Page 52 of Of Rime and Ruin
Perrin glances at the guard. “He may try.”
Vaughn grips his trident, narrowing his eyes. “Oy. Just grab her and let’s go.”
I chew my lip. If there’s one thing I don’t like, it’s beingmanhandled.
“What do I tell the king?” Perrin sighs.
I reward him with my best beaming smile. “You’re smart, Perrin. You’ll think of something clever. Perhaps I’ve come down with the paddledrake flu.”
It’s a guppy’s tale, meant for scaring young merfolk into an early bedtime. But the Frost King doesn’t need to know that.
Perrin perks up. “Paddledrake flu? Okay. I can work with that. What are your symptoms?”
I feign exhaustion, slouching to the floor and draping my hand over my forehead. “Lack of appetite,” I groan, patting my belly. “Boils on my face. Terrible cough. I’m afraid it’s deathly contagious. Wouldn’t want the king to catch it.”
“Alright. I’ll try it, thanks.” Perrin chuckles, then turns the key in the lock, sealing me in. His tail stirs, and I crane my neck to watch him discuss my sickness with Vaughn.
Vaughn’s lip curls, and he shoots me a disgusted look. I moan for good measure, turning to hide my face in my arms.
Oh, the horror. I might not survive this illness. Give my bones to the Beast when he comes.
I peek through the crook in my elbow to check the effectiveness of my act.
They whisper some more, until Perrin hands Vaughn the keys, then disappears. Vaughn settles at the entrance to the tunnel, shooting me dirty looks.
I cough loudly, and he turns the other way, grumbling to himself.
My smile spreads in the darkness. Maybe I’ll get lucky tonight, and the Beast will eat Vaughn for dinner.
Chapter twenty-three
Aethan
“Doesmyhairlookokay?” I ask Deirdre as she refills my tea. Any moment, the princess will walk through that door, and I find myself eager to look presentable. Kingly.
When was the last time I brushed my hair? This morning?
The housekeeper assesses me, lifting the kettle to stop the pour, then narrows her eyes. “You look handsome as always, Sire. Why?”
Why, indeed. It’s silly to look nice for her. For a prisoner. An enemy.
But she’s not the enemy. Not really.
She’s a lost princess trapped in my dungeon because I’m terrified by the thought of hurting her.
Fuck.
I tug at the fabric of my shirt, appalled by the way it clings to my skin. “Excellent,” I mutter.
Deirdre tips the kettle again and hot water splashes into my cup. Steam curls, and the scent of peppermint wafts.
In mere seconds, she’ll be here. Finally. And then I’ll stand, like a fucking gentleman, and apologize for being an asshole. She shouldn’t go hungry on my account.
And I shouldn’t either.My stomach grumbles, protesting the delay of my meal.
What’s taking so long?
“Just be yourself.” Deirdre’s mouth quirks into a smile.
