11. Killian
Idream of nothing but the taste of my dream woman’s lips, and awaken with an unquenchable thirst. Eyes, throat, mouth, skin—everything single part of me is dry and itchy.
But the worst part is my shield arm. I roll painfully upright, blinking in the dim room of a none-too-fancy inn. Bright light spears my vision. Pain radiates from my temples straight into my spine.
I’ve woken up in worse places, but never with a worse headache.
Grimacing, I reaching for the floor with my toes and I stumble to my feet. On a chair by the window is a stack of folded clothes. The pants are mine, freshly laundered and patched. The shirt could be anyone’s. I put them on.
Staggering downstairs to the common room, I find the place strangely deserted. Only an ancient barmaid is in the back, knitting.
“You survived,” she says. “We didn’t know if you would. The healer did what he could for you with what limited magic he had.”
The harpy scratch. Infection. I unwrap the bandage from my left arm. A long, puckered scar angles up my forearm. Flexing my hand, it’s clear that my days as a knight are numbered. Once word gets around that I’m maimed…
I yank the sleeve down to cover it. Alistair had better keep his promise about giving me that damned castle. “How long was I out?”
“Ten days.”
“Where is everyone?”
“Gone to town.”
Apparently, I’m going to have to pull every answer out of this taciturn woman. I couldn’t have met a gossip eager to overshare; that would have been too easy.
“For what purpose?” I grit out.
The old woman tilts her head. “Don’t you know? The prince you arrived with has rescued the sleeping maiden. He is to marry Princess Aurora three days hence.” Her rocker creaks. Needles clack. “I guess you don’t remember. Fever wiped it all away.”
I do remember. Everything.
I fought to get that ungrateful fop all the way to the top of the cursed mountain, and he left me here to live or die as nature saw fit because he couldn’t wait to get his dick into Briar’s gold-plated pussy.
Iwas the one who saved her. Me.
Memory sweeps over me like a brushfire. That kiss. Fuck, it wasn’t a fever dream. It was real.
I kissed her and begged her to take me, and she said yes. Never mind that at the time I thought she was the goddess of death. Briar’s kiss kept me clinging to life. I couldn’t leave until she came for me…
And she never came back.
They healed me with magic. No wonder I feel like I’ve been on a ten-day bender. Humans can wield magic if we’re very careful. Healers use it as medicine, but some witches and warlocks sell the stuff for other purposes, and regular use can cause addiction in humans.
Like my mother, the woman who kept using magic while pregnant with me, and gave me my heightened senses along with my speed, quick reflexes, and strength. Still human, but an abomination.
All I know about the woman who brought me into the world is that she was a whore who left me on the doorstep of a foundling home, screaming and shaking in withdrawal. I doubt she even knew the name of whatever useless man fathered me.
Magic makes you feel good for a few hours and then miserable for days. In the right hands it has medicinal uses, but every time a healer uses it on me, I’m left wondering whether it was worth the potential of getting hooked.
I should be wary of getting hooked on Briar’s magic. I’m afraid it’s already too late. The urge to find her has me shoving my few possessions into a pack and saddling my horse.
“You’re leaving?” the old woman asks, watching me.
I don’t respond. I’m too seething with fury, and determined to get answers about why my one friend left me to die.
Alistair has lost my loyalty. I’m of half a mind to take his woman purely out of spite.
Briar
Ten days of silence.
Of not knowing whether Killian lives.
Of pretending I’ll marry Prince Alistair, while constantly finding ways to fend him off without hurting his pride. My nerves are frayed to the breaking point—and that’s not factoring in all the princess nonsense.
Today, I am formally being recognized as Isanthian royalty and therefore worthy of marriage to the crown prince of Belterre. My sudden appearance raised a lot of eyebrows, and there have been messengers sent far and wide to confirm my identity. The title matters to everyone except me—and the man I can’t figure out how to banish from my mind.
Did Killian survive the infection? If so, where is he?
Part of me loathes myself for caring. Profoundly. Deeply. That kiss infected me.
Alistair’s done everything within his power to hasten our wedding day, whereas I have dragged my feet every step of the way. Requesting changes to the design of my wedding dress. Complaining about how the tiara pinches my temples and gives me a headache; I must have a new one made. Anything I can do to delay this wedding I have done with a smile on my face and a firm reminder that I am an untouched maiden who will not give in to a man before her wedding night.
But I’m running out of ideas, and time.
My refusals only seem to whet the prince’s appetite. Cowering in my room is the only way I can avoid feeling hunted through the halls of Belterre Castle.
And then there’s the problem of the king.
“You look stunning, Rose.”
The king takes both of my hands in his, staring deeply into my eyes. His silver hair flutters on a light breeze beneath his heavy gold crown. His features are unmistakably those of Alistair’s sire. You wouldn’t know it to look at him how sick he is. The only evidence is a cough that wracks him, which he is careful to keep out of public view whenever it happens.
I buss an air kiss to his cheek in lieu of thanking him, keeping as much physical distance as I can without causing offense. For a few seconds, I think we might get through one interaction with polite platitudes.
Then he goes and ruins it.
His grip on me tightens, and his attention dips to my cleavage.
“I am of half a mind to take you for my own bride.”
Repulsed, I yank back. He clutches me and leans close to sniff my neck. I shudder.
“Wouldn’t you rather have a king than a prince, girl? He can only make you a princess. I can make you a queen.”
I don’t covet a crown. I crave a simple life of freedom and someone who loves me for more than my face. I will never find that at Belterre Castle.
