CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE #2
“You never cared about me at all, did you?” I asked.
I knew Geoffrey was an asshole. But I’d somehow never seen the true depths of it.
I’d been blinded by his so-called protection all these years.
Pretending things were okay simply because he’d offered me a home when my own aunt had denied me one.
I would have looked past almost anything to feel safe and accepted at that time. And I fucking did.
“Oh, Shamhira.” He clicked his tongue. “Don’t get sentimental on me now. Did you care for me?”
“I never betrayed you!”
“And I have yet to betray you. Look around! You look quite well—a princess betrothed to the crown. You’re free, not in prison, nor in a box. I am simply doing what we all must, what you yourself are doing to poor Olivay and her kind and noble prince at this very moment. Surviving.”
The backs of my eyes burned. “You bastard,” I whispered, my voice breaking.
“If it’s any consolation,” he said, “it’s not exactly your current face being described to the soldiers who hunt you.”
I pressed my lips together. Of course it fucking wasn’t.
“Here, as a favor to an old friend, I’ll give you the upper hand on this. Jaron handed one of these to me.” He produced a piece of folded parchment. It looked exactly like the one Brennan had shown the soldier last night. The one with art he’d drawn of me.
“I already know.” I shook my head, not wanting to unfold it, not wanting to face the truth. To see my likeness again, the likeness I’d left behind. Folding the parchment again, I shoved it into a pocket in my skirts.
“Calm down. He doesn’t know who you are yet. I told him I saw you, but I also told him that you shifted forms again when you saw me and ran away. You could be anyone by now.” He chuckled. “Anyone at all.”
“Even Princess Olivay.”
He made a frowny face, tossing his head side to side as if this were some minor misstep.
“I said anyone. Anyone who can dance, who can flirt, who can turn the head of every man in the room toward her without even trying.” He gestured to the dance floor, twisting his hand with a flourish.
“Anyone who can walk with their hips swishing seductively.” He eyed my waist.
“And if I turn on you now,” I said, my pulse pounding, “you’ll confirm to him it’s me.”
He grinned. “Exactly. So, I’ll be requiring your silence while I’m here. And payment for mine.”
“I don’t have any—”
“You have access to the crown’s funds. To the funds from two crowns, as I see it: Eskalon and Spartva.”
“You think I have keys to their treasury? I’m just a princess, not on the royal council. I do not have—”
“But you can, you can get them, or,” his eyes flashed with mischief, “one of your faces can.”
I shook my head. “I don’t have the energy or the reserves—”
“And at the very least, you have access to jewels, to clothes. Items worth a pretty coin on the street.”
“You want me to steal for you. Gods, you’re so fucking petty. Why don’t you do it yourself?” I asked. “You’re like me. You could do it. Why do you even take on this form? This oily, greasy excuse for a man.”
He chuckled again, and licked his lips, his tongue sliding against the bottom of his black mustache.
“I happen to like this form. I’m happy this way.
And why I need you to do it isn’t your concern at all.
Focus on what I’m asking you to do, not why.
Besides, how hard can this be for you? Did you not give two bracelets already to Cecelia for her brand new life? ”
“I did that to help her-to—you spoke to her?”
“Yes, on her way out. She wanted to tell me goodbye.”
I bit my lip. At least there was that. But the problem of Geoffrey wasn’t going to go away so easily. “If I do this for you, if I get you jewels and coin, then you will tell Jaron I’m not here,” I said. “That I’m not anyone at the castle. That I’ve left the country—the continent.”
He sucked more through his teeth and shook his head.
“My dear, that’s not how blackmail works.
You see, I set the rules, not you. And if I tell him that, then the boxings in the city, in the towns, and in all of Eskalon will only ramp up.
Perhaps even spread to Spartva, where they now have an alliance.
Even more women will suffer. You should be grateful he suspects that you’re on the castle grounds.
When you think about it that way, you’re saving lives. ”
“Tell him it’s not me,” I said. “You must do that much.”
“I might be able to do that for you. After all, it’s rather hard to arrest a princess on mere suspicion. And he’s putting so much effort into finding a form that doesn’t exist. But I’m feeling rather put out by my generosity. I think I require—”
I’d already slipped off another bracelet, gold with emeralds embedded in the metal to match both my dress and diadem.
“Cecelia got two.”
