Page 41 of The Crownless Prince

She sat straighter, her fingers stilling in his hair as the obvious solution presented itself. “All we have to do is get married and consummate the marriage. Then I’m married and can’t be married to Lucien Thorne.”

Marcus didn’t appear to share her excitement as his mouth pinched. “There’s an easy way around that. Make you a widow.”

Her throat caught. “But—”

“Especially if we ran away. Your father and Lucien could cover it up, or if word got out, claim that I had kidnapped you because I hate your father for killing my family. Your father wants Thorne’s money, and he’s already demonstrated he’ll gladly get rid of me. Based on Thorne’s pride and a comment he made today about being a duke soon, I’m confident he wants the title and prestige he’ll get as your husband. I doubt he’ll care if we’ve…” Marcus reddened and coughed. “You know.”

She couldn’t help a little smirk. “Don’t you want to…you know?” She waggled her eyebrows.

Somehow, he turned redder as he bolted upright. “Are you…do you…I do, but not… You know I want to marry you, but we…not…”

Adriana laughed and came to his rescue. “Not while we’re meeting in secret to steal moments together and when we don’t know what the future holds? Agreed.” She tilted her head down, giving what she hoped was a sultry look. “But I hope we can get married soon.”

“Me too.” Marcus tugged on his collar, then stood. “But for now, we should both rest. Meet here again tomorrow at the same time? Assuming we haven’t managed to get rid of Thorne before then?”

She nodded and stood as well. “Be careful tomorrow, all right?”

“I will.”

She went up on her toes and kissed him. Their kiss was brief but sweet, and she drew away even though she wanted to linger. She would let that brief kiss be a promise between them, and the thought of more be a motivation to find Lucien Thorne’s downfall.

Chapter 19

One of the Faines’ servants knocked on their door early the next morning and announced that Lord Thorne had summoned the Williams brothers to his chamber. Marcus shared a worried look with Edwin before they threw on their own clothing and hurried to Lord Thorne’s room.

“You don’t suppose he’s still angry enough to punish us both, do you?” Marcus asked as they bounded up a spiral staircase in one of the towers.

“I hope not.” But Edwin didn’t look very sure of that.

Marcus hadn’t even finished knocking when Thorne called them inside. The nobleman was sitting on the edge of his bed as he put on his boots. The top section of his hair was done in intricate braids with the silver hair stick tucked into the leather tie. How early did the man get up to have his hair looking so neat already?

Thorne finished lacing his boot and looked up, his gaze sweeping up and down them both as the corners of his mouth turned down further. “What are you wearing?”

Marcus glanced at his tunic. The ankle-length tunic was made of soft wool in a rich crimson and split down the front and back to allow ease of movement. Black and silver embroidery in a repeating patternof arches and points finished all of the hems—the collar, the cuffs, and the bottom hem, including the slits. It was hardly the fanciest tunic he’d ever worn, but it was nice and too long for a servant doing manual labor.

“One of my tunics, my lord?”

“Who was your last lord, anyway?” Thorne crossed his arms, still scrutinizing them.

Marcus hesitated, wondering how best to answer that. Perhaps the near truth would be safest. “Prince Arlius Alimer, my lord.”

Thorne’s eyebrows reached for his hairline. “You…” He tossed his head back and laughed. “No, that makes sense, actually.” His eyes narrowed. “Other than the part where you’re not dead.”

Right, Thorne supposedly valued loyalty. He’d be suspicious of deserters.

Marcus inclined his head. “When King Mortimer’s siege began, we were away on an errand for Prince Arlius. We couldn’t get back into the castle and hadn’t been sent out with any weapons, so there was no way for us to aid our liege. We lay low and waited for the battle to be over.”

Thorne eyed them. “Weapons? Are you saying you know how to use them?”

Drat it. He’d forgotten he didn’t want to reveal that information.

Edwin shrugged. “Passably, my lord. We often attended the elder two princes, who liked to know those serving them could be relied on in more ways than one.”

“I see.” Thorne made a humming noise in the back of his throat. “Well, I suppose this will do, even if yours is ostentatious, Marcus. At least Edwin’s looks like a servant’s tunic.”

Of course Edwin’s tunic, with its sparse black embroidery on dusty green fabric that came down to his knees, looked more like a servant’s, since it actually was. Marcus wished he’d paid more heed to what he was putting on.

“Are we to attend you today, my lord?” Edwin asked.

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