Caught Between (If Roses Are Red #1)

Chapter 14

I want to go home.  I miss my Mom and Dad. I swear the queen has it in for me. From reading the super boring history of the past royals to talking and acting like one, I'm going to drop. I want to quit. No more. Do you want to know what's worse? She freaking seized my phone and cut off any connection to the outside world.  I hate Queen Gabrielle. And don't get me started on different types of cutleries and their uses.

Here I am sitting in the freaking library alone with a quadrillion books and all I am allowed to read is some stupid history. Ugh.

Didn't eunuchs back then have any other things to do other than recording kingly deeds?

"1851" The pages flutter open when I open the next record scowling. It weighs a tonne. What the hell? Who cares what happened in 1851 and this biege lace gown is so stuffy and itchy. As gorgeous as it is, it is so not accommodating. I squeal in annoyance kicking myself. I should have said no.

Trying to remember what I had read before and what I am about to didn't work. I can not even remember why the country has twelve provinces. It is already done so why did it matter? 

I mix up the names of the queens of the 19th century for the fourth time, and it was all I could take. I slam the book shut and shove it off the table. Maybe the library floor would open and a giant bookworm would eat it and go regurgitate it in the Queen's face. Ha!

A loud grunt echoes beside me as the book crashed to the floor. I tilt my head up. Crown Prince Nolan stares down at me, pain flashing through his eyes.  His hands cupped around his crotch and he let out a small whine before dropping down to his knees.

I suck in a breath of air as my fingers clamp around the edge of the desk.

Uh oh.

Oh crap.

I did not just do that.

I did not just hit the Prince in the nuts with a ten pound journal.

Another groan rips out of him as his right hand tangles in his hair. I want to say something. I need to say something. Quietly, I get up from my seat, mouth quivering. I bend over him thinking of what to say.
I knocked him in the nuts. What do you say to a guy you hit in the nuts?

I manage to say the most simple not impressive word, "Sorry."

He glares at me and tries to get up but falls to his knees again groaning in pain. I get up, my gown swishing around my feet, to call for help. I pause in my steps and nibble my lower lip. I couldn't call for help. I would be hanged.

"Are you okay?"

"Am I okay?" he snorts, "You knocked my balls off, woman."

"I really am sorry."

"Sorry doesn't make me feel any better. Didn't you see me?"

"I didn't. I-"

"You are walking bad luck. Something is always wrong wherever you are."

That does it. "Hey, I didn't tell you to put your dick in the way. I was caught in my frustration and you are the bad luck. Problems showed up when you came into my life."

I sit back down eyeing the books on the table, tempted to hit him in the balls again. This time, on purpose. He gets up from the floor grunting. He holds the table to steady himself. He looks pissed but I do not care for proud egotistical guys like him.

"It was a book. You knocked my precious-  with a book."

"Yeah, whatever." I open the pages of another boring journal.