Novel & Cerita Empty Room Fresh Prince

Your prince SEBASTIAN,

he says, turning back towards the exit. "What if someone comes here?" she asks. "This is Prince's room...No one comes here except the prince and girls" "Girls?" she purses her lips out. "What? he's a Prince," he says, lowering his head to the sides. She nods, scratching her head. James walks out and shuts the gate. "GIRLS COME HERE," she yells in her mind, jerking both hands. She walks towards the bed with maroon-colored bed sheets. Four bloated white square pillows are on the head end. The brown headboard slat has a beautiful engraving of two swans.

she moans, sitting up and rubbing her ass. Believe me, she is just being dramatic because these chairs are soft as hell. The nicest I have ever sat on. Everything here is nice, the absolute best which I guess is very fitting. He is the future king after all. For the first time since I started working exclusively for Prince Ezra, I actually took the room in and not because I’m cleaning or bringing him dinner. I’d noticed a lot of things I had unknowingly overlooked before. The very, and I mean very minimal decorations. He has only the essentials. Not many things are personal so it has more of a formal look.

Shysie said, out of breath. “I need some air,” Paris said, speeding off before she could say another word. *** Prince Deacon stumbled into prince Andre’s room, expecting a look-a-like Emily spread out for the taking, but all he got was an empty room. “This better not be a trick of some sort,” he slurred, walking out of the room. “Leaving so soon?” Prince Andre asked when prince Deacon walked into him. “What games are you playing? Where is the so-called gift?” Prince Deacon asked, disappointed.

It’s gone from a shiny gold color to that of iron, making it stand out on the cover. When Buppig comes in, he has a plate of food. “Here Princess, when you didn’t come to breakfast, I wanted to make sure you got some food.” “Thank you, Buppig.” I say as my stomach begins grumbling loudly. I’m just about to show the book cover to Buppig when Ailduin walks into the room. “Leave us.” He says quietly, his eyes holding mine. From the corner of my eye, I see Buppig look at me before he bows his head and walks out of the room.

"What is this? Why am I here?" "We are going to prepare you for the seven-night of fruitfulness," The old lady said. "What is the seven-night of fruitfulness," I asked puzzled. "The prince and you will mate for seven nights for a child. It is a ritual done in the royal house" "But I just got here. Am I not going to meet with the king?" "It doesn't matter. The sooner the better and you will meet the king at dawn" she turned to look at one of the black-haired maid who never stopped smiling even when the others did. "Take off her dress"

Suppressing a groan, I reluctantly pull away from Jessica, noticing the blush creeping along her cheeks, and I grin. “I will see you tonight, Princess. Make yourself at home, and let me know if you find a room you want to make into your office and art room. We can get it put together however you want.” I say, leaning forward and pressing a kiss to her forehead. Her blush darkening does not go unnoticed, and my grin turns into a smirk. It seems my innocent Princess is not so innocent after all.

A young man, barely nineteen, froze in the doorway, confusion plain on his face. "Uhm..." he stammered, swallowing hard. His eyes traced their bodies before darting away. Justin stepped toward him, and the man cleared his throat. "Sorry, I interrupted," he muttered. Justin’s voice sharpened. "What happened? What does Silvio take us for? Fools? He drugged our drinks," he said, calming slightly but still tense. "Then left us here, waiting for God knows who." The young man raised his hands defensively. "Sorry. We had a minor crisis. I didn’t introduce myself. I’m Prince, a housekeeper sent by Silvio’s right hand, Evan, to ask you to hold on a little."

The air smells clean - cedar and soap- wrong in the worst way. I jolt upright. This isn’t my dorm. I look around, heart hammering. The room’s big- too big- with a glass wall stretching from floor to ceiling. Dawn light bleeds through, soft and grey, glinting off polished marble floors and a sleek black rug. There’s a bed, a dresser, a chair facing the window. No clutter. No personal touches. No trace of who lives here. It’s the kind of place that looks expensive but unlived in- sterile, careful.