard and bang, bang, she shot me down black knickers...

Here Comes Trouble. All Rights Reserved. Copyright  © 2015. All Rights Reserved.

With cold disdain, I watched Uncle Cyrus vomit the contents of his stomach in the punch bowl. Scoffing, I turned around and wondered which unknowing unfortunate poor soul at the party would drink from it later.

I should probably tell someone to remove it.

I didn't.

On the other side of the room, my brother, Prince Liam, danced with the love of his life Ophelia. They looked lovely together. Like Cinderella and her prince. Perfect.

It might have been just that—perfect— to everyone else. Not to me.

I didn't want the prince. I wanted the bad guy. The exciting, dark hero who left a trail of broken hearts in his wake.

The bad guy never made you think of love. He titillated, teased, excited. There would never be a boring second spent with him.

I was scared of a lot of things. Boredom was one of them. When boredom strikes, unwelcome thoughts filtered in. Thoughts that you'd rather lock in a box and never open again.

Because if you didn't lock them up, feelings would follow. And feelings were powerful and cruel. They hurt, slice, and kill you inside out.

I looked around me, at the familiar faces and not so familiar. I was always surrounded by people. Never, ever alone. But why did I feel lonely?

No one in this room would cry if I died. To them, I wasn't a person. I was a symbol.

No one would care to look into my eyes and see that I was broken inside. Why would I be anything but whole and perfectly happy? I was the princess of England after all. I had everything.

They were wrong.

Given a chance, I would give it all up.

I glanced at Liam and Ophelia again. He was looking at her like she was the only girl in the room. It made my stomach flutter. It looked... familiar. Like I'd seen it before. It looked like... love.

Was that love?

How would I know?

And why the hell was I thinking of it?

It... hurt, because I knew I would never have that. So I stopped thinking and started dancing. Drinking. Smoking. Snorting. Then back to dancing again until I was doing everything at the same time and everything in the world didn't matter.

Not the contempt or jealousy or indifference from my mum. The Queen of England.

Not the disappointment I saw in my father's eyes days before he was murdered.

Not even the hate I feel for myself.

Nothing mattered but the high sliding silvery in my veins. Eventually it started to wear down again. I was just about to go to the bathroom and do another hit when he walked in the ballroom.

He was tall and dressed in a black tuxedo like he was born to wear it. His long legs ate up the ground and paused by the balustrade, piercing blue eyes scanning the crowd.

A delicious shiver climbed up my spine at a particular memory from last night. His eyes, if I looked too long into them, could either render me into silence or compel me to do things I would normally not do.

Like a vampire.

Or a devil.

I was sure he would say, "Whichever you prefer, princess" in that deep baritone bedroom voice of his.

The glimmering lights from the chandelier landed on him like a halo, mocking me.

Those full lips curved into a smile –arrogant, sarcastic, sexy as hell—as his eyes met mine. And made my heart skip a beat.

How could he do this to me?

I hated him.

Didn't I?

His thick and straight brows rose as if he knew what I was thinking. He probably did.

Bastard.

Whisking a glass of champagne from a tray, I made my way to him. I didn't need to excuse myself from the crowd; I was the princess. They parted for me like the Red Sea.

He placed his hands in his pockets, turning that long and lean body toward me. He watched me, like a panther waiting for its prey, patient and hungry.

We stared at each other like two boxers in a ring. It was always a battle of will with him. There was an unspoken rule between us that whoever spoke first was the loser.

And he always won. Usually.

Not this time.

I raised a brow at him, cocking my hip to the side. I was a professional at the seduction game. At this at least I could match him blow by blow. I gathered my long dark hair and pulled it to one side of my shoulder. Slowly, I dragged a fingertip on the exposed skin between my breasts.

Mission accomplished, I thought smugly, giving myself a pat on the back as his eyes dragged down to where I want them to.

Thank you, Donatella Versace.

Those knowing blue eyes narrowed when they met mine.

Go to your room now, his eyes demanded. I'll meet you there.

I gave him a crooked smile and shook my head instead. I didn't remove my gaze from him as I leaned my back and my elbows against the balustrade.

Make me, my body language taunted him.

His eyes gleamed with challenge.

Oh, I will, princess.

