Page 40 of Bride to the Fiend Prince
Betta was halfway to the door when she turned back. “How do I know you are not simply trying to uncover and root out the rebellious flowers?”
I cast aside my caution and let a steely edge creep into my tone. “I value my freedom,” I said. “I do not appreciate being banned from training, and whipped, and treated as a womb for the incubation of the Dreadlord’s next set of weapons.”
“Fair enough.” Betta nodded, satisfied. “And the Prince?”
I gave her a small smile. “The Prince will do as I say.”
A flicker of admiration and humor passed through her eyes right before she jammed her helmet back on. “It was a happy day when you came to us.” And she left the room, closing the door quietly behind her.
When I turned around, the Fiend Prince was leaning in the doorway to bathing area. He looked so pale, graceful, almost skeletal—the fragile beauty of him snatched my breath. His eyes were narrowed to dark slits. “I’ll do as you say?”
“Won’t you?” I said lightly, brushing past him.
“What did you tell her?” He followed me into the bathing room and watched me adjust the spigot for the tub. I hadn’t bathed in a few days, and as the steam rose from the hissing water, I felt immensely grateful for the plumbing in the Cursed Palace.
“You can call the servants to help you with bathing, you know,” said the Prince.
“No need. I didn’t often ask for their help at home, and I’m happy to handle it myself here as well. As for what I said to Betta—don’t worry, I was very careful. She’s loyal to you, not your father, and there are others who feel the same way. She promised to put them in contact with me.”
“You work fast.” Admiration tinged his voice.
“That’s the best way to work.”
“How do you have so much energy always?”
“I just like getting things done.” I tested the water with two fingers and looked up at him. “Are you going to let me bathe?”
But before he could answer, two servants appeared in the doorway behind him. “We’re here to help you prepare for bed, Your Highnesses.”
“I think I’ll bathe,” said the Fiend Prince, his eyes fixed on mine. He spread his arms. “Disrobe me, please.”
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My jaw dropped. I wanted to swear at him, to call him a few of the foul names I’d spewed right before our wedding ceremony. But the servants were supposed to think we were happily married.
“Iwas going to bathe, dear,” I said sweetly.
“Of course,” he said. “There’s just enough room for two, darling. It will be so cozy, don’t you think?”
The servants already had his coat and waistcoat off, then the shirt, and the pants, and then he was entirely naked, sharp bones and lean flesh, and that sweet smirking mouth.
He was playing with me. Testing me.
Well, two could play at this game.
The servants moved to me, and I let them strip off my outer layers, my hoops, my corset and pantelettes—all the trappings of fine evening wear—until I stood as naked as him. There was a good deal more substance to me, though—smooth muscle and firm flesh, heavy breasts and strong thighs. My stomach, legs, and arms were toned from training. I reveled in my own strength as I stood bare before him, as I saw his eyes turn hungry, saw the twitch and stiffening of his lower parts.
He turned his back quickly, striding to the tub and seating himself in it. Thoughtful of him to spare the servants the sight of his arousal, though I supposed they were used to the exposure. In the Cursed Palace, as in my own kingdom, the royal personage was to be revered in all stages of dress or undress.
“Go,” I told the attendants. “Freshen the bed, or something.”
They looked to the Prince for permission, and he nodded. “But first, some herbs for the water.”
One of the servants scattered dried herbs and flower petals over the surface, and they both moved out to the bedroom area.
I crossed my arms and glared at my husband. “You stole my bath.”
He leaned back in the big claw-footed tub, his arms resting along its pale porcelain sides. “Your bath isn’t being stolen, but shared. As I said, there’s enough room for two. The tub may not be that long, but it’s quite deep.”
