Prince With Benefits: A Billionaire Royal Romance Read Online Free PDF

recognize my face in some of theirs. We all share the same vibrant blue eyes. I won't be caught dead in their furry robes and heavy gold jewelry, outside formal ceremonies, but it never fails to creep me out how easily I'd look exactly like my ancestors with just a change in wardrobe.
    Victor leads me to the big three hundred year old door with palace scenery hand carved into it, stopping in front of it. Great.
    It's the royal reception hall, a place she must've chosen to really make her damned point. It takes two men just to open the heavy door, revealing the chandelier, the amber and gold walls, and the huge fireplace inside.
    The whole atmosphere takes on a different quality. Like it's somehow absorbed a piece of the royalty, billionaires, and Presidents who have stepped inside it across the centuries. Creaking, yawning, and ominous, the big doors smack the walls when they finally come to rest.
    There, on her burgundy chair in the center, sits Her Majesty. Grandmom looks like a living ornament, holding up her monocle with one white gloved hand, her evening crown perched in her thick white wig.
    “Come in,” she says simply, the only person left alive who can take that commanding tone with me.
    I step inside and wait for the doors to close, taking the leather chair she motions to, perfectly positioned several feet away from her.
    “How are you this evening, Your Majesty?” I ask, pretending I give a shit.
    “Unwell. Have you seen what's been going through the news today?” She knows I have, but it's not really a question.
    It's an early warning before her claws really come out and she tears into me for fucking up the throne's reputation yet again.
    Her valet, Patricia, walks up like it's all been rehearsed, and gently pushes a tabloid into the Queen's hand. “Special issue, Your Majesty.”
    “Swept off her feet! Shocking new conquest for Prince Silas after American girl falls into his arms?” Hearing her reading the headline sounds...ridiculous.
    Christ. I want to bust out laughing, but thinking about the Warwick girl helps me hold it in. The tabloid shows my hand on her ass – that perfect ass – the girl's chocolate eyes beaming into mine like she can't wait to taste my lips.
    “Come on, we both know what happened,” I say, straightening up in my seat, hoping like hell I can stop thinking about that precious ass so I won't have to hide an erection from my royal grandmother. “It'll burn itself out like it always does. You know how these things work, Your Majesty. They'll be onto something else next week.”
    “I only know one thing,” she says sternly, giving me that sour look I know so well, lowering her monocle. “This – this , Silas – has got to stop.”
    Her white gloved hand crumples the tabloid in half and slaps it against her knee. It barely makes a sound against the thick, flowing fabric she wears.
    “I'm all over it. Victor told me this morning that they're being treated at the royal hospital. I ordered the very best for them. Way more than that jackass really deserves after his line of questioning.”
    Jackass? Shit.
    I know I've slipped up in her presence – again – but I act like it doesn't faze me. Honestly, why the hell should it?
    A little course language is the least of grandmom's worries, judging by the anger tugging at the lines on her face, a look that could give the Medusa a run for her snakes.
    “You, Prince, are not on top of anything. Nothing that truly matters, anyway,” she says, glaring. “Perhaps you're on top of your drinks, your parties, your greedy little tarts who don't have a drop of royal blood in their veins. Let me be perfectly clear, grandson – I've had it with the drama.”
    Her Majesty stands up, folds her arms, and twists that invisible dagger she just put through my guts deep. I'm taken aback. She's been cold and pissed off before, but never like this.
    This isn't grandmom talking to me. This is Queen Marina Bearington the Fifth, preserver of the