I was thinking of what to do to goad him to speak first when cramps started in my stomach, stealing my breath. Wrapping my arms around my torso, I curled up in pain.

"What's wrong? Len?"

I shut my eyes for a moment, covering my mouth to keep from heaving. Bile rose in my throat and my vision went woozy.

"Come on. I'll take you to your room."

I felt him lift me up gently.

"Jasper," I said his name softly before wrapping my arms around him and resting my face in the crook of his neck. His arms felt strong and capable. And I felt better already. I felt protected.

He made me feel safe, which was so f ucked up because he was the most devious, secretive, arrogant arsehole I had ever met. I still didn't know anything about his past—I knew whatever he told me was a lie to cover up his real identity. I had no idea who was protecting him, but whatever was on his file was planted by powerful people to clear the rigorous background checks and be hired as one of the security detail for the royal family.

Moments later, he was laying me down in my bed. He was leaning over me, his face inches from mine. Grabbing his lapels, I pulled him close. Closer until I could feel his breath on my lips.

"You're no fun when you're nice to me," I whispered.

It was dark, but I knew his face. I'd come to memorize it.

"I'm not nice. I'd rather kiss a porcupine," he teased, his blue eyes laughing.

"Really?"

He straightened.

"What if I take this off?" I asked him sweetly, sitting up and batting my eyelashes at him.

"Take what off?"

My eyes on him, I pulled my dress up and off. I saw him swallow. Hard.

"Nah."

I took off my bra.

"I'll consider it," he murmured breathlessly.

I gave him a triumphant smile before yanking him in bed with me.

"I win," I declared proudly, straddling him between my thighs.

"This time," he allowed, his strong hands gripping my thighs. "Next time you won't."

Challenge accepted.

*

It was the same nightmare every night. I stood frozen in the same spot. It hadn't happened yet in my dream, but I knew what was next. My dad, the King of England, walked the streets of London at night. He was alone, but he was smiling and a look of peace was on his face. His eyes flicked up and noticed me.

"Len, my angel," he called out. "I have faith in you."

I wanted to join him, walk with him, but I couldn't move from my spot and he had already turned away. And then a man in a dark coat and hat, his face forever hidden in the dark, slid in the shadows behind him. I called out a warning to my dad, but he didn't hear me. And I watched him, with a scream trapped in my throat, get shot over and over and over again.

"Len, wake up! It's just a nightmare. It's just a nightmare. Shhh."

I was weeping, painful wracking sobs shaking my body. I recognized Jasper's voice and his familiar scent and I burrowed in him. He stroked my back, murmuring reassuring promises.

When at last I calmed down, he reached on the nightstand for the glass of water. He told me it was for him, but I knew he kept it there for me.

There was a quick sharp knock on my door before they opened with a flourish and two of my mother's assistants entered. My mum, the Queen of England, stepped in next. Always with a dramatic entrance, always such a suck for attention.

Her dark brown hair gleamed gloriously down her shoulders and back, diamonds winked at her ears, her neck, her wrist and fingers. She cloaked herself in power and rejoiced in it.

She looked down at me and Jasper like we were bugs she wanted to squish with her blood red Louboutin shoes. Then she raised her eyebrow at Jasper. When the queen raised her eyebrow at you, you better get the hell out of her way.

Jasper got the message. Unapologetic, he stood up, naked as a jay bird, and scooped up his shirt and pants, before leaning down and kissing my hair. With fast mechanical movements, he got dressed.

"Your Majesty," he said politely as a greeting before he strode out of my room.

I grinned at his insolence. Everyone, including The Queen, was gaping at him. When my mum recovered, she flicked her fingers behind her. "Walk away," she commanded her assistants. They dispersed, closing the door behind them.

"Have you no respect for your title?" she asked. Her voice dripped with disapproval.

"Oh, please, mum." I rolled my eyes. Like Jasper, I climbed out of bed naked. Unlike him, I didn't bother to cover myself. "I saw you shagging the gardener last night at the party. Stop being a hypocrite."

She didn't even bat an eyelash. "Touché," she allowed.

"I assume you didn't come here to join my lover and I for a threesome? That would be disgusting. Not to mention very disrespectful to your title."

