Bodyguards Boxed Set

by Julianne MacLean

  “Aye, milord.” Thayne laughed. “That will not be a problem.”

  “And did you find a puppy as well?” Ciara asked eagerly. “She was in a basket—”

  “She is safe in Vasau as well, Your Highness.” Thayne’s expression was hopeful as he looked at Royce. “Though we did take the liberty of having your other things sent here to us... just in case you agreed to help.”

  Royce hesitated, but only for a heartbeat. He had to do it. For his country’s future, for Ciara’s sake—and for Mathias.

  He owed the kindhearted prince a great deal.

  Glancing down at Ciara, he gave her a rueful grin. “Your Highness, I hope you will forgive me, but I believe I have just become a rebel.”

  She did not look particularly happy about his decision, but his announcement brought a hearty round of male cheers.

  Which were interrupted by Miriam speaking softly to her mistress. “You, Your Highness, also have a difficult task. We need you to ask a few careful questions and find out where Mathias is, if you can. The men could spend weeks searching for him in the Ruadhans, and we do not have weeks—”

  “Wait a moment,” Royce protested hotly, his heart skidding to a halt. “You have been trying to abduct her all this time—and now you mean to send her back to Daemon? She should remain here, where she will be safe—”

  “Milord, now that she has arrived at the palace, she must stay there,” Landers told him. “This is not how we wanted it to be, especially with the wedding planned for ten days hence. That is why we tried to stop you before you reached Mount Ravensbruk.”

  “We have little time left to find Mathias,” Thayne said tightly. “If Her Highness disappears now, it will raise Daemon’s suspicions. We can ill afford that at this critical point.”

  Miriam took Ciara’s hands in hers. “Your Highness, you may be the only one who can get the information we need. It will not seem amiss that you are curious about Daemon’s family. It makes sense that you would ask about his brother.”

  “I do not like her taking such a risk,” Royce bit out.

  “Royce, they are right.” Ciara squeezed Miriam’s hands, then turned to face him. “Daemon would never suspect that I of all people am in league with the rebels. I am the only one who can do it.”

  Royce felt as if the cavern walls were closing in on him. He looked at Thayne. “I do not want to send her in there alone,” he insisted, jaw clenched. “I will—”

  “Nay, milord, I cannot allow that.” Thayne’s adamant tone held a note of regret.

  “You would be well advised to stay completely out of sight, since you are supposed to be dead,” Hadwyn reminded him. “Daemon believes you are at the bottom of a cliff somewhere.”

  Royce muttered a frustrated oath, realizing they were right. He could not return to the palace.

  “But she will not be alone,” Miriam said firmly, standing beside her mistress. “I will be with her.”

  “And we will be near at all times,” Jarek assured him.

  “And I am not the same helpless princess I once was,” Ciara whispered, her liquid gaze on his. “I have learned that I am stronger than I thought. I can do it, Royce.”

  Her courage, her willingness to place herself in danger, only made him want to draw her close and keep her safe. Keep her with him.

  But once again, he had to let her go.

  He clenched his fists, lifting his gaze to the rebel leader’s. They stared hard at one another for a long moment, and he sensed that Thayne understood what he was feeling.

  Understood that Royce was not merely protecting his princess, but the woman he loved.

  He asked one last question, fearing he already knew the answer. “And if we do find Mathias, and he does agree to take the throne from Daemon, what happens to her then?”

  “Our plan was that the wedding would go forward as planned,” Thayne said quietly, “with a different prince as the groom, to fulfill the peace agreement and assure the future of both our countries.”

  Royce looked down at Ciara, seeing the hope in her eyes flicker and die. She had not understood until now, must have thought that being free of Daemon meant she would be truly free, that the two of them could...

  Only now did she realize what he had always known: she would never be truly free. What he had said to her a few days ago was still true. Princesses do not marry mere barons.

  His throat closed off at the anguish in her eyes.

