Her hand instinctively went to her ribcage beneath her full, ample breast. “That’s crazy. So, it’s just a mark…. It’s not…”
“It is.”
She wasn’t hearing me; she couldn’t. “I’m just a girl from the village, Bors. You know that.”
She was anything but just a girl, princess or not. Still, I knew I was going to have to prove it to her. I glanced around the room. There was hardly any evidence of Angelica’s profession, but one important thing sat on the mantel: a small, round looking glass.
Rising from next to Sara, I took it and handed it to her. The silver beneath the glass had crackled slightly, and the edges of the pattern made reflections from the firelight scatter around the room. “See for yourself,” I said, again dropping to one knee.
“Stop this nonsense right now,” she said, a bit impatiently and angrily as she snatched the mirror away. “I’ll prove it to you.” She dropped the bedclothes from her chest and placed the mirror beneath her creamy, full breast. I knew that I should look away—it was a capital crime to look at a naked royal body. But I couldn’t drag my eyes off of her.
“Look,” she said, as she angled the mirror to see for herself. “It’s just a…” Her lips parted, and her eyes went wide. She was as floored as I had been. She’d had no idea of who she really was.
With her first finger, she delicately traced the moon and then raised her eyes to me. Though I knew I should look away, there was not a fucking chance. Sara lowered the mirror and stared at me. “This has to be some sort of mistake. It’s a birthmark, nothing more.”
If the birthmark hadn’t been enough, looking at her now left zero doubt in my mind. She had the same black hair as King Rowan. And those crystal-clear green eyes were the same as the stories of the first queen, the queen who had died in childbirth.
How many songs had been sung about Sara and her mother both? And now here she was. “It’s you. You’re the stolen child. Surely someone in your family must have known.”
She tossed the mirror away and reached out to me, trying to draw me to her again. “None of that matters, Bors. None of it. Please, please listen to me. All my life I have been dreaming of you, without even knowing such happiness could exist. And now I’ve found you, it makes no difference who I was once. No one needs to know. Nobody will see me like this, nobody but you.” She wrapped her arms around me, holding me close. But I was rigid as a knight in full armor. “Hold me,” she said. “Please hold me. Forget what you’ve seen. I’m just me. Sara.”
I could not. I could not touch her in the way I had once, not ever again. It was fucking agony but there was nothing I could do to change what she was, or what I was. We were subject and ruler; no matter how much I wanted to, I couldn’t breed her into commonness. “You need to sleep, my lady.”
She held me tight, panicked and angry. “Stop acting like you don’t know me,” she said, halfway between a sob and a yell. Her chest heaved hard against mine with each deep inhalation. “I’m still me, Bors. Please. Take me in your arms. Make love to me,” she said, now sobbing freely. “Let’s just pretend that none of this has happened. Please. You like when I beg, yes? Please, please. Let’s go back to the way it was.”
“What you’re asking is impossible,” I said, and pulled free of her embrace. I took a bundle of blankets from the floor, gathering them around her, averting my eyes from her flesh.
On one hand, I was shielding her royal body from my common gaze, but the blankets had another purpose—the sight of her skin made me fucking wild and I knew that I wouldn’t be able to restrain myself.
Sara’s emotions overcame her, and she sobbed into the bedclothes, curling back into that little ball she’d made when first I saw her birthmark and pulled away from her in shock.
I couldn’t begin to imagine what she must be feeling, but her body language was clear—she felt rejected that I hadn’t met her desire with my own. It fucking killed me to think that my actions were hurting her.
Mixed with my agony at hurting her was an overpowering rage at the thought of losing her for good. I felt like punching through every fucking wall of the cottage—a happy life with her had been so close, but now it was so goddamned far away that I could barely imagine it.
Turning away from her and looking out into the dark garden, I tried hard to focus on my duty to her as her loyal and devoted subject. To serve her as my future queen, I needed to shove my feelings aside. My only job now was to see her safely back to where she belonged.
