by Riley Pine
X rises to his feet, the ancient book clattering from his lap. “Is that truly what you think of your mother? That she was unfaithful to her husband and king?”
Shame circulates in my veins.
“It’s what everyone whispers,” I challenge. “They say that my mother played the whore while my father the king was away on diplomatic duty. That I am the living, breathing testament to her transgression. Isn’t that why my cuckolded father insists that I walk this lonely path, destined never to love or be loved, only to atone for the sins of a woman that I barely remember and a man that I have never met? My duty is atonement.”
There it is, the bitter truth, out at last.
“Benedict...” X winces. “Is this what you truly believe?”
“It is what I know,” I say with quiet resignation. “It is my life and has been since I was old enough to understand the burden I bear.”
He looks as if he means to say more, but as he opens his mouth, a muffled but bloodcurdling scream pierces through the ceiling.
Ruby. Evangeline.
We race to the stairs and fly to my bedchamber.
Evangeline
I don’t recognize the room or the bed, not even the thin silk gown that covers my otherwise naked form. But she stares at me from where I clutch the pillow to my body. The angel stares, and I can do nothing but scream.
“Ruby!” a rough voice cries, but I do not know this name. I do not know the man who speaks it. “Go to her, Benedict. I will search for intruders.”
A strong hand grips my shoulder, and I thrash against it, crying out until my throat is raw.
“Evangeline!” He is stronger than I am, pulling me to him even as I let go of the pillow and beat against his chest. “Evangeline!” he cries again, and something deep within awakens as recognition blooms, as the warmth of his touch breaks through the icy fear.
I stop fighting, and my shoulders droop as I sink into him, my arms wrapping tight around his neck.
“Benedict,” I say, trembling, my senses returning.
“Shh, angel. You’re safe now.” He strokes my hair and cradles me in his arms as I try to catch my breath, the screams and sobs finally subsiding. “X,” he says over my shoulder. “A glass of water, please.”
“Yes, Highness,” I hear, now recognizing the other male voice as that of Benedict’s bodyguard. “All windows are secure, as is the door. I suspect it was only a dream.”
Seconds later X returns, handing Benedict the water, which he gingerly brings to my lips.
“Drink,” he says, and I do. My throat burns and my vision is still blurry from the tears, but I know where I am now, that I am safe, if only for the moment.
But the angel in the painting is still here—staring, judging. She knows I will betray my prince. And dream or no dream, I know I’m right. It’s all too coincidental—what has happened to my family and now this portrait the Madam wants, a portrait so clearly of me.
“They will come for me,” I say softly after a few sips. “They came for my father, my brother. Soon I will be next.”
Benedict sets the water on the night table next to the bed, and I cling to him even tighter.
“This is not the first time you’ve had such a dream,” he says, a statement rather than a question.
I shake my head. “It has been some time, though. I thought I’d rid myself of the nightmares years ago after Jasper found a wonderful doctor who helped me find peace with my father’s death. He is a good big brother, you know. He’s taken care of me since I was a young teen.”
I bury my head in Benedict’s chest, taking in his soothing woodsy scent, cedar and fresh-cut pine.
“His imprisonment has been difficult on you,” he says, and I nod against him. Then I look up, my eyes meeting his. “You can tell me more,” he adds. “If you want.”
And because no man has ever looked at me as he does—with such protectiveness, such care—I want to tell him everything. Instead, I settle for the dream.
“When I was younger, it was always me standing on the side of the road where my father crashed. I would have to watch him slamming on the brakes while the car kept speeding toward its violent end. Toward his end. And every time, just before I’d wake up, the whole scenario would slow down. As his car would wrap around the tree, I’d hear his voice telling me, ‘Find the map, Eva. Find the map and save us all.’” I let out a nervous laugh. “That sounds ridiculous, right? The doctor who helped put the dream to rest convinced me that it was my own subconscious wanting to find a way to save my father.”
Benedict tilts my chin up and brushes a soft kiss over each of my tear-soaked eyes.
“And now, angel?”
I steady myself. “Now it is almost the same dream, but it is Jasper behind the wheel and not my father. Yet the message has not changed, only the voice that makes the plea.” I straighten in my prince’s lap, more sure of myself than I’ve been for quite some time. “I think that doctor was wrong, or that maybe he didn’t want me searching for whatever map this might be. Because I know my father was murdered. And I know my brother was set up. And if I don’t figure this all out before they do—whoever they are—they will come for me next.”
X clears his throat, and we both turn to where he stands in the doorway. X’s jaw tightens. “Let me return to the library to continue my studies. I assure you that you and Miss Rub—Evangeline Vernazza—are safe. I should have more concrete information for you by morning. For now, I think it best you stay with your guest.”
Benedict opens his mouth to argue, but I interrupt.
“Please don’t leave,” I say to him. “If X can help, let him, but don’t leave me alone here tonight.”
He sighs and nods toward the doorway. “I will see you after my morning benediction, X. Meet me in the prayer room at ten. With answers.”
X bows. “Yes, Your Highness.” Then he dips his head toward me. “Rest well, Evangeline.” And before I can thank him, he is out the door so quickly it’s as if he was never there to begin with.
