No Man Can Tame

by Miranda Honfleur

  “The lion’s den is the balcony, is it?”

  Next to her stood a vision in black feathers, nearly six feet tall and built like a gladiator. Tarquin Belmonte. She blinked, and that spellbinding perfume faded. She gave him a coy once-over. “Don’t you have a carcass somewhere to peck at?”

  A half-laugh. “I have sight of better game.”

  Suppressing a grin, she shook her head. “Bold as a raven.”

  He rested his hand on the stone balustrade, too, his warm skin just barely touching hers. “Nothing less than bold can be expected to win a princess.”

  “Is that what you came here for?” Nobody dealt in boldness like the Beast Princess. She turned to him, covered his hand with hers, and reached for his raven mask. “To ‘win’ me?” When he didn’t move, she took it off.

  Carnelian-brown eyes gleamed in the starlight beneath black lashes and matching close-cropped hair; the lines of his coarse jaw were strong, and the corners of his mouth turned up mischievously, as if he knew something she didn’t.

  She hadn’t expected a handsome face to match the tall, well-muscled physique. But then, she hadn’t seen Tarquin Belmonte in years, since before he’d taken over his father’s mercenary company and grown into that role. And my, had he grown.

  “Princess Alessandra,” he said sotto voce, his Roccalano accent melodious, “I have come here for anything you wish of me.”

  She should have laughed, but no part of her could muster anything like it. Not at him. Not at those bold words.

  His gaze stroked over her once and again. “I know it is a masquerade, but why a lion? And a grotesque male lion, at that?”

  She smiled, reaching for borrowed words. “Telling you would reveal the answer in the most unexciting way.”

  He quirked a brow. Let him sweat a little.

  Lively notes plucked on the harp inside—a quessanade corrente.

  “Then shall we begin the revelation with a dance?” He offered her his hand. She took it and replaced his mask upon his head, then he tucked her arm around his and led her back into the grandeur of Sala di Forza.

  Across the room, Bianca danced with Luciano, two matching masked cats, but Papà’s willowy page, Alvaro, approached them. He bowed and spoke to Bianca, who smiled, nodded, then promptly bid Luciano goodbye before gliding to the hallway.

  Only one thing could drag Bianca away from her forbidden fruit.

  And now Alvaro, his young face lined grimly, made his way to her. He bowed. “Your Highness, Princess Alessandra, His Majesty requires your presence.”

  “Does he?” She held back a grin. Success—finally. She spared Tarquin a disappointed shrug. Their revelation would have to wait.

  “It must be the Immortali again,” Tarquin said darkly. “A corruption that must be eradicated from the kingdom.”

  A corruption? He had to mean the monsters among the Immortali? The harpies, the basilisks, the wyverns—not the peaceful Immortali people?

  She frowned, but such fire smoldered in Tarquin’s eyes that it burned the question from her lips.

  “Your Highness,” Alvaro prompted.

  As if she would pass up her long-awaited meeting with Papà. She hmphed.

  With perfect form, Tarquin inclined his head to her, and she acknowledged him before turning to leave. What Tarquin didn’t know was that Papà would never desire her presence for input regarding an important matter—such as conflicts with the Immortali. No, when it came to what really mattered, Papà preferred she be like a rabbit-masked courtier under a Vow of Silence.

  This would be a scolding, nothing more, but she’d use it to her advantage.

  As she followed Alvaro through the dimly lit hallway, Bianca offered her a thin smile. A pitying smile.

  So she assumed… Bianca had assumed what everyone would assume.

  Papà had only one use for his Beast Princess.

  Aless shook her head and swallowed. She’d barely set foot at home—Papà wouldn’t send her away for yet another courtship. Not so soon.

  Would he?

  * * *

  Aless glared up at Papà, seated up on his throne beneath the high vaulted ceiling. He’d left the masquerade right after she’d arrived—because he’d been so pleased, no doubt. But he looked the epitome of regal, dressed in expensive violet silk brocade and wearing the jeweled crown on his coal-black hair streaked with ash. Royal guards in purple cloaks lined the room, standing in perfect formation, immovable, intimidating.