“Tomorrow we ride for the castle. Your father has waited too damned long for you to be kept waiting one more day than is necessary.”
In response to my plan, she sobbed hard into the pillows. Well fucking done, I thought to myself.
She didn’t need plans of action. She needed comfort. And that, at least, I could provide. I sank to my knees beside her once more, powerless to stay away. At first, she was stiff with anxiety and sadness, balled up with her back to me. But the longer I held her, the more she melted into me. Slowly, as I caressed her and soothed her, her sobs lessened and her tears slowed.
I gently rolled her onto her back and dried her tears. I placed my forehead against hers, feeling the dampness of her tear-stained cheek against mine. I was close enough to kiss her and fuck, how I wanted to taste her—princess, queen, love of my life. I wanted to taste all of her, but I managed to resist. “Sleep, my love,” I whispered. “You have to sleep.”
She nodded, and then closed her eyes. The firelight made her tearful lashes glisten like onyx dusted with gold.
I sat vigil beside her, alone with my anger. I’d fought so many battles, endured so many injuries, but never had I felt pain as deep and intense as I did in that moment. I wanted nothing but her, and now I knew I would never have her. But as the hours passed and the fire grew low, my grief turned to rebellion. I could not accept losing her as my destiny. Not a goddamned chance.
There had to be a way for us to be together. My position in society was low and common. My plans for the future absurd when they included a woman of her status. But for all the things I couldn’t offer her, I knew that what I could offer was as true as it had ever been. I fucking loved her, and I always would.
My delusion was strong. Stronger than the truth in this moment. I would find a way for us to be together. And I would begin by seeing her back to her rightful home, to do right by her father, King Rowan.
As I studied her face, peaceful in sleep, I promised that I would honor her and protect her, cherish her and care for her, come what may. Good or bad, war or peace.
Forever.
Hours before dawn, a noise broke the silence—furtive, quick footsteps on the path outside. From the sound of the movements, I knew it wasn’t Angelica coming home.
I listened. There were at least four men, maybe more. They approached the house from the front, and though they were trying to be quiet, they weren’t nearly quiet enough. Whoever they were, they weren’t professional thieves. But that didn’t mean danger was not coming to the door.
I pulled on my britches and drew my blade from its sheath. I locked the front door from the inside before they could reach it, and then exited the cottage from the back, outflanking them as I had done so many times in battle. There were five, along with a bound and hooded hostage.
The light was too dim for me to see their faces, but I knew damned well who they were. Sara had told me five men had surrounded her at the pub. They’d seen her birthmark just as I had. And now here they were, hoping to cash in on their prize.
But not on my watch, they weren’t. Fuck no.
Even so, I smiled. I’d silently promised myself that I would pay them back for what they’d done, and now they were here to collect on that oath. Sara was a princess, and she was my woman, and I would bring her justice.
Rough justice.
I crept up behind the one nearest to me, grabbed him from behind and slit his throat. The familiar gurgle of exsanguination, and the smell of the blood, brought back a thousand g
odawful memories of battle, but I kept my focus and moved on to the next man.
This one put up a better fight, but I made short work of him and dropped him on the ground with a twisting stab to the heart.
The other three froze while the hostage squirmed on the garden path. His feet had been hobbled and I could tell from the noises that he made that he was gagged under the hood. I spun my knife in my hand and broadened my stance. “Which one of you motherfuckers is next?” I asked.
One leaped forward, and I cut him down with a slice across his face that left him bloodied and screaming on the floor. The next used the moment of distraction to make his attack, but I kicked at his crotch and he doubled over as I brought my knee up to connect with his nose. The third turned and tried to run, but in three strides I was behind him, and ran the knife through the back of his throat. As he lay dying, I returned to the two I’d dispatched, and slit both their throats, then wiped the knife on my britches.
