Page 71 of The Prince and His Stolen Groom
“So that he couldn’t escape off to one of his lovers! One night in someone else’s arms, and he probably wouldn’t show up to the wedding. This manwillmake it to the altar and my wifewillenjoy the wedding of the century or there will be dire consequences.” What he didn’t say was that he was the one who would experience those consequences. Just imagining the tears shed already sent a shudder down his spine.
What was done was done. Perhaps if the groom had a concussion, he would be easier to get to the altar. Sighing, Cyril said, “Grab a chair and find some rope. I want him tied down tight before Idealwith him.”
Prince Brendon Would Actually Prefer Not to Be Narrating Right Now, Thank You Very Much
Brendon tried to chase after Rick, but the colorful cords quite literally bound him to Franny. He made it three steps before his arm was yanked back and he almost fell from the force. It was a good thing he didn’t, or he would have had a difficult time getting back up again. Why did Kit have to choosearmorof all things? He’d spent only one day in the suit and already wanted to rip it off and melt it down into spoons.
“Leave him be,” Queen Francesca said, taking Brendon by the shoulders and forcing him back to face the Good Wizard.
“But Mother,” Franny began, working at the knots along her wrist. “Freddy—”
“Has always been a bit dramatic,” the queen finished. “Let’s finish the rehearsal first and then I will speak with him.”
“Honey, I do think—” King Frederick’s protest dwindled away.
The helmet blocked Brendon’s peripheral vision, but he assumed the queen had sent her husband a quelling look. So far, Rick’s mother had not made the best impression. It probably had something to do with the ‘tower incident.’ Some private, dark part of Brendon’s heart was glad for Rick’s strained relationship with his family and his semi-tarnished reputation in Woe. It would make it easier to convince Rick to come home with him, to give him a fresh start in Bane.
Once they had a chance to speak, of course.
Brendon was forced to see the wedding rehearsal through until the end, when the cords were meticulously untied so that they could be used for the real ceremony tomorrow. As soon as he was freed, he ran—as best as he could—all the way out of the room.
The queen called after him.
Kit’s voice, loud and strained, echoed down the hall as she said, “Your Majesty, I am terribly sorry for the inconvenience, but something was wrong with my room. I wouldn’t usually bother you—”
The door to the ballroom closed behind Brendon, cutting off whatever bullshit story she’d concocted to stall everyone else. As soon as he escaped the room, he yanked off his helmet and tossed it to the side. He wouldn’t need it tomorrow anyway, and he wanted to fully see Rick instead of glimpses of him through the visor.
On his way up the stairs, he shed as much of the armor as he could without someone helping him, leaving gauntlets and scraps of metal like breadcrumbs through the castle. He followed Franny’s directions until he reached Rick’s bedroom. Banging on the door, he called, “Rick? Rick, it’s Brendon. I need to talk to you.”
No answer.
“Rick,pleaseopen the door.”
Still no answer. Was it because Rick wasn’t inside, he was already asleep, or he simply refused to speak with Brendon? Only way to find out was to open the door himself.
Backing up several steps, Brendon braced himself and ran for the door, then stopped a few inches before smacking into the wood. He tested the doorknob and found it unlocked. Pretending he hadn’t almost made a grave, destructive error, he threw the door open and burst into the room.
Rick wasn’t inside. The bed was still made, the room neat and tidy except for the desk in the corner. There, dozens of letters had been piled up, opened and scattered all over the desk’s surface. Brendon examined them and found his own handwriting on every paper.
To his surprise, someone else’s handwriting mixed in with his. He picked up the letter on top—the last one he’d ever written—and read the note at the bottom.
Franny, you’re an idiot.
He sifted through the pile and read the other little notes, some of them summarizing the contents of the letters, some of them continuing the conversation as if Rick had been writing back to Brendon the whole time.
Franny’s favorite color is pink. She wears so much of it I sometimes believe she’s bought sole property rights. I personally think it’s just a watered-down version of red, a much better color.
Note—Brendon loves cats, despite sometimes claiming he doesn’t.
Gods, I don’t even know how Father would react in that situation. I don’t think we’ve ever had an animal interrupt court. Mother would probably delicately pick it up, smile never wavering, and hand it off to someone else to take it away.
Is this even the same Kit? The armor must subdue their temper.
Note—Brendon is allergic to pineapples.
Additional note—ask the staff what a pineapple is.
Brendon clutched the last letter and wished he’d really been writing to Rick the whole time. How different those years of waiting would have been.