“You’re a fucking bastard,” I snarled, but popped two more off my wrist—leaving me down to one. “I’ll get you more, but you need to be patient. If too much goes missing at once, they’ll know a thief is in their midst. And the prince is counting my jewels.”
“Oh, I bet he is, with a body like this.” He laughed.
“Don’t fret. There are always thieves in their midst. I’m sure you’ll find an excuse for the missing jewelry and coins to give your prince.
” He tucked the bracelet into his pocket.
“If not, you have other methods of persuasion. Use them wisely. I’ll require more payment in the morning. ”
“Olivay,” Brennan said suddenly. “Princess.” He slid next to me, his eyes hardening as he saw Geoffrey.
“Ah, Master Geoffrey.” He nodded, his voice as cold as it had been that first night.
I felt a small sense of satisfaction at his continued dislike of Geoffrey.
Brennan was actually a very good judge of character.
“Your Highness,” Geoffrey said, bowing forward. “I was just offering my congratulations to your beautiful and sweet, innocent bride. I’m so glad to see this betrothal has come to fruition.”
Brennan’s jaw clenched. “Thank you. And I beg your pardon, but please excuse us. Goodnight,” he said, taking my arm. He swept me away, his body tensed, his jaw muscles clenched, until we reached the dance floor and were swallowed up into the crowd.
“Was that true?” he asked me, taking my hand in his, the other on my waist. He began to turn us in rhythm with the music. “Was that all that that man said to you?”
I took a deep breath, remembering that Olivay had never met Geoffrey, that she wouldn’t know him as the tavern owner.
“He simply wished us congratulations,” I said evenly. Neutrally.
“I don’t like that man. Nor do I trust him,” Brennan said.
I breathed a sigh of relief. “Me neither, from our interaction. He was rather … unlikeable,” I said. It felt like an Olivay description to me based on what I’d read. I wanted to say more, but I couldn’t. If Brennan went after him, I’d be exposed at once.
“Olivay, let me know if he comes near you again,” Brennan said, his voice low.
I blinked, still trying to get my bearings and understand what he knew and what he thought. “Is there something I should be aware of?” I asked. “Or worried about?” I didn’t think Geoffrey had spoken to Brennan, or, if he did, that Brennan trusted what he had to say. But still, I couldn’t be sure.
“No, nothing that I believe should concern you.” Brennan pulled me closer.
“But I don’t get a good feeling about him.
He’s not … not a good man.” There was a sudden pang of emotion from him.
Guilt. He was lying. He had more than a bad feeling about Geoffrey.
He had evidence. He had seen him hurt me.
Samara that is. But he wasn’t going to tell Olivay that.
Why tell your betrothed you met the owner of a shady tavern on the same nights you signed a contract of marriage to her?
Or that you entered the bedroom of a whore, even if he never touched her beyond a handhold.
We finished the song, and continued on the dance floor, Brennan threading one hand through mine, his other warm and secure against my waist.
“I’m still thinking about you and the oak tree,” he whispered.
“Me, too,” I admitted, feeling heat dampen between my legs, as if the moment were still happening.
“I shall do my best to remain a prince with you, though,” he said, puffing out his chest, his body leaning back from mine–but just barely.
“Gallant as ever,” I said.
But slowly we began to talk, sharing with each other books we’d read, songs we liked.
Strange dreams we’d had as kids. Our favorite fairy tales.
I knew enough of Olivay’s history to share genuine books I’d enjoyed, and songs I knew that she did, too.
And for a few minutes, we were just a boy and girl.
Not prince and princess. Not even man and Azete.
And though I could never forget who I was supposed to be, the knowledge and interests Olivay had over mine, I found I was able to actually talk to Brennan.
To connect with him. And not lie once beyond the appearance I was in.
It was starting to feel real between us. The more I got to know him, the more I wanted him, the way he wanted me, even if another version of me was haunting his thoughts.
We moved closer and closer, his mouth dangerously near mine.
The Azete was stirring, hungry, begging, wanting. I leaned in, lifting my chin.
“Can I?” he asked, as I sucked out even more of his life.
But before I could formulate any sort of coherent response, the Hermit appeared before us, grinning and wearing all the bravado of Lord Brandon.
“Your Highness,” he bowed low to Brennan, “I do hope I’m not interrupting.” He winked. “But might I steal a dance with your bride?”