“She is,” I say, idly running my finger along the smooth, matte black barrel of my Blade, which is holstered just inside my jacket. I let my finger glide over the release switch, which releases a ten inch blade of razor sharp steel. As always, touching the weapon causes something inside me to stir, something that lies dormant at times for days, sometimes more, but never forever. The feelings of violence that swirl within me and grow until I feel like I can’t control them anymore are in a frenzy tonight. I call it the darkness. My long-time companion, who, at times, threatens to wrestle control from me once and for all.
“You had better figure out what’s going on with Tyrese,” says Titus. “It would be unseemly for your little brother to tie the knot before you.”
“My business isn’t your concern. I’ll marry when I marry.”
“Your business is the kingdom’s concern,” persists Titus. He’s using the voice he always seems to use when he pretends to care about anything but himself--it’s a frail impression of the commanding way our father used to speak. “Father is gone. The kingdom will only abide being ruled by a widowed queen for so long.”
I ignore him. Titus has painted a target on my back since father died, and the moment he thinks I’m weak enough to strike, I know he will. He’s masking a taunt with concern, and it’s about as subtle as a brute like my brother can manage.
“There he is,” I say, nodding toward a man who steps out of the restaurant’s back door. His hands are tucked in his pockets and he wears a simple jacket like one of the outsiders, but I notice his family insignia is stitched into the sleeve. Idiot.
His eyes widen as he takes in Titus and I. He takes a faltering step backwards, nearly falling on his ass before reaching for the door.
Titus rushes toward him, pinning the door shut. I grip him by his shirt and lift him so that I can slam him into the wall.
“You’ve been talking,” I say.
“Prince Roark? P-prince Titus? They sent you two?”
“No. We volunteered to educate you,” I say. “How many have you told?”
“I have no idea wh--”
Quick as thought, I snap my elbow out and across his face, gripping him again before he even has a chance to slide down the wall. He blinks through the pain, then groans and spits blood. The darkness is flowing through me freely now, lending me strength along with its red intent.
“Wait. Wait,” he says. “What did you hear?”
“Don’t try to fucking weasel out of this, Gerald,” says Titus, who still leans casually against the door, respecting my right to the confrontation.
“I just--I think you’ve been misinformed. I haven’t even--”
I use my fist this time. The ferocity of the punch ignites something in me, something hot and fiery that feeds the darkness, calming it only slightly. It’s as if I can feel it inching backwards, letting me take full control because I’m giving it what it wants. Just give me a fucking excuse to hurt you more, Gerald.
The brief satisfaction of violence also brings a familiar sense of corruption, but I ignore it, letting the fire of anger grow and focusing it all on the sniveling traitor in front of me.
“Enough games,” I snap. “Gerald Walters. You are formally accused of treason against Burkewood Kingdom. Will you face your accusation like a man, or will it be the dungeons?”
Something unexpected enters his eyes, and I realize he’s going to give me the violence I desire. Anticipation courses through me, so thick and sweet I could choke on it.
He reaches into his coat and pulls a shiny black pistol free. He locks wide, panicked eyes on me as he starts to slowly move to the side, circling me. “I just wanted out. I have family on the outside. I wanted a new life.”
“You swore an oath of service,” I say. I grip my Blade, feeling right in a way I only feel with my weapon in hand. I sling it free of the holster, holding it out, thumb ready to release the steel blade tucked into the barrel of the gun.
“Fuck you and fuck your kingdom,” shouts Gerald. “You’re all corrupt. It’s all shit! All of it!”
I don’t disagree, but I’m not here to argue politics. I’m not even here to exact justice. I’m just here to feed the darkness in me. “Enough,” I say, releasing the blade with a satisfying click. The weapon twitches in my hand as eight inches of cold steel slip out of the barrel.
Gerald does the same and makes a wild, predictable lunge toward me. I swipe his blade away with my own and bury the point in his chest. And faster than Gerald’s last heartbeat, it’s over.
