Page 25 of Bride to the Fiend Prince
Strangely, I didn’t only want this for my own sake anymore. I wanted it for his.
He was pretending to read a book, but he finally cut his eyes over to me as I lay under the ministrations of the healer. “Do you want something, wife?” he asked.
“Many things, husband,” I answered. “First, your name.”
The healer clucked his tongue. “You haven’t told her your name yet? For shame, Your Highness. He doesn’t like his name, you see.”
“My name is fine,” the Prince growled.
“Then tell me what it is,” I said. “You owe me that much, after—”
After I was forced to marry you.
After your father had me whipped.
After last night.
He cleared his throat. “It’s Galanrae.”
“Galanrae?” I repeated, trying to control the twitching of my mouth.
“See?” He glared despairingly at the healer, gesturing to me. “See her face? It’s a ridiculous name.”
“So I could call you ‘Gal.’ Or ‘Rae,’” I said.
“Don’t forget ‘Lannie,’” added the healer. I liked him already, and I hadn’t seen his face yet. He seemed to lack the half-frightened, saccharine reverence that most of the servants and guards showed the Fiend Prince. “I used to call him ‘Lannie’ when we were young.”
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Galanrae. I rolled the Prince’s name around in my mind and decided I liked it after all. I would still tease him about it, of course, but secretly, in some part of my soul that I did not like to indulge, I thought it sounded romantic.
“That’s it then, Your Highness.” The healer ran a hand over my back, and I felt no pain at the touch. “Your skin might be a little itchy and red for a while, but it won’t scar. Nasty wounds, those.”
A servant brought me a robe and I slipped it on quickly. “Thank you for fixing me,” I said, turning to face the healer. He had frizzy brown hair in knots all over his head, and each knot was bedecked with enameled pins. He wore thick, fur-trimmed robes, colorfully embroidered with pastoral scenes—deer, rabbits, trees, cottages. His skin was ochre, and he wore gold shimmery paint over his eyelids and pale pink color on his lips. His lashes sparkled with flecks of gold. “I am Onwe,” he said. “A pleasure to serve you, Princess.”
“Onwe is native to a land on the northern border of Terelaus,” the Fiend Prince said. “My father occupied and conquered it when I was quite young. Even back then, as a boy, Onwe was a gifted healer, and very intelligent, so my father brought him here to be a companion for me.”
“I later fell out of favor with the Dreadlord,” Onwe added. “By the Prince’s mercy I was not imprisoned or executed, but banished from the Cursed Palace and the surrounding towns.”
“How are you here then?” I asked. “Will you be in trouble for coming to the palace?”
“The Prince sent someone to bring me here by secret ways,” Onwe said. “We had to avoid a few new patrols, which is why I was delayed getting to you. And now I must go, before word of my presence reaches the Dreadlord. But first—” He rose and circled the bed, laying a palm to the forehead of the Fiend Prince. Their eyes met, and I saw a sorrowful doom in the healer’s expression. “You are doing as well as can be expected,” Onwe said, with forced cheerfulness. “Have you been able to—perform—as required?”
“Do you mean on the battlefield or in bed?” The Prince’s mouth arched in a sneer.
“Both.”
The guard who had held me down and the servant who had brought me the robe were both gone, and the three of us were alone. Still, the Prince’s voice was little more than a whisper as he said, “The Princess and I have not yet consummated.”
“What?” Onwe’s eyebrows shot up. “But word throughout the Cursed Palace—and throughout the entire kingdom—is that the two of you are coupling like rabbits, so frenzied with passion you can barely keep your hands off each other.”
“A well-acted ruse we have concocted together,” said the Prince. He did not look at me.
“Well, I must congratulate you on playing your parts convincingly thus far, but I must also warn you that the king will not let you alone without proof for long. He will have her tested—” Onwe pointed to me— “to see if she is with child. And when the sorcerer tests her, he will know if she has your essence in her body or not.”
I felt the blood draining from my face. “What are you saying? That a sorcerer would have some magical way to tell if I’ve been—intimate with the Prince?”
“That’s exactly what I’m saying.” Onwe nodded gravely. “Magic is closely linked with the focal points of the body’s energy. The sacral locus resides low in the belly, and it is activated by intercourse. In women, when the—ah, theessenceof a male is present, the energy of the area becomes blended, and that blending can be discerned and interpreted by a talented sorcerer like Andreas.”
