Page 9 of The Prince and His Stolen Groom
“Sorry, Mother.” I straightened and lifted my chin, trying to look as innocent and unsuspicious as possible for a kidnapper.
Her brown eyes scanned me, checking for insufficiencies. Either she didn’t find any, or she didn’t have time to fix them, because her attention returned to the oncoming carriage.
The horses stopped a few feet in front of us and one of the attendants cried, “Presenting His Royal Highness of the Kingdom of Bane, Prince Brendon Banes.”
What the fuck?
The carriage rocked like a boat on the sea. Another attendant opened the door and a metal foot stepped out, falling heavily to the stone and dragging its armored occupant out of the vehicle. They stumbled and almost knocked over the attendant as they righted themselves.
I repeat, what the fuck?
The person was covered head to toe in suffocating silver armor. Even the visor was down, obscuring their vision. Their attendant had to grab them by the elbow and guide them forward.
Franny’s eyes widened and she hurriedly stepped backwards when they almost crashed into her.
“Sorry,” they muttered, their voice tinny. “Can’t see very well in this thing.”
What the actual fuck is happening right now?
Squinting at the covered face, I finally realized what they’d done. Those assholes had sent a fake! When they couldn’t find the prince, they sent a replacement to keep the wedding on track. Would they take the charade all the way to the altar? If Franny married a non-royal imposter, what would happen with the defense spell? In a few short minutes my problems had gone from ‘my sister would be miserable in her marriage’ to ‘my sister would unknowingly marry some rando, the kingdom would be doomed, and we’dallbe miserable.’
I had to find a way to reveal the imposter and stop the domino effect without anyone suspecting I’d tipped over the first block. Clearing my throat, I asked, “Why is His Highness in a full suit of armor?”
The two attendants exchanged nervous looks, then the one on the left blurted out, “It’s bad luck to see the groom before the wedding.”
“Since when?”
A sharp elbow jabbed my side, right in one of the bruises from last night, and I choked on a gasp of pain. I jerked my head around to glare at Franny, who smiled beatifically at the person pretending to be her fiancé.
“I’m so pleased to finally meet you,” she murmured, dropping into an elegant curtsey that they couldn’t possibly see through that visor.
“Likewise,” the imposter grunted. Then they tried to bow, startling the attendants who both shrieked “No!” as they caught the heavy hunk of metal before it could crash to the ground.
I looked at my parents, trying to express with my wide eyes and arched eyebrows:Are you seeing this right now? Clearly, we need to call off the wedding.
They ignored my very reasonable silent demands and greeted the imposter with grating formality.
“And this is our son, Prince Frederick Chandler Marshall William Woeful, the second,” Father said, gesturing to me.
“A pleasure,” the imposter told their own horse. They’d somehow gotten completely turned around and I wasn’t going to help them with their damned ruse by pointing out I was behind them.
“Let’s continue inside,” Mother suggested, somehow unphased by the imposter’s bizarre behavior. She glided forward, the perfect hostess welcoming guests to her home.
Each attendant grabbed one of the imposter’s arms and dragged them in the correct direction.
Seething over the new development, I dragged my feet, trying to think of a way to reveal their trickery without exposing my own misdeeds.
Francesca also lingered behind. Once the others were far enough away, she whispered, “Why are you walking like you spent the night riding a stable boy?”
“I am not!” I hadn’t realized how badly I was limping until she said something. When I’d woken up, my whole back and the back of my thighs had huge, ugly black and purple bruises. Everything was stiff and uncomfortable, and I really needed an ice pack or a hot bath.
“You most certainly are,” she replied primly. “Whatever you do at night is your prerogative, of course, but I do hope you’re practicing safe penetration. I could lend you some—”
“Donotcontinue that sentence!” My face heated with humiliation. “I wasn’t fucking any stable boys. I fell down the stairs!”
Concern instantly replaced humor. “Are you alright? Should I send for a healer?”
“I’m fine,” I muttered. “I’m more concerned aboutyou.”
