Page 52 of The Princes of Stone and Steel

How did I not know this? And more importantly, why would he hide it from me? That seemed like a way you would introduce yourself for the first time. I only had about two more seconds to contemplate that thought before we heard, “El, close the hole.”

And giving me no time to move, Mármaro slid down the tunnel, landing on top of me. Only it brought no thrill like I remembered from the first time it had happened so many years ago. He rolled to the side, most importantly, thankfully, off me, and he sat up.

Where was Steele? Was he injured?

Well, those worries were quickly put to rest as we listened to him begin to shout a slew of expletives above our heads, most likely from being unable to penetrate the tree.

“Thank you,” Mármaro said graciously to Ellard. “We’ll need some tea. Millie and I will be waiting with you until his departure.” While Mármaro rolled his eyes at the wordhisas if Steele’s rage and fear meant nothing to him, my stomach clenched allowing dread to settle there. My heart became this sodden, heavy place and I knew I couldn’t sit around waiting for my prince to free me. No. I was a pissed off woman with power.

You’d better watch your back, Mármaro.

You had no idea of what was coming for you.

Twenty

What the heck were you thinking, girl?

ELLARD BROUGHT OUT TEA. I SIPPED ON MINE QUIETLY, biding my time, as he engaged Mármaro in conversation. It was nothing more than white noise in the background for me as I took in the room, turning it over in my mind, attempting to figure out my escape.

He’d made additions in the couple hundred years since I’d been here. And what a freaky concept—I’d been there acouple hundredyears ago. All this time I’d thought I was a twenty-first century girl.

Paintings hung on the walls of little people with shocks of bright red hair. Patchwork throw pillows were on the arms of the age-worn sofa, the brown linen noticeably threadbare in spots showing hints of the bleached white stuffing inside, and a quilt draped across the back.

A flower, a bright red tulip—only one—rested in a milky green glass vase.

Ellard had a woman—girlfriend or wife—in his life. Bachelors, even in magical lands, didn’t do throw pillows and tulips. Where was she now? How could I use that to my advantage?

Now before I flew off the handle and went all Super Flesh, kicking Vráchos butt and taking names, I had to consider that the man I thought loved me might not have actually cared at all. The woman I’d considered my best friend could be on the verge of execution or she could be leading me to my doom instead.

I closed my eyes, pressing the lids tight enough together for wetness to gather behind them.Think about this, Millie. Carefully. Mármaro might be lying as much as Steele.Maybe—and this thought hurt the most—but maybe neither of them had my best interests at heart. Maybe they both just wanted to control me and I was completely on my own here.

As I continued to sip on my tea, I forced myself to bring up memories to the surface. The first time Steele and I had locked eyes so many years ago. I’d felt his heart that day. A warmth that had radiated from the inside out. Good. Yes. He didn’t know who I was or that I was the new flesh at that point. That was one in his favor.

Next, I saw us lying in the grass, spending hours talking with Steele, giving him glimpses of my little world, letting him get to know the Millie of Lancashire. How my father had given me over to Leland Barnabas. The gardens full of fragrant lilacs that smelled so sweet I’d become lost in their scent for hours. The fishermen and the wharf. My perfect sister, Margaret. How I’d never be as good as my perfect sister, Margaret.

He’d listened to it all, eating up every word I’d spoken as if it were the tastiest Sunday dinner of roasted chicken and mashed potatoes. A boat full of creamy gravy and sautéed vegetables. The kind of dinner I’d prepared with Mother Merchant. The kind Aunt Cynthia never had.

Then the visions in my head fast-forwarded to the day I’d met him in the club. His sadness when I hadn’t remembered him. How his brilliant eyes had dimmed when I hadn’t remembered our real first kiss. Or the pain mixed with longing when he’d decided to be my first kiss again. He might’ve been a prince, but he’d have to have been one hell of an actor to pull that off with no emotion behind it.

The taste of his lips—fruity from the persimmon wax he used to keep them moist.Persimmon wax.That was new. I remembered his breath, minty from the leaves he chewed on because I loved the scent of wintergreen. Even after all these years, he’d never stopped. He’d never forgotten.

Mármaro had snuck into the castle, but he’d left me. To spy. No concern for my wellbeing. No plan in place to get me out.

Steele’s empathy when I’d cried, it had filled me. Mármaro had none. I was nothing more than a pawn to him. A pawn in a game he’d tried to convince me Steele was playing.

I swiped at the wetness dewing my cheeks from my tears then brought my hands back to my cup to steady their shaking and keep from balling them, giving myself away.

There was only one reason as to why Mármaro never told me about being a prince. To fool me. To befriend me, have me believe him a regular guy. No pressure to side with the Vráchos. It was the smartest battle strategy he could’ve come up with.

To have me come to him willingly.

But then, what if that was Steele’s strategy too?

“Millie—” I heard Steele’s voice strained and muffled through the ground.

Instead of saving his sister or calling in the troops, he called to me.

Me.

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