He’s alive long enough to widen his eyes, look down, and then sigh with relief or disappointment--I’ll never know which.
My blade slides out as he slumps lifelessly to the ground. I feel a pang of remorse for the man, to know he gave his life so that I could temporarily appease the beast within me, but he doesn’t deserve my pity. He crossed the Kingdom when he broke his oath, and he knew justice would find him.
But justice is supposed to be cold. Indifferent.
I use his jacket to clean the blood from my weapon and holster it. My heart pounds and my breath comes quickly, not from exertion but from the rush, from the sudden sense of relief and freedom I have when the darkness recoils deeper inside me to wait until it becomes hungry for more.
Titus pushes off the wall, walking a slow circle around the dead man. He carefully avoids getting any of the growing pool of blood on his handcrafted boots, but his calm face contorts in temporary rage when he kicks Gerald’s motionless body. “Scum,” he barks down at the body. “You disgrace your name.” Titus spits, looking up to meet my eyes. He holds eye contact just long enough to challenge me.
Just long enough to give me a fucking excuse.
My arm pistons out and I grip the front of his shirt, dragging him toward me until we’re nose to nose. I’m about to remind him of his place, to tell him brother or not, I’ll put steel in his belly all the same, but instead I shove him back, shaking my head. I don’t know when I became this man--a man who kills out of hunger and a man who spurns his own family. I can feel myself grasping for the light, reaching for all I’m worth and still coming up short.
Titus straightens his shirt with a single, angry tug. He watches me step back into the restaurant with apparent calm, but I don’t fail to notice the way his hand twitches toward his Blade. Family or not, I know better than to let my guard down around Titus.
Maybe he’s right about one thing. A woman in my bed might help to fight back the darkness in me. Or maybe she would only awaken it.
3
Elizabeth
When I step out of the limo, I step into a veritable fairytale. We’re parked at the end of a long, beautifully cobbled pathway that paints a straight line through a gorgeous garden. The path ends at a huge, ornamental gate and a wall at least thirty feet high. Even the height of the gate barely conceals a building as wide as a skyscraper is tall that dominates the space in front of me. It’s so tall that it blacks out the stars in a series of vertical peaks and arches. Flickering yellow light winks out at me from more windows than I can count.
A sweet breeze sweeps around me, carrying the smell of delicious, savory food and oddly enough--the smell of campfires.
I turn toward Calian, who grins smugly as he leans against the car, watching me take it all in. His thick hair blows around his head in the breeze and I can see the dancing yellow lights reflected back to me in his eyes. “Beautiful, isn’t it?” he asks.
I open my mouth to speak and close it, only able to shake my head, looking from Calian to the city and back again. The strangest feeling of loss rises up in my chest, making tears prick at my eyes. “I never would have survived if I knew a place this amazing was out here. If I knew this was waiting,” I say.
“But you did,” says Calian. “And now you’re stronger for it. Perhaps strong enough to be a Princess, even.”
I laugh. Even when I’m looking at the city--the city I know isn’t marked on any maps and a city that looks so out of place in our mode
rn world that there’s only one reasonable conclusion to draw--even then, it doesn’t seem real. “I don’t think anyone has ever said I was strong.”
“They will,” says Calian. “I can see it in you, Princess. To suffer through so much, you are strong.”
“How do you know what I’ve been through?” I ask, pushing my hair back when the cool breeze takes it across my eyes, still unable to stop stealing glances of the city that sparkles ahead like something out of a dream.
“We’ve kept tabs on you. After all, the Prince had the right to pull out of the agreement at any time. He was checking in on his investment.”
A coldness sweeps through me that has nothing to do with the air. I clutch my arms around my stomach, watching Calian carefully now. “Investment?” I ask.
Calian stares blankly for a second and then clicks his tongue. “No, no, you misunderstand, Princess. I realize the term must seem cold from your perspective. You are an investment to Prince Titus because the marriage would be deemed illegitimate if he were ever to bed another woman. He has waited for you. Twenty-six years.”
