Page 49 of Bride to the Fiend Prince
“Infertility is becoming an issue among our people,” he said. “With the women, in particular. An effect caused by—well. You don’t need to know the cause.”
My hands curled into fists. Was this yet another side effect of the ichor?
“I wanted a bride for my son, someone physically strong, young, fertile, attractive, and of royal birth. You were the only one in the neighboring lands who fit the criteria. And your presence here ensured your father’s subservience and cooperation. A good ruler always has many reasons for his choices.”
“You consider yourself a good ruler?” The words slid out before I could stop myself, and a shiver raced over my body as I remembered the whip.
“Take her into the other room, Andreas,” said the Dreadlord. “See if they have coupled, and whether or not she is with child. If not, we will inject her with his seed one more time before he passes.”
“And if I am pregnant?” I asked.
The Dreadlord’s voice was icy, cavernous. “Then I have no further use for the boy.”
Andreas gripped my shoulder and forced me along, into the bathing room. He didn’t use his magic—whether he was battle-weary or he simply wanted to manhandle me, I wasn’t sure. His robes were scorched and torn, and through the ripped parts I could see open cuts seeping blood. He and the Dreadlord must have come here straight from some terrible battle.
“I cannot access your sacral locus through that ridiculous dress,” he said. “Take it off, or I will cut it off.” Lines of green magic writhed threateningly from his fingertips.
“Undo the back for me, then.” I hated to turn my back to such a monster, but I did, and felt the crackle of magic as he split the back of the gown apart, ruining it. While he did that, I quickly shifted the tiny bottle of poison from its nesting spot between my breasts, tucking it inside one of the stiff cups of my corset. It pressed painfully into my breast, but as long as Andreas didn’t look too closely at my bosom, he wouldn’t see the faint lump it made. He didn’t seem the type to lust after women—the only looks he’d ever cast my way were those of hate and disgust.
Quickly I divested myself of the ruined dress, the hoops, and the underskirts. I stood in my corset and pantalettes, as I had on the night I first climbed into the Fiend Prince’s bed with the dagger his mother had given him.
Goosebumps rose on my skin at the wash of the chilly air. A hint of herbal sweetness hung in the room, a reminder of the bath I’d shared with the Prince, and I breathed it in, drawing strength from the scent.
Andreas pulled up the edge of my corset and tugged the waistband of my pantalettes down a bit, exposing my lower abdomen. I seethed through my teeth, hating him, hating the invasion of my person, my privacy.
The sorcerer rolled up his torn sleeves, coated his right hand in green glowing magic, and pressed it to my stomach, eyes narrowed in concentration as he read the flow of energy through my body.
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Andreas’s hand stayed on my stomach for a few interminable minutes while I sucked air through my teeth and forced myself to be still, be still.
“You have been with him,” Andreas said, sounding a little surprised. “I’d thought it a trick. But you are as dirty and sex-addled as the servants say—his energy is fresh, and recent. No child yet, though. Which means we’ll need to try once more, before His Highness expires.”
As Andreas started to turn away, I plucked the bottle from my corset, ripped out the stopper, and dashed the remaining drops over his arm. The drops vanished into his open cuts and sizzled there.
He stared at his arm for a moment, a knot of confusion between his brows. “What was that?”
I didn’t know how fast the toxin would work when put in direct contact with the bloodstream. Hopefully it would be quick, or Andreas would have time to kill me before it took effect. “That was something to help you heal,” I lied. “A Brintzian remedy.”
“That makes no sense,” he said. “You weren’t allowed to bring anything with you. And I recognize that liquid.” His eyes widened as the truth registered. “That idiot boy told you everything, didn’t he?”
“Told me what?” I blinked innocently. But when Andreas lifted his hands, I ducked under the spiraling lines of green magic and ran from the bathing room.
When no magical ropes coiled around me and dragged me back, and when a haunted roar exploded from Andreas’s throat, I knew the toxin had worked. The green magic had fizzled uselessly, just like the magic of the other seven sorcerers in the Cursed Palace.
The Dreadlord lifted his great helmeted head as I stumbled into the bedroom. “What is happening?” he bellowed.
But I barely noticed him, because the Fiend Prince’s dark eyes were open, fixed on me.
I gave him a quick nod. “It’s happening.”
“What are you moaning about, Andreas?” roared the Dreadlord, striding toward the bathing room. He cuffed me sharply on his way past, with a muttered, “What did you do, bitch?”
I staggered, my cheek stinging where the sharp gauntlet had cut me. I felt warm blood trickling along my face.
Gritting his teeth, the Prince hauled himself upright in the bed. “Amarylla, here! You’ll need this.” He tugged a ring from his finger and snapped off one of the twin jewels, a stone that swirled darkly iridescent. He tossed it to me, then broke off the other stone and tucked it between his lips. “Eat it, quickly.”
“What are you—” But immediately I understood, and horror clutched at my heart. “No, oh no—Galanrae, you shouldn’t have taken that—you’re too weak! It will kill you!”
