My Ruthless Prince

by Gaelen Foley

  “Really?” She turned to him as if she had nothing to hide, but her heart was pounding.

  He studied her. “I don’t know. I can’t quite put my finger on it.”

  She glanced down at the pretty muslin gown they had given her to wear. “I’m not used to dressing in such finery,” she confessed. “And I think the sun has lightened my hair as well. We are so much nearer its rays on this mountaintop.”

  “Hmm, yes. Perhaps that’s it,” he said, sounding unconvinced.

  She gave him a guileless smile, but the old man was far too perceptive. He eyed her skeptically as she turned away and added a sausage to her breakfast plate. In truth, she had just lost her appetite in her sudden dread that he could somehow see into her mind. Sense the murderous scheme she had planned. Or tell somehow that she was no longer a virgin.

  Nonsense! That was just his way, she told herself. It was the same eerie mannerism that he had used to manipulate Drake.

  Still, her fears whispered that she was about to be exposed. Perhaps the Prometheans had found out somehow what she and Drake had been doing out in the woods. If it came down to it, she knew she did not have the skill to fool a master liar like James Falkirk.

  She went and sat down in a chair by the window, keeping to herself as she attempted to take a few bites of the food. But the presence of so much evil in the room made her rather queasy. Her mouth was so dry with fear that she could barely swallow.

  As quickly as she could manage it without drawing further attention to herself, she put her plate aside and fled the breakfast room.

  “Have a pleasant day, Miss Harper,” Falkirk called after her.

  “Thank you, sir—you do the same,” she blurted out, glancing back.

  He narrowed his eyes and searched hers with an unnerving stare. Her heart leaped into her throat when she saw the suspicion on his face. Moreover, she realized in that moment why he unsettled her so. When you looked deeply enough into his eyes, she thought, you did not see a soul inside. He was as empty as dead, dry bones. Which explained his fascination with preying on others who were yet full of life, like Drake and her.

  Emily lowered her gaze, sketched a curtsy, and hurried away, but truly, she could kill him for what he had done to Drake. Warping his mind, making him believe that he was safe in order to use him, making a mockery of compassion. The old man deserved to burn in Hell. And soon he would. So would they all. Her certainty on that point helped to calm her down after Falkirk’s stare had rattled her.

  Unfortunately, her reassurance was short-lived, for when she stepped into the upper hallway to return to her chamber, she stopped cold.

  The maids were in her chamber. Cleaning her room.

  The blood instantly drained from her face. Her pulse pounded so hard in her ears she could barely hear herself think. If the monkshood was discovered, she was doomed, and probably Drake along with her.

  Somehow, she checked the wild impulse to run into her chamber and shoo them out with a hasty smile. Any such reaction on her part would only rouse their suspicion.

  Oh, God, how could she have failed to foresee the staff’s intrusion? But she was only the woodsman’s daughter. No one had ever cleaned her room for her in her life!

  She was not used to being treated like some sort of princess, and besides, she had been distracted, leaving her room a while ago as she faced the nerve-racking prospect of going down to breakfast with the elite Promethean conspirators.

  Heart pounding, she marched resolutely down the corridor. Perhaps not all was lost. Maybe the maids hadn’t found it yet, and even if they had, these women had become her friends since her arrival, more or less—at least casual acquaintances. Even if the monkshood were discovered, they need not immediately conclude she was hatching a secret murder plot against the owner of the castle and his cronies. Not unless she went in there behaving like she had something to hide.

  Just be calm. Act normal, she ordered herself. If they get too close to finding it, distract them.

  Right. Taking a steadying breath, she proceeded on to her chamber, somehow restraining herself to a sedate walk though she was shaking. They probably won’t find it anyway. But the moment she stepped into the doorway, the blood drained from her face.

  They already had.

  The maids seemed more amused than suspicious as she tried to explain her “project” in a mix of gestures and halting German: She had hoped to dry the pretty purple wildflowers to make perfume.

