Page 132 of Spar of Hearts

Anya Delemond

The Prince’s study was considerably cozier than the throne room, but not by much. The fireplace looked like it hadn’t been lit in decades, and Anya swore she could hear the books shivering from the cold on the birch shelves lining the space. A behemoth desk sat in the middle, the top auspiciously clean. The room seemed more like a stage than a study.

Anya jumped as the door slammed shut behind her.

“Apologies, Princess. I’ve been meaning to have this door cushioned.” He lofted the great bird from its place on his forearm, and it flew over to a perch by the window. It apparently went everywhere with him.

“Not necessary, Your Highness,” she said, avoiding his gaze by looking out the window. Mountains towered in the distance, flanked by a ring of pine, then farmland, then colorful cottages and shops. A wide berth of grassy hills separated the castle from the populous.

The rug shifted as the Prince drew a step closer. “It must be hard, being in a foreign land, surrounded by your ancestors…but still a stranger, without a pack.” He rested a hand on her shoulder. She stiffened at his touch.

“I have a pack. My mate’s pack,” she said.

He raised a brow. “Really? Then tell me. Say I send you with the mana stones you request. Where will you go when the children are healed and the seas are calm?”

“Back to my people,” she said simply. What other choice was there?

“With that Centarian sailor?”

She shrugged his hand off her shoulder. “That Centarian is my mate,” she growled.

“You plan to rope a sailor to a palace for the rest of his life? Rip him away from his pack?”

The growl disappeared in an instant. Guilt surged in her chest as the reality of the future hit her. From the moment she and Roderick made their passionate declarations to each other, she had only thought of how they would be together. For her life at the palace, it would be an improvement of circumstance regardless. She would have him there to share her burdens, to keep her company and hold her in the night. He would be giving up an adventurous life at sea under the sun and amidst the foaming waves, where every day would bring thrilling trials and every night the merriment and love of his pack.

Could a sailor ever truly be happy with an anchor like her?

The Prince beckoned her to turn around and grasped her fingers in his.

“I have a proposal for you, Anya. One that will benefit both our kingdoms.”

Her name on his tongue made her stomach twist, but she still managed to feign a confident, “I’m listening.”

“You can help your people, set your mate free, and have all the power you need to ensure Valeria’s safety…if you marry me.”

“What?” She blinked fast and retreated her hand, bringing it to her chest. “No. No. I am flattered, Your Highness, and rather surprised, but I cannot accept. As I said, I am mated already.”

His eyes widened. It was a bit curt, sure, but in all reality, one of her more tame rejections. He took her hand more forcefully this time. Pressing a kiss to her fingers, he looked up at her and flexed his shift to show his wolfish eyes. “Mated is not married. Think about it. You can be a wolf here. You will have a pack here. I know your woes, Anya.”

How dare he? How dare he pretend to understand her plights? Yet he said it so confidently; the words felt violating. She wrenched her hand free, unable to repress a growl. “You don’t know me.”

“I may not, but Marguerite does.”

Her blood ran cold. “How do you know that name?”

He strolled calmly beside the bookcase, stopping as he reached the desk.

“I’ll show you. After all, what’s mine will be yours soon enough.”

He slid open a drawer, removing a leather-bound journal. Unwinding the strap, he spread dozens upon dozens of yellowing parchment letters across the desk.

“Miss Melusine has been writing to her father for years, right under my nose. It seems a few of my kelpie took a liking to him, and have been exchanging their gifts and messages for decades.” He picked a letter up and examined it. “I was upset, at first. He was my father’s most trusted guard and spy, and he fell victim to the charms of a woman with blood so diluted she could hardly summon a single spark. Then he came to work for me, and here he was, sending the spoils of Aquillas to his Valerian daughter. But then I saw opportunity. His daughter was a marchioness, a dear friend of the Princess. How could I let such intimate knowledge slip through my grasp?”

“You pretended to be him,” Anya said, dread swirling in her gut. The Prince knew absolutely everything. While Marg thought she was confiding in her father about her life, she was unwittingly feeding information to the Winter Prince.

He abandoned the letters and strode to her, bracketing her against the bookcase.

“Sharp wit, Your Highness. So you see, I know you more deeply than you can ever imagine. Your heart bleeds for the children. I can ease their suffering. All you need to do is say yes.”