“How does he do that?” I ask. “It’s like a magic trick.”
Benedict laughs. “Just wait,” he says. “I have seen him bypass doors altogether. Perhaps one day you will, too.”
His tone is wistful, as if he speaks of a time in the future when our lives will still overlap, but I know this cannot be true as sure as I know that the way he holds me now is out of necessity, to wake me from the terror that threatens my sleep.
I swing my legs off his, but he does not let go of me.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “This is most inappropriate. I should go clean myself up.”
His only response is to dip his head toward mine and kiss me again. This time, though, there is nothing of the hunger from before. Just a sweet, gentle yearning as his tongue slips past my parted lips, as we both taste the lingering salt of my tears.
We lie down, his soft kisses continuing as we do. He pulls my body close and grins.
“What are you smiling at?” I ask.
“I didn’t realize I could do that,” he says. My brows pull together. “Kiss a woman,” he continues, “and have it not be sexual in nature.”
I stroke his cheek, my chest tightening at what it would be like to meet such a man under any other circumstances than the ones we are in. That’s when I know I have to break this spell. I thought the hard part would be living with myself if I succeeded in tempting him from his holy path—or if I betrayed him to the Madam. I realize now the difficulty lies in thinking I could fall for such a man and not get my heart obliterated.
“I think I’m okay to sleep now,” I say, trying not to sound too cold.
“Of course,” he replies flatly, taking the hint, and I know I’ve hurt him...or at least bruised his ego.
He slides his arm out from beneath me and leaves the bed, lowering himself to the hard, wooden floor.
> “Don’t you want a pillow?” I ask. “Or a blanket?”
He rests his head on his forearm. “Not tonight. I must remind myself there are certain comforts that are not for me.”
Like sleeping with a woman in my arms, I imagine him saying to himself.
Like believing a prince could choose you over God, I think, realizing my own guilty wish.
“Thank you for making me feel safe,” I say, staring at the ceiling.
I hear him let out a long breath.
“You will always be safe with me, Evangeline.”
Tomorrow morning we will find out what X knows of the map that must exist. Tomorrow night I will convince Benedict how dangerously tempting I really am—so that neither of us is seduced again into thinking there could ever be more.
So that my foolish heart understands there is no promise in a prince’s kiss.
CHAPTER NINE
Benedict
NOT LONG AFTER she fell asleep last night, Evangeline cried out softly again. Another bad dream. Against my better judgment, I climbed in beside her, wrapping her trembling body in my arms and somehow silencing her whimpers. Her soft breaths must have lulled me to sleep before I could return to the floor.
Now, with the first morning light, I am warm, comfortable and unwilling to climb from the bed for a punishing cold shower and an hour of contemplation at my personal altar. Instead, I turn and find the reason still snoring lightly beside me.
In the soft light, devoid of her makeup, she is Evangeline. My blonde angel. My painting come to life—salvation and temptation all at once.
I can still taste the tender kiss we shared, the inkling that perhaps there is more inside me than animalistic lust.
Even now I don’t want to ravish her. My cock twitches in disagreement, but my heart overrides the urges. Instead, I want to...take care of her.
I slide from the sheets with a reluctance that she seems to echo as she emits a soft, purring moan of protest.
“Shh.” I bend and kiss her forehead. She smiles dreamily and returns to peaceful sleep.
In my simple galley kitchen there is a used coffee mug in the sink. A sign X woke even before me and is already in the study poring over books, trying to get answers for Evangeline’s many questions. I wonder, in fact, if the man slept at all.
There is time ahead to help her, to figure out if her dreams hold truth. But I am also convinced in the healing power of simple, kind gestures, like a fresh goat cheese and spinach omelet paired with thick slices of toast, the bread delivered fresh to the palace every morning.
I have always had a measure of talent when it comes to cooking, but food seemed like one more sinful pleasure, giving over to the body when I needed to focus on the spirit. So day after day I have eaten plain oatmeal for breakfast, a slice of whole wheat toast and a piece of soft cheese for lunch, and a simple root vegetable stew for dinner. It brings me joy to cut and dice these ingredients, put my larder to use to help plump Evangeline’s cheeks, hollow from grief and fear.
When I return to the room holding a tray, she is sitting, rubbing her eyes. “Where did you go?” Her jaw falls open as she registers what I carry. “Oh.”
“I thought you would enjoy breakfast in bed,” I say, suddenly shy. What if she wants to be alone, just as she urged me out of the bed last night? Perhaps I am a fool to assume.
“I’m starving,” she says, interrupting my inner torment. “And this looks amazing. Like something out of a magazine or a reality cooking show.”
“See if it tastes okay.” I set it down and shove my hands into my pockets. “It’s been a long time since I have prepared food for another.”
She takes a bite and groans, the same sound I have heard her use when giving herself over to absolute pleasure. “This is wicked, Benedict.”
Ice flows through my veins. “What do you mean?”
She bites her lower lip, eyes shining. “What is happening to my taste buds is a sin. I might require confession by the time I finish the toast.”
I am unable to give voice to how much her small happiness brings me joy. So I offer her a soft smile.
