I thought of my father, of the stern judges who ran the courts. True, I was a prince, but I wasn’t the only royal. If I died, I had dozens of cousins all too eager to assume my place as heir. The courts were merciless. They had to be. Their task, keeping an entire kingdom of powerful, magical creatures from killing one another, was a challenge. The laws were absolute and unbreakable. No exceptions. Not even for a prince. And the punishment for kidnapping another man’s wife was death.
When she pulled away and ran for Henry, I didn’t try to stop her. I let her go.
She was right about that, too.
Neither one of us had a choice.
CHAPTER 8
ELLA
M y knuckles, red and near raw from scrubbing, ached. I inspected the stack of gowns and petticoats, stockings and shifts still in need of washing as I raised my soap-slicked hand from the tub to rub my wrist across my brow.
How my stepsisters wore so many clothes, I never understood. Some days, I swore they changed their outfits two or three times to create more work for me.
“Hurry up with that! I need those stockings for the ball tonight.” Marissa, the younger of my two stepsisters, stormed into the kitchen. She wore a pale blue gown that contrasted with the deep auburn of her hair. Her dark brown eyes might have appeared warm if they were not attached to such a rotten soul. The elegant lines of her face favored her mother, the Lady Naomi. My stepmother’s beauty, reputed throughout the kingdom, included strawberry blonde hair and pale blue eyes to accent her stunning features. I understood how my father had succumbed to her seduction. As had the Duke, the king’s most trusted advisor, and Lady Naomi’s cousin.
I ignored Marissa as she stepped closer to inspect the soapy water in the basin. She crossed her arms and tapped her foot as if her expertise with laundry, after a life spent washing not a single piece of clothing, allowed her, with a single glance, an accurate assessment of the cleanliness of the stockings.
Early in the morning, our cook set out two loaves of bread to rise. Now in the oven, the wondrous aroma of baking bread mixed with the spice of beef stew emanating from the fire pit. The combined bouquet awakened my empty stomach. Marissa, standing close enough to hear the growl, laughed. “Oh, Ella. Always hungry.”
She walked closer, her long elegant fingers tracing my exposed collarbone where my work dress hung in tatters off my bare shoulder. “You’re so skinny. All bones. I don’t see why Mr. Netterton wants you.”
I didn’t bother arguing. I had tried, frequently, to talk sense into my stepsisters’ thick heads. On several occasions I attempted to win their friendship, to teach them the value of love, of family. But they only understood one language; the language of wealth, position and power. “I’ll be wed and gone in two days, sister. Whatever will you do for clean stockings then?”
Her laughter made my skin crawl. “Stupid girl. Mother hired a new housekeeper. With the bride price Mr. Netterton paid for you, we can afford a dozen new servants.” She raised her brow to mock me. “The new housekeeper starts the day after you leave.”
She lifted her hand from my collarbone to trace the curve of my cheek. With me on my knees before the wash bucket and her on her feet, I had no easy means of escape. “You’ll be on your back in Mr. Netterton’s bed, his wrinkled old cock shoved down your throat, and we won’t even miss you.” She kicked the bucket. “Not even for chores.”
I bit my cheek to hold the tears at bay. I struggled not to react, refusing to give her the satisfaction. But being with Dorian had torn down walls around my heart, walls I’d worked hard to build over the years. I’d become fragile, vulnerable. I’d allowed myself to surrender to him, to trust him to take care of me. And now, when I needed to be strong, to steel my spine and hold hatred in my heart, I only thought of him. My emotions lingered in the sweet safety of his arms, the peace of lying in his embrace and trusting him to care for me, perhaps even love me…
No. I dreamed a silly girl’s daydream, love was not my destiny. Freedom, however, was nigh at hand.
“Are those tears I see? My, my. Tears of joy at bedding your future husband!” Marissa clapped her hands in glee before reaching down to wipe a tear from beneath my lashes. I turned away, forcing myself not to bite off her fingers. I needed to get through this day without getting myself locked in the cellars or being subjected to my stepmother’s lash. To harden my resolve, I bit my tongue while I steadied my reaction. They planned to attend the ball tonight, which would provide my opportunity to disappear, to flee with my meager belongings and hard earned gold coin, saved since childhood. I would ride like the wind on Henry’s back through the long night and never see them again.
