I buss an air kiss to his cheek in lieu of thanking him, keeping as much physical distance as I can without causing offense. Fora 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 werebeing 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.”
