Page 20 of Bride to the Fiend Prince
“Because you don’t trust me.” I laughed faintly. “Who am I going to tell?”
“I just—I can’t yield that information yet.”
“Fine. Suit yourself.” I averted my eyes from his fiendish mask. “So you consume this mysterious substance to make yourself powerful?”
“I only consume it when the Dreadlord needs me to appear in battle, or to rout some insurgents in one of his territories. The effect lasts a limited time. It consumes my body and my energy, and the recovery phase afterward is painful, more difficult each time. But, it allows me to look like this.” He indicated his splendid physique. “For a little while, I get to feel like myself again.”
“Why the mask though?”
Silence followed my question, and then he said, “There’s a physical toll, a price to be paid, and it shows on my face.”
18
“This ‘price to be paid’—how does it manifest?” I asked, peering harder at the Prince’s mask.
“How are you still this curious when your back has been ripped open?” His voice cracked with emotion. “I can hardly look at you.”
“Then don’t,” I hissed.
“It’s not that the sight of you disgusts me,” he amended quickly. “It hurts me that you’re in such agony. Do you want a stiff drink, maybe a tonic? Something to numb the pain and help you sleep until the healer arrives?”
“You think I don’t see how you’ve skillfully avoided my question, Fiend Prince?” I retorted. “Tell me how you lost your magic, and what you’ve been doing to restore it, and what happens to your face! And while you’re at it, tell me why you keep taking this substance to restore yourself, when it obviously isn’t good for you and leaves you thin and weak!”
“I do it because I must.” His voice was toneless, despairing. “Because the Dreadlord requires it. Even if it eats me alive and brings me down to an early grave, he will continue to require it.”
“That’s why he’s so eager for you to father children,” I gasped. “He’s hoping they’ll inherit the strength and the magic you lost. He wants to use them, like he has used you.”
The Fiend Prince bowed his head slightly. “And he wants me to hurry up and accomplish the task of creating heirs, because—”
He didn’t finish the sentence, but I grasped the meaning well enough.
The Fiend Prince was going to die. He would die young, a broken weapon in his father’s hand, a blade worn down to nearly nothing. Whatever substance he was consuming to temporarily restore his strength and his magic was ruining his health—killing him. And for what? To feed his father’s insatiable appetite for war and conquest?
I tried to sit up, but pain bit through my torn muscles and I only accomplished an infuriated wriggle. The sheet that was draped across my lower body slid lower; I could feel the cool waft of air across part of my backside.
“I won’t let this happen to you,” I panted. “I won’t let that horrible man grind you to powder.”
“No one resists him,” replied the Prince. “You learned that quite painfully today.”
“I only asked why he chose me to be your bride.”
“Ah, but you see, the Dreadlord does not like questions,” said the Prince wryly. “They betray independent thought, and lead to tricky things like the exercise of free will, which in turn leads to rebellion. He couldn’t let your challenge pass. He doesn’t let even the smallest hints of defiance or disagreement slip by without severe repercussions.”
I clenched my teeth against the rising anger and a fresh twist of pain. “Are you making excuses for him?”
“Never. I am only explaining how careful you must be if you want to survive here. I would have warned you how you should deal with him—but I never thought he would seek you out.”
“I hope he never does again.” I tried to move carefully, just to shift my head to a fresh spot, and fire lanced across my back. I smothered my cry in the pillow.
“What can I do?” said the Prince in a pained voice. “How can I help?”
I blinked away tears and turned my face back to him. “You have magic right now, yes?”
“Yes. I would heal you if I could, but my brand of magic is for creating wounds, not repairing them.”
“Distract me then. Show me some magic. As long as it won’t make your condition worse.”
“That ship has already sailed,” he said. “Are you sure you want to see this?”
