Page 202 of Settle Down, Princess

“In a treaty that the likes of you would never understand!” the king roared back. “I will bind Fallspire in paperwork, make it so he would never dare lift a finger to me, then I’ll march against my brother with the entire royal army at my back.”

“The royal fucking army is in the palace, ransacking it as they look for you!” she shouted but then blinked as she considered her own words. “For you…” Her focus darted sideways to the last guard standing by his king. “Gerald, we need to get clear of the city now. If they catch us…”

“Ready when you are, Lady Giselle,” the guard replied, as if just waiting for this moment.

“We’ll need coin, gold for the road.”

It was a relief that I was no longer her focus, but not one shared by the head priest. She snatched up golden reliquaries and votives, the priest making a small sound of protest right before she shot him a filthy look. He’d let a few sacred objects go if that was what it took to keep her away from him, that became clear and then she swept from the nave with the guard in tow.

“Now, Holy Father, I realise this is highly irregular,” Magnus said, the effort to sound reasonable evident in his tone. The priest looked down at me, and I shook my head slowly. Could a priest succeed where I failed? I watched his Adam’s apple bob and felt hope slipping away. Magnus was just like the rabid dog I’d deemed him before. People gave him a wide berth for fear of catching his disease, or having that ferocity turned on them. “But I am going to have to request… no, demand that you marry me to this woman now.”

“My king, the city is in an uproar,” the priest said. “We were just in the process of opening the doors to allow the people to take sanctuary. Are we under attack?”

“Yes.” Magnus grabbed me and thrust me forward. “And this marriage is the only way to avoid a war that will tear this country apart. The Duke of Fallspire attacks the city. The Lanzenes and Mattenites are amassing at the border…” Magnus stumbled then, the two realities colliding inside his head. “All will be lost unless—”

“Of course, sire, but do we have time for the full ritual?” the priest asked, eyeing the doors of the church. The noise outside was growing louder.

“We don’t. Marry me to this woman—”

“No.” I squirmed then, fighting his hold, but what we had put into his food seemed to make him stronger, not weaker. “No, no, I don’t want this. I do not consent.”

“Use whatever words needed to bring the gods’ favour down on our union, but remember that each one you use brings the potential for more conflict.” Magnus looked around the church as if seeing it for the first time. “One that may find its way in here.”

“The grand nave is built on sacred ground,” the priest said, outrage bleeding into his voice. “No matter what goes on beyond that door, all know violence must never be brought past our threshold.”

“What about this act of violence?” I asked, jerking my arm out of the socket, it felt, in an attempt to get free. The bruises on my wrists just made the process even more painful, forcing tears to slide down my cheeks. “What about what is being done to me?”

“Sire, I—” the priest started to say, staring at me.

“Violence doesn’t have to besmirch your most sacred of spaces,” Magnus said, drawing a knife and holding it pointed towards the priest, the threat obvious. Whatever concerns the priest had, he lost every single one of them when it was his life threatened. He shot me an apologetic look, but that wasn’t enough, not as he nodded to the altar. I was dragged closer, hopeless sobs filling my chest as Magnus took his place.

“It is customary for the bride to be asked if she agrees to the terms of the marriage,” the priest said, hastily slinging a ceremonial cloth over his shoulders.

“She’ll say yes.” Now that he had cowed the priest, the knife was directed at the only remaining dissenter: me. It was pressed against my neck, my pulse beating frantically as I felt that tiny starburst of pain.

That’s when I truly understood Ariel.

How could she have chosen Magnus over Arik? How could she have allowed this to happen? That was the thing about Magnus, his insanity meant that no one could choose anything other than what he wanted and live. Buoyed up by aristocratic support, privilege and accident of birth, he said this was the way it was going to be and it was. It was only now I realised the true horror of her fate. She was just a gently reared girl, trying to navigate a fraught space, isolated from her allies, alone and unable to defend herself. And that had my teeth grinding together. The sensation was mirrored by my wrist as Magnus held it so hard it felt like the bones did the same.

“Say what needs to be said, Father,” Magnus growled.

This was the moment that my lovers, my mates, rushed through the door. As the sound of fighting grew outside the door, I was sure they would. To run in and call a halt to this entire thing. Roan would stab his sword into Magnus, Silas, his knives, and Creed would roar before slashing open the mad king’s throat with his claws. All of my big, beautiful men would save me from the one fate I had done everything in my power to avoid.

Instead, the priest delivered my death sentence.

“You may now kiss the bride.”

My breath was coming in faster, my lungs unable to fill. Eyes wide I stared at the priest, then Magnus in horror. I wanted to fight my way free, kick, scream, anything, but instead I just watched a smile of triumph spread across Magnus’ face.

“Finally, you are mine.”

His eyes fell closed, his lips pursing, right as the doors were shoved open, and I turned away, feeling his loathsome kiss slide along my cheek, leaving a snail trail of saliva behind.

But only that.

Silas’ eyes burned ferociously green in his too pale face, his knives coming out and then sailing through the air, only to hit Magnus with a satisfying thud. His hand spasmed as he screamed high like a girl, but I exploited that moment of weakness. I was pulling free, then whirling around, snatching up my knife with a snarl. Creed was a wolf shifter? I heard his roar now, and it was a mirror of my own, much thinner one. I gripped the hilt tight, just as Silas had told me and then went to stab it down.

“Not yet, lass.”

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