"Don't be crass, Eleanor. I came here to tell you to reschedule the opening of your clothing line to a different date. If it were left up to me, I wouldn't open it at all."

It hurt. No matter how many times she put me down, it hurt just like it was the first time.

"Your brother's summit will be held the same day. You are robbing him of the limelight he very much deserves," she continued. "Unlike some people I know."

A slap in the face. I wished I was numb. My fingers twitched, a sign that I needed a hit.

"Annabelle and I had already set the date for the opening. Months before I learned of his summit."

Annabelle was a bored and pampered billionaire's wife who I met during my first fashion show. She said she was so impressed with my show that she just had to offer me a partnership for a clothing line. No one had believed in me before. Delighted and ecstatic, I said yes.

"Then reschedule." Her tone reflected what she thought of my efforts. She didn't care.

"Can't you just be happy for me? For once in your life, can't you just be a mother to me?"

She tucked her lips together in disapproval. It was the only emotion she showed on her beautiful face.

"Very well. Do what you please," she declared before gliding out of my bedroom.

With shaky hands, I reached for my bong, lit it up.

Len, my angel. I have faith in you.

I closed my eyes tightly, my dad's voice echoing in my ears. And screamed as I threw the bong against the wall where it shattered in pieces.

Just like my heart.

*

The day of the opening arrived. It was a private opening, only people with a special invitation—a ridiculously posh engraved stationery— were allowed to enter the store. Tomorrow it would be open to the public.

I was nervous, biting my thumb a telltale sign. I knew the public wouldn't take me seriously; they'd think I was just playing around, never taking anything seriously in my life. They were right. But this time, I was going to prove them wrong. This time, I was going to do it for my dad.

Jasper was standing in front of me, tall, delicious and dangerous, ready to kill anyone who would dare hurt me.

My hero.

"Hey, servant," I murmured in his ear.

I could only stare at his back, but I caught his jaw move and I knew he was smiling.

"If you're just going to stand there, occupying space and breathing my air, why don't you make yourself useful and get me a drink?" I suggested.

He looked over his shoulder, an arrogant smirk on his lips. "That's not what you said last night."

"I had no chance to say anything last night because my mouth was full," I retorted impudently.

When he kept ignoring me, I poked him in the shoulder. I knew he was smiling.

"Answer me, servant."

He gave me an irritated look. "You don't need me here. I should have been at the summit, guarding the prince."

I narrowed my eyes at him. He had been grumpy since I had refused to release him from his security detail. I opened my mouth to give him a smart retort when a commotion at the entrance caught everyone's attention.

"What's happening?"

"The Queen is here!" someone shouted.

"My mum is here?"

Gob smacked, I could only stare at my mum as she strolled inside my store, bodyguards trailing before and after her. She was resplendent in a purple dress, a mink fur cropped jacket on her shoulders. I watched as she air kissed important people, showed off her overpriced dress, her glittering jewelry, her luxurious hair.

Our eyes met. One moment of uncertainty, a million emotions passed between us. And then she smiled at me lovingly.

It horrified me that I felt tears prick my eyes. I cleared my throat and smiled back at her.

"Here." Jasper offered me a white handkerchief. "Wipe the snot off your nose before you humiliate yourself, Princess."

"You twat. I'm not crying," I sniffed, grabbing his handkerchief and blowing my nose on it.

I kept my eye on my mum, waiting until I get the chance to go to her and greet her. For the public's eye, of course. But I knew in my heart that it wasn't just for the public's sake. She had reached out to me for the first time in a very long time and it affected me deeply.

Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted a woman covered in a big black coat reached for something inside her coat. I froze up in fear, remembering my nightmare about my dad. Suddenly, the woman brandished a package out, ripped it open and threw the contents on my mum.

There was pandemonium as people started to panic. My mum's security detail banded around her like a human shield so that she was almost invisible to everyone.

Jasper was quick to react, grabbing my arm and dragging me to safety.

I kept looking for my mum.

I still could see her face as her security detail ushered her outside. She was covered in white flour –her dress, her hair, her face. When our eyes met this time, hers were full of hatred.

She thought I planned this. She believed that I invited her here to humiliate her.

Tears closed up my throat and blood started to ring in my ears.

F M L.

***

Please don't forget to vote and comment! Love, Isabelle