Page 6 of Bride to the Fiend Prince
“No, I’m not a virgin,” I said. “But I don’t know how I would sound, because I’ve never—” I broke off, hating the rising flush in my cheeks.
“Did your lovers not try to please you?” His voice was softer, almost pitying.
“I am not discussing my lovers with you,” I said haughtily. “Why don’t you make the sounds at first, and I will do what you do.”
“Very well.” He climbed back onto the bed. “Follow my lead.”
6
The Fiend Prince sat crosslegged among the pillows. His face was still concealed, so when he threw his head back my gaze lingered on the prominent tendons of his throat, the lump of his Adam’s apple between them, and the clavicles below. Thin as he was, unimpressive though his build might be, there was something vulnerable and appealing about the angles of those sharp bones, and about the way his ribs showed faintly through his pale skin.
A loud moan broke from him, and I jumped, startled out of my admiring reverie. “Gods! Are you hurt?”
“Hush, idiot,” he hissed at me, and he moaned again, louder, this time with a throaty male rasp that sent little tingles of arousal into places I had no business thinking about while sitting on an enemy’s bed. “Oh, merciful maker, Princess, you feel so good!”
Blood roared into my cheeks. Of course this was part of the ruse we’d agreed upon. And now I was supposed to make noises, too. His noises sounded somewhat akin to pain—maybe if I pretended I was training, getting beaten down by my friend and fighting partner Ashari— “Oh,” I moaned, “Oh, oh, ow—”
The Fiend Prince clapped a hand over my mouth. “Lessow, and more like this.” He released a series of sharp, breathy cries, and my hearted skittered through my stomach.
I gripped his wrist in my hand, conscious of how fragile his bones felt in the circle of my strong fingers. “I told you not to touch me.” I tightened my grip slightly, and his fake moans of ecstasy took on a note of actual pain.
“There,” he whispered. “You hear the difference? Come on, now—with me—” he kept gasping and moaning, and I imitated him as best I could. It was impossibly strange, sitting on the sheets with a masked stranger dressed only in his undershorts, mimicking the noises of lovemaking. Finally he gave a long groan of satisfaction, and I echoed it with a weak one of my own, and we were done.
“That was terribly unconvincing,” said the Fiend Prince in a half-whisper, settling onto the pillows and drawing the sheets over himself.
“I know,” I replied. “You sounded nothing like a man being pleasured.”
“Oh no, Princess—Iwas a consummate actor. I deserve an award. You, on the other hand, sounded like a sick goat being skewered up the ass.”
“I was imitatingyou!”
“But women are usually much shriller, you know, and sometimes they squeak, or mew, or scream—”
“Not likely,” I managed.
“You sound a bit shaken, Princess.”
“Only because I’m so embarrassed foryou, making a fool of yourself like that.” I lay down, keeping my dagger pointed in his direction. “You should be a gentleman and sleep on the sofa over there.”
“Sleep on the sofa? In my own quarters? When I’m newly married?” he scoffed. “Not a chance. And you won’t be taking the sofa either. If you want any measure of freedom in this palace, you’ll pretend to be my pleasant and dutiful wife. And I’ll take my birthday dagger back now.”
“Birthday dagger?” I looked down at the small jeweled weapon I held.
“A gift from my mother before she passed. Hand it over.”
Dread curdled in my stomach. “You’re liable to pounce on me in the night if I give up this weapon. You told me yourself that your people have no honor and don’t keep their bargains. How can I trust you to uphold our agreement and not touch me?”
“Oh, Princess, I have not the slightest interest in touching you. I may have been momentarily dazzled by the copious offerings of your corset, but I’m back in control of my senses now, and I must confess, you don’t appeal to me at all. I generally prefer dainty, delicate ladies—not buxom women who are stronger than me.”
Why did his words feel like the lash of a whip? “I thought you were a great warrior,” I retorted, settling my head on the pillow, still gripping the dagger hilt. “But you’re obviously not.”
“Oh, I am—or I—I was.”
His tone was layered with emotions I couldn’t decipher through the mask. I was desperately curious about his face, and I wanted to see his eyes, too—I hadn’t caught more than a glimmer deep in the dark eyeholes. I’d wait until he was asleep and then take his mask off.
Closing my eyes, I pretended to drift off, and I waited for his breathing to settle into a somnolent rhythm. It was hard not to give in to sleep myself—it had been a long day even before I’d been bundled into a wedding dress and magically transported to an enemy kingdom for an arranged marriage. But I could not fall asleep here, in the bed of the Fiend Prince of Terelaus, deep within the Cursed Palace. That would be terribly foolish. I must stay alert, vigilant, on guard.
Finally, finally, the prince seemed to have sunk into dreams, and I sat up, laying aside the dagger. I could make out the edges of the mask in the gloom. Gingerly I reached for it.