  They laughed at her naïveté and gave her to understand that, first of all, the proper way to dry flowers was to hang them upside down before the window. Didn’t everyone know that?

  She pretended embarrassment, laughing sheepishly at herself, but the older woman, Helga, wagged a finger at her, warning her not to touch this particular kind of wildflower again, for, in fact, it was giftig!

  Poisonous.

  The younger maid comically pantomimed a choking death to help drive home the older woman’s point.

  Emily feigned horrified shock at this news.

  Trembling from head to toe, she thanked them for the warning, but was too rattled to think of any credible protest as the efficient pair began sweeping up the monkshood and throwing it away, tossing the deadly stalks into their dustbin.

  Heart pounding, she could only watch helplessly, terrified that if she dared argue, they might become suspicious.

  Before long, the maids had finished with her room. Still chuckling over her foolishness, they collected their rags and brooms and cleaning brushes, then rolled their cart on to the next chamber.

  She thanked them in a hollow tone, then shut her door and leaned heavily on it, closing her eyes with a silent curse. That had nearly been a catastrophe.

  It still might be if the droll women mentioned her silly “mistake” to anyone else on the staff. There were those in the castle who might not buy her simple tale of drying flowers quite so easily.

  James Falkirk, for example. He might recognize the monkshood flower from the meadows of England and realize exactly what she had been up to. Given his peculiar role in life, he probably knew a thing or two about poisons.

  To be sure, she wasn’t out of the woods yet.

  More to the point, the monkshood was gone. Their plan was foiled. She had already picked all the monkshood growing around the castle. What are we going to do now?

  With knots in her stomach, she realized she had to tell Drake immediately. She hoped he would not be furious at her for allowing the poisonous plants to be discovered; but in case more trouble came of it, she had better warn him without delay. She left her chamber, her jaw clenched, anger at herself thudding in her temples.

  When she found him in the lower courtyard, as before, engaged in his morning combat practice against the other guards, the sight of him helped to soothe her nerves.

  It seemed strange that a man who was obviously so dangerous should have made her feel so safe. But just being there, where he could see her, made her feel protected. One look at him, and her courage was renewed.

  Drake would not let anything happen to her. He had promised. Her faith in him was total, especially now that she knew he was still himself. As long as they were together, she had a strange, childlike faith that nothing could touch them.

  The Prometheans might believe in their dark occult superstitions, but love gave Drake and her a magic of their own, one more powerful than all of the enemy’s evil.

  Then she smiled in amusement, watching as her beloved warrior stumbled, caught his balance, and spun around to slam his elbow into the jaw of the opponent coming up behind him.

  Nicely done, my dear.

  The match was won. Drake slapped the fellow on the shoulder as if to say no hard feelings. The guard wiped a trickle of blood off his lip, looked at it, then scowled harmlessly at Drake.

  Drake shrugged and turned away with a roguish grin, and when Emily saw it, her heart soared. She hadn’t seen him smile like that since before his capture, and she knew then that he was truly healin
g.

  He glanced up just then and saw her on the balcony above. Another sort of smile immediately softened his rugged features. An intimate glow stole into his dark eyes.

  He placed his hand lightly over his heart and sketched a bow to her. Delight like champagne bubbles tingled through her body at his playful gallantry, but more than that, in his knightly gesture, she recognized a flash of the old Drake she’d always known.

  The rogue. The hellion. The irresistible charmer.

  My God, she thought, he’s going to be all right.

  It might take time, but he was on the mend. Blinking away a sudden mist of grateful tears, she stuck to her purpose and rested her chin on her hand, thus sending him their agreed-upon signal that she needed to see him.

  At once, the flicker in his dark wary eyes acknowledged his receipt of the message. But he turned away with a casual air and took a swig of water from his canteen. One of the men asked him a question in a language she didn’t speak. Drake answered him in kind, but Emily took this as her cue to withdraw.