I raise an eyebrow. “I’m supposed to marry a twenty-six-year-old virgin?” I ask.
“Women would kill for the honor,” says Calian. “But there will be time for more questions later. If we’re to have you presentable by morning, we need to get you inside the city now so the team can begin their work.”
“The team?” I ask, following him as he takes my arm and leads me down the long path toward the walls.
“Yes. The Burkewood's have assigned a team of personal servants to you. They will assist with everything from your makeup, selecting your wardrobe, and even cooking your meals. You will want for nothing, Princess.”
“What if I want a shorter walk?” I ask, grinning. “We parked pretty far from the city, didn’t we?”
Calian tilts his head in assent. “The city has a strict policy on motor vehicles. None are allowed within the walls. Some of the very wealthy do have… workarounds, but the Prince wanted you to experience the city the way it was meant to be experienced, rather than whisking you to the palace through an underground tunnel on your first visit.”
“I see,” I say. It’s odd to hear of this Prince. Even though part of me is still waiting for a camera crew to jump out and tell me I’ve been pranked, it’s so strange to think that someone might have spent so long thinking about me when I had no idea. I think back to all the years I suffered through my parents, my sisters, my “friends” at school, and even my teachers. All of that for what? Because these people in this perfect palace wanted me to build character?
Trying to hold on to anger right now is like trying to grab a handful of smoke. I know it’s there, but it’s impossible to grasp when I’m walking toward a place that might be the answer to my prayers.
We arrive at a main gate where two men in high collared coats ask us to stop while they grab an engraved metal disk Calian hands them. Their coats are the same style as the men I saw in the restaurant, but like Calian’s, they don’t look as expensive. Could one of those men have been the Prince? My heartbeat quickens at the idea. It’s possible. And it would explain why they were looking at me the way they were.
I catch myself messing with my hair self-consciously. What would men like that think of me, especially if they were looking at me as a future bride? Then again, Calian said the Prince has been keeping tabs on me for a long time, part of which was likely making sure I was… to his taste? It sounds so cold and strange.
I try to pull up an image of the two men, but I can only remember the distinct impression I had that one was a fiery man of intense passion and the other was cold and calculating. If one of them was the prince, I hope with all my might that it was the dark haired prince--the one who made me think of forest sunrises.
The taller of the two men I assume to be guards passes the Disk over the top of a gold device on his wrist. There’s a faint chime from the device and a blue light flashes. He nods, handing the disk back to Calian, who motions for me to follow.
“What was that?” I ask.
“That disk is my royal pass. If I had a civilian pass or even a merchant pass, the guards would have given us wristbands that would restrict our access to certain areas of the city.”
“Isn’t that thing kind of awkward to fit in your wallet?” I ask, eyeing the thick metal disk.
“Perhaps, but the honor of carrying a royal disk compels most to clip it to their belts like so,” he says, holding the disk to the front of his belt where it snaps into place by some kind of magnetic clasp. “It’s something of a fashion statement,” he admits.
I grin to think of the austere man caring about fashion, but then I look at his clothes again and notice how fastidiously maintained they are.
We pass through the gate and into a sprawling and surprisingly active city. Buildings composed of clean, oddly modern lines but with posh medieval twists are everywhere I look. Crowds of men, women, and children clad in outfits that look familiar in some ways and alien in others move between stores and down the main roads of the city. A group of two men and a woman walk by just in front of us.
One of the men wears a button down shirt with a red vest, but the vest has the same high collar that seems to dominate the men’s fashion here. He wears straight-legged gray pants with shin-high boots that clasp tightly to his legs. The other man wears the same kind of coat I’ve seen so much, but they both wear large, ornamental pistols at their hips. My eyes linger on the weapons. Even seeing guns in movies has always made me uneasy, but seeing them in person like this makes my stomach churn.
I can’t help thinking how much violence is ready to be unleashed from those weapons, and how easily they could end my life.