When I was sure they hadn’t woken Sara, I approached the hostage. I dragged him out of the shadow of the magnolia into the moonlight, and pulled off his hood. Staring up at me was the bloodied and bruised face of Sara’s father, in way worse shape than he’d been when I leveled him days ago. Someone had kicked the ever-loving shit out of him. I yanked the gag free and he coughed and sputtered in a pathetic heap at my feet.
I crouched beside him, keeping my knife blade in full view. “What did you tell them?”
He spat out a mouthful of bloody spit. “Nothing.”
What a useless son of a bitch. I put the point of my knife to his forehead and dug it in, just deep enough to make a trickle of blood slide down his face. “Do I look like a guy who likes to repeat himself?”
“Okay, okay,” he babbled. “I told them everything, along with the other men from the town who was with them. Those city folk had seen the mark on her. They came looking for her. I told them I’d been paid off to take her when she was a baby. I’ve always known who she was. They planned to take both me and her to the king, after killing you first.”
Still with my knife point on his forehead, I glanced over my shoulder. “Bad plan. Worse execution.”
“Listen. If you keep quiet about this, I’ll cut you in on the stipend I get every month for keeping her. I’ll help you bury the bodies. No one will know. You can even fuck her sometimes, just as long as I also get to...”
I hated him. Fucking hated him.
“Shut the fuck up,” I said, and shoved the gag back into his mouth. I stared down at him, trying desperately to resist the very real urge to eliminate this fake father problem from Sara’s life.
But I’d spilled enough blood for one night without going overboard. Excessive force wasn’t exactly my thing, and besides, the thought of explaining it to Sara didn’t fill me with excitement. Once I’d checked his bindings and replaced his hood, I went inside and gently awakened her. She opened her eyes and smiled up at me, and I broke the bad news. “We need to go. Now.”
“What?” She asked, sleepily and confused. “Why?”
The five city folk had been willing to attack at night, but I had no doubt that someone else from the town would try their luck as soon as it was light. “Because you’re in danger. And the longer you are here, the bigger that danger becomes. People know, more will come for you.”
They will kill me and take you is what I wanted to tell her, but I saw no benefit. Her safety was my only purpose now. Even if it meant my life would be forfeit.
She got to her feet, half-wrapped in a blanket. “But what about Angelica? We can’t just leave her there. She needs our help, Bors.”
I gathered up my riding tack and pulled on a shirt. “We can’t risk it. We’ll send someone back for her, I promise.”
Together we hustled out of the house. I did my best to protect her from the pile of bodies, but there was no way I could hide the other part of the bad news I hadn’t yet delivered. Her father might be hooded, but he was so scrawny that he was hard to mistake for anybody else. Sara spotted him and gasped, but I hoisted him up by his bindings and slung him over my lame stallion’s back like a sack of grain. “Please don’t tell me that’s who I think it is,” Sara said.
I was honor-bound to serve her, so I didn’t tell her a thing. “As you wish, your Highness,” I said. I lifted her up onto the bay mare, mounted behind her in the saddle, and then grabbed the reins of my stallion as we took off into the night.
Sara
My body ached as we made slow progress under cover of darkness. Though we stuck to the road as far as it went, we soon found ourselves cutting across the moorland, picking our way by lamplight around boulders and dips that threatened to unmount us. I was unaccustomed to riding for such long hours, and I was sore from lovemaking with Bors. We rode two-in-the-saddle together on his borrowed mare, and I felt each step the horse took deep into the center of my being.
My heart ached, too. Since the moment he saw my birthmark, Bors had treated me as if I were a completely different woman. Even now, even when he couldn’t see my face, with my chest pressed against his back and my legs open around his body as we rode, I could feel his coolness and formality.
Everything he did was matter of fact and distant now. The way he lashed my father to the stallion, he could’ve been lashing down potatoes or a sack of wheat. The way he refilled our canteens of water, he might as well have been a stranger helping a fellow traveler on the road. At first light, we came to a village, and he dismounted, leaving me on top of the mare. He wouldn’t even look at me, as if even his gaze might cause some insult to my family name.