  Here in the throne room, he could remind them exactly where they stood—far, far below—and who he was. King.

  But for once, he actually detailed the kingdom’s dire need to her and Bianca.

  Papà stroked his close-cropped beard. “That scoundrel Sincuore and his pirate rats have all but devastated our navy. Our resources must be diverted to replenishing it, meaning we need protection and peace in the heartland.”

  While the coast needed defending, the heartland was rife with immortal beasts attacking the paesani, as well as unrest between humans and the Immortali.

  “The Belmonte brothers have both come here expecting marriages in exchange for their mercenary services,” Papà continued, “but I have only one daughter to give to the Belmonte family, and she is going to Luciano.”

  Bianca smiled at her. So she was getting her Signore Cat. The orchard of her daydreams was coming true, and it had never been so wonderful to have been so wrong. Aless held back an inward grin.

  But why had Papà called them both here?

  “We are making peace with Nightbloom.” He leaned back in his throne.

  The dark-elves? Papà was going to stop the hatred after all—

  He’d said he had only one daughter to give to the Belmonte family. That meant…

  Peace by marriage.

  To the dark-elves.

  Her blood ran cold.

  He’s offering me up to Nightbloom?

  Holy Mother’s mercy, he wanted her to marry one of them? They had claws and fangs, lived in underground caves where not a single rose would grow. No hint of Mamma’s gorgeous gardens there. They ate lizards and lichen, had creepy yellow irises, ghostly white hair, and blue skin like a snake’s. Her skin crawled.

  She cast her gaze aside, at the massive tapestry of Forza slaying the hydra. That mythical monster was about as attractive to her as a dark-elf male. She didn’t hate them, but she definitely didn’t want to marry one of them, kiss one of them, sh-share a marriage bed—

  She fought back a gag. Those clawed hands on her body, fanged teeth in a mouth kissing hers—

  A shudder rattled her bones. Peace was a worthy end, but Papà couldn’t expect her to—to wed one of them.

  She didn’t want to. She would never. There had to be some way to fix this.

  “Bianca, you will be wedded to Prince Veron of Nightbloom,” Papà declared, and her gaze snapped back to him. “And Alessandra, you will be married to Luciano. We’re fighting wyverns, harpies, basilisks, and all manner of beasts—we can’t afford to fight the dark-elves, too. Their numbers could help us quell the Immortali beasts in the heartland, help relieve the burden on our military. There will be a wedding ceremony here for Bianca and Prince Veron, then another in Nightbloom, and the peace will be sealed. In between, you will wed Luciano, Alessandra.”

  Aless blinked over her wide eyes and swallowed over a lump in her throat.

  Bianca’s smile faded like a pappose dandelion in the wind. Her olive skin paled, and the sheen of her agate eyes dulled.

  No, it was all wrong. Everything.

  “Papà.” Aless shook her head. There had to be another way. There had to be. “Might there be a different way to secure the alliance than with a marriage? Is there any other possible way?”

  Papà’s eyes narrowed, and he interlaced his fingers. “Blood is the only way an alliance like this could be upheld. The bond of shared blood.”

  Shared blood? He had to mean children.

  She frowned. “How can a marriage between a mortal
and an immortal work? Can the species even breed? Are children possible?” She’d never read of such a thing.

  “Quite possible, I’m assured,” Papà replied matter-of-factly, his face a dour mask. “And elders are treated with respect in their society. The gap in aging would be handled appropriately.”

  The gap in aging. What a quaint way of phrasing the rapidity of Bianca’s old age while her so-called husband would remain young, watching her wither. Probably eager to remarry to one of his own kind, counting down the days.

  Was that the manifestation of Papà’s love for his favorite daughter? Sending Bianca to someone who’d eagerly await her death, a place where she’d waste away without love or anything that brought her joy, just to serve as a broodmare for his precious alliance?

  A soreness formed behind her eyes, and she rubbed her sweaty palms into her tulle gown. “How can you do this, Papà? Surely you know how Bianca feels about Luciano?” She wrapped an arm around Bianca’s trembling shoulders.