The woman has her hair done beautifully into black curls that cascade down to the middle of her back, but the chunk of hair just in front of her ear is platinum blonde. She wears a dress that looks like a hybrid between a ball gown, a prom dress, and a dress you might wear to a nice dinner. It’s made of a silver material with purple flecks of something reflective. The shoulders are rounded and puffy and the cut is low, showing an almost scandalous amount of cleavage, which, combined with the snug waistline makes for a pretty cute dress I wouldn’t mind wearing, even if it’s a little formal for every-day use. The bottom of the dress is folded and cut in a way that every step sends it swooshing, unraveling, and coming back together in a mesmerizing dance. Despite the cleavage on display, the hem of the dress falls all the way to her ankles so that only her gorgeous purple heels are visible--which are open at the top of her foot and transparent over her toes.
Just as the group passes, the woman turns her head toward me, seems to take me in at a glance, and turns her nose up just slightly, like she’s smelled something bad.
“Why is her hair like that?” I ask Calian. And why is she such a bitch?
“Blonde hair is a sign of royal favor in women. Girls born with naturally blonde hair and common blood are forced to dye it. The more blonde a woman is allowed to wear, the more status her family carries.”
“So her family has status?” I ask, still watching the woman, who must have seen that my hair had no blonde and determined I was beneath her.
“Some,” says Calian. “But a single lock of blonde is hardly enough to earn a seat on the outskirts of a royal procession. It definitely wouldn’t grant her an invite to any of the royal balls, for instance. Then again, it’s all a matter of perspective. If she’s the only woman in her social circle with any royal ties, she is likely viewed as quite the important woman.”
I frown. “It seems kind of backwards,” I say. “What about equal rights? Just because this place is hidden in the mountains shouldn’t mean it gets to play by its own rules, right? And why don’t these people just go live in the real world? If you’re a servant or something here, life would have to be better on the outside.”
Calian makes a face, as if I asked a question he hoped I wouldn’t ask. “I’ll let your future husband answer
that question more fully for you when the time comes. For now, I’ll just say that individuals on the bottom of the social ladder here are incentivized to stay. Anyway, we should be moving on, Princess.”
I bump into a woman with at least half of her hair dyed platinum blonde. Every tight curl of her hair is dark brown hair woven together with blonde. The woman stumbles back and looks at me like I just threw up on her shoes. “Are you lost, dear?” she asks in a sickening fake sweet voice. “You must have made a wrong turn on the way to the slums. This is the royal quarter. You had better move along.”
“My pardons, Miss. This is Princess Elizabeth Dowry you’re addressing. She’s currently under disguise for political reasons. I hope you’ll excuse us,” he says, moving past the woman whose mouth is opening and closing like a fish out of the water as we leave her behind.
I grin, biting my lip. Maybe I don’t feel like I’ve earned the title of princess, but it was certainly fun to see it thrown in that snobby woman’s face. I could get used to this.
We move quickly through the streets, so quickly that I barely have time to take everything in from the wonderful smells to the people, who seem so similar but different in the smallest ways that they tug at my curiosity.
“Is this the only city in the Shrouded Kingdom?” I ask suddenly, just as Calian takes us through an inner gate deeper inside the city.
He laughs. “No. This is just the royal seat of the Burkewoods. It’s certainly one of the largest cities in the Shrouded Kingdoms, but by no means the only city.”
We step through the gate and I get my first full view of what must be the palace. It looks like what a medieval architect might have dreamed up if they had modern materials and all the tools of the modern world at his or her disposal. Brick accents the outer structure, but there are also smooth, clean lines of a sleek, smooth black material. I count at least thirty castle-style towers jutting up from the main structure, complete with spiraling windows that lead to the top of each and what looks to be a breathtaking penthouse style room at the top with huge floor-to-ceiling windows.
Bad for the Billionaires: A Bad Boy Billionaire Bundle Page 81
