27. Prince Cole
Chapter 27
Prince Cole
“I was never really insane except upon
occasions when my heart was touched.”
— Edgar Allan Poe
W hat a fool I was to agree to this ball.
Davina barely makes it to the bathroom before she’s followed by someone who’s been ogling her for the past hour.
I’ve been watching her all night, shadowing her every step without her even realizing it. So, when I see she’s pulled into a dark corner off the main hall by this bastard, I follow them.
“Get your hands off of me,” she hisses.
“You’re practically begging for it with that dress.”
My hands clench into fists at my sides, the urge to tear him apart kept in check only by her presence. Davina doesn’t know I’m here, and I intend to keep it that way.
I clear my throat loudly, hoping to draw his attention.
Just as I expect him to turn my way, a heavy groan of agony echoes through the walls.
If I’m not mistaken, it sounds like she just kicked him in the balls.
A grin spreads across my face at the thought.
There’s that devious girl.
“You fucking whore.” His footsteps echo down the hall, his revolting face coming into view as he runs toward me.
My hand shoots out without hesitation, and I grip his neck and tug him into me. His back slams into my chest, his body jerking in my grasp. I clamp my palm over his mouth, my other hand squeezing his windpipe.
I drag him along with me until we reach the mirror that conceals the entrance to the dungeon. Shifting it slightly, I tilt it just enough to reveal the hidden doorway behind it.
I step through, pulling this squirming bastard with me.
Once the wall slots back into place, I toss him to the ground, reveling in the sound of his skull cracking against the stone floor.
Blood splatters from the impact. He groans and rolls onto his back, his hands coming up to clutch his head.
I close my eyes and sigh.
How dare he follow her, touch her, and think he could call her a whore without having to deal with the repercussions?
He struggles to stand, his arms shaking as he pushes himself off the ground. I step forward until I’m hovering over him, my boots pressing into his chest and shoving him back down.
“Nah,” I crouch down and increase the pressure, “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”
He groans again, his eyes hazy and unfocused. “Let me go, you piece of?—”
“Oh, but you’re practically begging for it,” I say, and then slam my fist against his face with such force that my knuckles throb.
His head lolls to the side and his body sinks into itself. He tries to push himself into a sitting position, blood dripping down the back of his head and onto his neck.
His strength wanes, and he slumps back down.
“Come on,” I sigh, grabbing a dagger that I’m keeping in here. “Don’t tell me you’re about to lose consciousness already. We’re just getting to the fun part.”
Irritation squeezes my center as he seems to be passing out before I retaliate.
His eyes flicker open, and he makes another desperate attempt to sit up but fails.
“You know why you’re here, right?”
Silence.
“Where was that self-preservation in front of her? We could have saved so much time if you just realized she’s not yours to touch.”
“Please,” he croaks, hiccupping around his words. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”
My head tilts when I crouch down, my voice low. “I asked you a question.”
“I’m sorry,” he stammers.
“I’m sorry, what was that?”
“I am sorry,” he mumbles, his words slow and slurred.
I blow out a breath until my cheeks puff. “ That’s it?”
“I shouldn’t have touched her,” he wails, “and I won’t touch her again.”
“There, was that so hard?”
“Just let me go,” he pleads, panic seeping into his voice. “Please.”
I laugh at his audacity, pressing my palm against his mouth. With my other hand, holding the dagger, I point to his face. “I’ll cut out your tongue. The punishment should fit the crime.”
“I—I haven’t committed any crime.”
Rage unfurls in me, thick and heavy, until all I see is red.
“It was your mouth that was calling her a whore.”
My fingers grip his jaw, prying his mouth open to yank out the tip of his tongue. As I pull, a scream escapes him, and his body thrashes helplessly against the cold stone floor. The feel of my blade slicing through his tongue disgusts me, but he dug his own grave by harassing her.
The smell of urine seeps into my awareness, mingling with the metallic scent of blood dripping from his mouth and pooling on the stone floor beneath him.
“Well,” I drawl as I sever his tongue, tossing it somewhere behind me, “at least you can’t lie or insult her anymore.”
Agonized screams tear from his blood-filled mouth, morphing into a gurgling sound before he drifts off to unconsciousness.
“Hold on,” I continue, gripping one of his hands. “I’m afraid I need to cut off your fingers, too. It just occurred to me you used them to touch her.”