  As much as she loved gazing at him, it would not do to draw too much attention to herself. She abandoned the balcony, intent on arranging herself in a place where Drake could reach her without too much trouble. To that end, she took a book out to the garden and sat in the shade.

  One of her bodyguards followed, standing at a respectful distance on the other side of the terrace. She looked at him and sighed, slightly vexed. Being a prisoner, even one well treated, was so very tiresome.

  Fortunately, the more everyone at the castle got used to her, the less carefully they watched her. She hoped that remained the case after the maids’ discovery this morning.

  Leaning back against the bench, Emily opened her book, but concentration proved impossible. The truth was, she was scared. Her restless gaze drifted off to the snowy peaks far across the valley. For now, she could only wait for Drake to come to her. Then they could figure out their next move. She just hoped he wouldn’t take too long.

  Chapter 15

  Drake bided his time, waiting to steal the chance to go to Emily. He wondered what she wanted. For his part, he’d been thinking of her constantly since they had parted ways the night before. Their rendezvous in the woods had been so exquisite that he half feared it was a dream. But the blood, her maiden blood, that he had washed off his body upon returning to his room afterward had confirmed that it was real. And he had awakened with his heart lighter, happier, than he could ever remember feeling.

  He savored the prospect of a few minutes in her company, but in the meanwhile, closer to hand, he had become aware of an interesting situation.

  Apparently the rumor had gone round among the French mercenaries about what the rich men intended to do to the girl. To Drake’s wry amusement, he had overheard Jacques and his fellow soldiers murmuring among themselves about doing something to stop this unspeakable thing from happening. Drake did not let on that he had heard them, but it was useful to know that Emily had won an inkling of sympathy from someone besides him.

  A short while later, as soon as his duties permitted, he went in search of her and soon found her sitting in the garden. “Miss Harper.” A fond warmth stole through him as he sat down beside her.

  Her welcoming smile filled him with tender protectiveness. Just gazing at her beauty gave him nearly as much pleasure as her touch. He smiled back, scanning the tortoiseshell combs with which she had pinned up her hair in ladylike fashion.

  He was not used to seeing her like that, dressed up in pretty gowns. She looked . . . why, she looked exactly like his future countess, he mused with a knowing smile. “You wanted to see me, my lady?”

  She started to reach for his hand, but then glanced over furtively at her guard and stopped herself. “I’m afraid it’s not good news,” she murmured.

  High above them, an eagle circling in the sky screeched.

  “What’s the matter?” Every muscle suddenly tensed. “Did someone notice you were gone last night?”

  She shook her head discreetly, worry in her eyes. “The maids came this morning and found the monkshood while they were cleaning my chamber.”

  He froze.

  “I don’t think they suspect anything. I told them I was drying flowers to make perfume for my own enjoyment, a hobby. They believed me, but they warned me it was poisonous. I told them I didn’t know. I do think I convinced them—they had a good laugh over it. But I had no choice, I had to let them throw it out.”

  He stared at her with his pulse pounding. A heartbeat behind his horror came utter fury at himself for allowing this to happen in the first place. She shouldn’t even be here.

  “I’m so sorry,” she whispered. “Our plan is ruined, and it’s all my fault.”

  “Don’t worry,” he said automatically. “It will be all right.”

  “How?”

  He considered the question, avoiding her anxious stare as his face darkened. “Which maids?” he asked in a hard tone.

  “W-why?”

  He just looked at her.

  “Drake, no! You can’t. They’re innocent women.”

  “If they tell anyone, you’re dead. I don’t care. Whatever I have to do to keep you safe.”

  “No,” she ordered, dropping her voice to a whisper. “For heaven’s sake, you can’t just go around killing anyone who gets in our way!”

  “Why not? I’m a Promethean, after all,” he added in an acid tone.

  “Drake.”

  “Fine, I’ll bribe them, then. To leave.”

