In my mind, I hear her ragged breath as she comes apart.
I shake my head, trying to clear it of this strange burst of possessiveness.
Her expression falls slightly at Alistair’s return. She’s so good at hiding what she feels. Until I rip away that protective veil she hides behind. Her beauty is nothing but a mask over a darkness that rivals my own.
Anyone who believes her gorgeous exterior and sweet nature are the truth of her is a fool.
Alistair trots over to me. Briar sets aside the bow and goes to meet her relatives. It must be so strange for her to meet her foster family’s descendants. She’s been gracious about it.
“You’re staring.”
I jerk my attention to the prince.
“You wanted me to keep an eye on her. What did you expect?”
“I don’t like the way you look at her.”
“Give it a rest, Alistair.”
He scoffs. “You look like shit, Kill.”
“You’d look like shit too if your friend had left you for dead at a roadside inn,” I spit. An unfathomable insult. Unbecoming of a royal guard. What’s he going to do, strip me of my duties? This time tomorrow, I’ll be on my horse, galloping away with that signed fucking scroll clenched in my fist. “Fortunately, for you, your friend would never do such a thing. I wasn’t as lucky.”
His gaze slides guiltily away from mine.
“All of this was your idea, Alistair. Everything Briar said yesterday was true.”
Deep down, though I’d rather face down a flock of harpies than admit it, the way he’s driving me away hurts. Even if I am doing the same damn thing by coveting his bride.
Nor do I intend to stop.
The worst part is, neither does he.
After tomorrow, the prince and I are as good as strangers.
As if I’d conjured them with my dark thoughts, a shadow flickers over the sky. Screams. I react before I can think, abandoning Alistair when I should have stayed to guard him and racing to protect Briar from the harpies swooping down, talons open.
Briar
A familiar screech lifts the hairs on the back of my neck. Turning, I gape at the sight of a harpy swooping down. Spearing a hapless maid through her middle with one enormous claw, the monster carries her away like an eagle soaring off with a fish, dripping a trail of blood over the pastoral picnic laid out for the royal guests.
Our pleasant morning excursion erupts into chaos. Arrows fly. A machine of some sort flings nets into the air in an attempt to bring the raptors down. Mostly, the nets miss their screeching targets and trip the people scrambling to escape instead. Within minutes, the field is a bloodbath. I clap my hands over my ears, wincing from the harpy shrieks.
Killian, a human thundercloud, barrels into me.
“What about everyone else?”
He pulls me in the direction of the woods. “The only thing that matters is you, Briar,” he growls. “They can fend for themselves.”
His words do wonderful things to my insides. Butterflies swoop. Seconds later, they’re chased away by a flood of terror when a monstrous bird swoops toward us.
Killian drags me in close, sword raised, and it wings away. He scoops me up as though I weigh nothing. Shadows flicker overhead, and I cringe against him, fearing winged death. Harpies might be one of the more innocuous monsters plaguing Belterre, but they’re still terrifying. Especially en masse. I’ve never seen such a gathering of them.
But the shadows on my face aren’t winged death. They’re only leaves dappling the sunlight as Killian whisks me into the nearby woods. Prince Alistair’s hunting grounds. He took great pleasure in describing them to me in tedious detail this morning. My panic subsides as quickly as it arose.
I ought to care more about the scene unfolding behind us. I do—it’s not as though I want people to be hurt—but I’m happy to be alone with Killian. Sighing, I wrap my arms around his neck and lay my head on his shoulder.
His scent is that of wild things. Earthy and wonderful. The sharp tang of polish and a clean note of soap are the only signs of civilization.