Ever.
That thought had fueled me for weeks, but now pain tempered my excitement. I would never see Dorian again, either.
Tabitha chose that moment to join her sister in the kitchen. She strode past us both, adorned in a deep burgundy dress that brought out the pale blue of her eyes. Her dark hair, nearly black, brought many comparisons to storied, beautiful princesses of fable. She was two years older than her sister, but half as mean. “Leave her alone, little sister, and let her finish her work. Bedding Mr. Netterton will be her penance.”
Penance?
Penance?
For what?
For being born?
I scowled at Tabitha as she wandered to the stew pot and lifted a spoonful of the soup to her lips. She did not see the rage burning in my gaze, but Marissa did.
Marissa grabbed my hair and twisted, forcing me to look up into her cruel, hate-filled eyes. “Don’t look at her like that, or I’ll insist mother brings out her lash.”
I blinked and tightened my focus on her eyes, attempted to ease my breath, to control an answering rage from erupting and ruining my plans. I licked my lips and smiled with my eyes to invite her fury. “I cannot wait, dear sister, for the day a strong, dominant man takes you over his knee and teaches you manners.”
Tabitha burst into laughter, but Marissa’s fist tightened in my hair and I winced. “You are an ungrateful little bitch, you know that? We should have kicked you out onto the streets when your traitorous father died.”
She released me and I ducked my head so she would not see my smile. Marissa had little self-control, and I enjoyed pushing her toward tantrums. Often, Tabitha assisted as well, and I hoped today would be no different.
Tabitha smoothed her skirt and lifted a bowl from a nearby shelf, helping herself to the stew. “That is a fun thought, indeed. Perhaps he’ll have huge, calloused hands to wrap around your neck, more than a few teeth missing, and a cock big enough to break you in two.”
My goal was accomplished, the two sisters turned on each other and ignored me until my stepmother walked into the room.
“Girls. Enough.” Stepmother accepted a bowl of soup and bread from the cook and carried it to the formal dining room, her midnight blue skirt swirling behind her as she turned away. Her daughters followed, and they sat around my father’s giant, oaken dining table as if they belonged. I crept to the door and peeked around the edge to listen. My stepmother always avoided entering the kitchens. Something was afoot.
“Eat quickly, girls. The Grand Duke will be here at any moment.”
The cook circled them as she placed butter and wine on the table, with sliced apples from the orchard. She met my gaze as she left them to their meal, her face resigned to her fate.
As the cook exited, Marissa sighed and rolled her eyes. “Again, Mother?” She dipped her bread into the stew and took the smallest bite possible from the end. “He’s such a bore.”
Tabitha raised a brow and ignored her food. She sat with her back straight, her chin raised. Her demeanor, so proper and stiff, made me wonder if she ever relaxed enough to sleep. Or if, at the masquerade, fucking her approximated fucking a piece of wood with a wet hole in the center.
I stifled my laughter at the thought as Tabitha spoke. “Why, Mother? What does he want this time?”
Marissa giggled then, her
hands over her mouth like a little girl who’d been naughty. “You must be very good in bed.”
Lady Naomi placed her hands in her lap, and I noticed they were shaking. Intrigued, I turned my ear closer and held my breath, anticipating her answer.
“This isn’t about sex, girls. It’s about power. We have a plan. A plan which will ensure that each of you marries a son of Arryn, a cousin of royal blood.”
Marissa rose from her seat with such fervor that the chair tipped over and clattered to the floor behind her. “Mother? What do you mean? Do you jest?”
Lady Naomi reached for her wine and downed the entire contents of the glass. I watched as Tabitha’s eyes clouded with concern. Their mother did not normally behave in such a manner, displayed nerves only on rare occasions. Yet, when she lowered the goblet to the table, her hand shook even more.
