by R. Scarlett
Tensley stood, his chest heaving, and he took one heavy step toward him. “Now.”
“You shouldn’t be moving after that fight,” the prince said, glancing at Tensley’s unhinged jawbone. He grimaced. “You shouldn’t be moving at all, to be quite frank. A corpse. I’ve seen that man ruin thousands of men’s skulls with that fat fist of his. I thought you were a dead man.”
“Quite fucking alive,” Tensley seethed.
Molly stood beside Tensley, holding her dress together at the neck while glaring at the prince. “He needs tending to.”
That earned a wild grin from the prince. “Go ahead. I’ll wait.”
Molly had gripped Tensley’s bicep before he pounced. “Get the fuck out of here.”
Darkness stained the prince’s eyes. “You should really remember who you’re talking to, Dux. This is my territory. I can do whatever the fuck pleases me. You should never forget that,” he said menacingly. Then, his features changed completely, and he was back to cold and controlled. “I think you two will want to hear what I have to say,” the prince said, stepping closer, a dark glint in his blue eyes. A shadow over storming waters.
Molly squeezed Tensley’s arm, her heart halting.
Then the prince spoke again, and he smiled thinly. “For the sake of the baby.”
THE ROOM spun. Her head felt like a top spinning and spinning, and her only anchor to stand was Tensley.
Tensley yanked her back behind him at the prince’s words.
“I’m—I’m not,” Molly fought, jerking her head right to left, left to right stubbornly.
But she knew he could see the terror raging in her eyes.
The glow, the uncontrollable strength thumped through her blood and bones, the snap of power along her spine.
Her eyes shone—a burning of power formed from fear.
One deep breath, she collected herself and glared at the prince.
“I’m not.”
The prince’s mouth tilted upward. “The warlock said you were. Told me she felt a daemon and demon inside of you. A baby. Out of wedlock.” Those piercing words were directed at Tensley, and she felt his back muscles tighten under her fingers. “Fallen already ripped out one Knight’s heart for a child out of wedlock. Should we see if he’d let you pass?”
“Don’t threaten us,” Tensley snapped.
“I don’t need to threaten you,” prince said, each word a piercing dagger to Molly’s pounding chest. “You broke one of Fallen’s sacred laws.” He rubbed two fingers along his cheekbone, where her nails had left a scar—one he purposefully left unhealed. “But I have a solution for the delicate situation you are in.”
Instead of speaking, the prince stood in front of them with a sadistic grin taking over his features.
Tensley’s body shook with rage. “Spit it out.”
“Kill my father and give me my throne—and I’ll let this—” he lifted his finger leisurely waving it at the two of them, “slide. No punishment, no ripping your heart out. No one else will know.”
Molly recalled from the books she had read in Tensley’s office that it mentioned in High Court that one had to challenge and kill the king to take that position.
“Why not do it yourself?” Molly asked, frowning at him.
The prince’s features darkened. “I have. And I was punished for it. Gave me a taste of death, far worse than dying.” His shoulders tensed as if the mere thought of those days brought a physical memory on his body. “He kept me prisoner for a hundred years and murdered anyone associated with me. Even my whores. Hundred years of a taste of death to once again sit beside the king,” he spat, disgusted. “But—” His dark gaze shot to Molly, only now full of desire, but not for her though, “the daemon is my weapon, and you are my instrument.” He gestured to Tensley. “You are the only man capable of destroying him. I saw the strength you wielded in court—just one kiss and you were lethal to a monster that had killed thousands of men in battle for Fallen. With her heavenly kisses, you’d be his kiss of death.”
Molly sucked in air fast. “You want him to kill your father? The king?”
“My father has lasted too long on his golden throne. He’s lost his edge, his laws are outdated, and I know how to bring the court back to life,” he answered.
The room shifted with thick air.
“How do you know I will hand over the throne?” Tensley asked, his dark eyes drilling into the prince.
