Page 37 of The Crimson Princess
Or I could stand firm, hold my throne, and bring worlds together, our worlds, mine and Toren’s. And that starts here. I feel that in every part of me.
I slice my hand.
The minute the blood pools on my skin, the blade disappears, and Toren presses our palms together. Heat radiates between us, fire that burns to the point that I gasp. Toren leans in close and cups the back of my head, kissing me, a long lick of his tongue, followed by another, and I swear his voice echoes in my mind.
Seconds later, when his lips part from mine, he declares, “It’s done.” He lifts our hands between us and releases mine, the flesh on our palms fully healed. “Try to reach for my mind.”
My brows dip. “What? How?”
It’s in that moment that the banging begins on his door. “King Toren, open up.”
My heart leaps and I shove to my feet, with Toren following me. “That’s my father’s guard,” I say. “They must have figured out I’m missing. And of course, my father thinks you had something to do with it.”
“I’ll blink you out of here.”
“No,” I say, catching his arm. “You need to answer that door and look like you were sleeping. I’ll go out the attic to the roof. Be an arrogant asshole. You’re good at that.”
I start to move away and he catches me to him, slides his hand under my hair and kisses the hell out of me. “Be careful, princess,” he warns. “There are a lot of people who’d like to see the future queen dead, including the druids.”
“I don’t die easily,” I say repeating his words.
“But you’re not immortal.”
“Back at you, King Toren.” I reluctantly, and I do mean reluctantly, untangle myself from him and rush for the hallway where there is a stairwell to the attic, and in a matter of a minute, I’m on the roof. Voices below lift in the air, and I can hear Toren answer the door.
“What the fuck do you want?”
Perfection, I think, and with him distracting the guards, now is the time for me to make my move. I climb down the wall and begin a stealthy escape to the forest, where the werewolves and frostburns will surely greet me with open mouths and plenty of fangs. Better them than my father.
Chapter eighteen
I’mpracticedatavoidingmy father’s guard and I’m in the forest without them so much as glancing my direction. I decide the way to be found is while I hunt werewolves, if there are any left this night. Even if the frostburns have them handled, the werewolf problem is real and my father has failed his people by allowing it to exist. Once I reach the pond again, I drink without interruption. The forest is eerily quiet, a façade of peace, I’ve already seen doesn’t exist.
I shake the water from my hands and rotate to suck in a breath. The frostburns surround me again, their fur bloody but their bodies able. “Hello again,” I murmur, and it hits me that I killed one of their pack and perhaps that frostburn was their leader, and they now see me as the new alpha. It would be a crazy idea if they weren’t following me around without a single attempt to kill me. “Are we hunting again?” I ask, wondering if they’re trying to tell me there’s more trouble brewing.
As if in answer to my question, there’s a shift in the air and I can feel magic bloom from the dank depths of the forest. A moment later, Bellar has appeared out of nowhere and the druid prince is now standing just beyond my furry fan club. Moonlight caresses his high, defined cheekbones, sharper now than I remember from our previous encounters. The wind lifts, and the frostburns’ haunches raise, and I decide the wind has nothing to do with my new powers at all, as I’d thought early. It’s the frostburns. The forest is connected to the frostburns, and it seems to react to their emotions. The frostburns pivot in unison, as if they think as a unit,facing off with the druid prince, snarling at Bellar, as they create a barrier between me and him.
I don’t ask where he came from or how he got here. He can blink. It’s irritating that I cannot. And limiting. Not that I’ve tried since my meltdown in the bedroom. I’ve already seen tonight, on at least one occasion, my new abilities weren’t announced. They simply exist. “What the hell is with the frostburns?” he demands. “Why are they all bloody?”
“They hunt for food at night. Why are you here, Bellar?”
“Your father is pissed that you’re not in the castle.”
“And he calledyou?” I sound incredulous, but I shouldn’t be. Despite leaving Ravengale for years, I know how my father operates. He’s not just king of Ravengale. He’s the king of manipulation and heartlessness, exactly why I believed Toren’s tale of the two of them. And right now, he’s folded Bellar under his control. If my father says jump, Bellar jumps.
“Of course he called me,” Bellar replies, a bite to his tone. “I’m supposed to be your future husband. It’s my duty to protect you.”
“I don’t need protection, and it would be smart to talk to me, perhaps ask me to marry you, before you assume that I’ve accepted becoming a bargaining chip.”
“It was the two kings. I didn’t do this.” His answer is fast, and while his voice lacks inflection, there is no question, he sees his statement as his out. He didn’t do this. They did this. He bears no responsibility.
“You think my father can force me to marry you?”
“Why does he need to force you? This is good for our people.”
Right then he tells me all I need to know about him. He never once considered me anything more than a pawn in a game. That’s how he sees me. That’s how he sees our people. My father is a fool to walk this path with a druid by my side. And I wish like hell I could crawl in his head and dissect his insanity.
For now, I focus on the druid prince who I do believe sees himself as the benefactor to all of this. “Our marriage would be good for your people,” I say, “not mine.”
