Page 9 of Bride to the Fiend Prince
I recoiled, releasing his wrist and letting him up. I would have to be more careful. I was lucky the guards hadn’t shot me instantly. And I had nearly blown our cover as the more-or-less-happy newlyweds.
“Sorry,” I faked a giggle and curtsied to the frowning guard before resuming my place at the table.
“It’s all right, Princess,” said the Fiend Prince coolly. “As for the lifesaving bit, you can show me how grateful you are later. I have meetings this morning.” He shoveled another bite into his mouth before striding out of the room. A couple servants stayed behind to tidy the suite, though it looked gloomily impeccable to me.
The day proved insufferably boring. No one appeared to take me to any training or exercise room, and all but one of the servants left. The remaining servant, who said her name was Sil, answered my questions about the palace and the kingdom with one-syllable words or obscure, annoying phrases like, “As it has always been,” or “If it please Your Highness to think so,” or “The Dreadlord’s will is our guide.” Her favorite phrase seemed to be “What a funny question,” followed by a chuckle and no information at all. By mid-afternoon, I wanted to strangle her.
Finally the Fiend Prince stormed back into his suite, his pale features taut with anger and his eyes blazing. He dismissed the servant curtly and stalked into the washroom without a glance at me.
When he did not come out for several minutes, I edged close to the open archway and listened.
Absolute silence. What could he be doing?
Cautiously I peeked in.
He was sitting on the black marble step beside the big claw-footed tub, his face in his hands and his hair disheveled. A flicker of pity wavered in my heart.
“Did something happen?” I asked, and he started violently.
“Yes, something happened,” he snapped. “I wasmarriedyesterday, and now I don’t have a moment’s peace or privacy, even in my own rooms! And my father won’t move you to your own suite because he wants me to take every available opportunity to impregnate you. Which is what I am supposed to be doing right now. I was kicked out of a meeting, told to go and plow my wife again. Humiliating. I’ve be demoted from battle god to stud horse.”
“So you were a warrior.”
“As I told you.”
“And something happened to make you—like this.”
“Yes, like this—weak,” he hissed. “Damaged. Worthless. And you don’t care—healthy and strong as you are—enemy of my people, daughter of a greed-soaked nation—I can’t stand to look at you. Get out. Get away from me. Go!”
He barked the orders so emphatically, with such ferocity in his eyes, that I left. I hated doing anything that looked like obeying him, but my presence was obviously salt in whatever wound was plaguing him.
I went and sat by the fire and read one chapter of a sort-of interesting book called “Customs and Conquests of the Northern Ranges.” It didn’t have much information about Terelaus itself, but a good deal about neighboring nations, and how they had fallen under the sway of the Dreadlord.
Eventually the Fiend Prince emerged from the bathroom and threw himself into a big chair near mine. He stretched out long, stick-thin, black-clad legs. By contrast, his boots looked comically large. “We’d better make some more sounds.” He spoke as if nothing had happened between us, as if he hadn’t broken down and shouted at me.
With a slap I shut my book. “All right then. Moan away. But don’t complain about my sounds this time.”
9
The Fiend Prince looked toward the door. “Anyone could walk in. We should position ourselves convincingly—here, you come and sit on my lap—”
“Definitely not.”
“Then you lie on the couch and I’ll get astride you.”
“No.”
“Fine. Then you hold onto the back of the chair, bend over, and I’ll—”
“Gods, would you stop?” I clapped my hands over my ears. “I’ll sit on your lap then.”
“No, actually, that won’t work—you’re wearing pants. You see, this is why you should wear skirts—it’s easy to hide what you’re doing—or not doing—underneath them. If you had a dress on you could just sit on me and drape it over both of us, and anyone popping in would suspect that the most illicit things were happening beneath the voluminous fabric, when in reality, nothing would be happening at all.”
“I’ll take the pants off,” I said, my face hot. “This shirt is long enough to hide the rest.”
He nodded, so I unfastened the pants and slipped them off. It felt odd to be barelegged in front of him, and more so when I arranged myself astride his lap, facing him. The long silk shirt draped my thighs and rear, covering the fact that I was still wearing my underwear. Anyone walking in would think we were coupling, when instead, I was protected from such congress by a thin layer of soft material, and by the thicker fabric of his black pants.
My knees and shins pressed into the velvety cushion of the chair. I didn’t know where to put my hands. And I was much too close to the Fiend Prince’s pretty mouth. At this range, a sneaky glance told me his eyes were dark brown, nearly black.