The prince grinned. “You do not want the title. You want something more intimate.” He glanced at Molly, his gaze lingering and then he focused back on Tensley. “You don’t crave power. You don’t crave our lifestyle here or the politics. You crave her.” He stepped forward. “After you kill my father, you can choose to step down, and you will announce me to take your position.”
Tensley didn’t speak, only stared back at the prince, but Molly felt his anger boiling deep within his veins.
“Either the king dies,” he spoke, a sharp tone of fierce, “or you do. Fallen may let you live, but that babe in your womb—” his eyes lowered to her stomach, and he tsked, “—he’d rip it out with his bare hands.”
Tensley moved too fast for her to blink, and he stood toe to toe in front of the prince, seething, his teeth bared.
Her hands smoothed across her flat stomach, hotness piercing her eyes. An innocent baby. A baby she could protect.
“I’ll bring you his head,” Tensley hissed lowly. A promise of bloodshed, of destruction, and chaos. “And you leave us in peace for life.”
“Tensley,” Molly murmured behind him—a caution, a sigh of disbelief.
He didn’t look at her, but his words were stone boulders cemented into the earth’s soil for centuries. “You come first.”
She bit back a sob and fisted her hands beside her.
“Your secret is safe with me—” the prince said, bowing at Molly, and then he stood, his wicked smile appearing, “—for now.”
As he marched to the door, a thought occurred to her. “But the warlock—she knows. Won’t she tell someone?”
The prince held the door handle, tilting his head to the side. “A dead warlock isn’t something you should fear.”
Goose bumps crawled up her arms, and she hugged herself, gawking at the dark prince.
“Now I’ll leave you to kiss away his bruises,” the prince said and left, the room silent but loud with thoughts, her heart thumping too fast.
“Tensley,” she gasped, turning to face him. “If you fail, if Fallen finds out—he’ll kill you.”
His battered face, so swollen and bruised, covered in his blood, made her heart crumble.
His bloody hand stroked her cheek, wetness of her own tears soaking into her skin. She shut her eyes. “I’ll do anything possible to protect you.”
Through tear-beaded lashes, she looked at him, her throat too thick to speak. The demon of her nightmares had become her heart. She’d wished she could take back everything from before—with Cree and the hunters and betraying him.
“Lay down,” she whispered, guiding him back to the bed until he sat down, her following, so she straddled his hips.
Her beast. Her poor, powerful beast had risked his life for them.
She kissed his cut lip and licked at the torn flesh.
His hands limply lay at her waist, too weak to grab her hard as he always did.
“I got you,” she hushed when he groaned, his face contorted in pain. She slid her palm down to his right side, stroking his ribs. “Right there?”
He grunted once and sighed in relief.
She then licked at his swollen cheekbones. Unlike his left side, the giant had mauled his right one, and she tenderly cared for it.
When she returned to his lips, he kissed back lightly, but still too weak. Another angry hiss of frustration.
“Just rest and let me take away the pain,” she told him, stealing one more gentle kiss.
She sat up and gently grabbed his forearm, bringing the mangled hand to her mouth. Each finger d
angled, and she hoped she’d be able to mend them back together.
She caressed it gently, sneaking glances to watch his eyes squeeze shut. Soon, the bones mended, the flesh healing over, leaving his blood as the only evidence of a battle.
He flexed his now healed hand, panting at her work. “Fucking goddess.”
She lay back down, kissing the bruises settling to the surface, stroking his wet hair.
“Kiss me,” he demanded.
She found his swollen lips and kissed him softly.
His healed hand tangled into her hair and gripped the nape of her neck, controlling the kiss, the depth, the power.
She could feel the strength returning to him, the way his hands tightened, the way his kiss grew hard, hungrier, and the way he became the beast.
He rolled her to her side as she swung a leg over his thigh so he was trapped within her legs.
She wasn’t sure how long they lay in each other’s arms, their heavy breaths battling, but she felt at peace, she felt home, and she wanted to forget about the prince’s words and the court outside filled with snakes.
