Page 17 of Trained Royal
The green light confirmed everything worked, and Kieren held the door for him to enter first. He turned right as soon as he entered, coming to stand before another door. “Check this one, too, please. This is the Monitors’ room.” Kieren pressed his thumb to the sensor, and the green light appeared again. “Good.”
When the door closed behind them, Kieren asked, “Why do I need access to this room?”
Patrick wandered over to his locker before answering. “You don’t, but I feel better with you having access here when I have no one else around.”
“What do you mean?”
Patrick opened his locker, pulled out a shirt and faced Kieren. “Usually, when I come here, I have either my brother or my cousins or both with me, meaning there is always backup when some of the more unfavourable family members are around.”
“Like Prince Charles.”
Patrick nodded. “We know what he’s capable of when he finds one of us alone. After getting into Christian’s room at the barracks and holding a gun on him, I’m not taking chances.”
“I agree. I didn’t realise he had access here.”
Patrick sighed. “He shouldn’t, but they gave him access a while back, and no one is willing to rescind it in case it antagonises him. Even Uncle Andrew is cautious.”
“I can imagine.” Kieren glanced around and then down at his clothes. “Am I okay wearing what I have because I didn’t know to bring a change of clothes?”
“You’re fine, although I would remove the shirt and jacket. I have this you can try, but it might be too small.” He held out the shirt he’d taken from his locker.
As much as Patrick wanted to watch as Kieren changed, he didn’t. He turned back to his locker and chose another shirt for himself. He stripped to the waist and pulled the black PVC shirt on. Then, he removed his trousers and slipped into some leather versions, keeping his briefs on underneath to avoid any potential chafing. He tucked his shirt into the waistband and fastened the zip and button. Delaying turning around as long as he could, when he faced Kieren, he almost swallowed his tongue. The shirt fit him—just. It stretched beautifully across his muscles without giving away too many glimpses of what was beneath.
“I’ll have to keep an eye on you in there. You’ll be a new favourite in no time,” he murmured. He cleared his throat. “You need to lock your phone in here, then we can check out the club.”
Kieren handed him his belongings. “How did this place come about, anyway? It’s not exactly hidden away from prying eyes.”
Patrick chuckled. “Yes, my ancestors were not the most original for thinking of names. Club Royal has certainly had its fair share of the limelight. I don’t know how long ago the club began, but one king had a kink he hid from most people, using a small windowless room for his own pleasures. Supposedly, his son grew out of control, and he introduced his son to the kinks, hoping to curb his wayward ways. From there, it expanded, involving more and more descendants until it became mandatory for all royals. I think it’s mainly to keep them all in line. If everyone knows the secret, then it’s less likely to be exposed because those who don’t want it known will also be exposed.” Patrick frowned. “Does that even make sense?”
Kieren chuckled. “Yeah, I get what you’re saying.”
“Come on, then. Let’s go check out this place.”
Patrick clapped Kieren on the shoulder as he passed, trying to keep things light, but all he really wanted to do was sink into his arms and never leave. They exited the changing rooms and strode to a door behind Clarice’s desk. Patrick unlocked the door and held it for Kieren. This first area was what Douglas had coined the “conversation area” because it was a lot quieter than the rest of the club, and they were able to hold a conversation without having to shout or talk right next to their ear.
“Oliver! Two bottles of water, please. How’s Griffin?”
Oliver was the bartender at the club for most of the nights they were open. His tanned skin and muscular physique always made Patrick’s mouth water, especially in his uniform of a white waistcoat with nothing underneath, black trousers and white cuffs around his wrists. His black studded collar confirmed his “taken” status, although Patrick knew both he and his husband, Griffin, were open to anything. Some nights, one or the other were given free rein to play with others.
“Griffin is well, thank you, sir. Unfortunately, working tonight, though.” Oliver placed two bottles on the bar. “Have a wonderful evening. Let me know if there’s anything I can get you.” He glanced at Kieren, looking him up and down.
Patrick felt a spindle of something poking at him, but he ignored it and faced Kieren, handing him a bottle. “Shall we explore?” He purposefully used words that had a double meaning, hoping to spark something in Kieren, and if he wasn’t mistaken, his eyes narrowed. Only slightly, but enough to make Patrick believe his words hadn’t missed their mark.
He led the way to the heavy wooden door, pausing to say, “The sounds are what seem to overwhelm people when they first visit. There’s low-playing music and some conversation, but the sounds of sex and play are audible. Very audible.”
Kieren nodded. “Okay.”
Patrick unlocked the door, and the noises he’d just explained hit them. He didn’t look back at Kieren, waiting until they were both through the door. Again, trying to see it from Kieren’s perspective helped him to realise it looked just like an orgy. He peered at Kieren, the man’s eyes darting around the area as Patrick had seen him do when he was assessing the security risk. He was probably doing the same thing there.
“Initial thoughts?” he asked, swigging from his bottle.
“A security nightmare.” Score one for Patrick. “Overwhelming.”
“There is a lot going on, but there’s no rush for anything. Do you want to wander around for a bit? See what we can see?”
“Sure.”
Patrick weaved slowly through the crowds around the perimeter of the room, greeting Quinn, a submissive who was friends with their group, as he passed until he came to a stage with the St Andrew’s Cross on it. A man had strapped another man to it and was in the process of whipping him, the red streaks across the bound man’s back easily visible against his skin. The Dom, he assumed by taking into account the outfit, pulled his arm back and flicked the whip through the air, sending the bound man arching into the cross.
