by Cheryl Dyson
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Reed stalked down the stairs, seething with rage, his eyes fixed on Shevyn’s twisted body at the base of the steps. The bitch had caused him no end of trouble. If she still lived, he was going to kill her. He grinned viciously at the thought. He would take her slender white throat in his hands and squeeze.
He reached her still form and knelt beside her. Blood soaked into the fine carpet beneath her head and he supposed she would bleed to death soon enough. He felt her neck for a pulse and sighed. Naturally, she was still alive. His hand tightened upon her throat until an ear-piercing scream caught him by surprise.
A maid was staring at them in horror, hands pressed to her cheeks. A pile of dropped bedding lay at her feet.
Reed nearly reached out and ripped the girl’s mind in half. Only the approaching sound of booted feet stayed him. He ground his teeth in annoyance, but wisdom began to calm him. He knew most of the castle staff disapproved of his rule, though they had accepted his regency docilely enough. If their precious princess should happen to die under questionable circumstances, it might easily send the quailing fools into revolt, something Reed did not need with the accursed Gauntlet Knights due back from Bodor any day.
No, he would have to pretend to be the frantic bridegroom and nurse the stupid twit back to health. In fact, her injury would give him the perfect excuse to keep her abed, laden with pain-easing drugs, should she happen to awaken. That way, she would be a nice, docile bride for the wedding ceremony. Reed nearly laughed aloud. She would be so disappointed to know that she had played right into his hands.
“Fetch help!” he barked at the girl. “The princess has fallen! Get a healer!” To the men approaching, he ordered, “Take her to her bedchamber. Hurry!”
They rushed to do his bidding and Reed held Shevyn’s hand and crooned to her until she lay safely in her own bed. Reed stood aside and let them tend her, wringing his hands in apparent worry. One of his men approached.
“My lord, I found this upon the stairs,” he said in a low voice.
Reed took the parchment and read Shevyn’s note pleading for help. He crushed it in his fist and carried it to the fireplace to kindle a fire. His man watched in amusement. When the fire burned brightly, Reed turned to the black-clad man.
“Thank you, Rolf. You have been helpful. You will find a substantial bonus in your next pay.”
“Thank you, sir,” Rolf said and departed.
Reed smiled as he watched the note turn to ash and then he turned his attention to the girl on the bed and the frantic people tending to her. He had to admire her cleverness. She would make a fine queen, short though her reign would be.