Chapter 12
CHAPTER TWELVE
ROSAMUND
Packing your entire life away into three trunks, with a tall werewolf breathing down your neck, is as stressful as it sounds. My hands shake as I pick up book after book, knick-knack after knick-knack from the shelves of my room, my mind all over the place.
“What about the painting your cousin made for you?” Della asks.
It’s hanging over my bed and has done so since I was little. Orlen is very talented, and he painted for me a small dragon, calling it Remi, after the darakin in the story of Jaien and Aethre.
“I’ll have to send for it later. Have you seen my copy of History of Dragon Kins? And what about my drawing album?”
“It was somewhere around here, I’m sure I saw it.” She taps a finger against her lips. “Have you seen it, Bert?”
Bert, standing guard at the door, shakes his head.
“You’re not paying attention,” Della grumbles. “What are you doing here, pretending to be a pillar, holding up the roof? Or thinking of the kitchen maid you fancy?”
“It’s fine, Della,” I say absently, patting the golden locket hanging around my neck.
“What’s that?” Valen growls from behind me, and I start.
“None of your business.”
“Only, you’re going to be my business until we reach your new abode, aren’t you?”
“No,” I mutter irritably. “You are going to be my problem.”
He laughs, that dark, pleasant chuckle I feel all the way to my core. “Well. Going to be a big problem, then. My height is a good measure of the size of my di—”
“Mind your language,” Della snaps at him, and I glance at her, surprised. She’s even shorter than me, but doesn’t mind yelling at the tall, muscular man who can turn into a beast.
And Valen stares at her as if she has sprouted another head. He makes a sound behind the muzzle. “You can’t keep coddling her,” he finally says.
“We’re not coddling her,” Della says. “She’s been—”
“Through some rough times? Who hasn’t, Sweetheart? Protecting her from me won’t save her.”
“What are you talking about?” Della’s face is reddening with anger. “Your role is to protect her! You’re her bodyguard—”
“Against my will,” Valen says. “You think I was asked if I had any interest in playing bodyguard to a sheltered, prudish human virgin?”
“Excuse me?” I breathe. “I’m not… prudish.”
“Ah, but you are a virgin.” His gaze bores into me. “And you are sheltered. All those high collars and long sleeves, not showing an inch of skin, not—”
“You don’t know anything about me,” I bite out the words.
“You really think I’m deaf? Even a human can hear the comments people make as you pass, the Frost Princess, the—”
“Shut up!” I’m panting, hands fisted in the folds of my dress, and before I realize, I’ve taken two steps closer to him. “You know nothing about it.”
His amber eyes seem slightly wide, fixed on my face. His gloved hands twitch in their bonds.
“My lady,” Della says after a long moment, grabbing my arm. “Step away from him. It’s not safe.”
I want to laugh, start laughing and never stop. “Of course it’s not safe,” I breathe. “It will never be safe while he’s around.”
Another silence falls. I hate these abrupt silences that stretch over the room like a web, suffocating us.
“Let’s get on with the packing,” I say just to break it, feeling its release as if it’s a physical thing. “Three trunks may sound like a lot, but my gowns take half a trunk each.”
“Your new husband will surely have plenty of gowns sewn for you,” Della says. “No need to take them all.”
Valen snorts.
“Got something to say, wolf?” I mutter. “Your people may walk around in furs, but we prudish people like to dress in silk and satin, in tailored dresses and shoes.”
“I wouldn’t pretend to be civilized to save my life,” he says, pawing at the muzzle with his bound hands. “Could you just take this thing off—?”
“No.” Shivering a little, I turn my back to him again, hating how aware I still am of his presence. It’s like heat, a hot pulsing source I can sense without seeing. “Stop asking for that. It won’t happen.”
“My lady,” Bert says from the door. “The bells have rung for dinner. I believe you are expected to make an appearance with your new bodyguard.”
He spits the last word out like a curse.
“Am I invited to dinner, then?” Valen snarls. “Will I get a bone under the table with the other dogs?”
