“What’s my final assignment?” I growl.
“Guard the princess until the wedding. That will give me enough time to arrange for a suitable replacement.”
“You could have found a replacement for me while I was sick.”
“I couldn’t possibly dishonor you after so many years of service. You nearly lost your life helping me rescue the princess, after all. Besides, considering what happened at her last betrothal ball, I’d feel better having someone I trust keep a close eye on Rose.”
I rake one hand through my tangled hair, tugging a fistful hard enough to feel the roots pull tight.
Briar darts out of a passageway and stops short, her eyes flaring wide.
Our gazes lock. In my mind I hear the clash of steel.
I sketch a curt bow and say, “Congratulations upon your formal title, Princess.”
Wrenching my gaze away requires all of my depleted strength. Her gorgeous, blanched face haunts me as I walk away.
I was delirious to think I could have her. Even if it was what she wanted, she wouldn’t fight for it. Briar is content to be Alistair’s sweet-smelling rose of a queen, giving him as many heirs as he desires before he tires of her, and why should she choose anything different?
I have nothing to offer her except a castle where she was held prisoner for a hundred years—and even that depends upon my ability to get through the next three days without pinning her to the nearest hard surface and getting myself sent to the gallows instead of claiming my empty prize.
Briar
What. An. Ass.
He doesn’t remember our kiss, clearly. I don’t know why I expected him to. His cold congratulations, gritted out like a curse…that I did not anticipate.
His surliness, yes, but not his hatred. That cuts me to the quick.
“My darling.”
If Alistair calls me that one more time, I cannot answer for my actions.
His hand slides around my waist to guide me down these gilded halls I still get lost in. For once, I barely notice.
I thought…no, I hoped that Killian would ride in and save me from my fate. For a moment, it seemed like my dream was coming true. He was magnificent on that black charger of his.
And then the way he glared at me shattered every fantasy I’ve been clinging to for the past ten days.
His disdain felt like being slapped in the face with a glove—both a challenge and an insult.
“I shall escort you to what I trust will be the final fitting for your gown.”
There’s an edge to the prince’s tone that tells me I’ve reached the limits of his patience with making changes to the design.
“I only get one wedding day, Alistair. Surely you can understand I want it to be perfect.”
My flirtatiousness is always forced, but now it sounds false even to my own ears. He’s narcissistic enough to ignore it. If the possibility that I don’t want him has occurred to Alistair, he’s already dismissed it out of hand.
I lay my gloved hand over his and smile up at him. “I’m still trying to learn modern fashion. A hundred years ago, skirts werefuller and sleeves were puffier. I’m unaccustomed to the leaner silhouette of today.”
Ladies these days have appalling taste. The current fashion is for sleek skirts that look fine from the front, with a bump on your bottom to support a bustle covered in beads and bows. That was the dressmaker’s first design. I tried to be tactful in refusing to wear it, but I hurt her feelings and she’s taken it out on me with pins ever since. Fortunately, now that we’ve agreed upon the basic design, she has left most of the final alterations to her seamstresses.
“You would look beautiful in any gown, my sweet. Just pick something.”
Alistair skims his hand down my arm and grabs my hand, halting me as I turn to enter the dressmaker’s workshop.
He brings one hand to my cheek. A shudder ripples up my spine. I smile to suppress any outward hint of how much I dread our wedding night.