“Please, Your Majesty.” I drop my gaze, feigning modesty instead of voicing my outrage. “I cannot reward your son with such ingratitude after the pains he took to rescue me.”
Not that I asked to be rescued. Thus far, waking up has been a decidedly mixed blessing.
“Your wisdom is nearly equal to your beauty, Briar Rose. You shall make an excellent queen.” He pats my hands as though he hadn’t just propositioned me. Relieved, I extract them a little too quickly from his grasp. The king’s expression brightens. “There you are, Alistair. We were just speaking about you.”
The nerve of this man, attempting to cuckold his own son, then acting with paternal concern. Prince Alistair might be insufferable, but it’s not hard to understand why. Knowing doesn’t make me like him any better, though.
“Is there any word of Killian?” Flustered, I blurt out the first thing in my head. Both men frown at my impulsive question.
“I didn’t realize you were on a first-name basis,” Alistair says.
“Sir Ironheart.” I feign contrition. “I am unaccustomed to titles.”
A lie. I learned to use them perfectly well during my first go-round as a prince’s bride.
“You shall have to learn, and quickly, Rose. As regards my personal knight, there has been no word since the messenger arrived to say his fever had broken. Why such concern for a man you barely know, my darling?”
His endearment sets my teeth on edge, turning my smile into a grimace of forced cheer.
Beyond the prince’s dark blond head is a window, through which the shapes of winged monsters are visible. It started with a lone harpy trailing our carriage away from the inn. For the past ten days they’ve been congregating in ever-greater numbers while the castle guards try to drive them away from the roads. Thousands of Belterreans are traveling to the castle to witness my wedding. There have been several fatal attacks.
Leaving Killian behind was terrifying for purely selfish reasons. He is the one person who has protected me from the brutal beasts that terrorize me. Even if he was incapacitated, I trust him with my life.
I also want to kiss him again. I burn to know whether he remembers anything.
Intellectually, I know he was probably too delirious to realize what he was doing. I’ve nurtured that seedling of undue optimism for ten whole days. I need to know the truth. I need to know if there’s any possible alternative ending to the nightmare that’s become my life before I step one slippered foot down the aisle.
If there is, I intend to grasp for it.
“Sir Ironheart is your friend, is he not?”
Prince Alistair does a hand-wobble. “More of a servant.”
I swat his arm flirtatiously and tuck my hand into his elbow. “Come now, I have seen the two of you together. Don’t you think your closest friend”—only friend, if either of us were being honest, which we’re not—“should be here to witness your wedding?”
“A very good idea,” interjects the king. “Send for him. If he’s well enough to get out of bed, Ironheart will stand as your groomsman. Even if we have to prop him in a wheelchair to do it.” He grins widely.
The idea of standing six feet from Killian and swearing my life to Prince Alistair turns my stomach. The prospect of humiliating him by dragging an ill man in front of a large audience is worse. I wish I’d kept my mouth shut.
“It is time to greet your people.” Prince Alistair leads me out onto a balcony festooned with so many roses their perfume is overpowering. Above my head, banners depicting the Belterre royal insignia flutter in a gentle breeze. A loud cheer goes up. My stomach knots.
“So many have come to bear witness.”
“You are a legend, my sweet Rose. Of course, they wish to see history being made.” He lifts one hand. Trumpets blare. “As soon as our wedding is finalized, I shall press my father to step down. I have proven my worthiness by my courageous rescue of you from the enchanted castle.”
Except that he isn’t the one who fought his way into my prison. His knight owns that honor.
Killian, who lies forgotten and left behind in an anonymous inn to heal from his wounds.
“I present to you Rose, Princess Aurora of Isanthia, the most beautiful woman in all the land.” Prince Alistair cries out to deafening cheers. He takes my hand and raises it. “Don’t stand there like a stone. Acknowledge them.”
“What do you suggest, Your Highness?”
He turns to me with a slight frown. “I don’t like the way you call me ‘Highness.’ It smacks of Kill’s insolence.”
I inhale sharply and stare out over the crowd.
“I am a farmer’s daughter. Not a princess, no matter how many undeserving titles you bestow upon me to make me a suitable bride.” Regardless of who my birth parents were, none of the trappings of royalty feel true to me.
“Just. Keep. Smiling.”
I can do that. I’m goodat faking my way through any situation, no matter how absurd. My lips stretch into a rictus of feigned joy. Mimicking his motion, I wave to the crowd below.
Out of one castle prison, into another.
What I want are fangs and claws and wings. I want to fight my way free of this cage.
What I have are manicured hands and a fake smile.
The peasantry chants the name I was given at birth. Princess Aurora. Princess Aurora. It doesn’t feel like they’re cheering me at all. I’m merely Briar.
Far in the distance, beyond the ramparts, a dark figure races toward us kicking up a plume of dust. Squinting, I watch it come closer. The forced grin fades from my lips. I don’t hear the roaring crowd, or Alistair’s frustrated muttering when I don’t respond. My heart beats in time with the massive black horse’s hooves.
It’s him.
Killian barely slows his mount before leaping off its back. He must be recovered if he’s able to ride like that. Relief and anticipation sing within me. People make way before the dark knight like he is a blade cutting a path through the throngs. Directly toward us.
A hush falls over the crowd.
Prince Alistair moves away and says something to the guard, but I don’t hear his words. All I can do is stare, lips parted, as Killian strides forward as if he owns the place.
When he reaches the castle steps, his steely gaze cuts to mine. I gasp, recoiling at the hard-edged fury I find there.
“Stay here, Rose. I’ll see to my knight errant.”
I stare blankly at the crowd, unable to think of a single thing to say or do.
Just keep smiling,I suppose.