  He breathed deeply. “This is what’s best for you.”

  “I know what’s best for me.” She glared at him. “I refuse to marry Luciano. You must release Bianca from this… this nightmare of a betrothal.”

  Papà dropped his forehead into his hand. “Alessandra, this wedding will happen with or without you. You can either appear in person or be married in absentia, but you will be married, and Luciano will take you to Roccalano, with or without your assent. You will do this, or you will be useless to this kingdom.”

  Useless. He’d called her that before, a long time ago, although she was certain he hadn’t known she’d been listening. When she’d been eight years old, Mamma had been lamenting the latest physician’s torture devices.

  Must we put her through so much suffering? This treatment must be agony, Mamma had said. And yes, that back brace had been extreme, too rigid, too tight, painful to tears.

  We must, Papà had answered sternly. Unless her spine is healed, she’ll be useless in this world.

  In the hallway outside the solar, she had covered her mouth, hidden her tears, smothered her sobs. Even at eight years old, she had resolved to learn everything she could about running a kingdom, even if she had to do it alone. And to never be useless, no matter what Papà thought of her.

  And here she was. Boxed into the only purpose he had for her.

  Or so he thought. She refused to look away from him. He wouldn’t ruin Bianca’s life, not as long as she had a sister talented at stirring up oceans of trouble.

  Bianca sobbed into her shoulder, and Aless rubbed her back gently.

  “And Bianca?” she asked. “She clearly doesn’t want to marry that dark-elf male. Will you see her dragged away to their… their cave?”

  “If that is what is required.” He regarded Bianca, her downturned mouth, and his gaze softened. “But Bianca has always understood the burden of royalty. I have faith she will not disappoint.”

  What a man of honor, this prince! He’d drag Bianca kicking and screaming to his hole in the ground? “Such a moral and kind man you’ve chosen for her.”

  “He is,” Papà answered, unperturbed. “He’s mending the rift between our people. He’s a paragon among his kind.”

  “Maybe you should marry him, then.”

  “He and his people have been mercilessly attacked by humans for months, and he’s followed orders not to engage, not to fight back at all. He has an iron will and a disposition toward diplomacy.”

  Humans had been attacking him and his people for months, and he’d been under orders not to fight back? “So before he’s even met Bianca, he’ll already hate her because she’s human.”

  Brilliant. Even better.

  Bianca swept her forearm across her eyes and rested a hand on her arm. “Aless… It’s all right. I’ll… I’ll do what Papà says.” She sniffled. “And haven’t you been saying how much you’ve wanted to do something important for our kingdom? Luciano is… an influential man, and I’m… I’m sure you’ll find a way to work together. This is your chance.”

  Bianca was in love with Luciano, and Papà had just announced her betrothal to a dark-elf! How could she stand there and say this was all right? Bianca had been waiting for a marriage since her sixteenth year; she was twenty-three now, had finally fallen in love with a man, and was to be married off to some… dark-elf? How could she just accept this?

  If it were me, I’d fight tooth and nail. I’d find a way to make the dark-elf release me, even if no one helped me. I’d do it on my own.

  If it were her…

  If.

  Bianca offered her a sad smile and a nod as she turned toward Papà, but Aless grabbed her arm.

  Her heart thudding in her ears, she met Bianca’s gaze. She wasn’t going to marry her sister’s love. She wasn’t going to let Bianca live a bleak life. She could make it right. She—

  Bianca drew in a sharp breath and shook her head. It didn’t matter. She didn’t need Bianca’s permission.

  “Papà,” Aless said, sweeping up her tulle skirts as her heels clicked up to the first step of the dais. “Offer me instead. I’ll wed Prince Veron.”

  Behind her, Bianca gasped. “Aless, you can’t! You don’t know what you’re—”

  “No. I do know what I’m doing.” She watched Papà’s face for any sign he agreed, but it betrayed nothing. “Please, let Bianca marry Luciano, and I promise I will marry Prince Veron.”

