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Crispin pursed his lips, refusing to allow Francis to poison the minds of the two people he held most dear in this world. If he lost them, he would have nothing. His will to live would dissipate if he allowed this vicious rumor to take root.
Francis paced the floor, daring to come closer. He leaned forward, as though sharing a secret between them, his voice low and measured. Crispin jerked the chains, but the guards remained steadfast, their blades poised to kill with a simple order.
“I know of your clandestine meeting. The hooded assassin outside the tavern.” Francis’s breath reeked of ale, his eyes glowed with an unholy flame.
Without a flicker of emotion, Crispin remained steadfast as a marble statue. Inside, his mind rioted. How in the devil did Francis know about that meeting? ’Twas never meant to proceed. He had been drunk, angry, and bitter. There had been no details shared, no agreement made. But Crispin had paid him. He clenched his teeth to keep from reacting and betraying his guilt.
“I see you cannot deny your involvement in the plot.” Francis circled him. “No matter. You condemn yourself with your silence.”
A hundred thoughts flashed through Crispin’s mind. Yet he could not grasp one that would serve him well. He remained still and focused on the ornately carved chair at the head of the room. The one Francis used as his makeshift throne. He inhaled deep, steeling himself for the assault on his character.
Francis was not wrong. He was a selfish bastard with no direction and no loyalty. He hated his father and his brother. For years they refused to see his strengths and encourage them. He clung to whatever afforded him comfort and pleasure, rejecting the presumptuous designs of his bloodline. Upon Francis’s death, Crispin took heart in the knowledge the throne would one day be his until his father ripped his birthright from him and threatened to present it to someone even less deserving.
His behavior had been rash and foolish, but in the end, he could not endure his mother’s censure should she discover his involvement in the king’s death. Even after his father banished him, he sent word to the hooded assassin. Keep the gold, but forgo the orders.
To this day, he never truly knew whether it was his order which sealed his father’s fate. That knowledge haunted him.
“You brought ruin upon yourself, brother.” Francis stopped pacing.
Crispin met his gaze, hoping the hatred would be evident without words.
“All I had to do was wait and allow you to destroy your own reputation. Then I reappear, miraculously spared by the horrible fire, but not untouched by its devastation, the people of Meradin will see the rightful heir restored to the throne destined to save the kingdom from chaos and ruin.” Francis laughed.
“Burn in hell,” Crispin spat, his patience wearing with every passing moment. “You son of a bitch.”
“Such a temper in a king is unacceptable.” Francis pointed a gloved hand at him. “This prison is of your own making. I can only thank you for reuniting me with my betrothed. While I knew of her value before she became entangled in your web of seduction, I could never have imagined the good fortune of recovering the lost jewel of England.”
He glanced at Ruby who braced herself against the wall. Those luminous eyes intoxicated him still. Fate brought them together. She saved him. Brought him back from the brink of his destruction. He loved her deeply before he knew of her heritage. She would belong to him alone until the end of time.
Undeterred by Francis’s threats, he declared his love with a simple look. The tension around her mouth softened.
“Take one final look, Crispin. She belongs to me, and you will finally get what you deserve.”
I love you. Ruby mouthed the words as tears spilled free.
Crispin nodded, unable to form the words himself as the guards seized him by the arms and dragged him from the room.
Ruby’s shouts of protest echoed down the corridor.
He barely glimpsed the other guards dragging Henry from the chamber behind them. They carried him down the stairs leading to the dungeon. Crispin fought against their hold, but they held him fast, releasing him only when they tossed both him and Henry onto the cold, damp stone floor of the prison cell.
The door slammed behind them.
Crispin shouted, banging his fists on the wooden door, dredging up every curse he could muster from the depths of his tormented soul. The sound of a second door slamming only redoubled his efforts.
A scream echoing from somewhere overhead sent a bolt of dread straight to the pit of his stomach.Ruby.
He bowed his head against the door and prayed, unsure if anyone would hear his plea.Be strong, my love. I will come for you.