“This is not a game, my daughters. This is our future.”
“What are we going to do?” Tabitha whispered.
Lady Naomi shook her head and poured a second glass of wine. “We’re going to murder the crown prince.”
I gasped and slapped my hand over my mouth in a vain attempt to bury the sound. I need not have worried. Tabitha dropped her fork, the clatter of silver as the utensil hit the floor providing the distraction I needed to regain control.
Careful now, I held as still as a shadow as my stepmother continued. “The Grand Duke is coming for the vial of necroberry we purchased last month in the southern market.”
Tabitha tilted her head to the side, her eyes narrowed. “So, that’s why we traveled all the way to the coast.”
My stepmother chuckled. “Yes, that, and to collect my payment from Mr. Netterton for your dear stepsister’s hand.”
Marissa righted her chair and plopped back onto the seat with a pleased look on her face. “Good. I can’t wait for Ella to be out of this house.”
Tabitha’s grin was sly as a fox’s. “You’re just angry Lord Brennan mentioned how beautiful Ella was the last time he was fucking you.”
Marissa scowled and tossed a broken piece of bread at her sister’s head. “Hush, you! What do you know about it?”
Tabitha laughed and my stepmother raised her hand to stop the argument. “Enough! This is not a game. If we’re caught, we’ll all lose our heads. Do you understand?”
Marissa glared at Tabitha, who stuck out her tongue, but they both quieted and nodded at their mother. The cook headed toward me, but I held up my hand to ward her off entering the room and placed my finger over my lips to quiet any questions.
The cook shrugged and headed back to her ovens as the conversation continued.
“What do you need us to do, Mother?” Marissa asked.
My stepmother folded her hands in her lap and straightened her shoulders, every bit the noble lady. “Distract the guards outside the royal bedchamber so the Duke’s servant can get into the prince’s rooms.”
Marissa’s shoulders slumped. “That’s all?” Her gaze locked with Tabitha’s for a moment before she returned her attention to her mother. “That’s boring.”
Tabitha giggled. “That’s because you’ve already slept with every single palace guard.”
“Shut up, Tabitha. You know I love a man in uniform.”
“I don’t think it’s the uniform you love, dear sister. At least, not when they’ve got you bent over their knees with one hand on your ass and the other in your cunt.”
“You’re a pig,” Marissa countered.
Tabitha ignored the comment and turned back to her mother. “Why do we need to get into the prince’s room?” Her fingers tapped out an uncertain rhythm on the oak table. “The prince won’t be there. Won’t he be at the masquerade?”
“Yes, he will. But our prince is a very predictable young man.”
“What does that have to do with anything? We all know the king already promised him to that stupid princess from over the mountains. Bella something,” Marissa complained.
“He’ll not marry at all,” my stepmother insisted. “He drinks a glass of wine every night before bed.”
Marissa’s eyes narrowed. “You’re going to poison his wine with the necroberry juice?”
My stepmother raised her glass of red wine to the sunlight that streamed in through the window and inspected the ruby colored liquid. “I’m not going to do anything, child. You two are going to distract the guards, that is all. And tomorrow morning, the prince will be dead.”
CHAPTER 9
ELLA
T he moment my stepmother and sisters’ carriage passed out of sight, I changed into my green riding dress and ran for the stables. I slammed open the door, dust motes and small wisps of hay swirling in the surrounding air. Gregory and Henry both turned with curious expressions at my abrupt entrance.
Without a word, I ran to Henry’s saddle and pulled it from its resting place.
“What are you doing there, Ella?” Gregory rose, as old men do, and hobbled over to help. I shooed him away.
“Can you throw a blanket over Henry’s back for me?”
He grabbed a blanket and walked beside me to Henry’s stall. “What’s the hurry?”
“I have to get to the castle.”
Gregory frowned, the door to Henry’s stall half open beneath his gnarled hand. “I thought this was the night you were going to get the hell out of here, girl. I’ve got your saddlebags packed. Everything is ready, just like you wanted.”