  “It would appear that neither of us has a choice.” Her voice was hollow.

  “Indeed, Your Highness.” His mouth curved in a bitter half smile. “It would appear that some things never change.”

  At least, he thought, she would not have to wed Daemon. If he could never have her for his own, he could at least give her that.

  And with Mathias and Ciara on the throne, Thuringia and Châlons would enjoy a bright future.

  She dropped her gaze from his, blinking hard, then looked up at Thayne. “I will have to return to the palace at once, before anyone notices my absence.”

  “Aye, Your Highness. But first let me tell you how you might go about securing the information we will need.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  * * *

  CIARA SLIPPED INTO Daemon’s bedchamber and closed the door behind her.

  Barely daring to breathe, she remained frozen a moment, clinging to the latch. But the room was empty, as she had hoped. And there was no time to waste on being afraid. One of Daemon’s ministers had come to her chamber early this morning to explain that the prince was busy with affairs of state and would be unable to see her until after noon.

  Which gave her the perfect opportunity to do a bit of secret exploring before their first meeting.

  Releasing the latch, she moved into the room. The wedding procession from Châlons had arrived soon after breakfast, and she and Miriam had enacted a joyous public reunion, as if they had not seen each other in a fortnight. Everyone in the castle now knew of King Aldric’s clever plan to protect his daughter’s life.

  And all rejoiced that the rebels had been fooled.

  Leaving Miriam upstairs to supervise the unpacking of her belongings, Ciara had wandered the palace for the past hour, and no one had questioned her. The servants and retainers seemed to think it entirely natural that their future mistress would wish to view her new home.

  In fact, her gold coronet and ermine-lined robes had everyone bowing and curtsying and generally keeping their eyes downcast.

  Which was most helpful to a princess who had just become a spy.

  The hem of her amber velvet gown rustled in the rushes as she crossed the floor into the heart of Daemon’s private lair. Sunlight streaked through a pair of large cathedral windows fitted with clear glass, illuminating a room more lavish than any she had ever seen.

  Opposite the windows was a huge four-posted bed hung with gold brocade curtains and covers, positioned between two massive hearths that took up half the adjoining walls. The soaring, vaulted ceiling had been hung with red-and-gold silk banners, and there were tapestries everywhere—two of them depicting Daemon himself, one in battle and one on the hunt.

  A bathing tub filled one corner, and a long, ornately carved chest stretched between the two windows, topped with an array of precious goods, including gleaming silver great helms and sparkling goblets made of glass. The rest of the room also burst with riches: gold plates displayed above each hearth, finely wrought silver stands crowded with candles, chairs cushioned with tasseled pillows, carved chests of every description, many crusted with jewels. It was clear he denied himself naught.

  While his people had been forced to resort to poaching to feed their starving families.

  Ciara choked down her anger and focused her attention on her task. She had to help the rebels find Prince Mathias. Everything depended on that.

  Including her own plan.

  The one she had devised late last night while unable to sleep.

  ‘Twas as simple as it was outrageous, an ide
a based on emotion rather than cool reason. Her father would not like it. Royce might not even like it.

  But she rather thought that Prince Mathias would agree.

  That hope made her heart flutter as she opened one of the trunks, glancing at the door before examining the contents. Inside, she found blank sheaves of parchment, quill pens, horn inkwells. Checking another, she discovered silver chalices and drinking flasks. Other trunks overflowed with coins, embroidered silk gloves, jeweled daggers.

  As she closed the last one, she sighed in frustration. There was naught here other than the riches one would expect to see in a greedy prince’s private chamber. She was not even sure what she had hoped to find. Daemon had not attained his current power by being careless. He would hardly leave a map lying about, with a large X showing where his brother was being held. Or a key on a tasseled cord that would unlock Mathias’s prison door.

  But there must be something she could discover. Some bit of information. Some clue that would reveal where Mathias was. If she could do anything to make Royce’s journey into the Ruadhan Mountains any less dangerous, she had to try.