She dips her fork into another bite, and this time her eyes roll. “I am serious. How do you know how to cook like this? I would think you’d have grown up with a hundred classically trained chefs waiting at your beck and call.”
I nod. “This is true. But I was a curious child, also shyer than my brothers. I spent a lot of time in the palace library, which is even bigger than my collection here in the tower. I’d read everything I could get my hands on. Including cookbooks. Once Jean-Paul, the old royal chef, found me poring over a seventeenth-century collection of recipes from Versailles, and he invited me to the kitchen. It became my safe haven. I befriended the serving staff, the sous chefs, the pastry makers. They treated me as an equal, not as a prince or a future saint.”
This is something I don’t talk about, yet when I’m around her, my past spills out of me.
“It sounds like you have many happy memories from that time.”
My smile fades. “Yes, until Father deemed it unseemly for a prince to perform what he believed were menial tasks.”
She shakes her head. “But what you did here with food, it is art. No different than what I do with paint and canvas.”
“I should like to see you paint someday.”
She gives a wistful sigh, her fingers twitching as if holding an imaginary brush. “I miss it above all things. Except for, of course, Jasper and Papa.” Her voice hitches.
“I’ll tell you what.” I clap my hands, inspiration striking. “Today you will do nothing but make art.”
“But...” She is incredulous. “Aren’t I supposed to be tempting you, giving you a taste of forbidden pleasure?”
“Forget all that. Your employ is only for the evenings,” I say. “Let the days be your own. Besides, nothing would bring me more pleasure than seeing you happy,” I say honestly.
She considers me for a long time before speaking. “You are a most unusual prince.”
Another thought strikes, even as it causes me a glimmer of fear. “Of course, perhaps one bit of temptation before art.”
“Yes?” I can see her eyes veil as she slips into her role of Ruby.
“On the roof of this tower, I have a claw-foot bathtub. It can only be heated by lighting a small fire beneath it. Normally I don’t bother with it, but this morning, I want to give you a bubble bath. Wash your hair with fresh mountain spring water and watch as the sun rises over the peaks and turns to spun gold.” I shall fill the tub with roses from the garden below.
“You are playing a dangerous game,” she whispers, her hand rising to the side of her throat.
“How so?”
Her soft eyes gleam with a passionate intensity. “If you aren’t careful, I might never leave your side.”
Evangeline
Benedict leaves me to finish my delicious breakfast while he prepares the bath. My days are mine to do as I please, and as much as I know this will drag me deeper under his spell, I choose this. I choose to spend my time with him.
I’m practically licking the crumbs from my plate when he bursts through the apartment door, almost racing to where I still lie in bed. He wears nothing but a gray cotton T-shirt and the pants he slept in—and a sweet, boyish grin spread across his face. When I first saw him the other night, he seemed like such an old soul, but this morning he is youth incarnate, a young man with the world at his feet.
He dips his head. “Forgive me if I seem too eager, but I don’t want the sun to make it past the mountaintops before we get up there. If you’re still hungry—”
“I am beyond stuffed,” I tell him, setting my plate on the night table. So he reaches for my hand, and I offer it without hesitation.
In seconds we are out the door and bounding up a smaller staircase around the corner
from the spiraling one of which I’ve already grown quite fond. He holds the door open at the top, and I step through to see the entirety of Edenvale stretching out in every direction, including the shimmering Royal River. I race past the tub until I’m bellied up against a notch in the tower’s stone parapets.
“Oh, Benedict,” I say, but I’m at a loss for words. I may not have been born in this kingdom, but I grow to love it more each day, despite the trials my family has faced. I reach for Benedict but realize he isn’t there, turning to find him outside the door, back against it, watching me from afar.
“Join me, Your Highness!” I call to him, teasing, but he shakes his head.
Then he nods toward the tub, where I just now notice rose petals floating atop the steaming water.
“Your bath chamber,” he says with a grin, “is as far as I go.”
I give the landscape one more glance, the dawn breaking across this beautiful kingdom, and make my way to where he stands. This time I hold out my hand for his, and he laces his strong fingers around mine.
“I don’t need any of this, Benedict.”
“But you deserve it,” he says. “You deserve a bright and beautiful morning after such a dark night. To bear witness to your happiness is enough for me.”
I swallow the threat of tears and place my palm on his cheek. He was so good to me last night, taking me in when I had nowhere to go, soothing me from my nightmares. And the only thanks I gave him was to practically toss him out of bed and to the floor when all I wanted was to slumber in his arms.
He presses a soft kiss against my hand, and a ripple of warmth spreads from his lips to my very core.
Benedict leads me to the tub, where embers of kindling still glow beneath it.
“I will douse the remnants of the fire if it’s too hot.”
I dip a finger into the gorgeous copper tub, a fixture most definitely fit for royalty, and shake my head. “It’s perfect.” I lift the silk gown over my head, baring myself to him, and to my surprise, he does not react with shock. His eyes, green pools glowing in the ever-increasing morning light, look upon me with a reverence I have not seen before. Without a word, he holds my hand, guiding me into the fragrant warmth, and I lower myself until I’m covered in ruby-red petals of the sweetest roses I’ve ever smelled.