Page 19 of The Prince and His Stolen Groom
In fact, it was a rather pleasant village with happy people calling out to each other as they worked. Laundry dried on the lines, the fresh scent perfuming the air. A group of girls sat giggling outside of a shop, eating ice cream as they gossiped. A man and woman walked down the street arm and arm, heads bowed together, lost in their own little world.
“Well now!” his wife exclaimed as she stepped out of the carriage. She smacked Cyril playfully on the shoulder. “This isn’t how you described it at all!”
“No, no it isn’t,” Cyril agreed, rubbing his beard thoughtfully. He purposefully lingered behind as his wife flounced ahead of him to get them a table in the inn’s dining room.
Cyril made a motion like he was raising a hood over his head and his travel clothes transformed into a dark cloak, hiding his face and suffusing him in an aura of shadows. With a snap of his fingers a minion appeared before him, a small purple imp with black, glimmering eyes.
“How may I serve you, Your Dark Excellency?” the imp squeaked ominously.
Passersby slowed their pace, staring at the pair of them. Cyril would have to finish his work quickly. “What do you see?” he demanded.
The imp looked around, its blue lips curling. “A happy village.”
Interesting—so it wasn’t only Cyril. “I want you to do some recon, gather some information.” Maybe they hadn’t made it to the Desolated Lands yet and they were in some other kingdom on the edge of it.
“Does His Dark Majesty require any specific information?”
“Find out the name of this place, which kingdom it resides in, and why they’re all so damn happy.”
“Of course, Your Shadowy Highness.” The imp bowed deeply then popped out of existence.
Cyril lowered his hood and the clothes returned to normal. He met his wife in the inn and kissed the top of her head. “Well, darling, it looks like this vacation will be much more fun than I thought.”
Chapter Eight
“Frederick, can you come here for a moment?”
Heart pounding, I wondered if I could feasibly pretend that I hadn’t heard my mother speak. I eyed the next corner, at least ten steps away. Forcing a smile, I turned on my heel and headed to her favorite sitting room. “Yes, Mother?”
Inside, the imposter sat on one of Mother’s plush couches, their heavy armor sinking into the soft cushions. Because no one wanted to be speared by a metal elbow, they had the whole space to themselves. The visor had been lifted again to expose only their mouth and the tiniest glimpse of a strand of red hair slipping out from the helmet, plastered to their sweaty face. Keeping up the act must be exhausting and uncomfortable.
“Headed out again so soon?”
“I needed something at the market.” I couldn’t exactly ask the imposter to give me clothes from Brandon’s luggage. I had considered sneaking into their suite, but when I’d scouted the hallway, I saw one of the attendants guarding it and I didn’t have a good explanation if I got caught.
“Why don’t you take Brendon with you?” she suggested, turning to the imposter with a kind smile they couldn’t even see. “Show him around the town.”
A protest stopped halfway to my lips. Thatwouldget them away from Franny for a little while. She’d been stuck with the imposter forthe past few days, she definitely deserved a break. I glanced at her to gauge her reaction just as she took a sip of tea, masking her emotions with the delicate gesture.
“If he wants to?”
“What do you say, Brendon?” Mother asked.
Busy munching on a cookie, it took them a second to realize Mother had addressed them. Mouth still full, they gave a small, “Hm?”
Mother raised her voice to be heard through the metal. “Would you like to go to the market with my son Frederick?”
“Uh, shopping might be a little …” The imposter gestured to themselves with an awkward clank.
“Surely you can remove the armor if Francesca isn’t around,” I said, seeing an opportunity to needle them. “Or canno onesee your face until the wedding? You’re very committed to your customs.”Which no one has ever mentioned or heard of before.
“I am,” the imposter replied solemnly. Then they pushed themselves up, knocking over the couch in the process. They took a wobbling step forward and almost fell over.
I instinctively grabbed their arm, holding them upright.
“Thank you,” they muttered, righting their askew helmet.
Even if I was annoyed with them for throwing a curveball in my plans, I didn’t want them to get injured while they tried to protect Brendon’s reputation. “Does ithaveto be armor?”
