Page 4 of The Dark Prince
My blood boiled. Who would be enough of a cretin to strike a small, thin girl? I may be a monster, but I wasn’t a demon.
I pulled her along behind me back toward the main hall where the sounds of wedding guests mingling in anticipation of our ceremony only grated on my nerves. I’d specifically told Lord Perronnotto do this. I should have known he’d never miss an opportunity to rub the king’s bastard in everyone’s faces.
The girl looked sick. I hoped she didn’t pass out on me.
When we reached the hall, she dug her heels into the floor and pulled back against me, refusing to enter the throng. Distress twisted her pretty features.
I tightened my grip on her wrist. If she thought she would back out now, she was in for a rude awakening. Perron owed me for covering his debts. He owed me for pissing me off right now. I would have the bride I needed, whether or not she wanted to marry me. She wriggled like a mouse against my grasp, but I pulled her forward.
“You will go through with this,” I growled at her.
Be nice, you idiot.
I took a deep breath. “I will not strike you. Please be calm.” Without seeing her reaction, I tugged her behind as we burst into the hall. All the noise died immediately.
“I have her, and I am satisfied. We will leave, now,” I announced to everyone, my voice echoing around the large hall with its stone floors and low ceiling.
The girl peeked up at everyone from underneath her lashes. The servants stared in shock, mouths hanging wide open. Perron gaped at us like a fish, red in the face.
A servant girl with pale skin and long, blonde hair pushed herself forward, shoving others out of the way.
“No! You can’t marry her,” she shrieked. “You were supposed to marry me!”
The servant threw her hair down around her and tried to strike a flirtatious pose. Her little tantrum ruined the effect. “Father! Isadora stole my wedding dress, and now she’s trying to steal my husband!”
The girl I held onto made a small squeak of terror as Perron stalked toward her. Instead of fleeing, she pressed herself to my back, hiding behind me as her small hands balled into the fabric of my tunic.
I took a moment to breathe. And kept breathing. No woman had ever willingly put herself this close to me before. This one was acting as though I were her shield: the only force that stood between her and the horrors of the world.
An intense protectiveness surged through me. Whatever was going on here, she feared Perron more than she did me. That would not stand.
Perron curled his lip. “Insolent wench! I’ll beat you for this! How dare you!”
I stood to my full height, shielding the girl with my body. Perron stopped and even took a half-step back at the subtle show of possessiveness. The tension was thick enough to choke on.
“Touch her, and I will rip your arm off and feed it to your pigs.”
Perron froze, and the crowd gasped. I narrowed my gaze at everyone around us, daring them to act. When no one moved, I continued. I was only going to say this once.
“This girl is a daughter of this household by blood, is she not?” I rumbled darkly. I didn’t quite understand what was going on here, but I wasn’t about to interrogate the girl in front of everyone. Only one thing mattered to me; that she was who she claimed she was.
Perron muttered and stammered, but nodded yes. None of the other nobles in attendance corrected him.
A hand was tugging on my arm. I realized it was the girl.
“Do you have something to say?” I asked, tilting my head back toward her.
Her eyes flicked away so fast from mine, lingering only a second on my mask before settling on the golden pendant on my chest, which was the king’s crest in the shape of an ornate knot.
“I am the full-blooded daughter of the late Lady Diana,” she whispered. “Heronlyfull-blooded daughter,” she added on viciously with a fearful glance at the blonde girl dressed as a servant.
Ah. Perron had another daughter, but not by Lady Breakstone. I straightened, the path forward clear.
“She is the one I choose and of the agreed upon lineage,” I said to Perron, wanting out of here as soon as possible. I pointed one long finger at the girl dressed in the rags—Perron’s daughter. Her name was Rose or Rosie, something like that. I didn’t recall. “You didn’t seek to deceive me, did you?”
The girl went white. Perron stumbled forward, falling over himself with apologies. “No. No! I don’t know what you’re talking about. She is—I mean, Isadora isn’t … Why on earth would you wanther?”
I felt the girl (Isadora) flinch against me. Her face flushed red and her eyes lowered to the floor. Despite the ornate dress, it didn’t fit her correctly, clearly tailored for someone else. It was also clear from her skin and hair she hadn’t bathed in a while. In contrast, the flaxen beauty in rags had lightly powdered skin and curled hair.