Tensley lazily stroked her jaw. “You’re cursed to a beast.”
Molly frowned. “No, I’m not.”
“I took an angel by the teeth,” he hissed, baring his bloodstained teeth. “And I’d do it again.”
“Tensley,” Molly whispered, too afraid to speak further.
His eyes grew dark and distant, and she knew he was deep in thought.
“I was caged in myself,” Tensley said, stroking her golden hair, twisting the strands of sun between his tanned fingers. “Always disciplined, always in control. Until I met you. You’re undoing me, Molly. And I’m scared once you see what’s beneath, you won’t like it.”
“Have faith, Tensley,” she whispered, pressing her mouth to his bruised cheekbone, her eyes fluttering to see him in glimpses of the darkness that they bathed in. “I want you—beast and man.”
His chest heaved, his narrowed eyes dipping lower between them. His healed hand flexed, and then with courage, it spread across her lower belly.
A look passed over his features, unreadable to her.
He was rough around the edges, but deep, very deep into his core, he was soft and gentle, and she owned his rare smiles, and she owned that iron heart.
The familiar ache seized her heart, and she blinked back tears as she gawked at her beast.
“Tensley,” she muttered, her hand slipping over his on her belly. The collar tightened around her throat. She wanted to say it, needed to say it before it ripped her heart apart. “I lo—”
“Don’t say it,” he rasped, his eyes tensing.
She swallowed thickly, their gazes never parting. She didn’t need to say another word, because the way his nostrils flared, the way he stared at her…
He knew now. She could see her clearly in his glinting eyes, the way his jaw flecked, and how his forehead furrowed, and it only made her ache more to kiss the pain away.
He knew he held a weapon—so strong, so fragile, and he could wield it however he pleased.
It was too tortuous to speak the words—the three little words that she knew could destroy him. The beast of iron and blood and steel would crumble if he heard them.
I love you was too much for him to bear.
So she held it inside her lion heart and kissed him.
TENSLEY WALKED with pride before the soldiers in the courtyard beside the palace, the glaring sun high in the sky, heat steaming from the dirt ground, and the smell of the salty sea surrounding them.
Each healed bruise was a strike against their king. Tensley proved himself the night before, and now in front of the king’s army, fully healed by Molly’s touch, proved how powerful and lethal the two of them were.
Fallen could play his games.
Tensley had his queen, and she, above all else, was a force to reckon with.
“Today,” Tensley began, his voice loud and crisp, the soldiers still as tree trunks in a forest, their heads leveled, their shoulders back, and not an ounce of emotion visible on their features. “We train, hand to hand combat.”
The soldiers didn’t nod or move, only stayed motionless and stared ahead.
Tensley squared his jaw, and after a pause, he pulled his jacket off, along with his white blouse, exposing more of his healing torso.
“And I’ll be training also,” Tensley said, nodding to Rune.
Rune didn’t show his shock, but Tensley saw his hands tighten at his side.
Rune stepped forward, his tattooed body glistening from sweat under the harsh sun.
Tensley bent, gripping a handful of dirt and coating his palms.
Rune did the same, his dark eyes never leaving Tensley.
Spreading his legs far apart, Tensley positioned himself for the attack.
Tensley’s eyes narrowed at Rune’s posture, his back arched, his hands spread wide. He watched the drops of sweat roll down Rune’s neck, joining other droplets of energy and exhaustion.
“Don’t go easy on me,” Tensley warned him.
Rune’s emotionless eyes tensed and he nodded.
One breath, one single moment, and they both lunged.
Beat after beat, punch after punch, the two fought like animals. Teeth, hands, elbows—everything capable of being a weapon.
Rune was quick and skilled, most likely raised a warrior, and planned to die a warrior. His hands moved gracefully but with aim and calculation.
That didn’t stop Tensley from striking harder, faster, and with determination.
After bruises and bloody lips, Tensley stepped back, shaking his head. “Next.”
