Page 31 of His Princess Brat
Wait, what? I stopped, my gaze locking on the line at the bottom of the article. It read, Pain level: Minimal.
Exactly how minimal was minimal? I leaned back in my seat. Ultimately did it really matter? I had to do something before I risked losing Azid to all these stupid courtiers who’d probably been practicing their own personal bush taming since first they’d cultivated that particular garden. I was twenty-four and had never so much as wasted a single thought on this. My garden was damn near a jungle.
For Azid though, I could handle a little minimal pain. I placed a call to the palace staff and then sat back, waiting for my supplies to arrive.
It took an hour, and by then I’d managed to stop blushing. Stripping down, I donned my robe and took everything to the bathroom to read the instructions.
It wasn’t rocket science. I could do this.
The kit I was brought was one that contained cold wax strips that were to be warmed between my hands before use. Fortunately the bathroom had a lovely floor-to-ceiling mirror. With my foot propped up on the side of the tub, I opened my robe and let the jungle breathe its last while I got the first strip ready.
I consulted the instructions a second time to make sure no steps got missed while the wax strips warmed between my pressed hands. Ripping the paper off one side, I bid goodbye to the southern curls, and carefully applied the waxy strip all across the front of my mons. I pressed it down, smoothing the strip out, and making sure I got good contact all the way down to skin level.
Minimal pain, I told myself. Maximum beauty. Think of Azid.
Blowing out a slow breath, I took firm hold of a corner on the wax strip, counted to three, and yanked.
My fingers lost their grip on the strip before the strip lost its grip on me, but minimal pain, my fuzzy jungle.
I yelped, clapping a quick hand onto the mirror to steady me and then my mons with the other. I quickly snatched that one away again when I realized I was only helping that devilish strip renew its grip on me.
Think of Azid? Fuck Azid! That hurt!
Forget beauty. I had to get this off. I tried to pry it up gently, but it refused to leave me without completing the job to which it had been designed, and slow pulling was only plucking me bald one to three small hairs at a time.
If ever the sadist who’d invented this came to Bahar, I was beheading him. I just didn’t even care.
Jumping up and down in desperate pain, I grabbed hold of my nerve, then the strip, held my breath, and yanked with all my might.
Mine was not a ladylike scream. Also, I’m pretty sure they heard it all the way in America. But the strip came off, along with half the jungle.
Was I bleeding? I felt like I was bleeding, but it was impossible to tell under that gross glob of yellowish stuff now sticking to me.
Forget the jungle, how was I going to get this off?
I tried to wash it, but only smeared it worse—on me, on the palace washrag I tried to use. I’m fairly certain I destroyed that. Soap did not make it better. Neither did hot water, and the dance I created when I tried rubbing alcohol was both heartfelt and incredibly tribal. My father would have been so proud, not that he would ever know. I would never breathe so much as a word of this to anyone. This entire unfortunate incident was going to the grave with me.
A knock at the main door to my palace apartment stopped everything.
“Princess!”
Oh, crap. Someone must have heard my scream.
Grabbing my robe, I barely got it on before the pounding at the door became servant attempts to knock it down.
“Wait!” I shouted, hopefully before guards could be summoned or any of my peers might be alerted to the commotion. “I’m coming!”
Holding my robe so it wouldn’t get caught in the wax, I hurried to the door. It took two steps before my own thighs became stuck together, turning my sprint into more of a duck waddle. But I got there and opened it, and though I tried to keep my hold on the door so no one could see inside, Ayo and the three men standing with her quickly forced their way in.
“What is it?” Jax’s lady wife demanded, latching onto me with all the protectiveness of an aged mother hen, something I found many times more annoying now that my entire pussy was sealed in wax.
“Nothing,” I assured, but already the men were searching the room and balcony for signs of intrusion.
“You screamed,” Ayo accused.
“It was nothing.”
“No one screams like that for nothing.” She noticed the way I was holding my gown, and all I could do was stand there frozen, my desperation no doubt shining through my tensely pained smile.
