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Turning away from her and looking out into the dark garden, I tried hard to focus on my duty to her as her loyal and devoted subject. To serve her as my future queen, I needed to shove my feelings aside. My only job now was to see her safely back to where she belonged.
“Tomorrow we ride for the castle. Your father has waited too damned long for you to be kept waiting one more day than is necessary.”
In response to my plan, she sobbed hard into the pillows. Well fucking done, I thought to myself.
She didn’t need plans of action. She needed comfort. And that, at least, I could provide. I sank to my knees beside her once more, powerless to stay away. At first, she was stiff with anxiety and sadness, balled up with her back to me. But the longer I held her, the more she melted into me. Slowly, as I caressed her and soothed her, her sobs lessened and her tears slowed.
I gently rolled her onto her back and dried her tears. I placed my forehead against hers, feeling the dampness of her tear-stained cheek against mine. I was close enough to kiss her and fuck, how I wanted to taste her—princess, queen, love of my life. I wanted to taste all of her, but I managed to resist. “Sleep, my love,” I whispered. “You have to sleep.”
She nodded, and then closed her eyes. The firelight made her tearful lashes glisten like onyx dusted with gold.
I sat vigil beside her, alone with my anger. I’d fought so many battles, endured so many injuries, but never had I felt pain as deep and intense as I did in that moment. I wanted nothing but her, and now I knew I would never have her. But as the hours passed and the fire grew low, my grief turned to rebellion. I could not accept losing her as my destiny. Not a goddamned chance.
There had to be a way for us to be together. My position in society was low and common. My plans for the future absurd when they included a woman of her status. But for all the things I couldn’t offer her, I knew that what I could offer was as true as it had ever been. I fucking loved her, and I always would.
My delusion was strong. Stronger than the truth in this moment. I would find a way for us to be together. And I would begin by seeing her back to her rightful home, to do right by her father, King Rowan.
As I studied her face, peaceful in sleep, I promised that I would honor her and protect her, cherish her and care for her, come what may. Good or bad, war or peace.
Forever.
Hours before dawn, a noise broke the silence—furtive, quick footsteps on the path outside. From the sound of the movements, I knew it wasn’t Angelica coming home.
I listened. There were at least four men, maybe more. They approached the house from the front, and though they were trying to be quiet, they weren’t nearly quiet enough. Whoever they were, they weren’t professional thieves. But that didn’t mean danger was not coming to the door.
I pulled on my britches and drew my blade from its sheath. I locked the front door from the inside before they could reach it, and then exited the cottage from the back, outflanking them as I had done so many times in battle. There were five, along with a bound and hooded hostage.
The light was too dim for me to see their faces, but I knew damned well who they were. Sara had told me five men had surrounded her at the pub. They’d seen her birthmark just as I had. And now here they were, hoping to cash in on their prize.
But not on my watch, they weren’t. Fuck no.
Even so, I smiled. I’d silently promised myself that I would pay them back for what they’d done, and now they were here to collect on that oath. Sara was a princess, and she was my woman, and I would bring her justice.
Rough justice.
I crept up behind the one nearest to me, grabbed him from behind and slit his throat. The familiar gurgle of exsanguination, and the smell of the blood, brought back a thousand godawful memories of battle, but I kept my focus and moved on to the next man.
This one put up a better fight, but I made short work of him and dropped him on the ground with a twisting stab to the heart.
The other three froze while the hostage squirmed on the garden path. His feet had been hobbled and I could tell from the noises that he made that he was gagged under the hood. I spun my knife in my hand and broadened my stance. “Which one of you motherfuckers is next?” I asked.