  “Don’t you think their sudden disappearance would make the others talk? It might already be too late. If they’ve mentioned it to anyone . . . oh.” She didn’t finish the sentence, only sighed and put her head in her hands.

  Reining in his rage, Drake put himself in check and tried to clear his head. Perhaps his offer to execute the women was a bit extreme. But any thought of a threat to Emily had somehow taken on a whole new meaning. “How did this happen?” he asked in a hard tone. “Why did you let them in?”

  “I wasn’t there. I left the room to go down to breakfast to try to figure out what food I might be able to slip the poison into.” She shrugged. “So much for that.”

  He eyed her fiercely. “Tell me you were careful.”

  “I was careful—though your James makes my skin crawl.” She shuddered and shook her head. “What are we going to do?”

  “What, indeed?” he murmured, drumming his fingers on his leg. This, he thought, is a fucking catastrophe.

  Gossip was one of the only forms of entertainment the servants had, and the comical tale of the English girl nearly poisoning herself with wildflowers would circulate quickly. It wouldn’t be long before word made its way back to James, and what, then? Were he and Emily to sit passively waiting on tenterhooks for one of the German peasant women in mere good humor to put a wrong word in the right ear? The axe could fall at any time—or not.

  It was intolerable.

  More to the point, it suddenly wasn’t worth it.

  It wasn’t worth her life. And maybe it wasn’t worth his, either. All of a sudden, Drake was done with this mission.

  The scales fell away from his eyes. Good God, he must have been mad ever to have thought of it, let alone attempted to do this thing.

  “Drake?”

  He turned and looked at her. “We’re leaving here,” he said to her. “Tonight.”

  Her eyes widened.

  “The hell with this. To hell with all of them.” His low snarl brimmed with anger. “I’m getting you out of here. You’re going to have to sneak out of your room again, just like you did last night. Can you do that?”

  “Well, yes, but what about the Prometheans?”

  “I don’t give a damn about them or any of this anymore!” he whispered. “The Order, the Prometheans—they both can go to hell! All I care about is you.”

  Her violet eyes were incredulous; her lips parted, but no sound came out. She stared at him in amazement.

  “It�
�s one thing to risk my life. I won’t risk yours. This was a fool’s errand, anyway. Their war has been going on for centuries. Who the hell am I to think I could end it single-handledly? I came here wanting to die, Emily. It seemed the only way to make the pain stop. But I don’t want that anymore. You’ve given me hope. You and I have a chance to be happy. We’ve been denied so much.” He took her hand regardless of her guard’s wary scrutiny from the far end of the terrace. “I knew when I survived the attack that killed my team that God must have spared my life for a reason. But maybe it wasn’t for this. Maybe it has to do with you.”

  Tears rushed into her eyes. She squeezed his hand more tightly. “I love you.”

  “Never stop. You are air and light and water to me,” he whispered.

  “What shall I do? Tell me how to help.”

  “Take a nap today. Get as much rest as you can. Tonight, sneak away from your room again at the changing of the guards, eleven o’clock, just like last night. I’ll meet you in the same spot, and we’ll set out from there. I’ll leave one of the gates poorly guarded so we can more easily get out. I’ll bring supplies for us, as well.”

  “Can you get my bow and my bag of remedies?”

  He nodded. “Dress for the journey, my little tracker.”

  “What, not in this?” she asked, summoning up a brave smile that he knew was just for him.

  He trailed an admiring glance over her. “You look sweet enough to eat in one bite,” he murmured, “but we’ve got a long journey ahead. Before you leave your room, arrange the pillows in your bed to look like you’re still there if anyone glances in on you before morning. It could buy us a little extra time, and every minute will be precious. We’ve got to get as far ahead of them as we can before they even realize we’re gone.”

  “Where will we go? Back to England?”

  He mulled the question. “That’s what they’d expect . . . for us to speed down to Munich. From there, the fastest way out of the region is by river. The second obvious choice would be due south, to the Gulf of Venice, eluding them by sea.”