“Behave, and you might even get a bowl of water,” I say under my breath.
Valen huffs.
“You’re not a guest, wolf,” Bert says. “You will stand behind her and attend to her.”
The werewolf’s broad shoulders shake a little. “Figures.”
“And don’t try anything, do you hear?” Bert continues. “I’ll be nearby, keeping an eye on you. She has to show her stepfather and his guests that she won’t cower in front of—”
“Bert,” I say. “Enough.”
An uncomfortable prickle is tightening my skin. I don’t want the wolf to know more about me, about my family and my weaknesses. My flaws. Any openings for him to get me with—if he doesn’t literally eviscerate me.
He has acted quite rationally so far. Quite calmly and… humanly. Almost. But that won’t last. Not only are the fae harder to predict, but shifters are a whole different basket of parsnips.
So to speak.
“My lady.” Bert gives a curt bow from the waist. “As you say.”
I know Valen is staring at my back. I can feel it, a tingle between my shoulder blades. A shiver racks me. “We’ll finish up later. Let’s go to dinner.”
“Pinch your cheeks!” Della mutters, running after me, tucking errant strands of hair behind my ears. “Why are we in a rush? I should have brushed out your hair and put on your jewelry—”
“Only for my sister to steal it again? No, thank you. I’m fine.”
Della stops as I keep walking, the end of the leash in my hand. “Dear Gods. You’ve gone feral, too?”
“I just don’t care what anyone thinks of me.” I’m exhausted from having to deal with my fears day and night. There is no reprieve.
Valen. There is no reprieve from Valen.
The heat of his body follows me, a shadow cast over me, his steps soundless but his presence too loud as we make our way to the stairs leading down to the great hall.
Bert is right behind him, his tread heavy and his breathing labored. He was sick last year, and his lungs still haven’t fully recovered.
I’m fond of him and Kier, while a thrill that isn’t really pleasant runs through me when I think of Valen.
Not really pleasant? I mean, very unpleasant. That’s what I mean. I—
“Rosamund!” Hard hands grab my arm and jerk me sideways, while Bert hollers something unintelligible, and a sharp burn marks my other arm, through the fabric of my sleeve.
What just happened?
I find myself pressed to the wall, a tall, warm body pressed to me—but it moves away all too soon, and it resolves into Valen, who’s shoving away two men.
Two human men holding curved blades, and as I watch, stunned, they come at Valen with hoarse yells.
He kicks at one, then twists and punches the other with his bound hands. The man swings his knife around, unfazed, and moves past him.
Toward me.
“The wolf failed to end you,” he says, “so now it’s up to me.”
With a snarl, Valen lifts his hands and tears off the muzzle, and I realize he has snapped off his bindings.
Shit.
He grabs the man from behind and swings him into a wall, then lets him thump to the floor, where he remains unmoving.
Then he turns to the other man and hauls him close, opening his mouth wide and biting his neck. Tearing his throat out in a torrent of crimson.
Black spots swim in my eyes, and I press my back to the wall, not to pass out. I can’t pass out now.
The wolfman turns toward me, half his face painted with blood. “Princess.”
I… can’t. Can’t breathe. Memories surge like a wave over my head, drowning me. Any effort to stay upright is futile. My knees buckle, and I slide down the wall until my ass hits the floor.
Darkness is rushing in, and he’s coming for me, a monster painted in crimson, about to devour me.
“Step the fuck back.” Bert is suddenly between us, brandishing a long knife. “Don’t you dare come any closer.”
“Is she all right?” Valen asks, his voice a dark growl. “She—”
“She’ll be fine. Stay where you are.” Bert twists about to look at me. “My lady? Were you harmed?”
“I’m fine,” I say faintly and don’t resist when he crouches down beside me and helps me back to my feet. “The wolf?”
“The wolf won’t hurt you,” Bert says softly. “Right, brute?”
A snarl is the only reply, and I close my eyes as Bert guides me to the stairs and away from the spilled blood.