Page 34 of The Prince and His Stolen Groom
“Oh. So, you mean they weren’t real?”
“Not in the sense that I can procure a pair for you, no.”
She deflated so visibly before him that he drooped along with her. He gestured for her to come to him, and she settled onto his lap, resting her head in the crook of his neck.
“At least there’s still the wedding to attend,” he reminded her, rubbing soft circles along her back. He’d received news from the imp that the antivenom had been successfully delivered, so the groom had survived. The imp had also reported that he’d been in the arms of acompletely differentman, but that wasn’t really Cyril’s business. Though he did have concerns that his wedding interruption would not be as grand as he’d expected. Tearing apart two lovers on the cusp of matrimony, ruining the happiness of two such lofty people, would indeed boost his reputation. But interrupting a wedding of reluctant participants who would probably sigh in relief … that could be twisted into all sorts of terrible misunderstandings. Like that he was ahero.
He’d never be able to show his face in the villain community again.
Which was why, after receiving his sandwich, he’d given another vial to the shadow-walker.
The potion would ensure that the bridal couple would be bursting with love and happiness. They’d practically run down the aisle, eager to finally be joined in holy matrimony. Then, just before the binding kiss, Cyril would tear them apart. The chaos that would ensue! The fear he’d inspire! He could practically taste it already.
With his help, it’d be the perfect wedding to ruin.
Chapter Fourteen
Franny ambushed me as soon as I returned to the castle. Her gift was still tucked under one arm, but she didn’t even glance at it as she grabbed my hand and announced, “I desperately need your help!”
She tugged me down a random hall, looked both ways four times—apparently, she was even more paranoid about eavesdroppers than Madame—before whispering, “I’ve made a terrible mistake.”
Franny wasn’t usually the type to make vague, ominous statements, which made this all the more concerning. “What’s the matter?” Did it have something to do with Kit? If it did, was the ‘mistake’ actually my fault?
“Brendon keeps referring to letters he sent me,” Franny explained, “in the same way as a book we’re both familiar with. But I haven’t read any of them! At first, I could get away with only simple answers, but I think he’s starting to suspect. It would break his heart if he discovered I hadn’t even opened them.”
So, it wasn’t my fault. I’d have been more relieved if I wasn’t so confused. “Alright. So why don’t you just read them?”
“I don’t have time! Between last-minute wedding preparations and my normal duties, every hour of my day is planned. And I can’t read them at night because I fall asleep as soon as the day’s adrenaline dies down.”
“What do you expect me to do? Read them for you and summarize like some sort of book report?”
“Yes! That exactly!” she exclaimed, clutching my hand tighter. “I knew you would help me.”
“Wait, no, that wasn’t a serious suggestion—”
“I’ve already put them in your room,” she said as she finally dropped my hand and hurried down the hall.
“But I haven’t—”
She disappeared around the corner.
What the fuck, Fran? You want me to read your fiancé’s private letters?It was only worse knowing that I’d met the real Brendon and she hadn’t.
Wait, why was Kit quizzing Fran on the letters anyway? Did they suspect she had something to do with Brendon’s disappearance? Although Brendon hadmentionedthe letters, I couldn’t imagine why they would make Kit suspicious.
The only way to find out was to read them.
I dropped the gift off with one of Kit’s attendants—why couldn’t they have gone to pick it up in the first place?—and headed straight to my room. A large stack of letters sat on my desk next to a plate of cookies and a steaming cup of tea. At least she’d been considerate enough to provide me with reading fuel.
Sighing, I slumped into my desk chair and ran a hand down my face. With his reputation—and the way he’d teased me with his touch—I’d assumed Brendon was as free with his affections as Franny. The sheer number of letters in the pile showed a sincerity I’d never expected.
Putting the task off as long as I could, I sipped the tea and munched on a cookie. The liquid was pinker than usual, with loose leaves that hadn’t quite been strained out. They swirled in the cup, creating a little heart. The simple shape mocked me, reminding me I was about to read love letters meant for someone else. I drained the cup in three scalding gulps. It was also sweeter than usual, like someone had been a bit heavy-handed with the sugar. Making a face, I set the cup back down in its saucer, and picked up the first letter.
A Small Sample of Letters Written by Prince Brendon, Previously Unopened
To Her Highness Princess Francesca Woeful,
I don’t exactly know where to begin. Though we have been engaged for most of our lives, I know nothing about you. My mother insists that it is better to learn through speaking with the person themself, so she refuses to tell me even simple things like your favorite color. I hope that these letters offer us both an opportunity to learn about each other and will provide useful insights into the people we are.