  With another quick glance at the door, she continued her search, crossing to the long chest between the windows. Here, too, she found more luxuries: the polished great helms and matching gauntlets, glass goblets, a reliquary box, gold candlesticks....

  Pausing, she returned her gaze to the silver box, remembering what the rebels had said about Daemon’s fear of God’s wrath. Many wealthy nobles owned a reliquary, a small casket used to hold some priceless religious artifact believed to perform miracles, like a splinter from the True Cross, or the bones of a saint, or a strand of the Virgin’s hair.

  Curious to see what Daemon thought might be powerful enough to save him from the flames of Hell, she lifted the lid.

  Inside, on a lining of red silk, lay a small black cross on a velvet cord.

  Her brow furrowed, she picked it up. The necklace was lovely, but it did not appear particularly old, or even costly. She lifted it by the cord, letting it dangle in the light that streamed through the windows. The cross was not made of onyx, as she had guessed, but of a strange black stone with sparkling facets that glittered almost like glass in the sun. She could never remember seeing the like.

  “What a pleasure to find you here, Princess.”

  Startled, she whirled, her heart thundering. “Your Highness!”

  Daemon stood at the door, flanked by a pair of servants.

  When he saw the open reliquary box and the necklace hanging from her fingers, his courtly smile vanished. “I had intended to change into more formal attire before going to see you,” he said coolly, his voice revealing none of the displeasure in his expression. “But here you are. How kind of you to save me the trouble.” He waved away the servants who had accompanied him inside.

  They left with alacrity, closing the door behind them.

  Ciara felt the thud echo through the chamber, heard her heart make the same sound.

  Knew she could not hope to hide what she had been doing. “I was just admiring—”

  “Something that means a great deal to me.” He stalked across the room and took it from her hand. “It was a gift sent by my brother, from Rome. In the future, Princess, you will refrain from touching my things.”

  “I am sorry. I meant no offense.” But if the rebels were correct, Mathias had never been in Rome. “It is a most beautiful and unusual stone. What is it called?”

  Turning his back on her, he replaced the necklace in the reliquary box and closed the lid. “It has some Latin name I cannot recall. They are masters at glasswork, the Italians.” With a flick of his hand, he indicated the sparkling goblets arrayed atop the chest as he turned. “My brother knows how much I admire their art.”

  When Daemon’s pale gray eyes fastened on her, Ciara felt icy fear stab through her. She suddenly wanted to run, had to steel herself against the impulse. In the forest yesterday, she had thought the prince most unlike a warrior—but now, standing face-to-face with him on level ground, she realized he towered over her.

  His black garments only added to the effect. This close to him, she also noticed the gray in his hair and deep lines around his eyes and mouth. ‘Twas a harsh, cruel face. The face of a man who had spent a great deal of time in worry. Despite all his riches, all his power, he evidently knew no peace.

  She wondered if that was what made him so brutal.

  “Now, then.” He smiled, but instead of softening his features, it only added a sharpness that reminded her of the white wolves common in the mountains. “It is time we got better acquainted, is it not?”

  “Of course, Your Highness.”

  When he took her elbow, she forced herself not to flinch from his touch. He led her away from the windows. “Tell me how you like your new home thus far.” He swept an arm around the ornate room. “Does my bedchamber meet with your approval?”

  “It is most—” Revolting. “—pleasant, Your Highness.”

  “I am glad you find it so.” Stopping a few paces from the bed, he raised his hand to toy with the chain that held her ermine-lined robe in place. “Once we are married, you will be spending a great deal of time here. In my bed.”

  Ciara felt as if a lead weight had just dropped through the pit of her stomach. She did not know if she should express her shock at his comment. She dared not slap him.

  His smile widened as he looked down at her, clearly aware he was making her uncomfortable—and enjoying her distress.

