Book Title: The Hot Mess Prince
Author and Publisher: Emily Spady
Cover Artist: Morganically Sourced
Release Date: October 13, 2023
Genre: Contemporary M/M Romance
Tropes: royals, prince/assistant, opposites attract, romantic comedy
Themes: redemption, self-acceptance, family
Heat Rating: 3 flames
Length: 57 795 words/ 205 pages
It is a standalone book and does not end on a cliffhanger.
Buy Links - Available in Kindle Unlimited
Universal Link | Amazon US | Amazon UK
A sweet, snarky m/m romance with kittens, cheese festivals, royal gossip, and a guaranteed HEA.
Blurb
Neel Batra is good--no, great--at his job. A consummate professional despite all the chaos of managing one of the most notorious party boy royals in Europe, he never lets Prince Thibault get under his skin. Well, almost never. And he certainly doesn't entertain any thoughts or feelings that are less than professional. Especially after an image rehab campaign sees Neel and the prince working in closer conditions than ever.
Prince Thibault d'Archimbault may be a disaster, but even he knows certain things--and people--are off limits. Even if he can't help noticing his assistant's pretty eyes, and how fun it is to annoy him. Can he practice self-control for once in his life and stay out of Neel Batra's way, even while they work together on cleaning up Thibault's reputation? Or will things get distinctly ... messy?
Excerpt
“I don’t have a car.” Three years working for the prince, and the man knew nothing about him. Typical. “I rode my bicycle.”
“Of course you did. Doing your duty, right? Protecting the environment and all that.” Thibault had a smug little smile on his face, like Neel had completely failed to surprise him. “Doesn’t it ever get tiring?”
“What gets tiring is lack of sleep. Which is why I’m leaving now,” Neel said, making no move to get up.
“Stay here for a bit. Have a drink with me. I’ll get Viola to drive you home if you’re worried about biking under the influence.”
“Absolutely not. You shouldn’t be out here, either.” Neel pointed a finger at him across the hot tub. “We’re starting your twelve-step plan or whatever it is tomorrow and you need your sleep, too. More than I do. You’ll be the one in the photos, and we can’t have you looking all gray and hungover.”
Thibault shrugged. His chest was flushed from the heat, his hair curling into his eyes. “Honestly? I couldn’t sleep either. I’m… I’m trying to take this seriously, Batra. Whether you believe me or not. And it’s making me nervous.” He poured a refill into the glass and held it out. “Come on. One drink. Just stay and… talk to me. Until I feel sleepy.”
The glass was sweaty with condensation as Neel took it from his hand. “I’m only drinking this so that you won’t,” he warned, and finished it in one gulp, before he could have any foolish thoughts about how Thibault’s mouth had been on the glass, his pink, pouty, irritating mouth–
“You, er,” said Thibault.
“We’ve all been to university, your highness,” Neel said archly.
“Yes, but you probably weren’t shooting 100-year Ankenbrandian pear brandy.”
Neel shrugged, feeling the red bloom of alcohol in his stomach, the tension beginning to seep out of his shoulders, his neck. “So, I’m to tell you a bedtime story now, is that it? Don’t recall it being part of my job description. But who knows what my job is at this point.”
Thibault took a swig from the bottle, then refilled Neel’s glass. “I guess I was just hoping that you had some plan for tomorrow. You’re so good at plans.”
Neel really ought to sip this one slowly, but he was enjoying how the over-excited clock in his head had finally started to tick down, and the stars were bright overhead and the mountains gleamed in the distance and Prince Thibault was glistening across from him like some male siren that had just emerged from the Aegean sea, and it was time, wasn’t it, that Neel told him exactly what he thought about all of this nonsense?
“You are the one who came up with all of this. There is no plan. You’re petting kittens, for fucksake.”
“Right, but, what should I wear?”
Neel waved his hand in the air dismissively. “Something casual but expensive that shows off your chest. Do you really need me to tell you all this? Just pet the kittens and look cute. Why did you choose all of these things if you don’t even want to do them?”
Thibault ran a hand through his hair. “Well, I knew I needed to tell grandmother something. And they are things I wanted to do. Most of them. Some I chose because I knew they’d annoy you.”
“I thought so. Pour me another drink.”
“You sure you’re going to be all right? The water’s really hot, and you’ve had like four shots. I’m a heavy pourer.”
“You owe me, Thibault.”
The prince slid across the hot tub, and Neel flinched at the sudden hand on his forehead. “Hm, yeah, I don’t think so,” Thibault murmured. “You’re really warm.”
“Don’t pretend you care,” Neel said, holding himself as still as possible so he wouldn’t melt. “Don’t pretend to be responsible.”
“I’m not,” Thibault said. “But you are, and you’re going to be hating yourself if you’re too hungover to get a perfectly adorable picture of me and those cats tomorrow. C’mon, Batra, let’s get you up.” He hoisted Neel onto his feet. “Out we go. We’ve got a date with some baby kittens.”
“‘Baby kittens’ is redundant,” Neel said, and fainted.
About the Author
Emily Spady lives in the Pacific Northwest of the United States with her husband and cat. This is her first novel.
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