Page 7 of The Prince and His Stolen Groom
I rolled my eyes at the unnecessary extravagance and guided Primrose closer, hitching her to a post outside of a nearby dress shop. Stepping into the shadows between two buildings, I watched the inn from afar. I didn’t want to go inside yet where it’d be too bright and crowded, risking the chance that I would be identified as an imposter. If I waited just a little longer, I might find the perfect time to pounce.
It was the prince’s last night of freedom. Once he met Franny, the engagement would transform from a concept into a fact. If the rumors about him were true, he wouldn’t settle for a quiet night in.
Not five minutes passed before a man exited the inn. The last rays of the setting sun set his red hair ablaze and illuminated an easy smile. He was dressed casually in a white shirt tucked into brown pants, with the shirtsleeves rolled up to his elbows to expose toned forearms.
The nearest stable hand stopped struggling with the carriage logistics long enough to bow deeply and confirm the man’s identity. “Your Highness.”
A voice called out from the inn, asking him to wait, but the prince waved them off. “I’m just going down the street, Kit.” He had a pleasant voice, smooth and cheerful, with a lilt that sounded like he spent a lot of time laughing. “I’ll remain in view and perfectly safe. Nothing will happen.”
I watched the prince to see which direction he would walk in, planning to follow at a slight distance. The fates were truly with me, because his long, graceful stride carried him straight to me. As he passed, I stepped out of the shadows, fan fluttering coyly in front of my face. “Prince Brandon?” I called out, pitching my voice an octave higher.
He hesitated and narrowed clear, blue eyes at me. A little too clear—this whole thing would be easier if he was slightly drunk. “Brendon, actually,” he corrected, his tone chilly politeness, like a breeze warning of oncoming winter.
Not the best start, but I could salvage this. “My sincerest apologies!” I curtsied deeply and my fluttering fan picked up speed. “Allow me to introduce myself. I am Princess Francesca Cecilia Bernadette Rosalie Woeful, the second.”
One pale red eyebrow quirked. “There are two of you with such a mouthful name?”
“Sixteen, technically, but the family name changed with the kingdom. You know how it is.”
“Yes, I do.” Remembering his manners, he bowed deeply to me. “Prince Brendon Banes, at your service.” He straightened, his freckled brow furrowed. “Forgive me, Princess, I wasn’t expecting to meet you on the road. Is all well at the castle?”
“Everything is fine!” My voice cracked and I coughed to recover myself. “I couldn’t stand waiting until tomorrow, I was simply too eager to meet you.”
“You were?” he asked, taken aback by the statement.
I frowned at his shock and said through gritted teeth, “Yes, of course.” If we stood out here talking for too long, that Kit person was bound to realize something was the matter and investigate. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
“It’s just, you never answered my letters. I assumed this marriage was simply an obligation to you.”
He’d written Franny letters? And she’d ignored them? Fran wasn’t the best correspondent, but that didn’t sound like a one and done issue where she’d simply forgotten them amongst all her other daily tasks. Maybe they’d gotten lost in the mail? Or maybe she’d been hiding how much she hated the arranged marriage for years, and I’d simply never recognized how much she’d dreaded it. Guilt soured my stomach and I swallowed roughly. Since Brendon was still looking at me in confusion, I scrambled to find some excuse. “I have terrible handwriting.”Fuck, of all the things to say.
“Oh, well…” he trailed off. He looked like hewantedto believe me, which only added to my guilt. Then he smiled, and his face transformed from uncertainty to a sweet, quiet joy. “Then it is my true pleasure to finally meet you.” He took my free hand and brushed his thumb over my knuckles before bringing it to his lips in a soft kiss.
I stared at him, eyes wide and a little short of breath.Gods damn,he was good. In one move, I’d completely lost my train of thought. If he stood there holding my hand all night, that’d be fine with me.
“Perhaps we could go inside?” Brendon suggested, his voice low and intimate. “Talk about the wedding and our future.” He started to lead me toward the tavern, and I followed him in a half-daze. “I’ve been waiting for this day for a long time, Francesca.”
Francesca. Right.He wasn’t flirting withme, he was flirting with mysister, and he was obviously way happier about the impending nuptials than she was. I dug my heels into the ground and forced us both to a stop. Fluttering the fan furiously in front of my face, I pitched my voice even higher out of desperation. “No!”
He looked at me in bewilderment and released my hand, stepping away and putting some space between us. “No?”
“I uh, don’t want an audience. I’m painfully shy.”
“You are?” he asked, sounding skeptical.
“Yes! Which is why I came to meet you alone.”
“Alone,” he repeated, looking around us for the first time. “Didn’t you at least bring some guards? That doesn’t seem safe.” Though really, he had no room to criticize me, since he’d just ditched his own guard.
“I did, they’re just, you know—” I waved my fan vaguely behind me, then realized I’d almost exposed myself and quickly covered my face again. “Actually, would you be so kind as to escort me back to them? They’re not far, half an hour’s walk at most.”
“Of course. Let me just—” He turned, probably to ask for his own guard to join us.
I couldn’t let him call for anyone else, so I pounced, grabbing his hand and clutching it tightly with my free one. “Thank you so much! We’ll go right now, and they won’t even notice I’ve gone.” I tugged him around the back of the building, out of view of the inn.
“What about your horse?”
“I’ll get her in a moment,” I said, keeping my back to him as I rifled through my bodice. The damned velvet pouch had fallen under one of my fake boobs and it took a moment to fish it out.