A tear gathered in the corner of my eye but I ignored it. Yes, I would run away from my fate, but I must stop the murder of an innocent man. “I have to go to the palace first.”
“Why?” He opened the door and smoothed the blanket over Henry’s broad back. That done, he took the saddle from me. Forty years my senior and much stronger, despite the fact that we were the same height, Gregory lifted the saddle with ease and placed it on the horse’s back
I wiped the tear away, for it was nothing but fear leaking out at the seams, fear I’d fail to warn the prince, fear I’d get caught, fear I’d save his royal head by sacrificing my own. “I heard Lady Naomi earlier, before the Duke arrived.”
“Eavesdropping, were you?”
I nodded and stepped forward to tighten the cinches beneath the saddle. “Yes. And a huge part of me wishes I hadn’t.”
“I’ve tried to warn you about that woman, before. You need to get on Henry and ride like the wind.”
“I know, but I can’t go yet. You won’t believe what they’re planning, Gregory. I can’t believe it. It’s too terrible.”
My hands shook. I shook. Everywhere.
Gregory’s hand settled over mine, holding me still, much like my father used to do when I worried. “What did they say?”
“They’re planning to murder Prince Augustus. Tonight. After the ball.” I pulled free of his warmth and turned to face him. Henry’s ears perked, and he stomped his hooves in response to my agitation. “I can’t just leave. I have to warn him.”
“What if they see you? You’ll never get out of here.” Gregory grabbed my shoulders in a gentle but firm grip. “That woman will kill you, girl. Don’t underestimate her.”
“I know.”
“Then what are you going to do at the castle? They’ll never let a servant get near the prince.”
“I’m not going to see the prince.” I sighed, drawing courage from the memory of Dorian’s arms around me. “I’m going to see his valet.”
The lines around Gregory’s eyes deepened as he stared at me. “And how are you going to do that?”
I bit my lip and heat rose in my cheeks. “Well. You know I went to the castle for the last two masquerades.”
Gregory chuckled and stepped back at last. “So, you made a new friend?”
“You could say that.”
He shook his head and grinned before guiding Henry out of the stall and me into the saddle. “Be careful, Ella. Find your man but don’t linger. Get in and get out. Be quick. Promise me.”
“I will. I promise.”
&
nbsp; Gregory guided Henry out of the barn and I sent him through the rolling fields of tall grass and wild flowers at a full gallop, certain I looked a wild thing. My hair flew behind me like a banner in the wind, but I didn’t have time for subtlety, and I needed to bypass the main road.
I had to beat my stepmother’s carriage to the palace, find Dorian, warn him, and get out before my stepmother, or the Duke, discovered my presence.
ELLA
A line of carriages stretched down the grand, main drive of the castle, each more elaborate, more beautiful than the last. Their doors were carved with sigils of the noble houses, everything from eagles to dancing fish, and I directed Henry well beyond the faint glow cast by the lanterns that both lined the drive and hung from the railing on many of the coaches.
I squinted to see through the dark night and looked for the door with a red and gold dragon that symbolized my father’s house, the carriage that carried my stepfamily and their vile schemes.
I spotted it about twenty away from the front of the queue. With luck, that would buy me enough time to get into the castle, find Dorian, and get away before they entered the mighty stone fortress, King Demetrius’s domain.
The prince himself would never take the word of a mere servant girl over that of the Duke, but Dorian would listen. He had to. I would make him listen.
Moving with more stealth than speed, I guided Henry from shadow to shadow, from tree to tree as I made my way to the servant’s entrance on the far side of the castle. The air chilled my hands and face, making them cold and numb, but I ignored the discomfort and dismounted, tying Henry’s reins to a nearby fence post.
He neighed at me and pulled back on the restraint, lifting his head.
“Hush, boy. I’ll be right back. I promise.” To steady his nerves, I patted him on the neck and reached to the ground to pull free a large handful of thick, green grass. Distracted by the treat, Henry lowered his head and deigned to wait for my return without further fuss, like a young child distracted by a sweet.
Seduced in the Dungeon (Dark Kingdom Book 1) Page 7