  She felt suddenly, horribly aware of the fact that they were alone together—and she doubted his servants would come to her aid if they heard any suspicious noises from this room.

  Even a scream.

  But nay, surely he would not...

  As if reading her thoughts, he pushed both sides of her robe from her shoulders, the casual way he handled her making his intention clear.

  He wanted her to know that he owned her, the same way he owned the candlesticks and the tapestries and everything else in this room, in his country. And in hers.

  His gaze traveled over her body and settled on her breasts. “These garments are much more becoming than the rags you wore yesterday when first we met.”

  As she stood there, unable to speak, a now familiar instinct broke through the fear and disgust that held her frozen.

  Elbow and heel, elbow and heel —

  She cut the impulse short, tried instead to change the direction of his thoughts. “Your Highness, I was wondering—”

  “Have you always worn your hair so short?” He caught the end of her braid in one hand, rubbing it between his fingers.

  “Nay, Your Highness” She resisted the urge to jerk away from his grasp, forced herself to remain still. “My long hair became troublesome while traveling.” That was certainly true. “I thought it best to trim it. It will grow back anon.”

  “I see.” He released her braid, only to trace his fingers along her shoulder. “It was brave of you, Princess, to undertake such an arduous journey... especially with no servants to attend you. Only Ferrano.” His fingers reached her throat, slid back to the nape of her neck. “I am told that he left the palace last night and has not been seen since.”

  “Aye, the servants mentioned it to me this morn.”

  “Do not be concerned, Princess. I assured you of his safety, and I promise he will be found. I have men out looking for him even now.”

  He is alive, you lying, murdering bastard . She kept her voice cool, disinterested. “I am certain he will turn up anon.”

  Daemon’s thumb moved to the front of her throat, his hand neatly encircling her neck. “Tell me, did you have reason to regret traveling alone with Ferrano?”

  She blinked, fought the icy nervousness that rained through her. “I do not understand.”

  “Princess... “ His voice turned silky and his fingers tightened, just enough to indent her skin.

  Ciara stiffened, resisted a spark of panic.

  “I beg of you,”
he murmured, “do not pretend ignorance. I want to know whether you lost aught more than your hair.” He leaned down until his eyes were level with hers. “I would know whether that ill-mannered knave dared tamper with my royal goods.” His upper lip curled in that disdainful sneer.

  She could not catch her breath. “You may be at ease, Your Highness. I am a maiden still.”

  “Are you, my lovely betrothed?” He did not relax his grip and did not appear convinced. “The guards who first came upon you in the forest yesterday told me that you and Ferrano appeared quite... close before they called out to you. And I well remember the baron from four years ago—as a hot-tempered sort not given to following rules.”

  She glared at him. “Baron Ferrano’s behavior was completely honorable.”

  His fingers only tightened. “If you are lying to me... “

  “It is the truth! You have my word.”

  That made him laugh. “The word of a woman is worth less than the empty purse of a peasant.” Straightening, he released his hold on her. “Before I make you my bride, I would have better proof. I will send my royal physician to examine you.”

  Ciara stepped back from him, eyes wide with outrage, stomach churning with nausea. “There is no need. I have told you—”

  “Have you something to hide, milady?”

  “Nay!”

  “Then my physician will visit you this afternoon. My heirs will one day rule, Princess, and I would be assured that they are indeed my heirs.”

  Ciara bit her tongue to hold in an oath, more angry than afraid. She knew she was telling him the truth.

  She also had no intention of being around long enough to marry him, much less bear his children.

  “Very well,” she said flatly, seeing no way to avoid his order. She did not wish to make him any more suspicious of her than he already was.

  Not when she had important work to do.

  “Excellent.” He smiled at her again. “I am glad we understand one another. Once I am assured that I have not been made a cuckold before our vows have even been spoken, all will be well.” He turned away, changing the subject as casually as if they had been discussing the weather. “Have my retainers been treating you well?”