Rune, chest heaving, bowed to Tensley and walked back to his line.
Hours they trained together. The entire army in perfect harmony.
Tensley wiped the sweat from his bottom lip and folded his arms, watching his soldiers’ graceful movements.
A motion in the balcony caught his eye, and he glanced up to see Fallen, his golden crown of ivy and thorns twisted around the top of his head, glimmering from the high sun.
Fallen didn’t look away when Tensley caught him. He simply grinned thinly. Seto dressed in a golden suit of armor stood behind him, no doubt sweating in the thick metal.
“Ah, so the king watches his subjects,” a voice shook Tensley from his focus. He glanced back to see the prince strolling toward him. Dressed in beige briefs and a navy jacket, weathered high-knee riding boots, he grinned at Tensley.
Tensley grimaced and turned away. He eyed his soldiers, but he felt the prince’s eyes on his back. With the presence of the prince, their bargain weighed heavier on his chest like a cement block. Like the sun burning the top of his scalp.
“My father favors his guard,” the prince added, stepping to stand beside Tensley. Tensley pursed his lips and tried to pay attention to his soldiers’ movements, grunts and groans filling the courtyard. “Seto was born as one of these men. A low-class boy with no family, no wealth, and no status. First, he was a beggar on the streets, soon becoming a street fighter to gain income. Then bought into slavery. Many say he killed his owners by slitting their throats in their sleep. He escaped, only to end up in the fighting rings here. He wasn’t skilled then. He was desperate, though, and once the army honed his skills, he grew hungry for more. For a higher status.” The prince paused, looking back up to the balcony. “He challenged Fallen’s guard and won. Your next move to get me my throne should be weakening Fallen’s defenses. Starting with his royal guard.”
Tensley’s eyes slowly lifted to gaze at Fallen and Seto, both still watching them.
“Weaken him and gut his underbelly when he least expects it,” the prince whispered and then moved along.
Tensley straightened his shoulders and eyed his men, but his mind was filled with Seto, Fallen, and the prince.
And Molly.
Kill Seto?
If he had to, he would.
MOLLY ignored the hushed voices as she walked down the hallway. Ever
ywhere she went, the ladies whispered, eyeing her, their eyes crinkling with laughter or glaring at her like she was some kind of she-devil.
Paranoia flamed inside of her.
If the prince said one word to anyone in the court about the baby, they were doomed.
But she wouldn’t let them see her anxiety. She wouldn’t let them see her falter.
She didn’t flinch. She didn’t bow her head as she navigated through the grand hallways. She was the daemon, and she would not bow to a court of snakes.
A group of ladies, dressed in lavish materials of the finest silks, stood in a huddle in the middle of the hallway. When they heard the clink of Molly’s high heels, they paused and all at once, turned to stare at her.
But not a simple stare.
Some glared, and others with upturned noses spoke enough.
“Daemon,” the woman called, her chin jutted out.
Molly’s jaw clenched. Really? Daemon? I have a name.
Molly didn’t respond, didn’t acknowledge her, and kept walking, her head held high.
“Daemon,” she spat. “Answer when spoken to.”
Molly continued walking toward them, not wavering, not bypassing them but watched as they parted.
They pushed back, letting her pass.
She calmed her muscles, allowing the glow only for a moment to surface, and the women were silent.
She smiled to herself once she passed, hearing the fury of chatter behind her.
“Molly,” Prim called as she entered the courtyard, lavished with rich green ivy and plants overgrowing the walls. An impressive oak tree full with fresh green leaves stood in the middle of the courtyard, its leaves a welcoming shade from the high sun of noon.
Prim dressed in a silk gown of pale blue, her white scarf blowing in the light breeze as she moved toward her, half her dark hair tied in thick braids and weaved towards the back of her head.
She took Molly’s hand and ushered her to the side, her eyes wide with fear.
“What’s wrong?” Molly asked, looking her over.
Prim’s chest heaved, breathless. “Lilith wants me to meet a suitor.”