“Look at me. Please.” I felt the tears stinging my eyes.
For one instant, he did. And in his eyes I still saw the light and heat he’d had the first time we met. I felt my stomach summersault with hope and desire. He loves me… And yet, just as quickly as his look had warmed, it cooled again, and he looked at me with removed politeness… He loves me not.
The village where we had stopped was quiet in the morning light. Bors halted the horses outside a traveler’s inn, where the groom emerged rubbing the sleep from his eyes, tucking in his shirt and trying to comb his messy hair with his fingers.
Bors extended a hand to greet him. “Morning, Finan.”
The young man lit up. “Morning, sir.”
“Get these two watered, will you? And once you’ve done that, I’ve got a favor to ask.”
Like a stupid, naïve girl, my mind went to all sorts of possibilities about the favor—a rented room, a featherbed. But I was being foolish and selfish. Bors remained focused on the problems at hand, and he paid the groom a small sum to be a runner and take word to the neighboring village, to an old friend of his from the clan. “There’s a woman named Angelica, being held by the sheriff. Tell them I vouch for her character. They’ll know what to do from there.”
The boy, Finan, nodded dutifully and pocketed the coin that Bors had paid him.
In order to remount the mare, Bors had to help me down first. He tried hard not to make eye contact, but I was in his arms and it was impossible for him to do otherwise.
“Thank you for doing that for her,” I said, once I was behind him again.
“She is my friend. A loyal and devoted one. I’d never let anything happen to her,” he said. And then he turned away.
While I was on the ground, I checked on my father. He had been in and out of consciousness as we rode. Now, he was sobering up and clearly suffering the consequences—not only of being badly beaten by the men who aimed to take me, but also paying the price for a terrible hangover. I unfastened the gag from his mouth and helped him to drink some water. And then rejoined Bors on the mare.
Back on the road, we had to slow our pace to wind our way through a narrow forest path. I tucked my chin against Bors’ shoulder, and felt a desperation to get him to talk to me the way he had before—dreaming together, envisioning a future. I ached to get things to go back to the way they had been. “Tell me more. Tell me anything. Tell me about
the livery.”
His body stiffened and he shook his head, drawing air through his full lips into a deep sigh so that his massive shoulders lifted my chin up slightly and then lowered it again. “Sara. Don’t.”
I gripped him more tightly from behind, caressing his chest and abdominal muscles. Once again, he tried to move my hand, but this time, I held firm. His hard body relaxed ever-so-slightly against my soft tummy and breasts, and I embraced him with all my might. Though it hadn’t been my intention, my forearm pressed against his loins. His cock responded to me, becoming hard and firm in his pants.
His low, brief growl rumbled through him and into me. On the outside, he was preserving appearances by being polite and cool. But under the surface, my beast was still stirring for me. He still wanted me, and I still yearned for him. And I took much comfort from that.
Late in the day, as the shadows lengthened with the setting sun, I asked Bors to stop because I was so tired that I could barely keep my eyes open. I was exhausted and I knew he must be, too; I, at least, had slept a little during the night, but he had not. He agreed at once to stop, though it frustrated me that he seemed to take it as an order to be obeyed, and he set to work readying a campsite for us. I did my part as well, helping to get the horses fed and making sure we had enough dry kindling to last us through until morning.
Night came on fast, dark and foreboding, but I felt safe and secure beside Bors. Over the fire, he cooked two freshly skinned rabbits that he had caught with a foot snare. Across the fire from us sat my father, who had, unfortunately, gained a lasting consciousness thanks to the mouthwatering smell of the roasting meat.
A ceaseless pummeling by a band of kidnappers and a day’s hard travel had done nothing to make my father any kinder. He was, if anything, more awful than ever before.
The Stolen Princess (Fated Royals Book 1) Page 8