  Papà heaved a long-suffering sigh. “Bianca can be trusted to do her duty. You cannot. Luciano will know this by now”—her reputation, of course, preceded her, too—“but Prince Veron is not a Sileni. He won’t understand your… spirit, and this kingdom needs a peace with Nightbloom to succeed.”

  Papà was right; Bianca would do her duty. But in doing so, she’d utterly destroy her life.

  “There’s no sense in both Bianca and me being unhappy,” she replied, shaking her head vehemently. “Let me take her place. I will marry Prince Veron.”

  Papà rested his chin on his fist. “Alessandra, you know I love you. But if we are being honest, you are willful, short tempered, sharp mouthed, and presumptuous. You are everything a man does not want in a wife. You try to hire street urchins for your household, donate your coin to peasant rebellions, find every opportunity to show the nobiltà you ‘disagree’—”

  It was on the tip of her tongue to object, but he did say sharp mouthed.

  She sighed. Yes, she’d done all those things. He had no reason to expect anything like silent obedience from her.

  Silent…

  Maybe there was a way to persuade him, an old tradition among the most devout of Terrans—something the priests and paladins of the Order of Terra still did, designed to create circumstances for introspection and self-reflection. Even if in name only… “I won’t say a word to him. I will swear a Vow of Silence and say nothing to him until the wedding.”

  A vow. And she’d say nothing to him. It wasn’t quite the old tradition, but hopefully Papà wouldn’t ask too many questions.

  * * *

  A grin tugged at the corners of Papà’s mouth. What amused him more? Her keeping her peace now, being married off to one of the Immortali, or promising to keep her mouth shut?

  Maybe all of it. “This is an easy choice. Make Bianca happy,” she said, squeezing Bianca’s hand, “and get rid of me. All in one sweep.”

  Papà sighed again with heavy shoulders, no doubt weighed down by two decades of her disappointing him. “I’m not trying to ‘get rid’ of you.”

  She shrugged. He could couch it in whatever words he chose. He’d decided he’d had enough of her, and that he’d needed to sacrifice Bianca. Each of them knew this truth, hard as it was, no matter what else he said.

  But his silence persisted, and Bianca’s hand went limp in hers.

  “With this marriage”—Papà stood—“you will be making peace between two nations. There is no greater thing anyone can do for our kingdom, Alessandra.”

  He’d agreed to it!

/>   She wanted to grin, but… she’d just won a wedding to one of the dark-elves. Maybe there was something more she could add to the bargain. “And the library? I want to teach in Bellanzole like Mamma did.”

  He looked away. “I gave your mother too much freedom, and that is what killed her,” he said softly. “If she’d only stayed in the palazzo instead of venturing among the rabble, she would still be alive.”

  And that was it? Because Mamma had been killed, no one could ever do anything again?

  After years of research, she’d worked tirelessly on the proposal, but he and Lorenzo hadn’t replied. He could at least give it serious consideration. “I handed you plans for the library, and lists of all the masters to build it, and suggestions to finance—”

  “That was what your mother wanted, and look what happened to her!” Papà shouted.

  She shuddered. Mamma had died, but she’d devoted her life to sharing knowledge with others, teaching everyone willing how to read, gathering wisdom about the natural world and all things that grew. She’d always been known as the wild heart no man could tame, but Papà had loved what she had loved and had done the impossible—or at least he’d pretended to support her. After her death, everyone had forgotten her wish. Just as they had forgotten her.

  But I haven’t. “Papà, please—”

  “Libraries mean paesani who can read, write, and think, who can write pamphlets and treatises, and protest instead of working. Find new ways to destroy us.” He heaved a sigh. “This is a volatile time. The kingdom cannot take such a risk.”

  “Papà, that’s—”

  “The truth. And Alessandra, do you have any notion of what it costs to build a library and keep it maintained?”

  “Yes. It was all there in the—”

  “Not monetary cost. You laid out a tax plan to see it done. But the non-monetary costs of taxing our signori, especially now, when many of them are stretched thin or deep in debt to finance defenses against the Immortali? There’s another harpy nest just outside of Stroppiata! We have bigger concerns right now. By enacting your plan, I’d be sowing the seeds of rebellion myself.