Page 3 of Bride to the Fiend Prince
Dragging the sheet over myself and renewing my grip on the dagger, I lay still, while my heart thrummed frantic.
When would he come?
When?
Damned prince. He should get his sorry ass in here, and quick.
What if he never came? What if I had to wait all night? What if I fell asleep and dropped the dagger and—
The door opened, slowly, and gradually. Yes, the Fiend Prince was on the alert. My attack on his guards in the throne room had shown him I was not someone to underestimate. I left my eyes open only the tiniest of slits, peering through my lashes. I hadn’t drawn the bedcurtains, so I could make out his dim, distant figure by the door.
“It’s all right,” he said to someone, probably his guards. “She’s in bed. Remain just outside, and listen in case I call you.”
Someone voiced a muffled protest, but the prince repeated, “It’s all right.”
He closed the door and heaved a sigh. Fabric shifted as he took off his hooded cape and tossed it over a chair. Boots thumped to the carpet, one after the other. Then the Fiend Prince walked toward the bed, unlacing his shirt. I let my eyes seal shut. My fingers tensed around the dagger hilt, but I forced my body to relax, to look soft and pliable and non-threatening. I kept my face smooth, as if I were sleeping, and I breathed evenly.
For a long moment there was no sound or movement. Only silence, and the dark scent of the wine-colored flowers on the bedside table, and the gentle huff of my own feigned breathing.
The Fiend Prince was just standing there, looking at me. I had only drawn the sheet up partway, so he was likely enjoying the generous view of my breasts. The cups of my corset only hid about two-thirds of my assets, leaving plenty on display.
Take your last looks, I growled internally.You’re about to die.
Warm fingers brushed my shoulder.
My hand launched at his throat, a vise grip, choking off the air he might use to cry out, and as I lunged upright I forced him down to the mattress. It was so smooth and sudden he had no chance to shout before the tip of my dagger pressed to his jugular vein.
He'd been surprisingly easy to overcome—lighter than I expected, less muscular. Was he not the mighty warrior everyone thought him to be?
I couldn’t see his face. He still wore the leering mask. Still and quiet he lay beneath me, not a hint of fight in him, though his breath wheezed through his constricted throat.
“You’ll not touch me again,” I hissed. “Not ever, do you understand?”
4
The Fiend Prince struggled to speak through my chokehold, behind the grated mouthpiece of his mask. “I was only—going to wake you—so I could speak to you.”
I eased my grip slightly, and only because he had rebuked the sorcerer who was burning my tongue. “Liar. Your father wants you to consummate. He told you to drug me if you had to.”
“I intended no such thing, Princess.” Now that he wasn’t choking, his voice was young, light, and masculine in a way that quickened my blood. I was suddenly conscious that I had ended up astride him, leaning over him, with my breasts surging a little too far out of the confines of my corset.
“Take off your mask,” I said.
“That, I cannot do.”
“Why? Are you so disfigured that your face would make me scream? I’ll wager I have more courage and compassion than you think.”
“I don’t doubt it. But I cannot remove the mask now. Tomorrow, perhaps.”
I pressed the dagger more firmly to his flesh. “Now, else you die.”
“You would kill me then? Spill my blood here in our bed, on our wedding night?” There was a wry, bitter twist to his words. “Did it ever cross your mind that this marriage was not my idea, or my wish? That perhaps I was also taken by surprise, and forced to go along with it?”
“You seemed willing enough, when you stood beside your father the Dreadlord and gave your consent,” I spat.
“Words only,” he answered. “They did not reflect my heart, or my desire.”
“You’re only saying this because you want to live.”
