Page 107 of The Prince of New York

Madelyn had been rather bold about informing the reporter what sort of man her ex was, giving a rather distressing and comprehensive accounting of the various ways he’d forced her to stay.

At one point, she’d captured my hand in hers and clutched it with startling force, the only outward sign the situation bothered her. Fortunately for both of us, I managed my crutches with grace even with the loss of a hand, which I didn’t mind in the slightest.

Had I trained myself to snap my fingers to dispatch my enemies, the situation would have worried me.

The car came to a halt near the steps, close enough that the RPS agents tensed. Some positioned themselves to access their firearm. Others narrowed their eyes, waiting for if they needed to strike with their talent. As Madelyn still had my watch and no interest in releasing my hand, I unleashed my talent enough for it to manifest. At first, the flames appeared as a wisp of light before it grew and took the shape of a horse, standing close and still.

Madelyn eyed my creation, which beat Thunder in size by a hefty margin. “I would think twice about approaching with him on guard, that’s for sure. Dr. Stanton? Is he supposed to be doing that?”

“Such refined control of his talent even in his fevered state is a good sign, and it’s faster to react when he’s already manifested, so he’s just being prepared. Try not to burn the stones, Ian. You’ll make the Californians cry.”

I chuckled, wondering how the royal physician would react if I told her I’d rather deliberately given my talent free rein to join the festivities. Later, I’d start that conversation with her to figure out how much of my talent was free willed and how much of it simply reflected me as an individual.

The horse snorted flame but left the ground around it intact.

Two men got out of the vehicle, and I identified Madelyn’s abuser through his physique. I could understand why she’d consider me to be a safe haven compared to him. We couldn’t have been more different if we tried, from hair color to bone and muscle structure. I eyed the man with disdain. “He’s like a brick shit house with a smaller brick shit house for his head,” I muttered.

Did he even have a neck? I couldn’t tell. That he’d opted for worn, dirty clothes gave me a few clues about Madelyn’s role in his life. She’d likely done every chore under his reign, leaving him unable to even clean the toilet without help.

My first act as a happily engaged man would be to show her that I could handle the household chores unless she wanted to help, especially until she became more comfortable with the situation. As it was, she’d have her hands full when the girls realized there was a new mommy in the picture to go with their new daddy.

Madelyn’s grip on my hand tightened.

To put her at ease, I whispered, “I know how to do my own laundry, and I can even wash the dishes.”

She clamped her lips together, but a snorted giggle emerged.

In a typical Terry move, the RPS agent interposed himself between Madelyn and her abuser. Will joined in, and because someone had snitched to Terry’s wife, Olivia hovered, and judging from the way she flexed her hands, she wanted to help the bastard shit his teeth, too.

When honest with myself, the biggest threat among the royals was Daphne, and she headed down the steps to introduce herself to the reporter.

Maybe we should have nominated someone other than her to deal with the pair. But Daphne was Daphne, and in her mind, the reporter was an idiot, Madelyn’s abuser was no better than a terrorist, and she’d never forgive any of us if she didn’t get a chance at a terrorist.

I’d already stolen many terrorist kills from her.

Rather than shake his outstretched hand, she regarded him with the same disdain I reserved for venomous snakes. “Why did you think it was a good idea to help a rapist abuser violate his restraining order for a chance at his victim?”

The reporter’s eyes widened. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

The rapist abuser stiffened, but he was smarter than he looked, as he kept his mouth shut.

Daphne got into the reporter’s face. “I mean you aided and abetted a rapist abusing scumbag attempting to separate his victim from the gentleman busting his ass to protect her from becoming a victim again. It has been verified, several times, that this asshole you’re accompanying has raped and abused her, both physically and emotionally. He is also guilty of numerous counts of violence against animals. I’m going to do you a favor, buddy. You can pick sides. You either accept you’ve made some pretty impressive mistakes and abandon your current course or you face every single charge I can concoct after I’m done painting the sidewalk with this bastard’s blood. Are we clear?”

Madelyn leaned towards me and whispered, “If she did that to me, I’d literally be pissing my pants right now.”

Aware she’d dealt with more abuse than I wanted to think about, I took care with massaging the back of her hand with my thumb. “I’m grateful that Daphne considers me to be a gentleman right now. We’re agreed. Daphne when pissed and denied a chance to kill terrorists is terrifying, and pissing one’s trousers is an acceptable course of action.”

“What proof do you have of this?” the reporter asked.

Daphne held out her hand and waited, and one of the Montana RPS agents handed her a few sheets of paper, which she held out to the reporter. “Take your time. We can wait for you to get a better understanding of the situation. One sheet is the New York court’s restraining order and confirmation of delivery. The other is a copy of California’s laws regarding abusers violating official court restraining orders. California honors restraining orders issued in New York—and everywhere else in the Royal States.”

Had anyone suggested a flaming horse could do the equivalent of tiptoe around a crowd and get within a length of an abusing asshole without getting caught doing it, I would have laughed. However, everyone’s attention locked on the reporter and Daphne, leaving my talent free to do as he wished.

He wished to secure an ambushing position behind Madelyn’s ex. I’d been around horses often enough to recognize his body language.

Her abuser was about to get a taste of flaming hooves, and if my guess was correct, he fully intended to spin and lash out with his hind hooves to do the most damage in the least amount of time.

A flesh and blood horse could kill a man with a single hoof to the head, and my talent had conjured a horse far larger than the norm. A dinner plate backed by well over a thousand pounds of angry animal could do a lot of harm—and I had no idea how my talent worked. Would the horse’s flame incinerate on contact? Would my rogue metalweaving conjure physical force to handle the man’s demise that way?

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