Taigan is no puny young squire. He’s as broad and muscled as one would expect from a man who was trained to be a warrior from the time he was five years old. The rigors of knighthood carved him into a glorious dragon slayer by the age of eighteen. Now twenty-four, he’s had time to add both bulk and experience onto what must have already been an impressive frame.
And yet, using only one arm, this stranger has lifted the prince up onto the tips of his toes.
Oh.
My.
Taigan’s voice, abruptly cut off, still rings against the stones around us. As those last echoes vanish, a new voice speaks in a low, dangerous rumble: “You will learn better manners, Prince. Do not attempt to handle the lady so roughly in my presence again.”
For a small eternity, the three of us stand frozen, an odd little tableau for anyone who might happen upon us. My blood roars and my eyes bulge from their sockets. I’m quite certain if that supportive hand at my side is suddenly removed, I’ll simply fall to the floor like a flower with a broken stem.
Reason returns at last with a gust of exhaled breath. “No, please!” I cry. When the stranger doesn’t take his predatory eyes off the prince, I reach up and pluck at his sleeve to get his attention. “I’m sure he didn’t mean any harm!”
“Are you?” The stranger turns and fixes me with those void eyes of his.
My heart jolts to a stop, transfixed by that gaze. “Please,” I manage, pushing the words from my still-warm lips. “Please, put him down! I’m sure he saw us…you…when we were…and assumed…assumed…”
For the life of me, I can’t think how to finish. After all, PrinceTaigan, coming upon us like that, probably assumed some assault of virtue was taking place. And he wasn’t wrong. Just not quite in the way he was thinking.
Heat erupts across my cheeks. In this moment, I could probably light up these dark caverns brighter than a freshly ensorcelledscintil.“I’m sure he was just trying to protect me,” I finish lamely. Gods on high, am I actually defending Taigan? Of all people?
The prince’s stare is fastened on me over the arm of his captor. I cannot bear to meet it, not if my life depended on it. I shift my gaze up to the stranger again. A nearbyscintilflickers across his features as I take my first good look at him. Once one gets past the absolute massiveness of his shoulders and chest, the utter blackness of his eyes, there’s plenty to take in. Like the scar that cuts through one eyebrow and trails just past the outer edge of his left eye. It looks unsettlingly like a talon slash. His skin is startlingly pale, almost to the point of sallow. It’s the one flaw in an otherwise oddly perfect specimen. Thoughperfectisn’t the right word, if I’m being honest. Everything about this man is built on a theme of power, not beauty. His features are large and strong, his nose prominent, his jaw rock-solid. The only thing that might be considered pretty about him is his mouth. Those full lips, flushed and a little swollen by the aggressiveness of my unexpected kiss.
Why do my eyes keep going back to them?
Taigan is speaking again. With an effort, I drag my attention back to the prince, who struggles now in the stranger’s grasp. “You will give me satisfaction, sir!” he cries in a half-strangled voice. “Unhand me at once and face me like a man!”
The stranger’s gaze finally slides away from me and slices into the prince like two onyx blades. “As I recall, it was you whoprovoked us. The lady and I were peacefully occupied before you so rudely inserted yourself. You had not even the courtesy to launch your attack on someone your own size. Tell me, do you prefer to manhandle women?”
“I wasn’t manhandling her!” Taigan snarls, his face almost purple with rage. “I was saving her!”
“From what?” The stranger smiles. It’s the deadliest expression I’ve ever seen. “Fromme?”
Oh gods. With a little shrug and a wriggle, I pull out from under the stranger’s arm. The air is oddly cold now that I’m no longer pressed against his side, and I struggle to find my balance. Find it I do, however, and glare up at the two men. “This is all a misunderstanding.”
“Indeed?” The stranger looks at me again, and I wonder if this is how a mouse feels when caught in the hypnotic gaze of the cat. “Tell me what I have misunderstood.”
My throat goes dry. I clear it with an effort. “Well, you see, I was…I didn’t want the prince to…” Now they’re both looking at me. Whatever explanations I’d half concocted evaporate from my brain. “Um…”
“Was this man bothering you?” the stranger demands.
“Botheringher?” Taigan’s eyes flash with righteous fury. “I’m not the one who assaulted her honor! Do you not realize who this is? She is Princess Roselle Pandracor!”
At the sound of that word—princess—my stomach cramps and my shoulders hunch. It makes me positively sick; I’m not sure I’ll ever get used to it.
Taigan, unaware of my reaction, continues relentlessly. “Go take your fun in a harlots’ den where the likes of you belong. The princess is far above the base cravings of your foul dreams!”
The stranger’s grip tightens on Taigan’s shirt as he lifts him afraction of an inch higher. “You dare speak of such things in her presence?”
All right, this is starting to get ridiculous.
“It’s not as though I don’t know what a harlot is!” I snap, tossing up my hands. “I’m not some frail hothouse flower. Iknowthings.” The minute the words are out of my mouth, I regret them. Gods above, is there any way to get out of this mess with my dignity intact?
Both men are looking at me now. To my horror, a knife has appeared in the stranger’s hand, half-hidden by his long sleeve. The same hand which, moments before, had been wrapped around my waist. The prince has not yet noticed, but now that I see it, I cannot tear my gaze away. A knife. Aknife. Where in the fiery hells did it come from? No one is supposed to carry weapons in Stromin Palace. The house guards have their lances, of course, though this one seems to have forgotten his. But a small, deadly blade like that is absolutely forbidden. Even my dull little pocketknife, which was hardly sharp enough to use as a letter opener, was impounded at the barge docks.
But there’s no doubt about it. The stranger has a knife. And this moment, this very moment, is the one that will mark the difference between this whole debacle turning out all right with no one the worse for wear, or bloody murder being done right before my eyes.
I draw myself up straight. I may not be the princess everyone seems to think I am, but I’m not without my own unique set of skills. Back home—back when I was just Rosie Harpwood, apothecary’s assistant, and had never heard of this Roselle Pandracor they keep going on about—I used to break up brawls between Mistress Iliyani’s demon-possessed tomcats, and that takes more courage than most people realize. Cats are fickle beasts atthe best of times; add possession into the mix, and you’ve got a tricky business. But if I can handle Tiger and Shadow, I can certainly handle this stranger and a prince. I’ll just imagine I’ve got a bucket of ice-cold holy water in hand. Easy.
